It was not very kind of him to load the poor things up with a secret like that, which would be always flying to their tongues' ends every time they heard any one speak of the strangers as twins, and would become harder and harder to hang on to with every recurrence of the temptation to tell it, while the torture of retaining it would increase with every new strain that was applied; but he never thought of that, and probably would not have worried much about it if he had. A visitor was announced--some one to see the twins. They withdrew to the parlor, and the two old ladies began to discuss with interest the strange things which they had been listening to. When they had finished the matter to their satisfaction, and Aunt Betsy rose to go, she stopped to ask a question: “How does things come on between Roweny and Tom Driscoll?” “Well, about the same. He writes tolerable often, and she answers tolerable seldom.” “Where is he?” “In St. Louis, I believe, though he's such a gadabout that a body can't be very certain of him, I reckon.” “Don't Roweny know?” “Oh, yes, like enough. I haven't asked her lately.” “Do you know how him and the judge are getting along now?” “First rate, I believe. Mrs. Pratt says so; and being right in the house, and sister to the one and aunt to t'other, of course she ought to know. She says the judge is real fond of him when he's away; but frets when he's around and is vexed with his ways, and not sorry to have him go again. He has been gone three weeks this time--a pleasant thing for both of them, I reckon.” “Tom's rather harum-scarum, but there ain't anything bad in him, I guess.” “Oh, no, he's just young, that's all. Still, twenty-three is old, in one way. A young man ought to be earning his living by that time. If Tom were doing that, or was even trying to do it, the judge would be a heap better satisfied with him. Tom's always going to begin, but somehow he can't seem to find just the opening he likes.” “Well, now, it's partly the judge's own fault. Promising the boy his property wasn't the way to set him to earning a fortune of his own. But what do you think--is Roweny beginning to lean any toward him, or ain't she?” Aunt Patsy had a secret in her bosom; she wanted to keep it there, but nature was too strong for her. She drew Aunt Betsy aside, and said in her most confidential and mysterious manner: “Don't you breathe a syllable to a soul--I'm going to tell you something. In my opinion Tom Driscoll's chances were considerable better yesterday than they are to-day.” “Patsy Cooper, what do you mean?” “It's so, as sure as you're born. I wish you could 'a' been at breakfast and seen for yourself.” “You don't mean it!” “Well, if I'm any judge, there's a leaning--there's a leaning, sure.” “My land! Which one of 'em is it?” “I can't say for certain, but I think it's the youngest one--Anjy.”