Brothers and sisters

by Abbie Farwell Brown

Of course he would be there! Kenneth asked his father if he might go, and Mr. Thornton was quite willing, for he knew that Captain Prout would be careful of the little boy. Kenneth did not tell his father how early he must start. But without troubling any one he set the alarm clock at four, and put it under the bed, so that it would be sure to waken him in due season.

Now, very early the next morning, when every one in the Thornton cottage was sleeping soundly, two little figures came walking up through the woods towards the back door. The little boy carried a pail of milk, and the little girl walked beside him, and they looked something like the children whom you see in the full moon,—Jack and Jill. But these were not Jack and Jill. They were Tommy and Mary Prout, Captain Prout’s twins, and it happened to be their turn to bring the milk that morning to the Thornton cottage for Kenneth’s and Rose’s breakfast. I don’t know what Kenneth and Rose would have done if the little Prouts had forgotten to come with the milk. But they never forgot, not once, all summer. There were six of them—three boys and three girls—and every morning in July and August, whether it rained or shone, two of them came two miles from Lobster Cove with the milk. And they came very early,—so early that no one in the cottage ever saw them do it. They were glad of this, for they were very bashful. Whenever they were out in the woods or along the shore and heard any one coming, they always scuttled away and hid like little frightened animals.

Sometimes Kenneth and Rose spied one or two of these children running away through the woods, but they had scarcely ever seen their faces, and did not know one from another. They called them just “the little Prouts,” and thought them very queer.

THEY WERE TOMMY AND MARY PROUT

But the little Prouts knew Kenneth and Rose much better. They often watched them from a distance, when Kenneth and Rose did not know. And they thought the Thornton children the most wonderful creatures that ever lived, and their toys and their doings the finest ever known. For you see, the little Prouts had no toys of their own, and were very different from Kenneth and Rose in every way, except in being little brothers and sisters.

Tommy and Mary, who were just the age of Kenneth, came stealing very quietly through the woods with the pail of milk, which they carried around to the back door and set upon the step, ready for Katie to take it when she came down to get breakfast. They had done their errand, and now were they not ready to tramp home? Oh, no! They stood for a minute listening, to be sure that no one was stirring in the cottage, and then very softly they tiptoed around to the front of the house, where the broad piazza was. Sometimes the city children left their toys all night out on the piazza. The little Prouts knew this, for they had often before done just this same thing in the early morning after their long tramp with the milk.

It was such a fine night that Rose had swung her doll’s hammock on the piazza, and Alice, her beautiful new doll, was sleeping here very sweetly. Rose had heard that it was good for children to sleep in the open air. Kenneth had left his express wagon and his rocking-horse out here, too.

The little Prouts stood at the foot of the piazza steps, staring up at these wonderful things.

At last Mary Prout reached out her hand and touched her brother. “Ain’t I dreaming?” she said. “No, I ain’t. But Tommy! Ain’t they beautiful!”