Then there was a scramble. A lot climbed into their chairs, while heads were ducked under the table, to find—the twins! Yes, the twins, chuckling fit to kill themselves!
“We noo we’d fighten you,” they cried, as they popped out. “We noo you’d sing out. We was sittin’ under there ever so long.”
“You ought to be sent home,” cried Colin, hotly; but all the others laughed.
“Did you think we was mad dogs?” they cried, in great glee. “We said we’d fighten you a long time ago.”
Then they patted their little velvet suits and straightened their little lace collars, and looked nicer than ever. Then everyone roared with laughter, and the supper went on merrily, as though there was no such thing in the world as drought or hard times.
And when the buggies came round for the homeward return there were laughing good-byes and all kinds of promises, while the waiting horses champed at their bits, or a big motor throbbed as if in protest at being kept so long. Good-byes were flung back across the cold night air, as at last they rolled away home, saying it was the nicest party that ever was.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A WEEK ON THE RIVER.
The time had come at last, and a merry party gathered to go off to the river. They had chosen a spot a few miles from “Gillong.” The Hudsons, the Garlands, Enid and some of her friends, and the governess made up the party.
Old Joe drove the cart with the tents, hammocks, and bags and boxes, and after a lot of persuasion he let the twins and Doris drive with him.
“But, mind you, none of your tricks or nonsense,” he threatened. “Doris is as bad as the pair of you now.”