They were clad exactly alike, in little denim overalls, faded by many washings and stiff with starch. Their feet were bare as were their heads, and clinging to one another they stared with round-eyed curiosity into the great room.
“Oh! aren’t they cute! They’re too funny for words. What’s your name, little boy? If you are a boy!” demanded Molly.
The little one shook her too familiar hand from his small shoulder and answered with a solemnity and distinctness that was amazing, when one anticipated an infantile lisp:
“A-n an, a ana, n-i ni, anani, a-s as, Ananias.”
Monty Stark rolled over backward on the floor and fairly yelled in laughter, while the laughter of the others echoed his, but nothing perturbed by this reception of his, to him, commonplace statement, master Ananias looked about in cherubic satisfaction.
Then again demanded Molly of the other midget.
“What’s yours, twinsy? For twins you must be!”
Evidently tutored as to what would be expected of her the other child replied in exact imitation of her mate and with equal clearness:
“S-a-p sap, p-h-i phi, sapphi, r-a ra, Sapphira.”
Utter silence greeted this absurd reply, then another noisy burst of laughter in which even the really disturbed Master joined.