deal with the twins. Shortly after that he had died with so little
warning that he had only time to make out a check in their favour for
the balance entrusted to him. The twins had held high carnival until the
money was almost gone. The bequest from the Australian uncle had reached
them just in time, so, with thankful hearts, they celebrated and had
done so annually ever since.

Untrammelled by convention and restraint, they thrived like weeds in
their ancestral domicile, which was now sadly in need of repair.
Occasionally some daring prank set the neighbourhood by the ears, but,
for the most part, the twins behaved very well and attended strictly to
their own affairs. They ate when they were hungry, slept when they were
sleepy, and, if they desired to sit up until four in the morning,
reading, they did so. A woman who had a key to the back door came in
every morning, at an uncertain hour, to wash the dishes, sweep, dust,
and to make the beds if they chanced to be unoccupied.

As Romeo had said, the chimney had blown down and several loose bricks
lay upon the roof. They had a small vegetable garden, fenced in, and an
itinerant gardener looked after it, in Summer, but they had no flowers,
because they maintained a large herd of stray dogs, mostly mongrels,
that would have had no home had it not been for the hospitable twins.
Romeo bought the choicest cuts of beef for them and fed them himself.
Occasionally they added another to their collection and, at the last
census, had nineteen.

Their house would have delighted Madame Bernard--it was so eminently
harmonious and suitable. The ragged carpets showed the floor in many
places, and there were no curtains at any of the windows. Romeo
cherished a masculine distaste for curtains and Juliet did not trouble