The Daring Twins. Baum Lyman Frank
are, I’ll bet a cookie.”
“In years, perhaps,” answered Doris. “But, permit me to state that your brother was wrong. Having been bred in this simple, out of the way village, he does not understand the difference between a gentleman and a snob. Nor do you realize the rudeness of accosting strangers without a proper introduction, repeating words designed to injure their feelings. I am not blaming you for what you do not know, little girl; I am merely trying to point out to you your error.”
Becky sat plump down upon the sidewalk and stared until her great eyes seemed likely to pop out of their sockets. Then, suddenly seeing the humor of the situation, she smiled her sunny, amiable smile and hugging her knees with both arms said:
“I got it that time – right in the Adam’s apple, where it belonged. My compliments to Miss Doris Randolph,” rising to drop a mock curtsy. “I’ve mislaid my cardcase somewhere, but allow me to present Miss Rebecca Daring, of Riverdale, who resides on the opposite corner. When you return my call I hope you’ll find me out.”
“Wait!” cried Doris, as Becky turned to fly. “Did you say Daring?”
“I said Daring, my child,” with great condescension.
“The Daring family that used to live here, in this place?”
“The same Darings, little girl.”
“Forgive me if I seemed supercilious,” said Doris, earnestly. “I – I mistook you for a common waif of the village, you know. But mamma says the Darings are an excellent family.”
“Score one for mamma, then. She hit the bull’s-eye,” returned Becky, lightly. But, the recognition of her social position was too flattering to be ignored.
Said Allerton, rather sourly:
“Is that fellow who called me a snob a Daring, too?”
“He is Donald Ellsworth Daring,” replied Becky, with pride. “But he may have been wrong, you know. You’ll have a chance to prove it when we know you better.”
That gracious admission mollified the boy, somewhat.
“You see,” continued Becky in a more genial tone, “I can’t stay dressed up all the time, ’cause we’re slightly impecunious – which means shy of money. If it hadn’t been for that we’d not have sold our house and moved over to Gran’pa Eliot’s. In that case, you’d never have had the pleasure of my acquaintance.”
Doris looked across the street to the rambling old mansion half hid by its trees and vines. In front were great fluted pillars that reached beyond the second story, and supported a porch and an upper balcony.
“You live in a much more beautiful house than the one papa has bought,” she said, rather enviously.
“What! that old shack?” cried Becky, amazed.
“Yes. Mamma and I hunted all over this part of the state to find one of those old Colonial homesteads; but none was for sale. So, we were obliged to take this modern affair,” tossing a thumb over her shoulder.
“Modern affair! By cracky, I should think it was,” retorted Miss Daring, indignantly. “It cost a lot more money than Gran’pa Eliot’s place ever did.”
“Of course,” agreed Doris, with a slight smile. “The accident of wealth will enable anyone to build a much more palatial house than this. But only the accident of birth, it seems, enables one to occupy a splendid old Southern homestead.”
Becky regarded the speaker with wonder.
“You’re from the No’th?” she inquired.
“Yes. Our family is old, too; perhaps as aristocratic as that of your Grandfather Eliot. We are from Boston.”
“L-a-w – zee! I believe you are,” declared Becky. “I knew a Boston girl once, who was even more proper an’ ridic’lous in her ways than you are; but she died of a cold in the head, poor thing.”
“A cold?”
“Yes. Mortification set in, ’cause she couldn’t pronounce all the big words proper, on account o’ the cold.” Noticing a resentful look creep over Doris’ face, she hastened to add: “But that don’t count, you know. What really s’prises me is that you think Gran’pa Eliot’s shack is finer than our beautiful old home. I guess that as soon as Noah’s flood faded away Gran’pa Eliot’s house was built, it’s so blamed old.”
“Dear me!” said Doris, in seeming distress, “I wish you wouldn’t speak disrespectfully of Bible history.”
“What’s Bible history?” asked the astonished Becky.
“The flood God sent to punish a wicked world.”
“Oh, that;” with much relief. “I thought you were in earnest, at first.”
“My sister,” explained Allerton Randolph, with dignity, “is very religiously inclined.”
“Are you?” asked Becky, curiously.
“Yes, dear. I am trying to live my daily life in conformance with the highest religious principles. So it hurts me to hear sacred things spoken of lightly.”
Becky regarded this prim young lady with a sudden access of shyness. She felt that a gulf had opened between them that never could be bridged. Allerton, studying her face, saw the effect of his sister’s announcement and said in his serious way:
“Doris takes her religious ideas from our mother, who is interested in charities and foreign missions. She has exhausted her strength and undermined her health in this unselfish work, and that is why we have come to the country to live. Neither father nor I have much religious inclination.”
“Oh, Allerton!”
“It’s true, Doris. Father detests it with all his heart, and says our mother has ruined his home for a lot of naked niggers in Africa; but I’m more – more – ”
“Tolerant, I suppose you mean. But you must not convey a wrong impression of our father to Miss Daring. He merely regrets our mother’s excessive devotion to the cause. He does not hate religion, in the abstract.”
Becky had never been so astonished in her life. Here was a boy of Don’s age and a girl of about her own years discussing religion with the utmost gravity, and using such “nifty” language that it positively shocked her. Again she realized that there could be nothing in common between the youthful Randolphs and the tribe of Daring; but, she had determined to be gracious to these strangers and so she stifled a sigh of regret and said:
“If you like, I’ll show you over the stables, and where we played circus back of the harness room, and Phil’s rabbit warren, and how to climb the pear-tree in the garden without breaking your neck, and – ”
“Thank you very much,” interrupted Doris; “but, we are not interested in vulgar romps of that character; are we, Allerton?”
“They – they sound rather interesting,” he submitted, eyeing Becky a little wistfully.
“Perhaps, for village children,” returned the girl, haughtily. “But although we are now living in the country we should remember our breeding and try to instill some of our native culture into these primitive surroundings, rather than sink our refinement to the level of the community.”
“L-a-w – zee!” cried Becky, again. Then, in spite of her effort to be “good” she laughed in Doris’ face, bobbing her frouzled red head up and down as peal after peal of genuine merriment burst from her slim throat.
Allerton frowned and Doris looked grieved and sad. Positively, this country girl was laughing at their expense.
“I – I can’t help it!” chuckled Becky, trying to control herself. “It’s – it’s too good to keep. I must go an’ tell the kids before I – I bust with it all! Bye-bye, Doris. See you again soon. ‘Or river,’ Allerton! Guess I’ll call you Al. Come over an’ get acquainted.”
She had backed away one step at a time, still bubbling with hysterical