"And they dipped the coat in the blood; an' made it all bluggy," reiterated Toddie.

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "what do you think MY papa would do if he thought I was all ate up by a lion? I guess he'd cry AWFUL, don't you? Now tell us another story—oh, I'LL tell you—read us 'bout—"

"'Bout Bliaff," interrupted Toddie.

"YOU tell ME about him, Toddie," said I.

"Why," said Toddie, "Bliaff was a brate bid man, an' Dave was brate little man, an' Bliaff said, 'Come over here'n an' I'll eat you up,' an' Dave said, 'I ain't fyaid of you.' So Dave put five little stones in a sling an' asked de Lord to help him, an' let ze sling go bang into bequeen Bliaff's eyes an' knocked him down dead, an' Dave took Bliaff's sword an' sworded Bliaff's head off, an' made it all bluggy, an' Bliaff runned away." This short narration was accompanied by more spirited and unexpected gestures than Mr. Gough ever puts into a long lecture.

"I don't like 'bout Goliath at all," remarked Budge. "I'D like to hear 'bout Ferus."

"Who?"

"Ferus; don't you know?"

"Never heard of him, Budge."

"Why—y—y—!" exclaimed Budge; "didn't you have no papa when you was a little boy?"

"Yes, but he never told me about any one named Ferus; there's no such person named in Anthon's Classical Dictionary, either. What sort of a man was he?"

"Why, once there was a man, an' his name was Ferus—Offerus, an' he went about fightin' for kings, but when any king got afraid of anybody, he wouldn't fight for him no more. An' one day he couldn't find no kings that wasn't afraid of nobody. An' the people told him the Lord was the biggest king in the world, an' he wasn't afraid of nobody or nothing. An' he asked 'em where he could find the Lord, and they said he was way up in heaven so nobody couldn't see him but the angels, but he liked folks to WORK for him instead of fight. So Ferus wanted to know what kind of work he could do, an' the people said there was a river not far off, where there wasn't no ferry-boats, cos the water run so fast, an' they guessed if he'd carry folks across, the Lord would like it. So Ferus went there, and he cut him a good, strong cane, an' whenever anybody wanted to go across the river he'd carry 'em on his back.

"One night he was sittin' in his little house by the fire, and smokin' his pipe an' readin' the paper, an' 'twas rainin' an' blowin' an' hailin' an' stormin', an' he was so glad there wasn't anybody wantin' to go 'cross the river, when he heard somebody call out 'Ferus!' An' he looked out the window, but he couldn't see nobody, so he sat down again. Then somebody called 'Ferus!' again, and he opened the door again, an' there was a little bit of a boy, 'bout as big as Toddie. An' Ferus said, 'Hullo, young fellow, does your mother know you're out?' An' the little boy said, 'I want to go 'cross the river.'—'Well,' says Ferus, 'you're a mighty little fellow to be travelin' alone, but hop up.' So the little boy jumped up on Ferus's back, and Ferus walked into the water. Oh, my—WASN'T it cold? An' every step he took that little boy got heavier, so Ferus nearly tumbled down an' they liked to both got drownded. An' when they got across the river Ferus said, 'Well, you ARE the heaviest small fry I ever carried,' an' he turned around to look at him, an' 'twasn't no little boy at all—'twas a big man—'twas Christ. An' Christ said, 'Ferus, I heard you was tryin' to work for me, so I thought I'd come down an' see you, an' not let you know who I was. An' now you shall have a new name; you shall be called CHRISTofferus, cos that means Christ-carrier.' An' everybody called him Christofferus after that, an' when he died they called him SAINT Christopher, cos Saint is what they called good people when they're dead."

Budge himself had the face of a rapt saint as he told this story, but my contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie, who, disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother's recital, had strayed into the garden, investigated a hornet's nest, been stung, and set up a piercing shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily picked him up, he sobbed:—

"Want to be wocked. [Footnote: Rocked.] Want 'Toddie one boy day.'"

I rocked him violently, and petted him tenderly, but again he sobbed:—

"Want 'Toddie one boy day.'"

"What DOES the child mean?" I exclaimed.

"He wants you to sing to him about 'Charley boy one day,'" said Budge. "He always wants mamma to sing that when he's hurt, an' then he stops crying."

"I don't know it," said I. "Won't 'Roll, Jordan,' do, Toddie?"

"I'LL tell you how it goes," said Budge, and forthwith the youth sang the following song, a line at a time, I following him in words and air:—

"Where is my little bastik [Footnote: Basket.] gone?" Said Charley, one boy day; "I guess some little boy or girl Has taken it away.

"An' kittie, too—where ISH she gone? Oh dear, what shall I do? I wish I could my bastik find, An' little kittie, too.

"I'll go to mamma's room an' look; Perhaps she may be there; For kittie likes to take a nap In mamma's easy chair.

"O mamma, mamma, come an' look See what a little heap! Here's kittie in the bastik here, All cuddled down to sleep."

