"What an age you've been, Kath!" she cried impetuously. "Elsa and I thought you were never coming. Did you get what we wanted?"
"Yes, yes, Olive, I have it all right, but give me time to breathe," said Kathleen, as her younger sister began scrimmaging in her pocket. "Mind you don't upset it!"
"You dear old granny, how can it be upset if it isn't opened yet?" was the laughing reply, as Olive succeeded in securing a large tin of enamel. "But, oh! Kath, what shall we do for a brush?" And her face fell considerably at the thought.
"Well, I may be a 'granny,' but even they can be useful, for I had the sense to bring not only one, but two brushes!" And Kathleen produced them with a merry laugh.
"Well, you are a dear old darling"; and Olive hugged her sister rapturously. "Now Elsa and I can both paint at the same time. Send the children to Nanny, Kath, and then come up quickly to the 'den.' We've only half an hour before tea."
She flew up the shabbily carpeted stairs, two steps at a time, and finally arrived at the top story, breathless. Bursting into one of the roomy attics, Olive sank down upon the first chair she came to from sheer want of breath; but she quickly got up again with an exclamation of dismay, for she remembered now it was too late that that was where she had hastily stood the saucer of turpentine she had been using when she rushed off downstairs to meet Kathleen.
"What's the matter, couldn't Kath get the paint?" queried a voice from the other end of the quaint, odd-shaped room, and her twin-sister came slowly forward.
Strangers never knew Olive and Elsa Franklyn apart, so much alike were they in outward appearance, the dark hair and eyes, full rosy lips and slightly upturned nose of the one being a perfect replica of the other. But the similarity was only external; in habits and character they were as widely diverse as the poles. Elsa was as quiet and methodical as Olive was noisy and impetuous in her actions; indeed their mother sometimes said she wished they could have been a little less alike outwardly, and a little more alike inwardly. It would have been better in every way, she thought; only it was two Elsas, not two Olives, that she would have chosen.
"Oh, I say, mother will be frantic!" cried Olive, as she vainly endeavoured to see the extent of the damage done to her light grey dress. Fortunately, the saucer did not contain much more than the dregs of the turpentine cook had given them, somewhat gingerly; but alas! the old bookcase and table that Olive had been seized with a desire to rejuvenate, had been scarlet during the last phase of their existence, so that the turpentine they had been cleaning them with had become decidedly reddish! Consequently the skirt had taken that tone.
"You have made yourself in a mess," was all Elsa could say, as she stood helplessly looking at the ugly stain which was growing visibly larger, for the material had soaked up all the mixture.