Twin boys came next, and Mr. Ruggles, who had called at the Vicarage to ask for kind assistance in clothing his sons, only one
having been expected, spent the Sunday after their arrival in church.
This was partly in order to be out of the way of the fuss at home which
the twins' arrival had caused, and partly as a kind of compliment to the
Vicar's wife who had been so obliging in the matter of extra baby
clothes. For Mr. Ruggles was not an ardent church goer, and it had
crossed his mind on the Vicarage door-step that his last attendance had
been the Harvest Festival held several months previously.
Although
he knelt, stood, and sat down with the congregation, Mr. Ruggles found
it hard to keep his attention on the service, for his mind was busy with
many things. At the present moment the Twins filled most of it, but
one corner, his gardening corner, was very much occupied with the
progress of his spring vegetables and how it was that Mr. Hook at No. 2
One End Street was so much farther on with his leeks and carrots. Then
there was the problem of whether one or two more hens could be squeezed
into the soap-box. If the family was going to increase at the present
rate, thought Mr. Ruggles, the more he could produce in the food line at
home the better. And then, always, of course, there was the Question
of the Pig. Here Jo gave himself up to a few moments happy dreaming ...
Surely, in that corner between the hen-box and the little tool-shed,
there was room enough for a small sty; he could take in a bit of the
flower border and Rosie could have her clothes line a few inches shorter
- come to that, he might even pull down the tool-shed altogether and
keep his tools in the kitchen, though no doubt Rosie would object.
Anyway, with twins in the house, it was high time the Pig Question was
really considered seriously. There was a fleeting vision of the
Sanitary Inspector, but it was of the briefest, and as the congregation
sat down for the Second Lesson, hens, vegetables, and twins once more
filled Mr. Ruggles' mind.
'Now the names of the twelve apostles are these,' read the Vicar.
Jo
pricked up his ears. Names. There was another problem. Rosie had
been very quiet about names this time. He'd said nothing himself, but
he was sure she'd something up her sleeve - he believed she'd never
quite forgiven him over that Carnation business and Kate. It looked as
if he ought to let her have some say in the matter this time, but,
really, he drew the line at fancy and flowery names for boys, and they would be fancy or flowery if Rosie had a hand in it he was sure.
'Simon
who is called Peter and Andrew his brother,' read the Vicar, 'James the
son of Zebedee and John his brother, Philip and Bartholomew, Thomas and
Matthew ...'
'Seem
to go in pairs-like,' said Jo to himself. It seemed encouraging.
'Better pick two of these and get it over,' he thought, but the Vicar
was reading on, and the next thing Jo caught was about a workman being
worthy of his meat and that, too, he felt, was singularly appropriate
and hoped his Sunday dinner would be a good one! Then, as if an idea
had suddenly struck him, he seized a prayer book from the ledge in front
of him, and, after wetting his finger and rustling many pages found the
place he wanted, he pulled a stub of pencil from his pocket, held it
poised over the list of the apostles, shut his eyes and brought it down
'plop!' James and John. Jo breathed a sigh of relief - he'd been very
afraid of Philip and Bartholomew - especially Bartholomew. 'That
decides it,' he muttered, and Mrs. Chips, the grocer's wife, sitting
resplendent in sapphire blue velvet in the farthest corner of the pew so
that no one by any possible chance should think they were friends (so
great is the gulf between grocery and scavenging), turned a stern and
reproving eye on him. But Mr. Ruggles was oblivious; a problem was
solved, and his mind made up for him - a labour-saving device he much
appreciated. The Twins' names were settled, and he would slip round to
the vestry immediately after the service and arrange for the
christening.