Where the applicability of this poem to my nephew's peculiar trouble appeared, I could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs gave place to a sigh of relief.

"Toddie," said I, "do you love your Uncle Harry?"

"Esh, I DO love you."

"Then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you."

"Makes me feel good, an' all nicey," replied Toddie.

"Wouldn't you feel just as good if I sang, 'Plunged in a gulf of dark despair'?"

"No, don't like dokdishpairs; if a dokdishpair done anyfing to me, I'd knock it right down dead."

With this extremely lucid remark, our conversation on this particular subject ended; but I wondered, during a few uneasy moments, whether the temporary mental aberration which had once afflicted Helen's grandfather and mine was not reappearing in this, his youngest descendant. My wondering was cut short by Budge, who remarked, in a confident tone:—

"Now, Uncle Harry, we'll have the whistles, I guess."

I acted upon the suggestion, and led the way to the woods. I had not had occasion to seek a hickory sapling before for years; not since the war, in fact, when I learned how hot a fire small hickory sticks would make. I had not sought wood for whistles since—gracious, nearly a quarter of a century ago! The dissimilar associations called up by these recollections threatened to put me in a frame of mind which might have resulted in a bad poem, had not my nephews kept up a lively succession of questions such as no one but children can ask. The whistles completed, I was marched, with music, to the place where the "Jacks" grew. It was just such a place as boys instinctively delight in—low, damp, and boggy, with a brook hiding treacherously away under overhanging ferns and grasses. The children knew by sight the plant which bore the "Jacks," and every discovery was announced by a piercing shriek of delight. At first I looked hurriedly toward the brook as each yell clove the air; but, as I became accustomed to it, my attention was diverted by some exquisite ferns. Suddenly, however, a succession of shrieks announced that something was wrong, and across a large fern I saw a small face in a great deal of agony. Budge was hurrying to the relief of his brother, and was soon as deeply imbedded as Toddie was in the rich black mud, at the bottom of the brook. I dashed to the rescue, stood astride the brook, and offered a hand to each boy, when a treacherous tuft of grass gave way, and, with a glorious splash, I went in myself. This accident turned Toddie's sorrow to laughter, but I can't say I made light of my misfortune on that account. To fall into CLEAN water is not pleasant, even when one is trout-fishing; but to be clad in white pants, and suddenly drop nearly knee-deep in the lap of mother Earth is quite a different thing. I hastily picked up the children, and threw them upon the bank, and then wrathfully strode out myself, and tried to shake myself as I have seen a Newfoundland dog do. The shake was not a success—it caused my trouser-leg to flap dismally about my ankles, and sent the streams of loathsome ooze trickling down into my shoes. My hat, of drab felt, had fallen off by the brookside, and been plentifully spattered as I got out. I looked at my youngest nephew with speechless indignation.

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "'twas real good of the Lord to let you be with us, else Toddie might have been drownded."

"Yes," said I, "and I shouldn't have much—"

"Ocken Hawwy," cried Toddie, running impetuously toward me, pulling me down, and patting my cheek with his muddy black hand, "I LOVES you for takin' me out de water."

"I accept your apology," said I, "but let's hurry home." There was but one residence to pass, and that, thank fortune, was so densely screened by shrubbery that the inmates could not see the road. To be sure, we were on a favorite driving road, but we could reach home in five minutes, and we might dodge into the woods if we heard a carriage coming. Ha! There came a carriage already, and we—was there ever a sorrier-looking group? There were ladies in the carriage, too—could it be—of course it was—did the evil spirit, which guided those children always, send an attendant for Miss Mayton before he began operations? There she was, anyway—cool, neat, dainty, trying to look collected, but severely flushed by the attempt. It was of no use to drop my eyes, for she had already recognized me; so I turned to her a face which I think must have been just the one—unless more defiant—that I carried into two or three cavalry charges.

"You seem to have been having a real good time together," said she, with a conventional smile, as the carriage passed. "Remember, you're all going to call on me tomorrow afternoon."

Bless the girl! Her heart was as quick as her eyes—almost any other young lady would have devoted her entire energy to laughing on such an occasion, but SHE took her earliest opportunity to make me feel at ease. Such a royal hearted woman deserves to—I caught myself just here, with my cheeks growing quite hot under the mud Toddie had put on them, and I led our retreat with a more stylish carriage than my appearance could possibly have warranted, and then I consigned my nephews to the maid with very much the air of an officer turning over a large number of prisoners he had captured. I hastily changed my soiled clothing for my best—not that I expected to see any one, but because of a sudden increase in the degree of respect I felt toward myself. When the children were put to bed, and I had no one but my thoughts for companions, I spent a delightful hour or two in imagining as possible some changes of which I had never dared to think before.

