Produced for Project Gutenberg by Lynn Hill
THE SCOTCH TWINS
By Lucy Fitch Perkins
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Geographical Series
THE DUTCH TWINS PRIMER. Grade I. THE DUTCH TWINS Grade III. THE ESKIMO TWINS. Grade II. THE JAPANESE TWINS. Grade IV. THE IRISH TWINS. Grade V. THE SCOTCH TWINS. Grades V and VI. THE MEXICAN TWINS. Grade VI. THE BELGIAN TWINS. Grade VI. THE FRENCH TWINS. Grade VII.
Historical Series
THE CAVE TWINS. Grade IV. THE SPARTAN TWINS. Grades V-VI.
Each volume is illustrated by the author
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY LUCY PITCH PERKINS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
I. THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE II. THE RABBIT AND THE GAMEKEEPER III. THE SABBATH IV. THE NEW BOY V. EVENING IN THE WEE BIT HOOSIE VI. TWO DISCOVERIES VII. THE CLAN VIII. THE POACHERS IX. A RAINY DAY X. ON THE TRAIL XI. ANGUS NIEL AND THE CANNY CLAN XII. NEWS XIII. THE NEW LAIRD GLOSSARY SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS
THE SCOTCH TWINS
I.
THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE ON THE BRAE
If you had peeped in at the window of a little gray house on a heathery hillside in the Highlands of Scotland one Saturday morning in May some years ago, you might have seen Jean Campbell "redding up" her kitchen. It was a sight best seen from a safe distance, for, though Jean was only twelve years old, she was a fierce little housekeeper every day in the week, and on Saturday, when she was getting ready for the Sabbath, it was a bold person indeed who would venture to put himself in the path of her broom. To be sure, there was no one in the family to take such a risk except her twin brother Jock, her father, Robin Campbell, the Shepherd of Glen Easig, and True Tammas, the dog, for the Twins' mother had "slippit awa'" when they were only ten years old, leaving Jean to take a woman's care of her father and brother and the little gray house on the brae.
On this May morning Jean woke up at five o'clock and peeped out of the closet bed in which she slept to take a look at the day. The sun had already risen over the rocky crest of gray old Ben Vane, the mountain back of the house, and was pouring a stream of golden sunlight through the eastern windows of the kitchen. The kettle was singing over the fire in the open fireplace, a pan of skimmed milk for the calf was warming by the hearth, and her father was just going out, with the pail on his arm, to milk the cow. She looked across the room at the bed in the corner by the fireplace to see if Jock were still asleep. All she could see of him was a shock of sandy hair, two eyes tight shut, and a freckled nose half buried in the bed-clothes.
"Wake up, you lazy laddie," she called out to him, "or when I get my clothes on I'll waken you with a wet cloth! Here's the sun looking in at the windows to shame you, and Father already gone to the milking."
Jock opened one sleepy blue eye.
"Leave us alone, now, Jeanie," he wheedled. "I was just having a sonsie wee bit of a dream. Let me finish, and syne I'll tell you all about it."
"Indeed, and you'll do nothing of the kind" retorted Jean, with spirit. "Up with you, mannie, or I'll be dressed before you, and I ken very well you'd not like to be beaten by a lassie, and her your own sister, too."
