A pretty brown cottage, so small that the vines have no need to hurry themselves in climbing over it, but take plenty of time to creep along the eaves, to peep in at the windows, and even to stop and weave bowers over the doorways. Two “Baldwin” trees shade one end of the cottage, a silver-oak the other. In its rather narrow front-yard grow damask rose-bushes, sweet syringas, and a snowball-tree. In one corner of this front-yard a running-rose, called a “pink prairie-rose,” climbs to the cottage-roof, where it has delightful times with the honeysuckle and woodbine. On either side, and round about and far away, lie broad green meadows, apple-orchards, fields of waving corn, and many a sloping, sunny hill-side, on which the earliest wild flowers bloom. Ah! it must be a pleasant thing to live where one can watch the fields grow yellow with dandelions and buttercups, or white with daisies, or pink with clover; where sweet-scented honeysuckles peep in at one window, roses at another, and apple-blossoms at another; where birds sing night and morning, and sometimes all the day.

Between the hours of seven and eight, one lovely morning in June, there might have been seen, turning the corner of Prairie-rose Cottage, two travellers on horseback, each of whom carried a huckleberry-basket on his arm. These two travellers were of just the same age,—four years and ten months. The horses they rode were of the kind called saw-horses, or, as some call them, wood-horses. Both names are correct, because they are made of wood, and wood is placed upon them to be sawed.

Our young travellers were twin-brothers, and were named—the one, Jimmy Plummer; the other, Johnny Plummer. They were dressed exactly alike, and they looked exactly alike. Both had chubby cheeks, twinkling eyes, small noses, and dark, curly hair. Both wore gray frocks belted round with leather belts, and both belts were clasped with shining buckles. Their collars were white as snow. Their trousers were short, leaving off at the knee, where they were fastened with three gilt buttons. Their stockings were striped, pink and gray; the gray stripe being much wider than the pink. Their boots were button-boots. Their hats were of speckled straw; and in the hat-band of each was stuck a long, narrow, greenish feather, which looked exactly like a rooster’s feather. Their whip-handles were light blue, wound round with strips of silver tinsel; and at the end of each lash was a snapper. Their bridles were pieces of clothes-line.

The travellers were bound to Boston, so they said, to buy oranges. It was hard work to make those horses of theirs go over the ground. There isn’t very much go in that kind of horse: they are sure-footed, but not swift. But there was a great deal of make go in the two travellers. They jerked that span of horses, they pushed them, they pulled them, they made them rear up, they tumbled off behind, they tumbled off the sides, they pitched headforemost, but still did not give up; and at last came to Boston, which was, so they made believe, on the outside cellar-door.

And, as they were playing on the cellar-door, the funny man came along, and began to feel in his pockets to see what he could find.

“Halloo, Jimmyjohns!” he cried. “Don’t you want something?”

Jimmy and Johnny Plummer were best known in the neighborhood as “the Jimmyjohns.” And it seemed very proper their being called by one name; for they looked, if not just like one boy, like the same boy twice over, so that some members of their own family could hardly tell them apart. They were always together: what one did the other did, and what one had the other had. If one asked for pudding four times, the other asked for pudding four times; and when one would have another spoonful of sauce, so would the other. And it was quite wonderful, everybody said, that, in playing together, they were never known to quarrel. People often tried to guess which was Jimmy, and which was Johnny; but very few guessed rightly.

The funny man felt in every one of his pockets, and found—a piece of chalk. The Jimmyjohns laughed. They had seen him feel in every one of his pockets before, and knew that nothing better than chalk, or buttons, or tack-nails, would come out of them.

“Now,” said the funny man, “I’m going to guess which is Jimmy, and which is Johnny. No, I can’t guess. But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll turn up a cent. There it goes. See here: if it turns up head, this sitting-down boy’s Jimmy; tail, he’s Johnny. Now then. Pick it up out of the grass. Head? Yes, head. Then this sitting-down boy’s Jimmy. Right? Are you sitting-down boy Jimmy?”

“No, sir. Johnny.”

“Johnny? How do you know you are Johnny?”

Johnny laughed, looked down, turned up the corner of his frock, and showed there a bit of red flannel, about the size of a red peppermint, stitched on the wrong side. Mrs. Plummer, it seems, had put red flannel peppermints on Johnny’s clothes, and blue flannel peppermints on Jimmy’s, so that each could tell his own.

The funny man passed on, but had hardly gone ten steps before he turned, and said to the Jimmyjohns, “Why don’t you go a-rowing?” They answered, because they had no boat. He told them Dan took a tub for a boat. Then they said they had no water. The funny man was just at that moment stepping over the fence; but he answered back, speaking very loud, “Dan plays grass is water.”

The Jimmyjohns looked at each other.

“Ask him what oars Dan takes,” said Johnny.

“You ask him too,” said Jimmy.

So they called out both together, “What oars does Dan take?” And then, the funny man being by that time far along the road, they scampered to the fence, scrambled up, leaned over the top-rail, and shouted loud as they could, “What oars does Dan take?”