On Monday morning I was in the garden at sunrise. Toddie was to carry his expiatory bouquet to Miss Mayton that day, and I proposed that no pains should be spared to make his atonement as handsome as possible. I canvassed carefully every border, bed, and detached flowering plant until I had as accurate an idea of their possibilities as if I had inventoried the flowers in pen and ink. This done, I consulted the servant as to the unsoiled clothing of my nephews. She laid out their entire wardrobe for my inspection, and after a rigid examination of everything I selected the suits which the boys were to wear in the afternoon. Then I told the girl that the boys were going with me after dinner to call on some ladies, and that I desired that she should wash and dress them carefully.

"Tell me just what time you'll start, sir, and I'll begin an hour beforehand," said she. "That's the only way to be sure that they don't disgrace you."

For breakfast we had, among other things, some stewed oysters served in soup-plates.

"O Todd," shrieked Budge, "there's the turtle-plates again—oh, AIN'T I glad!"

"Oo—ee—turtle pyates," squealed Toddie.

"What on earth do you mean, boys?" I demanded.

"I'll show you," said Budge, jumping down from his chair and bringing his plate of oysters cautiously toward me. "Now you just put your head down underneath my plate, and look up, and you'll see a turtle."

For a moment I forgot that I was not at a restaurant, and I took the plate, held it up, and examined its bottom.

"There!" said Budge, pointing to the trademark, in colors, of the makers of the crockery, "don't you see the turtle?"

I abruptly ordered Budge to his seat, unmoved even by Toddie's remark, that—

"Dey ish turtles, but dey can't knawl awound like udder turtles."

After breakfast I devoted a great deal of fussy attention to myself. Never did my own wardrobe seem so meager and ill-assorted; never did I cut myself so many times while shaving; never did I use such unsatisfactory shoe-polish. I finally gave up in despair my effort to appear genteel, and devoted myself to the bouquet. I cut almost flowers enough to dress a church, and then remorselessly excluded every one which was in the least particular imperfect. In making the bouquet I enjoyed the benefit of my nephews' assistance and counsel and took enforced part in conversation which flowers suggested.

"Ocken Hawwy," said Toddie, "ish heaven all like this, wif pretty f'owers? Cos I don't see what ze angels ever turns out for if 'tis."

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "when the leaves all go up and down and wriggle around so, are they talking to the wind?"

"I—I guess so, old fellow."

"Who are you making that bouquet for, Uncle Harry?" asked Budge.

"For a lady—for Miss Mayton—that lady that saw us all muddy yesterday afternoon," said I.

"Oh, I like her," said Budge. "She looks so nice and pretty—just like a cake—just as if she was good to eat—Oh, I just love her, don't YOU?"

"Well, I respect her very highly, Budge."

"'Spect? What does 'spect mean?"

"Why, it means that I think she's a lady—a real pleasant lady-just the nicest sort of lady in the world—the sort of person I'd like to see every day, and like to see her better than any one else."

"Oh, why, 'spect an' love means just the same thing, don't they, Uncle Har—"

"Budge," I exclaimed, somewhat hastily "run ask Maggie for a piece of string—quick!"

"All right," said Budge, moving off, "but they DO, don't they?"

At two o'clock I instructed Maggie to dress my nephews, and at three we started to make our call. To carry Toddie's bouquet, and hold a hand of each boy so as to keep them from darting into the hedges for grasshoppers, and the gutters for butterflies, was no easy work, but I managed to do it. As we approached Mrs. Clarkson's boarding-house I felt my hat was over one ear, and my cravat awry, but there was no opportunity to rearrange them, for I saw Alice Mayton on the piazza, and felt that she saw me. Handing the bouquet to Toddie, and promising him three sticks of candy if he would be careful and not drop it, we entered the garden. The moment we were inside the hedge and Toddie saw a man going over the lawn with a lawn-mower, he shrieked: "Oh, deresh a cutter-grass!" and dropped the bouquet with the carelessness born of perfect ecstasy. I snatched it before it reached the ground, dragged the offending youth up the walk, saluted Miss Mayton, and told Toddie to give the bouquet to the lady. This he succeeded in doing, but as Miss Mayton thanked him and stooped to kiss him he wriggled off the piazza like a little eel, shouted, "Tum on!" to his brother, and a moment later my nephews were following the "cutter-grass" at a respectful distance in the rear.

"Those are my sister's best children in the world, Miss Mayton," said I.

"Bless the little darlings!" replied the lady; "I DO love to see children enjoying themselves."

"So do I," said I, "when I'm not responsible for their well-being; but if the effort I've expended on those boys had been directed toward the interests of my employers, those worthy gentlemen would consider me invaluable."

