The Wrong Twin | Page 2

fine the heart's blood out of you."
* * * * *
Midway between these periods of very early and very late Newbern
there was once a shining summer morning on which the Cowan twins,
being then nine years old, set out from the Penniman home to pick wild
blackberries along certain wooded lanes that environed the town. They
were bare-footed, wearing knee pants buttoned to calico waists, these
being patterned with small horseshoes which the twins had been told by
their father would bring them good luck. They wore cloth caps, and
carried tin pails for their berries. These would be sold to the Pennimans
at an agreed price of five cents a quart, and it was Winona's hope that
the money thus earned on a beautiful Saturday morning would on
Sunday be given to the visiting missionary lately returned from China.
Winona had her doubts, however, chiefly of Wilbur Cowan's keenness
for proselyting, on his own income, in foreign lands. Too often with
money in hand, he had yielded to the grosser tyranny of the senses.
The twins ran races in the soft dust of the highway until they reached
the first outlying berry patch. Here they became absorbed in their work.
They were finding well-laden bushes along the fence of what to-day is
known as the old graveyard.
Newbern now has a sophisticated new cemetery, with carved marble
and tall shafts of polished granite, trimmed shrubs, and garnished
mounds, contrasting--as the newer town to the old--with the dingy
inclosure where had very simply been inhumed the dead of that simpler
day. In the new cemetery blackberry bushes would not be permitted.
Along the older plot they flourished. The place itself is over-grown
with rank grasses, with ivy run wild, with untended shrubs, often hiding

the memorials, which are mostly of brown sandstone or gray slate. It
lies in deep shadow under cypress and willow. It is very still under the
gloom of its careless growths--a place not reassuring to the
imaginative.
The bottoms of the tin pails had been covered with berries found
outside the board fence, and now a hunt for other laden bushes led the
twins to a trove of ripened fruit partly outside and partly inside that plot
where those of old Newbern had been chested and laid unto their
fathers. There was, of course, no question as to the ownership of that
fruit out here. It was any one's. There followed debate on a possible
right to that which grew abundantly beyond the fence. By some strange
but not unprecedented twisting of the mature mind of authority, might
it not belong to those inside, or to those who had put them there?
Further, would Mrs. Penniman care to make pies of blackberries--even
the largest and ripest yet found--that had grown in a graveyard?
"They taste just the same," announced the Wilbur twin, having, after a
cautious survey, furtively reached through two boards of the fence to
retrieve a choice cluster.
"I guess nobody would want 'em that owns 'em," conceded Wilbur.
"Well, you climb over first."
"We better both go together at the same time."
"No, one of us better try it first and see; then, if it's all right, I'll climb
over, too."
"Aw, I know a better patch up over West Hill in the Whipple woods."
"What you afraid of? Nobody would care about a few old
blackberries."
"I ain't afraid."
"You act like it, I must say. If you wasn't afraid you'd climb that fence

pretty quick, wouldn't you? Looky, the big ones!"
The Wilbur twin reflected on this. It sounded plausible. If he wasn't
afraid, of course he would climb that fence pretty quick. It stood to
reason. It did not occur to him that any one else was afraid. He decided
that neither was he.
"Well, I'm afraid of things that ain't true that scare you in the dark," he
admitted, "but I ain't afraid like that now. Not one bit!"
"Well, I dare you to go."
"Well, of course I'll go. I was just resting a minute. I got to rest a little,
haven't I?"
"Well, I guess you're rested. I guess you can climb a plain and simple
fence, can't you? You can rest over there, can't you--just as well as
what you can rest here?"
The resting one looked up and down the lane, then peered forward into
the shadowy tangle of green things with its rows of headstones. Then,
inhaling deeply, he clambered to the top of the fence and leaped to the
ground beyond.
"Gee, gosh!" he cried, for he had landed on a trailing branch of
blackberry vine.
He sat down and extracted a thorn from the leathery sole of his bare
foot. The prick of the thorn had cleaned his mind of any