"We're not twins!" said Norah.
"No," said her guest, "I think you're worse!" Withdrawing, he sat in
melancholy isolation on a hen coop, and gave himself up, very
appropriately, to brooding.
"Well, I'm sorry if I broke up the party," Jim said, relinquishing the
task of polishing his leggings with marshmallow leaves and looking at
its streaked surface disconsolately. Jim might--and did--scorn coats and
waistcoats in the summer, and revel in soft shirts and felt hats; but
his riding equipment was a different matter, and from Garryowen's bit
and irons to his own boots, all had to be in apple pie order. "Norah,
may I have your hanky to rub this up? No? You haven't one! Well, I'm
surprised at you!" He rubbed it, quite ineffectually, with the crown of
his hat, and still looked pained. "Never mind, I'll get hold of some
tan stuff when I go in. What I came to say when you attacked me, young
Wally--"
"When I attacked you! I like that!" spluttered the justly indignant
Wally.
"Didn't you? I thought you did," grinned Jim. "My mistake, I suppose.
Well, anyhow, when you attacked Norah--quiet, Wally, bother you; how can
a fellow get a word out?--what I came to mention was that Dad wants us."
"Oh!" said Norah, gathering herself up. "Why didn't you say so before?"
"Too busy, and you and Wal.
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