“Ye didn’t! Fer the love of green corn, where was ye brung up?”
“In the city; and summers we had to go to hotels, and we never even saw a garden dug.”
“Come on, then; but ye mustn’t bother.”
“No, we won’t bother,” and with a hop, skip, and jump, they followed Pat to the toolhouse. There was such an array of spades, hoes, rakes, and other implements, that Dick cried out: “Oh, let us garden, too! Pat, can’t we each have a little garden,—just a square patch, you know, and plant things in it?”
“Arrah, a garden, is it? An’ who’d be afther weedin’ it, an’ keepin’ it in order fer ye?”
“Why, we’d do it ourselves,” declared Dolly, fixing her eyes on Pat with her most coaxing smile. “Do let us, Pat, dear.”
“Well, ye must ask yer aunties. I cudden’t give no such permission of myself.”
Away flew the twins to the house, in search of the aunties, and when the twins ran, it was a swift performance indeed. They held hands, and their feet flew up and down so fast that they looked like some queer sort of windmill rolling along.
Bang! in at the front door they went, and almost upset Miss Rachel, who was serenely crossing the hall.
“Oh, Auntie, may we have a garden?” shouted Dick, seizing his aunt’s hand, and leaning up against her to steady himself after his exhausting run.