Both tall, both adorned with crisp curls of black hair--with
clean-shaven, mahogany faces, and the gentlest of possible smiles,
the twins came forward to greet the stranger. So appallingly alike
were they that Mr. Fogo felt a ridiculous desire to run away, nor
could help fancying himself the victim of a disordered dream.

The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously with outstretched horny
palms. He noticed that even their dress was precisely similar, with
the single exception that one wore a red, the other a yellow bandanna
handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat.


[Illustration: The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously.]


"You'm kindly welcome, sir," said the Twin with the red bandanna; and
the Twin with the yellow neck-cloth murmured "kindly welcome," like
an echo.

"Stop a bit," interposed Caleb, "let's do a bit of introducin'.
This here es Mr. Fogo, gent, as es thinkin' of rentin' Kit's House,
and es come for that puppos'. That there es Peter Dearlove--him wi'
the red neckercher; likewise Paul Dearlove--him wi' the yaller.
An', beggin' yer pardon for passin' over the ladies, this es Tamsin
Dearlove (christ'n'd Thomasina), dearly beloved sister o' the same,"
concluded Caleb, with a sudden recollection of having read something
like this on a tombstone.

Tamsin curtseyed, and the two horny palms were again presented.
Not knowing which to take first,