is no business for my namesake to be in," declared Aunt Dora. "You named her after me, Lemuel, and I feel that I have some right to her. She having no mother, and I being her godmother, she is more mine than anybody else's. And I am determined to take her home with me."
"Take Dora?" gasped Mr. Lockwood. "Whatever should we do without her?"
"Hah!" exclaimed his sister. "You have the other one."
"But – but it doesn't seem as though one would be complete without the other," said Mr. Lockwood, thoughtfully. "They have always been together. Why, nobody knows them apart – "
"And that's another foolish thing!" exclaimed Aunt Dora. "To allow two girls to reach their age and have nobody able to distinguish between them. Dressing them just alike, and all! It is ridiculous."
"But they have always wished to be just alike, Sister," said the father of the twins.
"They wished!" exclaimed Aunt Dora. "Is it their place to have their way in such affairs? That is exactly what I say, Lemuel – you're not fit to manage the girls. And I am determined to save one of them from the results of your mismanagement. I have always noticed," added Aunt Dora, a little less confidently, "that Dora is much more amenable in disposition than Dorothy. Naturally, being named after me, she may have taken on more reasonable and practical characteristics than her sister."
Mr. Lockwood was a thin little man, with wisps of gray hair over his ears, a bald crown, on which he always wore a skullcap, and meek side whiskers. But now he stood and stared in perfect amazement at his sister, demanding:
"Do you mean to tell me you have noticed such characteristics in Dora?"
"Certainly," said his sister, complacently.
"Then you know them apart?"
"Well – er – when I have the opportunity of comparing their manner and speech – "
"Here they are!" exclaimed the harassed father, suddenly spying the girls behind his sister. "If you can tell which is which, you are welcome to. I leave it to the girls themselves. If Dora wishes to go with you, she may. I – I wash my hands of the affair!"
CHAPTER VI
WHICH IS WHICH?
Mr. Lockwood had a habit of getting out of difficulties in this way. He frequently "washed his hands" of affairs, finding that they adjusted themselves somehow without his aid, after all.
But on this present occasion there was, perhaps, a special reason why he should tell his sister to go ahead, and leave the matter entirely with her and the twins themselves. Aunt Dora claimed to be able to tell the girls apart – something that nobody, not even Mrs. Betsey, had been able to do since they were little tots and Dora had worn a blue ribbon on her wrist, and Dorothy a pink.
The twins, who had heard all the foregoing conversation, and understood the situation thoroughly, advanced when their Aunt Dora turned to meet them.
"Kiss me, my dears," commanded the militant lady, opening her arms. "Dora, first!"
But the twins ran in together and one kissed her on one cheek while the other placed her salute on the other – and at exactly the same moment. Aunt Dora adjusted her eyeglasses, stood off a yard or so, and stared at the girls.
"Dora," she said, solemnly, "you are going home with me."
Neither girls changed color, or showed in the least that the announcement was either a pleasant one, or vice versa.
"Do you hear?" demanded their aunt.
"Yes, ma'am," they replied, in chorus.
"I spoke to Dora," said the lady, firmly.
Not a word said the twins.
"Which is which, Dora?" asked Mr. Lockwood, from the background, and perhaps enjoying his sister's discomfiture. "I declare nobody in this house has been able to tell them apart since they were in their crib. Mrs. Betsey declares she believes they used to exchange ribbons when they were toddlers, for she used to find the bows tied in funny knots."
The two girls looked at each other with dancing eyes, but said nothing. It had been their sport all their lives to mystify people about their several identities. And here was a situation in which they determined – both of them – to keep their aunt guessing.
"This is no matter for flippancy," said Aunt Dora, sternly. "I intend to take my namesake home with me, and to bring her up, educate her, and finally share my fortune with her. Do you understand this fully?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied the twins.
"I am speaking to Dora," their aunt said tartly.
The girls were silent.
"I am separating Dora from her sister for her own good. As you girls grow older you will find that the income your father has remaining will barely support one girl in a proper manner. To divide his responsibility is a kindness to him – "
"That is not so," interjected the mild Mr. Lockwood. "You are more than welcome, girls, to all I have. And – possibly – I might look about and get a little more money for you to use, as time goes on. If you need it – "
"We know all about it, Papa," chimed the twins. "We are satisfied."
"Does that mean you are satisfied to remain here, Dora?" demanded their aunt, insisting upon speaking as though but one girl heard her.
"We are both satisfied," chorused the twins, quickly.
"But I am not satisfied with the affair," declared Aunt Dora. "It has long been both my intention and desire to take my namesake – my godchild – away from here. While you two girls were small it was all very well to declare it cruel to separate you. But you are old enough now – "
"We shall never be old enough, Auntie, to wish to be separated," said one of the twins.
"Nonsense, child!" exclaimed Aunt Dora, her eyes sparkling as she thought she had at last obtained an inkling to the identity of the two girls. "You will soon get over all that, Dora – of course you will."
"I am sure I should not so soon get over separation from my sister," said the other girl.
Her aunt wheeled on this one. "Do you mean to tell me that you scorn my offer?"
"If I were Dora I should beg to be excused," returned the niece to whom she had spoken.
Aunt Dora whirled again and transfixed the other with decided satisfaction and a sparkling eye.
"But Dora, I feel sure, will go with her aunt gladly," cried the lady.
"If I were Dora I should beg to be excused," repeated the girl at whom she looked, in exactly the same tone, and with an unmoved countenance, too.
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