"They shan't have us," whispered Jack. "I don't want to be adopted, do you, Jean?"
"No," agreed Jean, "not even by Mr. St. Nick or Mrs. Bobs. I reckon he'd give us lots of pretty things," she remarked after a short silence.
"But we couldn't have mother nor Nan nor Aunt Helen and we'd have to be named Pinckney or Roberts and we'd have to live here always," returned Jack. "It would be dreadful not to see our own kin, you know."
"Yes, it would," Jean answered. "I want to belong to my own mother, I reckon. Do you suppose he'll send a police officer after us?" she asked after a while.
"Oh, no, I don't believe he would do that."
"Nor soldiers."
"Of course not; he's not a general nor a king."
"Then why did we run and hide?" asked Jean with less imagination than her twin sister.
"Oh, just because he might have grabbed us and have done something or other." Jack was rather vague as to her ideas of what was possible danger to them.
"Maybe he'll forget it," said Jean when the time of imprisonment seemed becoming wearisome and when no exciting pursuit thrilled her with alarm.