"Who is it who speaks?" inquired Denis, in tragic tones. "I have no twin. In my direst need she deserted me—her one and only twin—her Irish boy—her brown-haired brother—oh, by Jove!" with a sudden shout of laughter, "suppose Aunt Kezia were to walk in now!"
CHAPTER XXV
Nell conned her accounts and sighed worriedly. They were in a hopeless muddle; the only clear thing about them was—the unexpectedness of the size of the total. Then she turned to Aunt Kezia's books and her own separate account of what they were spending. Finally she took a long letter from the pocket of her pinafore, and studied it anxiously. Then she rose and went slowly downstairs to the kitchen.
"What'll you 'ave for lunch, miss?" queried Sarah.
"There was some chicken left, wasn't there?"
"Nothing to speak of, miss."
"You might get it up and let me see it Sarah."
Sarah left the kitchen, and Nell sat on the table and studied the butcher's account, and her brow grew puckered.
"There, miss, not more'n enough for two."
Nell eyed the diminutive wing and leg and bit of breast anxiously. Then she laughed.