Janet

Janet: A Twin
by Dorothy Whitehill
Illustrated By Thelma Gooch Publishers Barse & Co. New York,
N.Y. Newark, N.J.
Copyright 1920 --- Annoying Disclaimer Thing:
The text of this book, which is in the public domain, was scanned and
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---

Part One
CHAPTER ONE
: A GLIMPSE OF JANET
It was an every-day sort of a looking road, broad and dusty and flat. It
ran straight across the landscape and ended abruptly in a merger of blue
sky and sparkling sea. On either side of it sandy soil dotted with
clusters of dwarfed scrub oaks stretched out into limitless space. There
was an uninteresting sameness about its sunny dustiness that
discouraged all hope of adventure.

But on a late September afternoon it was the setting of a little scene that
marked the turning place in the life of Janet Page.
The drowsy quiet was broken first by the short, excited bark of a dog, a
crackle of leaves and a snapping of twigs in the scrub oak, and then
several things happened in quick succession.
A long snake settled into the road, a wiry little Irish terrier bounded
after it, followed by a whirling fury of starched petticoats, long slender
legs and an immense red bow.
This was Janet.
A tiny cloud of dust curtained them all for a minute; when it settled, it
disclosed a rigid tableau. Janet held the dog's collar in one strong little
brown hand, and with the other and the aid of one foot she grasped the
snake.
"Do something!" she demanded excitedly, as she turned angry eyes
toward a fat, roly-poly figure that still remained partially hidden by the
scrub oak, watching the scene with an expression of fear and distaste in
his pale blue eyes.
This was Harry Waters.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked sulkily.
Janet was too much occupied to look at him, but her voice expressed
the contempt she felt.
"You might take Boru," she suggested.
Harry made a wide detour and, snatching the dog, retreated hurriedly
back to the side of the road.
"You're not going to kill him," he said nervously, and he pointed a
trembling finger at the wriggling snake.
For answer, Janet picked up a large stone. Harry turned his face away.

He wanted to put his fingers in his ears so that he would not hear the
soft thud that followed, but the frantic dog made that impossible.
"Come on back," Janet said at last; "he's quite dead, and I've thrown
him in the bushes so you won't even have to look at him." Her voice
sounded very grown up and patronizing, and Harry justly resented it.
"Now look here, Janet Page," he exploded; "you needn't put on airs. It's
not such a big thing to kill a snake anyway," he finished lamely. "I
could have done it only I didn't see any sense in it; even if it had bitten
Boru, it wouldn't have hurt him any." Harry was trying hard to justify
an act that he hardly understood himself. He was a nice boy, two years
Janet's senior, and until to-day he had never let her forget his
advantage.
He tried to assert it now.
"You see, I'm older than you are and I've got lots more sense. I knew a
snake like that couldn't really hurt a dog and so I just --" He paused,
and under Janet's cool gaze he blushed very slowly, right up to the roots
of his hair.
"Why don't you tell the truth?" she asked quietly. "You know you are
afraid of snakes."
"Well, what if I am?" Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I can't help
it, can I? Anyway, your grandmother says -- "
"Never mind what my grandmother says," Janet interrupted angrily. "I
know it all by heart. She says you are a very mannerly little boy; that's
because you never forget to take off your hat when you go into her
room. And she says you're respectful; that's because you always say
'yes, ma'm; no, ma'm; thank you, ma'm,' and she says you always look
tidy, and that's because you never