Phyllis: A Twin

A glorious autumn day spread its golden sunshine over the city. In the parks the red leaves blazed under the deep blue sky, and the water in the lakes sparkled over the reflections of the tall buildings mirrored in their depths. People walked with a brisk step, as though they had but suddenly awakened from a long drowsy sleep to the coolness of a new, vigorous world.

In a house just off Fifth Avenue, a short distance from Central Park, all the windows were open to admit the dazzling sunshine. Soft white curtains fluttered in the crisp breeze, and the rooms were flooded with cool, yellow light.

Phyllis Page stood in the center of one of the rooms and looked critically about her. There was no need of criticism, for it was as nearly perfect as a room could be.

The walls were hung with dainty pink and white paper. A bed of ivory white, with carved roses at the head and covered with a sheer embroidered spread, filled one corner; a tall chest of drawers stood opposite, and a dressing-table with a triple mirror was placed between the two windows.

A little to one side of the open grate was a tiny table just large enough to hold a bowl of pink roses. In all the room not a pin was out of place.

As Phyllis surveyed it all for perhaps the twentieth time that day, a look of disappointment cast a momentary shadow over her usually merry face.

"There isn't one single thing more to do," she complained. "Oh, dear, I do hope she likes it."

The suggestion of doubt made her hurry to her aunt's room on the floor below. She found Miss Carter sitting before an open fire reading.

"Auntie Mogs," she said, standing in the doorway, "suppose Janet doesn't like it? The room, I mean."

There was real concern in her voice, but in spite of it Miss Carter laughed.

"Why, Phyllis, you little goose, of course she'll like it. It's a dear room, and it will just suit her exactly. What put such a ridiculous notion into your head?"

"But, Auntie Mogs, it's so awfully different from her own room," Phyllis protested. "Perhaps she'll miss her big four-posted bed and those ducky rag rugs. I would, I think,"-she hesitated.

Miss Carter laughed again.

"But that's exactly why Janet won't," she answered. "She has grown up with all those lovely old things and she is used to them. She has never seen anything like her new room and she will love it, I am sure. Just as you loved the dear old room we had at her house, only of course Janet won't go into such ecstasies as you did," she added with a smile.

She pulled her niece down to the arm of her chair and stroked her soft golden-brown hair. But Phyllis's leaf-brown eyes were still clouded with doubt.

"I want her to love it, Auntie Mogs," she said softly. "I want her to love it, and I want her to be happy. But, oh, dear, suppose she isn't? Suppose she is homesick for Old Chester. Perhaps she'll just hate the city. If she does-oh, Auntie Mogs, if she does, I think I shall die."

This time Miss Carter did not smile.

"Phyllis dear," she said kindly, "do you love Janet?"

Phyllis stared in amazement. "Love her? Why, of course I do! I simply adore her. Isn't she my twin, and haven't I wanted her all my life?"

Her aunt nodded. "Then I wouldn't worry," she said kindly. "Poor little Janet has had very little real love in her life, and I think she will be very happy to be with people who do love her. You must remember, dear, that although it was wonderful for you to find Janet, it was just as wonderful for her to find you. I think it was even more wonderful perhaps, for she was very lonely and you never were. Don't worry about her not liking her room or the city. Just love her and her happiness will take care of itself."

Phyllis jumped up and kissed her aunt.

"Oh, Auntie Mogs, you always smooth things out," she exclaimed joyfully. "They ought to make you President of the United States, they really ought."

"Mercy me, don't say it out loud,"-Miss Carter laughed. "Some one might hear you and take your advice. Now, go out for a walk and come back for tea with pink cheeks, you look tired out. And no matter how much you worry and fume, Janet won't get here a minute sooner than three o'clock on Wednesday."

"And that's a whole day and a half off,"-Phyllis sighed as she left the room to get ready for her walk.

Miss Carter looked thoughtfully into the fire for many minutes after she had gone. Her advice to love Janet was sound, but in her own heart she knew that Phyllis's doubts were not without foundation.

It had been just a little over a month ago that news had come from Tom, Phyllis's older brother, that Mrs. Page had at last given in and was willing to let Janet, whom she had cared for ever since she had been a baby, see her twin sister Phyllis whom Miss Carter had brought up. Many years before Mrs. Page had insisted that the twins be separated, and because Phyllis bore her mother's name and Mrs. Page cruelly blamed her daughter-in-law for the tragic accident that had resulted in both parents' death, she had chosen to keep Janet with her. Thirteen years had passed, and neither of the girls had dreamed of the other's existence; perhaps they had dreamed, but they had never expected their dream to come true, as it had only a short month ago when Phyllis, too happy for words, had jumped off the train at Old Chester and into the arms of her twin.

It had been an exciting month as Miss Carter reviewed it, and with all her heart she wanted the happiness that both girls looked forward to for the coming winter to be assured.

"If we can only keep Janet from feeling shy and different from the other girls it will be all right," she said at last, and fell to gazing into the fire again.

Phyllis, already well on her walk in the park, was busy with the same thoughts. They were more concrete in form, but they amounted to the same thing. She knew that she could be happy with Janet and keep her from being homesick, but the thought of the other girls at school made her uneasy. They were nice girls, all of them, and they were all fond of Phyllis, and for her sake she knew they would be nice to her twin, but Phyllis was not satisfied to let the matter drop there. She wanted the girls to accept Janet on her own merit.

The roguish autumn wind was playing tricks with the dead brown leaves, swirling them about regardless of passers-by. One especially gusty little gale made Phyllis duck her head so low that she did not gee where she was going. She bumped into something small unexpectedly, and an angry voice startled her out of her revery.

"Now, I've lost it for good. Why don't you look what you're about? Nurse says it's rude to jostle."

Phyllis looked down into two very angry blue eyes which, except for a glimpse of ruddy cheeks almost hidden by a fur cap, were all that was visible of the chubby face before her.