Miss Mayton made some witty reply, and we settled to a pleasant chat about mutual acquaintances, about books, pictures, music, and the gossip of our set. I would cheerfully have discussed Herbert Spencer's system, the Assyrian Tablets, or any other dry subject with Miss Mayton, and felt that I was richly repaid by the pleasure of seeing her. Handsome, intelligent, composed, tastefully dressed, without a suspicion of the flirt or the languid woman of fashion about her, she awakened to the uttermost every admiring sentiment and every manly feeling. But, alas, my enjoyment was probably more than I deserved, so it was cut short. There were other ladies boarding at Mrs. Clarkson's, and as Miss Mayton truthfully observed at our first meeting, men were very scarce at Hillcrest. So the ladies, by the merest accident, of course, happened upon the piazza, and each one was presented to me, and common civility made it impossible for me to speak to Miss Mayton more than once in ten minutes. At any other time and place I should have found the meeting of so many ladies a delightful experience, but now—

Suddenly a compound shriek arose from the lawn, and all the ladies sprang to their feet. I followed their example, setting my teeth firmly and viciously, hoping that whichever nephew had been hurt was BADLY hurt. We saw Toddie running towards us with one hand in his mouth, while Budge ran beside him, exclaiming:—

"POOR little Toddie! Don't cry! DOES it hurt you awful? Never mind—Uncle Harry'll comfort you. Don't cry, Toddie DE-ar!"

Both boys reached the piazza steps, and clambered up, Budge exclaiming:—

"O, Uncle Harry, Toddie put his fingers in the little wheels of the cutter-grass, an' it turned just the least little biddie, an' it hurted him."

But Toddie ran up to me, clasped my legs, and sobbed.

"Sing 'Toddie one boy day.'"

My blood seemed to freeze. I could have choked that dreadful child, suffering though he was. I stooped over him, caressed him, promised him candy, took out my watch and gave it to him to play with, but he returned to his original demand. A lady—the homeliest in the party—suggested that she should bind up his hand, and I inwardly blessed her, but he reiterated his request for "Toddie one boy day," and sobbed pitifully.

"What DOES he mean?" asked Miss Mayton.

"He wants Uncle Harry to sing, 'Charley boy one day,'" explained Budge; "he always wants that song when he's hurt any way."

"Oh, do sing it to him, Mr. Burton," pleaded Miss Mayton; and all the other ladies exclaimed, "Oh, do!"

I wrathfully picked him up in my arms, and hummed the air of the detested song.

"Sit in a wockin'-chair," sobbed Toddie.

I obeyed; and then my tormentor remarked:—

"You don't sing the wydes (words),—I wants the wydes."

I sang the words as softly as possible with my lips close to his ear, but he roared:—

"Sing louder."

"I don't know any more of it, Toddie," I exclaimed in desperation.

"Oh, I'll tell it all to you, Uncle Harry," said Budge. And there, before that audience, and HER, I was obliged to sing that dreadful doggerel, line for line, as Budge repeated it. My teeth were set tight, my brow grew clammy, and I gazed upon Toddie with terrible thoughts in my mind. No one laughed—I grew so desperate that a titter would have given relief. At last I heard some one whisper:—

"SEE how he loves him! Poor man!—he's in perfect agony over the little fellow."

Had not the song reached its natural end just then, I believe I should have tossed my wounded nephew over the piazza rail. As it was, I set him upon his feet, announced the necessity of our departure, and began to take leave, when Miss Mayton's mother insisted that we should stay to dinner.

"For myself, I should be delighted, Mrs. Mayton," said I; "but my nephews have hardly learned company manners yet. I'm afraid my sister wouldn't forgive me if she heard I had taken them out to dinner."

"Oh, I'll take care of the little dears," said Miss Mayton; "they'll be good with ME, I KNOW."

"I couldn't be so unkind as to let you try it, Miss Mayton," I replied. But she insisted, and the pleasure of submitting to her will was so great that I would have risked even greater mischief. So Miss Mayton sat down to dinner with Budge upon one side and Toddie on the other, while I was fortunately placed opposite, from which position I could indulge in warning winks and frowns. The soup was served. I signaled the boys to tuck their napkins under their chins, and then turned to speak to the lady on my right. She politely inclined her head toward me, but her thoughts seemed elsewhere; following her eyes, I beheld my youngest nephew with his plate upraised in both hands, his head on the table-cloth, and his eyes turned painfully upward. I dared not speak, for fear he would drop the plate. Suddenly he withdrew his head, put on an angelic smile, tilted his plate so part of its contents sought refuge in the fold of Miss Mayton's dainty, snowy dress, while the offender screamed:—

"Oo—ee—!—zha turtle on my pyate!—Budgie, zha turtle on my pyate!"

Budge was about to raise the plate when he caught my eye and desisted. Poor Miss Mayton actually looked discomposed for the first time in her life, so far as I knew or could imagine. She recovered quickly, however, and treated that wretched boy with the most Christian forbearance and consideration during the remainder of the meal. When the dessert was finished she quickly excused herself, while I removed Toddie to a secluded corner of the piazza, and favored him with a lecture which caused him to howl pitifully, and compelled me to caress him and undo all the good which my rebukes had done. Then he and Budge removed themselves to the lawn, while I awaited Miss Mayton's reappearance, to offer an apology for Toddie, and to make our adieus. It was the custom of the ladies at Mrs. Clarkson's to stroll about the lovely rural walks after dinner and until twilight; and on this particular evening they departed in twos and threes, leaving me to make my apology without witnesses. I was rather sorry they went; it was not pleasant to feel that I was principally responsible for my nephews' blunder, and to have no opportunity to allay my conscience-pangs by conversation. It seemed to me Miss Mayton was forever in appearing; I even called up my nephews to have some one to talk to.

