“You’re it, Poppy,” Prue laughed. “See if you can do it.”
Poppy tried. The twins looked up at her provokingly. Their soft brown hair waved back from their forehead with almost identical curls. Their heads, exactly the same oval shape, were pressed close together. Their red lips each smiled a twisted smile, and their golden-brown eyes, so like the color of autumn leaves, danced mischievously.
“I declare to goodness there isn’t anybody on earth that can tell you two apart,” Poppy laughed.
“Oh, but there are!” Phyllis told them. “Sally never gets us mixed up.”
“Oh, that’s easy to understand,” Gwen remarked. “Sally just asks Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot which is which, and that bird, you know, can tell her anything.”
“Just the same, it’s going to be complicating,” Ann repeated, “and I suggest that we make one of them wear something to distinguish her from the other. It need only be something tiny, just big enough for our select group,” her eyes travelled from Prue to Gladys and to Poppy and Gwen.
“That’s a mighty good idea of yours, Ann, and as representatives of the senior class”—Gwen was captain of sports—“we endorse it.”
“The question is, what shall it be?” Prue inquired.
“I know.” Gladys unpinned a tiny little gold pin that she was wearing. It was the shape of the crescent moon, and was no bigger than a good sized pea.
“It’s an old class pin I had years ago when I went to day school. I don’t know what possessed me to put it on yesterday when I left home——”