She went downstairs very soberly. The day had lost some of its early glamour already, but within another hour it was destined to become for Erica a very gray day indeed. Shortly before noon she heard a familiar whistling of an old sea tune from the garden that adjoined the house of her Folger cousins, next door. She went quickly through the dining-room door, out onto the sunny side porch, and whistled vigorously in response. A tall, long-legged boy of fifteen swung himself easily over the low dividing fence, and was followed by a second long-legged boy, so exactly like him that a stranger might well have been excused for believing his own eyesight was playing him tricks. The only difference between them, which even a keen observer would have noticed at first glance, was that the fair hair of the boy first over the fence had an unruly kink in it that made it stand wildly on end at the slightest provocation, while the equally fair hair of his twin—for they could have been nothing else—was as straight and smooth and tractable as hair could be. They came up the bricked path side by side, and then, at sight of Erica on the steps, stopped, stared incredulously, and went off into wild whoops of uproarious laughter. Erica, one hand consciously touching her short locks, waited with obvious impatience until the two saw fit to come to order. “Yes, I cut it off,” she said, hotly. “You would, too, long ago, if you’d had to drag those everlasting braids about everywhere. It’s comfortable, anyway.” “Well, it looks queer,” the straight-haired twin said, bluntly. “But I guess it likely does feel more comfortable.” “And there’s no good talking, as long as it’s cut,” the curly-haired twin added, good-naturedly. “Besides, Rick, we came over to talk about something much more important.” Both boys’ faces sobered instantly, making them look, somehow, a good deal older. They sat down on the lowest step of the porch and looked up at the girl standing above them. “We’ve settled the big question at last, Rick,” the one who had spoken last announced. “We spun a coin for it, and Lis stays home with mother and _I_ go to sea as cabin boy in the _Flying Spray_, sailing out of Boston next week, bound for Macao, Canton, and Cochin-China. Hurrah! Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” Some of the bright color faded from Erica’s face. She glanced at the straight-haired boy in swift interrogation. He nodded, his own face clouded. “Yes, Rick, Tommy gets all the luck and adventure, this trip,” he said, ruefully. “Mother can’t be left alone while she’s so poorly, so we agreed to let the toss of a coin settle which was to go and which to stay. No sense in both of us being tied on Nantucket; and this chance came up unexpectedly through Captain Bartlet of the _Spray_ being here for a few days with his sister—Mrs. Macy, you know, over on Pearl Street. He wants a boy for his next trip.”