At the very same moment that Nora had flung herself upon the little lady in black, two other small arms were clinging round Mr. Crawford’s neck 220 NORA’S TWIN SISTER CHAPTER I NORA ENTERTAINS THE JUDSONS “And Tommy began to run, and he ran and ran till he came to the top of the kitchen stairs, and then he tripped, and went bump, bump, all the way down to the bottom. And then he gave an awful scream, and sat up, and where do you think he found himself? Right in his own bed, with his mother leaning over him, saying, ‘Why, Tommy darling, whatever is the matter? You must have had a bad dream.’ And Tommy put his hand up to his mouth, and there wasn’t any orange-tree growing out of it at all. It was all just a dream, but he had such a dreadful scare, he never, never swallowed another orange-pit as long as he lived.” Nora paused, being rather out of breath, and her audience gave a long sigh of relief. “It’s very funny,” remarked May, reflectively. “You’ve told us that story a good many times, and we know just how it’s going to end, but every time you come to the part where the doctor pulls out his long knife, and says, ‘We shall have to cut Tommy open,’ I always have chills down my back.” Nora smiled with the pardonable pride of the accomplished story-teller. “I get rather excited at that part myself,” she admitted, “though of course it’s very silly, because I made it all up. Put your arms under the bedclothes, Jimmy, or you’ll take cold and send the rash in.” “Well, suppose I do, it won’t make any difference, and if the rash goes in perhaps I won’t feel so uncomfortable,” argued Jimmy, who always objected to prompt obedience. “You’d die,” stated his sister, calmly. “People always die when the rash goes in.” “Shucks!” retorted Jimmy, but he took the precaution to draw the bedclothes up over his arms once more, nevertheless. The prospect of dying was not an agreeable one. His sister May was ten, and he was only eight and a half, and it was natural to suppose that a person nearly two years his senior might know more on certain subjects, even if that person did happen to be a girl. “It’s great to have you come and tell us stories when Papa and Mamma are out,” observed May, politely. “Wasn’t it lucky you caught the measles first! If you had been sick at the same time with us, Mamma says she doesn’t know what in the world she would have done. You do make up such good stories, Nora. I don’t see how you ever think of them all.” “Mother says I get my imagination from my father,” said Nora. “He was a great Irish actor, you know, and he wrote plays and poems, too, only no publisher would ever take them, because they were too good to suit the public.”