You will
try and remember Fridays, won't you?"
I made a note of it then and there.
"I am the eldest," she continued, "as I think father told you. Harry
and Jack came next; but Jack is in Canada and Harry died, so there is
somewhat of a gap between me and the rest. Bertie is twelve and Ted
eleven; they are home just now for the holidays. Sally is eight, and
then there come the twins. People don't half believe the tales that
are told about twins, but I am sure there is no need to exaggerate.
They are only six, but they have a sense of humour you would hardly
credit. One is a boy, and the other a girl. They are always
changing clothes, and we are never quite sure which is which.
Wilfrid gets sent to bed because Winnie has not practised her scales,
and Winnie is given syrup of squills because Wilfried has been eating
green gooseberries. Last spring Winnie had the measles. When the
doctor came on the fifth day he was as pleased as punch; he said it
was the quickest cure he had ever known, and that really there was no
reason why she might not get up. We had our suspicions, and they
were right. Winnie was hiding in the cupboard, wrapped up in a
blanket. They don't seem to mind what trouble they get into,
provided it isn't their own. The only safe plan, unless you happen
to catch them red-handed, is to divide the punishment between them,
and leave them to settle accounts between themselves afterwards.
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