All was scrupulously clean.

In the flickering obscurity of the chimney depended a line of black pot-hooks and hangers; a trivet and a pair of bellows furnished the hearth; from the capacious rack hung a rich stock of hams and sides of bacon, curing in the smoke; an English clock stood in one corner, a tall cupboard in another, and a geranium in the window-seat.

Along the side opposite the door, and parallel to a dresser of shining crockery, ran a strong deal table.
Some high-backed chairs, a pair of brass candlesticks with snuffers, a book or two, a few old hats, and a lanthorn, on various pegs, completed the furniture of the place.
But Mr.Fogo's gaze was riveted on two men who rose together at his entrance from the table where they were seated, side by side, at their tea.
Both tall, both adorned with crisp curls of black hair--with clean-shaven, mahogany faces, and the gentlest of possible smiles, the twins came forward to greet the stranger.

So appallingly alike were they that Mr.Fogo felt a ridiculous desire to run away, nor could help fancying himself the victim of a disordered dream.
The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously with outstretched horny palms.

He noticed that even their dress was precisely similar, with the single exception that one wore a red, the other a yellow bandanna handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat.
[Illustration: The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously.] "You'm kindly welcome, sir," said the Twin with the red bandanna; and the Twin with the yellow neck-cloth murmured "kindly welcome," like an echo.
"Stop a bit," interposed Caleb, "let's do a bit of introducin'.
This here es Mr.Fogo, gent, as es thinkin' of rentin' Kit's House, and es come for that puppos'.