Suddenly she appeared, and in an instant I fervently blessed Toddie and the soup which the child had sent upon its aimless wanderings. I would rather pay the price of a fine dress than try to describe Miss Mayton's attire; I can only say that in style, color and ornament it became her perfectly, and set off the beauties of a face which I had never before thought was more than pleasing and intelligent. Perhaps the anger which was excusable after Toddie's graceless caper had something to do with putting unusual color into her cheeks, and a brighter sparkle than usual in her eyes. Whatever was the cause, she looked queenly, and I half imagined that I detected in her face a gleam of satisfaction at the involuntary start which her unexpected appearance caused me to make. She accepted my apology for Toddie with queenly graciousness, and then, instead of proposing that we should follow the other ladies, as a moment before I had hoped she would, she dropped into a chair. I accepted the invitation; the children should have been in bed half an hour before, but my sense of responsibility had departed when Miss Mayton appeared. The little scamps were safe until they should perform some new and unexpected act of impishness. They retired to one end of the piazza, and busied themselves in experiments upon a large Newfoundland dog, while I, the happiest man alive, talked to the glorious woman before me, and enjoyed the spectacle of her radiant beauty. The twilight came and deepened, but imagination prevented the vision from fading. With the coming of the darkness and the starlight, our voices unconsciously dropped to lower tones, and HER voice seemed purest music. And yet we said nothing which all the world might not have listened to without suspecting a secret. The ladies returned in little groups, but either out of womanly intuition or in answer to my unspoken but fervent prayers, passed us and went into the house. I was affected by an odd mixture of desperate courage and despicable cowardice. I determined to tell her all, yet I shrank from the task with more terror than ever befell me in the first steps of a charge.

Suddenly a small shadow came from behind us and stood between us, and the voice of Budge remarked:—

"Uncle Harry 'spects you, Miss Mayton."

"Suspects me?—of what, pray?" exclaimed the lady, patting my nephew's cheek.

"Budge!" said I—I feel that my voice rose nearly to a scream—"Budge, I must beg of you to respect the sanctity of confidential communications."

"What is it, Budge?" persisted Miss Mayton; "you know the old adage, Mr. Burton: 'Children and fools speak the truth.' Of what does he suspect me, Budge?"

"'Tain't SUS-pect at all," said Budge, "it's es-pect."

"Expect?" echoed Miss Mayton.

"No, not 'ex,' it's ES-spect. I know all about it, 'cause I asked him. Espect is what folks do when they think you're nice, and like to talk to you, and—"

"Respect is what the boy is trying to say, Miss Mayton," I interrupted, to prevent what I feared might follow. "Budge has a terrifying faculty for asking questions, and the result of some of them, this morning, was my endeavor to explain to him the nature of the respect in which gentlemen hold ladies."

"Yes," continued Budge, "I know all about it. Only Uncle Harry don't say it right. What he calls espect I calls LOVE."

There was an awkward pause—it seemed an age. Another blunder, and all on account of those dreadful children. I could think of no possible way to turn the conversation; stranger yet, Miss Mayton could not do so either. Something MUST be done—I could at least be honest, come what would—I would be honest.

"Miss Mayton," said I, hastily, earnestly, but in a very low tone, "Budge is a marplot, but he is a truthful interpreter for all that. But whatever my fate may be, please do not suspect me of falling suddenly into love for a holiday's diversion. My malady is of some months' standing. I—"

"I want to talk SOME," observed Budge. "You talk all the whole time. I—I—when I loves anybody I kisses them."

Miss Mayton gave a little start, and my thoughts followed each other with unimagined rapidity. SHE did not turn the conversation—it could not be possible that she COULD not. She was not angry, or she would have expressed herself. Could it be that—

I bent over her and acted upon Budge's suggestion. As she displayed no resentment, I pressed my lips a second time to her forehead, then she raised her head slightly, and I saw, in spite of darkness and shadows, that Alice Mayton had surrendered at discretion. Taking her hand and straightening myself to my full height, I offered to the Lord mere fervent thanks than he ever heard from me in church. Then I heard Budge say, "I wants to kiss you, too," and I saw my glorious Alice snatch the little scamp into her arms, and treat him with more affection than I ever imagined was in her nature. Then she seized Toddie, and gave him a few tokens of forgiveness—I dare not think they were of gratitude.

Suddenly two or three ladies came upon the piazza.

"Come, boys," said I. "Then I'll call with the carriage tomorrow at three, Miss Mayton. Good evening."

"Good evening," replied the sweetest voice in the world; "I'll be ready at three."

"Budge," said I, as soon as we were fairly outside the hedge-gate, "what do you like better than anything else in the world?"

"Candy," said Budge, very promptly.

"What next?"

"Oranges."

"What next?"

