, by
jinks, nobody could talk to that man. I tried to get a chance to tell
him about knowin' his folks, and a few amusin' things that came to me
about the time his uncle Zeb was married and borrowed my father's
black coat for the occasion, but, land alive, he never let up on his
questions. He asked me every blamed thing about every family in the
neighbourhood. He had the map of the township right before him, and
wrote down everything I told him nearly. I was scared to death we
hadn't enough children to get the Gover'ment grant, and so I had to
give twins to the Steadmans twice, both pairs of school age. I wasn't
just sure of how many we needed to draw the grant, but I was bound to
have enough to be sure of it. Sam Motherwell's no good to take along
with you at a time like that; he kinda gagged when I gave George the
second pair of twins, and when the old man went out he went at me
about it, and said it was not a decent way to treat a neighbour and
him not there to deny it. I told him: 'My land sakes alive! I hadn't
said nothin' wrong about either George Steadman or the twins; and
it's no disgrace to have 'em. Plenty of good people have twins.'

"Well, sir, when the old man came back he asked me a whole string of
questions about them two pair of twins, just as if everything
depended on them. I had to name them first thing. I got the girls all
right--Lily and Rose I called them--but when he asked me about the
boys I couldn't think of anything that would do for the boys except
'Buck' and 'Bright.' Of course I explained that them wasn't really
their names, but that's what everyone called them, they were such
cute little chaps and looked just alike, only Buck toed in a little.
I kicked Sam to pitch in and tell something about their smart ways,
but he just sat like a man in a dream; he never seemed to get over
his surprise at them comin'. All this time the old lad was leafin'
over a great big book he had, and askin' the greatest lot of fool
questions about the twins. I told him that Lily and Rose was pretty
little things with yalla hair and they sang 'The Dyin' Nun' at a
concert we had in the church at Millford somethin' grand; and the two
boys were the greatest lads, I said, to trap gophers--terrible shame
not to have a school for them. Then the old chap looked at me, and
his face seemed to be as long as a horse's, an' he says, lookin'
square at me: 'I'm real glad you told me about Mr. Steadman's twins,
because it's the fir