The funny man turned, held one hand to one ear to catch the sounds, and shouted back, speaking one word at a time, “Can’t—hear—what—you—say!”

“What—oars—does—DAN—T-A-K-E?” bawled the Jimmyjohns, holding on to the last word as long as their breath lasted.

“Takes—brooms! Dan—takes—BROOMS!” the funny man bawled back; then walked away quite fast.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck! Cluck, cluck, cluck! Cluckerty cluck!”

That was what it sounded like; but in reality it was pretty Banty White saying to her chickens, “Hurry back! Danger! Boys! Dreadful danger!”

Madam Banty White kept house under a tub at the back of the house; and it was her tub which was going to be the boat.

“Over she goes!” cried Jimmy, giving it a knock.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck! Cluck, cluck, cluck! Cluckerty cluck!” clucked Madam Banty. “Run for your lives! For your lives!”

“Sister, sister, sister!” shouted the Jimmyjohns.

Annetta Plummer, six years old and almost seven, was often called “Sister,” and sometimes “Sissy Plummer.” Hearing the shouts, sister ran to the window, calling out, “What do you want, you little Jimmies?”

Then curly-headed, three-years-old Effie trotted to the window, stood on her tiptoes, and shouted with her cunning voice, “What oo want, oo ittle Dimmeys?”

“Throw down two brooms. Quick’s you can!”

“Little boys must say ‘Please,’” said Annetta.

“Ittel—boys—say—‘Pease,’” repeated Effie.

“Please, please, please, please!” shouted the Jimmies. Then, “Oh, dear! Oh! ma! Oh, dear! Ma! ma! Oh! Oh, dear! oh, dear!” in quite a different tone.

All the people came running to the window. “Who’s hurt? What’s the matter? Oh, they’ve tumbled down! they’ve tumbled down!”

The flour-barrel was at the bottom of it all. In their hurry to get the brooms, the Jimmies climbed on a flour-barrel which lay upon its side. It rolled over, and they rolled over with it. It is plain, therefore, that the flour-barrel was at the bottom of it all.

The poor Jimmyjohns cried bitterly, and the tears ran streaming down. Still they were not hurt badly, and the crying changed to kissing much sooner than usual. To explain what this means, it must be told, that when the Jimmies were little toddling things, just beginning to walk, they were constantly tumbling down, tipping over in their cradle, or bumping heads together; and Mrs. Plummer found that the best way to stop the crying at such times was to turn it into kissing. The reason of this is very plain. In crying, the mouth flies open; in kissing, it shuts. Mrs. Plummer was a wonderful woman. She found out that shutting the mouth would stop its crying, and to shut the mouth she contrived that pretty kissing plan, and at the first sound of a bump would catch up the little toddlers, put their arms round each other’s necks, and say, “Kiss Johnny, Jimmy; kiss Jimmy, Johnny.” And that was the way the habit began. They had not quite outgrown it; and it was enough to make anybody laugh to see them, in the midst of a crying spell, run toward each other, their cheeks still wet with tears, and to see their poor little twisted, crying mouths trying to shut up into a kiss.

But now must be told the sad fate of Banty White’s tub. Alas for poor Banty! Nevermore will she gather chicks under its roof.

Mrs. Plummer, it seems, allowed the Jimmies to take her third-best broom and the barn broom to row with.

“Let’s go way over there, where there’s some good grass,” said Jimmy.

“So I say,” said Johnny. “How shall we get her over?”

“Take the reins,” said Jimmy.

“Oh, yes! so I say,” said Johnny.

The reins were then taken from the horses, and tied to one tub-handle. The brooms were tied to the other tub-handle, and so dragged behind. The Jimmies hoisted the tub over the fence into the field of “good grass,” squeezed themselves inside, put the broom-handles through the tub-handles, and began to row.

After rowing a while, and finding “she didn’t go any,” they thought they would try to find Dan, and ask him how he “made her go.” So the tub was hoisted over the fence again, and the brooms tied on for another pull. Both took hold of the reins; and then away they ran along the road, up hills and down hills, to find Dan.

“How easy she goes!” cried Johnny at last as they were rounding a corner.

Both turned to look, and, oh! what did they see? Alas! what did they see?—two hoops, pieces of wood scattered along the road, and the brooms far behind. The tub had fallen apart, and the hoops that bound it were rolling away.

The brothers Plummer stood still and gazed. It was all they could do.

“And now won’t it be a tub any more?” Johnny asked at last very soberly.

“I—don’t—I guess so,” said Jimmy. “Maybe pa can tub it up again.”

Each boy took an armful of the pieces (leaving one that neither of them saw), hung a hoop over his shoulder, and in this manner turned to go home, dragging the brooms behind.

But, finding themselves quite near aunt Emily’s, they went that way, and made a call at the house. And very good reasons they had for doing so. One reason was a puppy; one reason was a gold-fish; but the sweetest reason of all was aunt Emily’s gingerbread.