"Oh, figs, an' raisins, an' dear little kittie-kitties, an' drums, an' picture-books, an' little bakin' dishes to make mud-pies in, an' turtles, an' little wheelbarrows."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, yes—great big black dogs—an' a goat, an' a wagon for him to draw me in."

"Very well, old fellow—you shall have every one of those things tomorrow."

"Oh—h—h—h—h!" exclaimed Budge, "I guess you're something like the Lord, ain't you?"

"What makes you think so, Budge?"

"Oh, 'cause you can do such lots of things at once. But ain't poor little Tod goin' to have noffin'?"

"Yes, everything he wants. What would you like, Toddie?"

"Wants a candy cigar," replied Toddie.

"What else?"

"Don't want NUFFIN' else—don't want to be boddered wif LOTS of fings."

The thoughts which were mine that night—the sense of how glorious a thing it is to be a man and be loved—the humility that comes with such a victory as I had gained—the rapid alternation of happy thoughts and noble resolutions—what man is there who does not know my whole story better than I can tell it? I put my nephews to bed; I told them every story they asked for; and when Budge, in saying his prayers, said "an' bless that nice lady that Uncle Harry 'spects," I interrupted his devotions with a hearty hug. The children had been awake so far beyond their usual hour for retiring that they dropped asleep without giving any special notice of their intention to do so. Asleep, their faces were simply angelic. As I stood, candle in hand, gazing gratefully upon them, I remembered a sadly neglected duty. I hurried to the library and wrote the following to my sister:

"HILLCREST, Monday Night.

"DEAR HELEN:—I should have written you before had I been exactly certain what to say about your boys. I confess that until now I have been blind to some of their virtues, and have imagined I detected an occasional fault. But the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I see clearly that my nephews are angels—positively angels. If I seem to speak extravagantly, I beg to refer you to Alice Mayton for collateral evidence. Don't come home at all—everything is just as it should be—even if you come, I guess I'll invite myself to spend the rest of the summer with you; I've changed my mind about its being a bore to live out of town and take trains back and forth every day. Ask Tom to think over such bits of real estate in your neighborhood as he imagines I might like.

"I repeat it, the boys are angels, and Alice Mayton is another, while the happiest man in the white goods trade is

"Your affectionate brother

"HARRY."

Early next morning I sought the society of my nephews. It was absolutely necessary that I should overflow to SOME one—some one who was sympathetic and innocent and pure. I longed for my sister—my mother, but to SOME one I must talk at once. Budge fulfilled my requirements exactly; he was an excellent listener, very sympathetic by nature, and quick to respond. Not the wisdom of the most reverend sage alive could have been so grateful to my ear as that child's prattle was on that delightful morning. As for Toddie—blessed be the law of compensation! his faculty of repetition, and of echoing whatever he heard said, caused him to murmur "Miff Mayton, Miff Mayton," all morning long, and the sound gained in sweetness by its ceaseless iteration. To be sure, Budge took early and frequent occasions to remind me of my promises of the night before, and Toddie occasionally demanded the promised candy cigar; but these very interruptions only added joy to my own topic of interest each time it was resumed. The filling of Budge's orders occupied two or three hours and all the vacant space in the carriage; even then the goat and goat-carriage were compelled to follow behind.

The program for the afternoon was arranged to the satisfaction of every one. I gave the coachman, Mike, a dollar to harness the goat and teach the children to drive him; this left me free to drive off without being followed by two small figures and two pitiful howls.

I always believed a horse was infected by the spirit of his driver. My dear old four-footed military companions always seemed to perfectly comprehend my desires and intentions, and certainly my brother-in-law's horses entered into my own spirits on this particular afternoon. They stepped proudly, they arched their powerful necks handsomely, their feet seemed barely to touch the ground; yet they did not grow restive under the bit, nor were they frightened even at a hideous steam road-rolling machine which passed us. As I drove up to Mrs. Clarkson's door I found that most of the boarders were on the piazza—the memories of ladies are usually good at times. Alice immediately appeared, composed of course, but more radiant than ever.

"Why, where are the boys?" she exclaimed.

"I was afraid they might annoy your mother," I replied, "so I left them behind."

"Oh, mother hardly feels well enough to go today," said she; "she is lying down."

"Then we can pick up the boys on the road," said I, for which remark, my enchantress, already descending the steps, gave me a look which the ladies behind her would have given their best switches to have seen.

We drove off as decorously as if it were Sunday and we were driving to church; we industriously pointed out to each other every handsome garden and tasteful residence we passed; we met other people driving, and conversed fluently upon their horses, carriages and dress. But when we reached the edge of the town, and I turned into "Happy Valley," a road following the depressions and curves of a long, well-wooded valley, in which there was not a single straight line, I turned and looked into my darling's face. Her eyes met mine, and, although they were full of a happiness which I had never seen in them before, they filled with tears, and their dear owner dropped her head on my shoulder. What we said on that long drive would not interest the reader. I have learned by experience to skip all love talks in novels; no matter how delightful the lovers may be. Recalling now our conversation, it does not seem to me to have had anything wonderful it in. I will only say that if I had been happy on the evening before, my happiness now seemed to be sanctified; to be favored with the love and confidence of a simple girl scarcely past her childhood is to receive a greater honor than court or field can bestow; but even this honor is far surpassed by that which comes to a man when a woman of rare intelligence, tact and knowledge of society and the world, unburdens her heart of all its hopes and fears, and unhesitatingly leaves her destiny to be shaped by his love. Women like Alice Mayton do not thus give themselves unreservedly away except when their trust is born of knowledge as well as affection, and the realization of all this changed me on that afternoon from whatever I had been into what I had long hoped I might one day be.

