“That’s the trouble with eating two plates of griddle-cakes, you mean,” retorted Laurie. “Anyway, I’m hungry if you’re not. Let’s go.”
But he made no move, and they continued to dangle their shoes from the wall and gaze lazily across the shady street. The scissors-grinder’s chime died in the distance. Farther down the street the whirring of a lawn-mower competed with the locust.
“Upon a wall they sat them down,” murmured Ned, turning a challenging look on his companion.
“Lost in the wilds of Orstead Town,” added Laurie.
Ned nodded mild approval and once more silence held.
Save that one was dressed in gray and the other in blue, the two boys were strikingly alike. Each was slim of body and round of face, with red-brown hair and a short, slightly impertinent nose. Ned’s eyes were a trifle bluer than Laurie’s and he had the advantage—if advantage it was—of some five pounds of weight. But neither of these facts was apparent at first glance. Faces and hands were well browned and the pair looked extremely healthy. They were dressed neatly, with perhaps more attention to detail than is usual in lads of their age, their attire terminating at one end in well-polished brown shoes and at the other in immaculate black derbies. Their age was fifteen years, three months, and eleven days. Which, of course, leads you to the correct conclusion that they were twins.
“Maybe,” hazarded Laurie, presently, “we’ve lost our way.”
“Don’t just see how we could,” Ned objected. “The old chap at the station said we were to keep right along up Walnut Street. This is still Walnut Street, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” Laurie’s glance strayed right and left. “Must be; I don’t see any walnuts.”
“Guess the only ‘nuts’ are right here. Come on, let ’s hit the trail again.” Ned slid to his feet and took up his burden. “Why the dickens we didn’t take that carriage the fellow wanted to sell us is more than I see.”