line. Back at our house, in town, there was washing on our line, too. Peggy had been up early that morning, doing laundry.
Father jiggled the reins and the horses trotted ahead.
"We have more laundry than they do," I commented, "because of Mary. What a chore a baby is."
Father laughed. "Wait until you see what things are like at the Shafers house, with those twins just born. You'll be glad we have only Mary to tend."
The Stoltz farm was slipping out of sight behind us. I shaded my eyes with my hand, looked back, and could see Jacob still, cap clamped on his head.
"He didn't even wave at you," Jessie commented. "I thought you said he was your friend. If I saw a friend go past, I would wave. I would call out 'Hello!' and I would watch and watch until my friend disappeared down the road. I would be waving the whole time."
"Well, Jacob forgets his manners," I explained, trying to excuse him.
Father chuckled. "The Stoltz boy is somewhat different, Jessie. He does things his own way."
"Very talented, too," I added, to impress Jessie. "He can do imitations of almost anything. He's probably making the clickety-clickety noise of that hay cutter right now. Don't you think so, Father?"
"I expect so. It's quite a feat, to imitate sounds the way he does."
"Listen!" Jessie commanded. "I can imitate a chickadee." She began to make the
chick-a-dee-dee-dee
sound over and over. I could even see the horses twitch their ears a bit. They were accustomed to me and Father and our quiet talk. But Jessie called out, imitating different birds, and wiggled in her seat until Father had to put his hand on her to keep her still. I was glad when finally we reached the Shafers' farm over the hill, brought the horses to a stop in their dooryard, and Father lifted Jessie and me both down. Two little boys were playing there together, lifting rocks into a wooden wagon.
"Hello, Benny," Father said. "Hello, William. How are you boys? Do you like your new babies?"
One boy, busy stacking the rocks in some kind of pattern, ignored him completely. The other scowled and shook his head no.
"Well," said Father, "I'll go in and ask your mother if she d like to send them back." Laughing, he led Jessie and me to the door, just as it was opened by Mrs. Shafer.
Â
"What are their names?" Jessie asked. "And are they boys or girls? And why don't they have any hair?"
I thought she was rude, but Mrs. Shafer didn't seem to mind. She smiled. "One of each," she said. "No names yet. And as for hairâwell, maybe they take after their father."
The two bald babies were both asleep, lying side by side on the kitchen table, where she had placed them for my father to make his examination. Father, opening his bag in the corner of the room, looked over with a smile. "Ben had plenty of hair once, Harriet," he said to Mrs. Shafer. "When we were boys in school together, he had a full head. Curly, if I remember it right.
"I seem to recall that the girls admired that hair quite a bit," he went on, in a teasing voice. "Can't think why he lost it so early. Haven't you been treating him right?"
He turned his attention to the babies, unwrapping the blanket from one and moving its arms and legs gently up and down, bending and
unbending them. I watched while he leaned over with his stethoscope and listened to the baby's heart, holding the instrument gently against the tiny chest. I could see the baby's ribs.
I knew enough not to speak while he was listening, but when Father stood back, I whispered to him. "That baby's smaller than Mary was when she was born. They both are."
"Much smaller," he agreed. "Twins usually are. And these two were born early. We feared for them, didn't we, Harriet?"
Mrs. Shafer nodded. "That's why they have no names yet. I didn't want to give names only to see them carved on gravestones."
Father was leaning over the second twin now, looking closely at it, moving its arms and legs, listening to it breathe. I watched as he measured both of their
Father jiggled the reins and the horses trotted ahead.
"We have more laundry than they do," I commented, "because of Mary. What a chore a baby is."
Father laughed. "Wait until you see what things are like at the Shafers house, with those twins just born. You'll be glad we have only Mary to tend."
The Stoltz farm was slipping out of sight behind us. I shaded my eyes with my hand, looked back, and could see Jacob still, cap clamped on his head.
"He didn't even wave at you," Jessie commented. "I thought you said he was your friend. If I saw a friend go past, I would wave. I would call out 'Hello!' and I would watch and watch until my friend disappeared down the road. I would be waving the whole time."
"Well, Jacob forgets his manners," I explained, trying to excuse him.
Father chuckled. "The Stoltz boy is somewhat different, Jessie. He does things his own way."
"Very talented, too," I added, to impress Jessie. "He can do imitations of almost anything. He's probably making the clickety-clickety noise of that hay cutter right now. Don't you think so, Father?"
"I expect so. It's quite a feat, to imitate sounds the way he does."
"Listen!" Jessie commanded. "I can imitate a chickadee." She began to make the
chick-a-dee-dee-dee
sound over and over. I could even see the horses twitch their ears a bit. They were accustomed to me and Father and our quiet talk. But Jessie called out, imitating different birds, and wiggled in her seat until Father had to put his hand on her to keep her still. I was glad when finally we reached the Shafers' farm over the hill, brought the horses to a stop in their dooryard, and Father lifted Jessie and me both down. Two little boys were playing there together, lifting rocks into a wooden wagon.
"Hello, Benny," Father said. "Hello, William. How are you boys? Do you like your new babies?"
One boy, busy stacking the rocks in some kind of pattern, ignored him completely. The other scowled and shook his head no.
"Well," said Father, "I'll go in and ask your mother if she d like to send them back." Laughing, he led Jessie and me to the door, just as it was opened by Mrs. Shafer.
Â
"What are their names?" Jessie asked. "And are they boys or girls? And why don't they have any hair?"
I thought she was rude, but Mrs. Shafer didn't seem to mind. She smiled. "One of each," she said. "No names yet. And as for hairâwell, maybe they take after their father."
The two bald babies were both asleep, lying side by side on the kitchen table, where she had placed them for my father to make his examination. Father, opening his bag in the corner of the room, looked over with a smile. "Ben had plenty of hair once, Harriet," he said to Mrs. Shafer. "When we were boys in school together, he had a full head. Curly, if I remember it right.
"I seem to recall that the girls admired that hair quite a bit," he went on, in a teasing voice. "Can't think why he lost it so early. Haven't you been treating him right?"
He turned his attention to the babies, unwrapping the blanket from one and moving its arms and legs gently up and down, bending and
unbending them. I watched while he leaned over with his stethoscope and listened to the baby's heart, holding the instrument gently against the tiny chest. I could see the baby's ribs.
I knew enough not to speak while he was listening, but when Father stood back, I whispered to him. "That baby's smaller than Mary was when she was born. They both are."
"Much smaller," he agreed. "Twins usually are. And these two were born early. We feared for them, didn't we, Harriet?"
Mrs. Shafer nodded. "That's why they have no names yet. I didn't want to give names only to see them carved on gravestones."
Father was leaning over the second twin now, looking closely at it, moving its arms and legs, listening to it breathe. I watched as he measured both of their
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