But the hours flew rapidly, and I reluctantly turned the horses' heads homeward. We had left almost the whole of "Happy Valley" behind us, and were approaching residences again.

"Now we must be very proper," said Alice.

"Certainly," I replied, "here's a good—by to happy nonsense for this afternoon."

I leaned toward her, and gently placed one arm about her neck; she raised her dear face, from which joy and trust had banished every indication of caution and reserve, my lips sought hers, when suddenly we heard a most unearthly, discordant shriek, which presently separated into two, each of which prolonged itself indefinitely. The horses started, and Alice—blessed be all frights, now, henceforth, and forevermore!—clung tightly to me. The sounds seemed to be approaching us, and were accompanied by a lively rattling noise, that seemed to be made by something wooden. Suddenly, as we approached a bend of the road, I saw my youngest nephew appear from some unknown space, describe a parabolic curve in the air, ricochet slightly from an earthy protuberance in the road, and make a final stop in the gutter. At the same time there appeared, from behind the bend, the goat, then the carriage dragging on one side, and lastly, the boy Budge, grasping tightly the back of the carriage body, and howling frightfully. A direct collision between the carriage and a stone caused Budge to loose his hold, while the goat, after taking in the scene, trotted leisurely off, and disappeared in a road leading to the house of his late owner.

"Budge," I shouted, "stop that bawling, and come here. Where's Mike?"

"He—boo—hoo—went to—hoo—light his—boo—hoo—hoo—pipe, an' I just let the—boo—hoo—whip go against to the goat, an' then he scattooed."

"Nashty old goat scaddooed," said Toddie, in corroboration.

"Well, walk right home, and tell Maggie to wash and dress you," said I.

"O Harry," pleaded Alice, "after they've been in such danger! Come here to your own Aunt Alice, Budgie dear,—and you, too, Toddie,—you know you said we could pick the boys up on the road, Harry. There, there—don't cry—let me wipe the ugly old dirt off you, and kiss the face, and make it well."

"Alice," I protested, "don't let those dirty boys clamber all over you in that way."

"Silence, sir," said she, with mock dignity; "who gave me my lover, I should like to ask?"

So we drove up to the boarding-house with the air of people who had been devoting themselves to a couple of very disreputable children, and I drove swiftly away again, lest the children should dispel the illusion. We soon met Mike, running. The moment he recognized us, he shouted:—

"Aye, ye little dhivils,—beggin' yer pardon, Masther Harry, an' thankin' the Howly Mither that their good-for-nothin' little bones ain't broke to bits. Av they saw a hippypottymus hitched to Pharaoh's chariot, they'd think 'emselves jist the byes to take the bossin' av it, the spalpeens."

But no number of ordinary hippopotami and chariots could have disturbed the heavenly tranquillity of my mind on this most glorious of evenings. Even a subtle sense of the fitness of things seemed to overshadow my nephews. Perhaps the touch of my enchantress did it; perhaps it came only from the natural relapse from great excitement; but no matter what the reason was, the fact remains that for the rest of the evening two very dirty suits of clothes held two children who gave one some idea of how the denizens of Paradise might seem and act. They even ate their suppers without indulging in any of the repulsive ways of which they had so large an assortment, and they did not surreptitiously remove from the table any fragments of bread and butter to leave on the piano, in the card-basket, and other places inappropriate to the reception of such varieties of abandoned property. They demanded a song after supper, but when I sang, "Drink to Me only with Thine Eyes," and "Thou, Thou, Reign'st in this Bosom," they stood by with silent tongues and appreciative eyes. When they went to bed, I accompanied them by special invitation, but they showed no disposition to engage in the usual bedtime frolic and miniature pandemonium. Budge, when in bed, closed his eyes, folded his hand and prayed:—

"Dear Lord, bless papa an' mamma, an' Toddie, an' Uncle Harry, an' everybody else; yes, an' bless just lots that lovely, lovely lady that comforted me after the goat was bad to me, an' let her comfort me lots of times, for Christ's sake, Amen."

And Toddie wriggled, twisted, breathed heavily, threw his head back, and prayed:

"Dee Lord, don't let dat old goat fro me into de gutter on my head aden, an' let Ocken Hawwy an' ze pitty lady be dere netst time I dest hurted."

