“Will you have coffee, gentlemen, or tea?”

“Coffee for Luigi, if you please, madam, tea for me.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“For me, yes, madam; Luigi takes his coffee, black.  Our natures differ a good deal from each other, and our tastes also.”

The first time the negro girl Nancy appeared in the door and saw the two heads turned in opposite directions and both talking at once, then saw the commingling arms feed potatoes into one mouth and coffee into the other at the same time, she had to pause and pull herself out of a faintness that came over her; but after that she held her grip and was able to wait on the table with fair courage.

Conversation fell naturally into the customary grooves.  It was a little jerky, at first, because none of the family could get smoothly through a sentence without a wabble in it here and a break there, caused by some new surprise in the way of attitude or gesture on the part of the twins.  The weather suffered the most.  The weather was all finished up and disposed of, as a subject, before the simple Missourians had gotten sufficiently wonted to the spectacle of one body feeding two heads to feel composed and reconciled in the presence of so bizarre a miracle.  And even after everybody’s mind became tranquilized there was still one slight distraction left:  the hand that picked up a biscuit carried it to the wrong head, as often as any other way, and the wrong mouth devoured it.  This was a puzzling thing, and marred the talk a little.  It bothered the widow to such a degree that she presently dropped out of the conversation without knowing it, and fell to watching and guessing and talking to herself: 

“Now that hand is going to take that coffee to no, it’s gone to the other mouth; I can’t understand it; and how, here is the dark-complected hand with a potato in its fork, I’ll see what goes with it—­there, the light-complected head’s got it, as sure as I live!”

Finally Rowena said: 

“Ma, what is the matter with you?  Are you dreaming about something?”

The old lady came to herself and blushed; then she explained with the first random thing that came into her mind:  “I saw Mr. Angelo take up Mr. Luigi’s coffee, and I thought maybe he—­sha’n’t I give you a cup, Mr. Angelo?”

“Oh no, madam, I am very much obliged, but I never drink coffee, much as I would like to.  You did see me take up Luigi’s cup, it is true, but if you noticed, I didn’t carry it to my mouth, but to his.”

“Y-es, I thought you did:  Did you mean to?”

“How?”

The widow was a little embarrassed again.  She said: 

“I don’t know but what I’m foolish, and you mustn’t mind; but you see, he got the coffee I was expecting to see you drink, and you got a potato that I thought he was going to get.  So I thought it might be a mistake all around, and everybody getting what wasn’t intended for him.”