lutions before the owner of the wagon reined in again.

"Say," he called back, twisting himself around and resting his hand on
the bar that confined the calves. "They've took down the shed back of
the meetin'-house. Said 'twas fallin' to pieces. Might 'a' come down on
the heads of the hosses. Goin' to put up a new one." Then, as his steed
recommenced its modest substitute for a trot, unseen of the Grangers he
permitted himself an undemonstrative chuckle. "They can sorter divide
that piece of news between 'em," he said to his companion, who had been
the silent auditor of the conversation. A moment of indecision on the
part of the Grangers had given him time to make this observation, but it
was not concluded when Reuben's cracked voice sang out cheerfully, "Ye
don't say!" A slight contraction passed over Stephen's face. Much as he
would have liked to mark the bit of information for his own, now that it
had been appropriated by another, he gave no further sign. The noise of
the wagon died along the road, and still Reuben and Stephen Granger sat
gazing straight before them at the hill which faced them from the other
side of the way, at the foot of which the darkness was falling fast. By
and by a lamp was lighted in one half of the house, and a moment later
there was a flash through the window of the other, and slowly and
stiffly the two old men rose and went inside, each closing his door
behind him.

"Them's the Granger twins," had said the owner of the calves in answer
to his companion's question as soon as they were out of hearing. "Yes,
they be sort of odd. Don't have nothin' to say to one another, and
they've lived next door to each other ever since they haven't lived
_with_ each other. It's goin' on thirty years since they've spoke. Yes,
they do look alike--I don't see no partickler difference myself, and it
would make it kinder awk'ard if they expected folks to know which one
he's talkin' to. But they don't. They're kinder sensible about that.
They're real sensible 'bout some things," he added tolerantly. "Oh, they
was powerful fond of each other at first--twins, y' know. They was
always together, and when each of 'em set up housekeepin', nothin' would
do for it but they should jine their houses and live side by side--they
knew enough not to live together, seein' as how, though they was twins,
their wives wasn't. So they took and added on to the old homestead, and
each of 'em took an end. Wal, I dunno how it began--no