zement. Framed in the long
window that reached to the piazza floor stood a curiously garbed old
man holding firmly before him two tiny children. He wore an old black
skull cap and a ragged cassock, and he announced in a croaking voice:

"I pass these children on to you. I go to deliver the message upon
which I am sent;" and having said this, before anyone could protest or
interfere, he was disappearing down the driveway at an astonishing
pace, as if his "message" abided not the slightest delay.

CHAPTER VII

A MEMORABLE CHURCH GOING

"Of all things! If that don't beat the Dutch!" cried Alfaretta, and at
sound of her voice the others rallied from their amazement, while Mr.
Winters begged:

"Run, lads, some of you and stop that man. Owen Bryan spoke of a
half-crazy fanatic, a self-ordained exhorter, who had lately come to
the mountain and lived somewhere about, in hiding as it were. An
escaped convict, he'd heard. Run. He mustn't leave those children
here."

Jim and Frazer were already on the way, obedient to the Master's first
words, without tarrying to hear the conclusion of his speech. But they
were not quick enough. They caught one glimpse of a ragged, flying
cassock and no more. The man had vanished from sight, and though they
lingered to search the low-growing evergreens, and every hidden nook
bordering the drive, they could not find him. So they returned to
report and were just in time to hear Dorothy and Molly questioning the
babies, for they were little more than that.

They were clad exactly alike, in little denim overalls, faded by many
washings and stiff with starch. Their feet were bare as were their
heads, and clinging to one another they stared with round-eyed
curiosity into the great room.

"Oh! aren't they cute! They're too funny for words. What's your name,
little boy? If you are a boy!" demanded Molly.

The little one shook her too familiar hand from his small shoulder and
answered with a solemnity and distinctness that was amazing, when one
anticipated an infantile lisp:

"A-n an, a ana, n-i ni, anani, a-s as, Ananias."

Monty Stark rolled over backward on the floor and fairly yelled in
laughter, while the laughter of the others echoed his, but nothing
perturbed by this reception of his, to him, commonplace statement,
master Ananias looked about in cherubic satisfaction.

Then again demanded Molly of the other midget.

"What's yours, twinsy? For twins you must be!"

Evidently