Little Pitchers.
CHAPTER I.
POLLIO AND POSY.
There were seven Pitchers in the family,—Judge Pitcher and his wife and five children; but, as the twins were the youngest of all, they were often called “the Little Pitchers.”
They were Flaxie Frizzle’s cousins; and the more I think about them, the more I think I will try to put them into a story. They lived so far away from New York, that Flaxie had never seen, and had scarcely ever heard of them. Their home was in a town we will call Rosewood, on the banks of a beautiful river, and so high up that the air was very pure and cool; only it did not seem like living on a hill, for, as far as you could see, the whole country looked nearly as flat as a table.
The twins were four years old. I don’t mean that was always their age; but they were four when our story begins. If you had looked in the great gilt-edged family Bible on the parlor-table, you would have seen that their whole names were Napoleon Bonaparte Pitcher, and Josephine Bonaparte Pitcher; but it did no great harm, for nobody called them any thing worse than Pollio and Posy.
“I don’t fink we’re twins,” said Pollio, the boy; “I fink we’re odds. We don’t look any bit alike.”
And they didn’t. Strangers often asked if Pollio belonged to the family; for he looked like a French boy, with his straight dark hair, brown eyes, and brown skin. Posy’s hair fell in golden curls; her eyes were blue, and her face very fair. Pollio was so homely and funny that it made you laugh; and she was so beautiful that it made you smile.
They had two high chairs exactly alike; only Pollio had rubbed the arms of his with his elbows, and scratched them sadly with his fork.
They had each a fur cap and tippet to wear in the winter; only Posy kept hers on a nail, and Pollio threw his down wherever he happened to be.