Mr. Pawket started. He reached for his spectacles, solemnly polished them, and put them on. Mrs. Pawket, bearing a large leaning tower of griddle-cakes toward the table, halted as one petrified. The twins bent over their plates, humped their shoulders, observing, "That's what they all say down to the Center." "Mr. Sykes heard it into the feedstore." "Mis' Badger says it." "They was all talkin' about it into the undertaker's." "He's going to build a new house." "His wife thinks she's goin' to like it here." Mr. Pawket took off his spectacles. His wife! Willum with a wife? The twins, now devouring griddle-cakes, turned on him with unmoved faces. "It's going to be a show-place. The butcher can tell yer all about it--a grand house like a big railroad station, all gold pipes and runnin' water." One twin turned the syrup-jug upside down; there ensued a slight scuffle between the two, each ardently attempting to hold his plate under the golden falling globules. "They'm goin' to have five ottermobiles, and one for the cook to run herself around in; there's goin' to be one room all canary-birds, and there's goin' to be a g'rage with painted winders and a steeple like a church." Mrs. Pawket sat down. She fanned herself with her apron. "Set up to the table and eat, Mawther," feebly advised Mr. Pawket. The twins, rapidly and scientifically consuming griddle-cakes, jaws working, unemotional eyes watching the effect of their statements, continued: "They goin' to build on Cedar Plains." "She's got the ideers." "He's got the money." "Just their ice-box alone is goin' to cost 'em two hundred dollars." Mr. Pawket, with sudden irritation: "Now, now, now, that ain't sensible, that ain't. Willum had ought to have talked it over with me. I'd like to 'a' reasoned with him. I could have showed him catalogues.... And them two buildin' on Cedar Plains--it's onreasonable. It'll come hard on his wife. She won't have no near neighbors; and look at how far they'll have to go for weddin's and fun'rals and all." Mrs. Pawket, suddenly bethinking her, rose and went into the "front" room, or parlor, where, from a large mantelpiece ranged with sugary-looking vases stuffed with brilliantly dyed grasses she plucked the recently arrived letter. Looking at it upside down and with nonchalance of disapproval, she put the letter before the twins, commanding: "Do as Grammar tells you and read it." "That's right," said Mr. Pawket, spooning up gravy. He retucked a kitchen towel in his neck, approving: "I don't know but what we ought to read it. There may be sumpin' in it somebody wants we should know." The twins handled the letter casually; they attacked the superscription with glib unconcern. "Hot-hell Medusa." began one twin, confidently. He was instantly corrected by the other twin. "Yah--it is not Hot-hell--it's _Ho_tel Medusa, It'ly. Yah!"