"Well, Susan," said her Father, "do you like the monkeys?"
"Oh Father!" answered the little girl, clasping her hands, "I am so glad—I am so happy! They are exactly alike—how I shall love them, the dear little toads."
"Toads," said her Father, laughing; "they don't look a bit like toads."
"Well, I said that because I loved them so," replied Susan, "just as you sometimes call me your little mouse."
For two weeks, the little twins slept together in the great chair, and there was no end to Susan's wonder and delight. Her Mother had to tie a bit of red silk around the wrist of one of them, to tell them apart. They grew very fast, and were the dearest little fellows in the world, they had such bright merry black eyes, and were always ready to have a frolic with Susan. As they grew up, they were so good, and so pretty, that every body loved them, and a great many people came to see them. I forgot to tell you that one was named George and the other James.
One day, when the twins were three years old, they were left alone in the breakfast room. The things on the breakfast table had been cleared away, except a bowl nearly full of sugar, which was standing on the table.
Presently the little fellows spied the bowl of sugar. "George," said James, "if you will help me with this chair, I will give you some sugar."
So both the boys took hold of the heavy chair, and dragged it to the table. Then James helped George to climb upon it, and from that he scrambled up on the table. He walked across, to where the sugar was, and sat down on the table, and took the sugar bowl in his lap.
"Now you get the bench," said George.
So James got the bench, and put it close to the side of the table where George was, and stood upon it.