Of their father they had no vivid recollection, he having died from the effects of an accident in the hunting-field when Marcia was a wee girl of three.
"I am sure you will have a welcome, mother," went on Kenneth; "at least from Cinderella—her grandmother, too, is all right when you know her."
"How silly it sounds to call a child like that 'Cinderella,'" said Gertie, rather scornfully, for somehow Kenneth's praises of Ella Russell did not please her at all.
"I don't call it silly!" Here Marcia put her spoke in the wheel. "I think it sounds pretty."
"Cinderella is my name for her, whether you like it or not," said Kenneth obstinately.
"And you would like me to be her Fairy Godmother, Ken; isn't that so?" asked Mrs. Snowden with a smile.
It was no new thing for Kenneth to plead the cause of the lonely or helpless, for unselfishness and consideration for others were very prominent traits in his character.
Rupert was by far the more brilliant of the two, so much so, that at school the twins were called the Hare and the Tortoise. Nevertheless, as in proof of the truth of the fable, more than once the steady-going tortoise had outstripped the hare.
That self-same afternoon Mrs. Snowden, bidding the four children keep out of mischief, wended her way to Rose Cottage to inquire after the little sufferer. After which she was going to the village, bent on various errands of mercy.
"I vote we have a bit of fun this afternoon to amuse ourselves," said Rupert, soon after his mother's back was turned; "what say you youngsters to a slide on Barwell's pond?"