e it in your eyes. Let
me guess again. Faith and hope--faith and hope--I once knew a girl
named Faith--say! I'll bet a cooky those are your names. Aren't they,
now?"

"Right again!" laughed Hope, while he jumped about, clapping his hands
in ecstasy.

"Hear that, Bess Vanderhoff? Uncle always said I was a regular Yankee
for guessing, and that shows it. But those are stunning names for
twins--"

"Dwight, Dwight! What an expression to describe those lovely words."

"Well, it was rather off, Bess. I beg your pardon, Miss Faith and
Miss--but which is which, and how will I know if you tell me? It's a
regular Chinese puzzle, for you are precisely the same until you speak,
and then there's a difference. For you," he pointed towards Hope,
"look somehow--well, jollier, I guess it is."

"Don't be personal, Dwight," admonished his sister.

"But it's a personal subject, sis, how can I help it? May I make one
more try at it?"

"As many as you like," laughed Hope.

"Well, then, if you're named as you ought to be you are Hope, because
you look it, and she--"

He was interrupted by a little cry from Faith, who had been watching
the scenery more closely than the others. They followed her gaze and
were silenced a while by the impressive scene, for the Channel was
opening broadly before them, its cold green waves curling into
foam-tipped breakers, while the Needles, those natural turrets of the
deep, rose in stately fashion from the waters, seemingly in their very
path, as if here the bold voyager must needs be challenged before
venturing further. The narrow Solent was passed and a wider roadway
was to be theirs for many a day. But after a little, Dwight's
irrepressible spirits broke out afresh, and he returned to the charge,
evidently determined to be at no loss when addressing these girls, whom
he secretly chose as companions for Bess and himself out of the whole
passenger list. He finished his guess concerning Hope, and once more
proved his right to American citizenship.

"But why do I look my name?" she asked curiously.

"Can't tell; you just do, that's all. I'm a guesser, but I can't
explain why, at all.

"You may know me by my cat--Hafiz the poet, at your service," said her
sister merrily.

"But when you don't have the cat, Miss Faith? One of you ought to tie
on a pink ribbon somewhere, and one a blue."

"Yes, and then we'd be like the old woman with her eggs," put in Bess.
"It would be sink or sw