"How wide is the Amazon River at its mouth?" asked Sarah. "Two hundred miles," answered the twins glibly. "How wide is that?" Louisa Ellen responded. To her a river was a line on a map. She would make this river wide enough even to suit Sarah. "About as wide as the coal-bucket," answered Louisa Ellen. At that moment, before Sarah had time to explain to Louisa Ellen the phenomenal dullness of her mind, the latch of the door was lifted softly and allowed to drop. "It is Aunt Mena," said the twins together. Sarah motioned them to the settle. "Sit there till I tell you to get up," she commanded. "I will go up to the window and look down." The twins held each other's hands in fright. Was Jacob Kalb coming again to carry them out? "Aunt Mena couldn't fetch us alone," said Ellen Louisa. Then they started up in fright, realizing that Sarah was falling downstairs. She righted herself immediately, at the bottom, and rushed past them to fling wide the door. A tiny little figure stood without. "I sought I would come once home," said Albert. "So I runned off." Speech suddenly became impossible, as Albert found himself almost smothered under a multitude of caresses. When they let him go, he drew a sticky package from his blouse. "I brought some candy along for you," he said; whereupon he was almost smothered again. Never had the old farmhouse known more happiness than filled it that night. Never was waffle-batter so light or appetites so good. Then, what games! Sarah was a teacher, book in hand,--that was her favorite. Then they were children lost in the woods, and Sarah was a bear,--that was the twins'. No one but Sarah realized how strange it was that they should be playing there so contentedly. It seemed to her that a vast space of time divided this day from yesterday. It seemed almost as though her father had come back, or as though William might come in upon them. Little Sarah almost listened for his step. Then, like a warning to dream no more, there came first an imperative lifting of the latch, then a loud knock on the door. "What do you want?" asked Sarah. "Albert is to come right aways home." That was Jacob Kalb. "The twins are to come right out." That was Aunt Mena. For the first time in thirty years Aunt Mena's butter had failed to "get," and she was angry and impatient. She had forgotten her gentle intention to "tame" the twins. "Come right aways out, or you will get a good whipping." The twins looked critically at the strong wall between them and the enemy. It seemed a time when the dictates of wisdom might yield to those of personal satisfaction. "We won't," said Louisa Ellen. "Jacob Calf!" called Ellen Louisa. "Go upstairs and take Albert," commanded Sarah. Then she turned to the door. "You can't have my children." "I give you a last chance," said Aunt Mena. "I don't care for the dollar a week. Shall the twins have a good home, or shall they not have a good home?"