CHAPTER II.

THE TWINS' JOKE.

AS for Geraldine, when the bull met Joe, and she heard the bellow of pain that showed he had encountered his match, the child had dropped senseless upon the grass. There she lay, while Gerald meanwhile had picked himself up and, none the worse for his hard run, had found his way home. The little girl was still there when Joe came back to look after her, after securing his unruly charge.

"Was there ever such an unselfish, plucky, clever little lady!" said the kind old fellow to himself as he lifted the child tenderly, thankful to see in the small white face signs of returning consciousness.

Slowly the fluttering eyelids lifted, and a look of intelligence dawned in the great dark eyes. Then her lips moved.

"Thank you, Joe," she whispered. "Is Gerry safe?" And she gazed eagerly up in the man's face.

"Which if Gerry means the young gent as was with you, miss, he's safe as eggs," replied Joe. "He have gone home; I see him just in front of the paddock as I were comin' back to find you, which I think he might have come hisself to see where you was, more partic'lar as you'd just done the cleverest, neatest, bravest dodge, and took all the danger on yourself to save him. I could see what you was after, only I couldn't get up sooner to help you. But you was good and brave, little lady, and so I'd say if it was my last words."

"I don't think I deserve all that," said Dina, slipping from the man's arms to the ground, and walking by his side. "You see, Gerry's my twin brother, and I love him."

"Yes, miss, and you're the young gent's twin sister, and still he forgot you."

This came back to Dina's mind after she had gone to bed in the little room next to Gerald's, and, realising how true it was, she broke into bitter sobbing and crying. "I saved him, yet he never thought of me afterwards! No one loves me!" And faster came the tears, and deeper the sobs.

Suddenly she heard a whisper in the darkness, and a cool, smooth cheek touched her face.

"Don't, Twinnie darling—don't cry!" said Gerry's voice. "Somehow I never really understood till just now what you'd done for me, not till I was thinking it all over in bed; and I know I'm wicked sometimes, dear, but I do love you, Twinnie, I do!"

So Geraldine was comforted and fell asleep, and dreamed that she was once more in some deadly peril, and was rescued by One whom she somehow knew to be the Lord Jesus Christ. And yet she had never thanked Him, or remembered Him, or loved Him, though she had known that His life had been given for hers.

"I thought Gerry was very cruel when he seemed to have forgotten me," said the child to herself on waking from her vivid dream. "I wonder—oh, I wonder what Jesus thinks of me!"

Only for a day or two after the adventure with the bull were things in the house more peaceable. Then—all about nothing—came a great upset.

Mr. Ellis, when he heard of Geraldine's courage (which he did from Joe's master) called the children into his study, and was pleased to express himself as gratified, adding that he hoped his daughter was taking after his family and ancestors, who had always been remarkable for presence of mind.

"But what are you giggling at, children?" he asked, half offended, as the twins burst out into peals of laughter, after a glance and nudge at each other.

"Only a riddle, dad," replied Gerald, "and an old one, but not bad. Dina and I both thought of it when you said presence of mind."

"And what may this very amusing riddle be?" inquired Mr. Ellis drily.

"The question is, 'What is better than presence of mind in an accident?'" said Dina.

"How silly!" commented Mr. Ellis. "Nothing can be better," and his face maintained an unchanged gravity, though the children's eyes were dancing with merriment.

"That's not the answer, dad! Do you give it up?" cried the little girl.

Mr. Ellis gave a resigned nod of assent.

"All right, dad!" said Gerald. "The answer to 'What is better than presence of mind?' is simply 'Absence of body.'"

"Yes, dad," added Geraldine, "and we were thinking that if those family portraits of the ever-so-old Ellis folks were at all like the real people, it's rather a good thing that we haven't got their presence of mind and body here now."

Mr. Ellis suddenly looked up with real displeasure. He was absurdly proud of his family, and resented, even from his children, anything that seemed like a slight to his ancestors.

"This is quite unbearable," he said, rising from his seat. "I see I have been over-indulgent to you, and you take advantage. I am seriously displeased at your want of respect in speaking of those whose portraits you see in the dining-room. Go upstairs—both of you—and consider yourselves in disgrace for the rest of the day."