Here, said the old man lifting a garment out of the trunk. Here is a shir—shir—what do you call it? Well, it is a shir-shirt.
The girls blushed, and the old man noticed it.
Here, girls, you go through the trunk. It is so long since I have had anything to do with women’s-ware, that I have forgotten their names and how they are worn. There are two red flannel dresses that look exactly alike. Put them on, and while you are fixing up, I will go out and look at the river.
The old man walked to the head of the island. The storm had ceased, and the moon was shining brightly. The waves continued to roll over the rift and dash against the rocks. Something appeared on the rift that had the appearance of being a human being. On examination, there appeared to be several of them all huddled in one mass. No signs of life were visible, and the waves continued to pound their bodies against the rocks.
When the old man returned, he found the girls dressed in red flannel suits, white aprons, blue stockings and gaudy hats, trimmed with white and yellow feathers.
By jingo, he exclaimed. If you two girls wasn’t run in the same mould, then I am no judge of human nature. Gosh darn it! If you don’t look so much alike that I can’t tell which from which.
You are in error there, my good man. We are no relation. I never saw this girl until I saw her here, remarked Cora.
How is that you both came on shore in the same boat and at the same time?
That is so. Yet I never saw her before.