Among Mr. Lambert’s pet aversions were Unpunctuality and Laziness, and no one had better reason to know this than Jane. Nevertheless, she infringed upon the iron-bound rules of the household every day of her life, and cheerfully paid her penalties with a sort of serene stoicism. She had inherited from her placid, happy-tempered mother a vigorous dislike of physical discomfort, and a calm way of doing what she wanted, and then good-naturedly paying the piper as circumstances demanded.
In the adjoining room, the twins, Wilhelmine (or Minie) and Lottie could be heard chattering and laughing in their fresh, sweet voices. Shivering, but rosy and wide-awake, the two little girls were dressed in their warm woolen frocks inside of ten minutes. Since they were six years old, Mr. Lambert had permitted no one to help them but themselves; and so, with their little cold red fingers they buttoned each other’s dress and plaited each other’s smooth, shining yellow hair; then set to work making up their wooden beds, sweeping, dusting, and putting their room to rights.
At half-past six came the summons to breakfast, which had already been announced by appetizing odors of porridge and frying bacon.
Little Minie, running past her sister’s door, glanced in, and stood transfixed with horror at the sight of Jane rolled up like a dormouse, and still dozing peacefully.
“Oh, Ja-ane!”
A head covered with curly, reddish hair rose above the mountain of bed-clothes; a pair of sleepy eyes blinked at the little girl.
“Um.” A yawn. “What time is it?”
“It’s half-past thix, and breakfath’s all ready, and you’ll be late again, Jane. Whatever will Papa thay!” This was Lottie, who never failed to join her twin on any occasion of grave importance. The two plump, rosy-cheeked little girls, with their stiffly starched white pinafores, and with their yellow pig-tails sticking out at the sides of their heads, were as much alike as a pair of Dresden ornaments. They stood now, hand-in-hand, their china-blue eyes round with reproof and dismay, gazing at lazy Jane.
“I’ve got a—a headache,” announced Jane unblushingly, “I don’t think I’ll go to school to-day.”
“O-oh, Jane!” remonstrated the twins in chorus.