Then the good-night salutations were exchanged, and I left the little darlings and enjoyed communion with my own thoughts which were as peaceful and ecstatic as if the world contained no white goods houses, no doubtful customers, no business competition, no politics, gold rooms, stock-boards, doubtful banks, political scandals, personal iniquity, nor anything which should prevent a short vacation from lasting through a long lifetime.

The next morning would have struck terror to the heart of any one but a newly accepted lover. Rain was falling fast, and in that steady, industrious manner which seemed to assert an intention to stick closely to business for the whole day. The sky was covered by one impenetrable leaden cloud, water stood in pools in the streets which were soft with dust a few hours before; the flowers all hung their heads like vagabonds who had been awake all night and were ashamed to face the daylight. Even the chickens stood about in dejected attitudes, and stray roosters from other poultry-yards found refuge in Tom's coop without first being subjected to a trial of strength and skill by Tom's game-cock.

But no man in my condition of mind could be easily depressed by bad weather. I would rather have been able to drive about under a clear sky, or lounge under the trees, or walk to the post-office in the afternoon by the road which passed directly in front of Mrs. Clarkson's boarding-house; but man should not live for himself alone. In the room next mine were slumbering two wee people to whom I owed a great deal, who would mourn bitterly when they saw the condition of the skies and ground—I would devote myself to the task of making THEM so happy that they would forget the absence of sunshine out of doors—I would sit by their bedside and have a story ready for them the moment they awoke, and put them in such a good humor that they could laugh, with me, at cloud and rain.

I began at once to construct a story for their especial benefit; the scene was to be a country residence on a rainy day, and the actors two little boys who should become uproariously jolly in spite of the weather. Like most people not used to story-making, my progress was not very rapid; in fact, I had got no farther than the plot indicated above when an angry snarl came from the children's room.

"What's the matter, Budge?" I shouted, dressing myself as rapidly as possible.

"Ow—oo—ya—ng—um—boc—gaa," was the somewhat complicated response.

"What did you say, Budge?"

"Didn't say noffin'."

"Oh—that's what I thought."

"DIDN'T thought."

"Budge,—Budge,—be good."

"Don't WANT to be good—YA—A—A."

"Let's have some fun, Budge—don't you want to frolic?"

"No; I don't think frolic is nice."

"Don't you want some candy, Budge?"

"No—you ain't GOT no candy, I bleeve."

"Well, you sha'n't have any if you don't stop being so cross."

The only reply to this was a mighty and audible rustling of the bedding in the boys' room, followed by a sound strongly resembling that caused by a slap; then came a prolonged wail, resembling that of an ungreased wagon-wheel.

"What's the matter, Toddie?"

"Budge s'apped me—ah—h—h—h!"

"What made you slap your brother, Budge?"

"I DIDN'T."

"You DID," screamed Toddie.

"I tell you I didn't—you're a naughty, bad boy to tell such lies, Toddie."

"What DID you do, Budge?" I asked.

"Why—why—I was—I was turnin' over in bed, an' my hand was out, and it tumbled against to Toddie—that's what."

By this time I was dressed and in the boy's room. Both my nephews were sitting up in bed, Budge looking as sullen as an old jail-bird, and Toddie with tears streaming all over his face.

"Boys," said I, "don't be angry with each other—it isn't right. What do you suppose the Lord thinks when he sees you so cross to each other?"

"He don't think noffin'," said Budge; "you don't think he can look through a black sky like that, do you?"

"He can look anywhere, Budge, and he feels very unhappy when he sees little brothers angry with each other."

"Well, I feel unhappy, too—I wish there wasn't never no old rain, nor nothin'."

"Then what would the plants and flowers do for a drink, and where would the rivers come from for you to go sailing on?"

"An' wawtoo to mate mud-pies," added Toddie. "You's a naughty boy, Buggie;" and here Toddie's tears began to flow afresh.

"I AIN'T a bad boy, an' I don't want no old rain nohow, an' that's all about it. An' I don't want to get up, an' Maggie must bring me up my breakfast in bed."

"Boo—hoo—oo," wept Toddie, "wants my brepspup in bed too."

"Boys," said I, "now listen. You can't have any breakfast at all unless you are up and dressed by the time the bell rings. The rising bell rang some time ago. Now dress like good boys, and you shall have some breakfast, and then you'll feel a great deal nicer, and then Uncle Harry will play with you and tell you stories all day long."

Budge crept reluctantly out of bed and caught up one of his stockings, while Toddie again began to cry.

"Toddie," I shouted, "stop that dreadful racket, and dress yourself. What are you crying for?"

"Well, I feelsh bad."

"Well, dress yourself, and you'll feel better."

"Wantsh YOU to djesh me."

"Bring me your clothes, then—quick!"

Again the tears flowed copiously. "Don't WANT to bring 'em," said Toddie.

"Then come here!" I shouted, dragging him across the room, and snatching up his tiny articles of apparel. I had dressed no small children since I was rather a small boy myself, and Toddie's clothing confused me somewhat. I finally got something on him, when a contemptuous laugh from Budge interrupted me.

"How you goin' to put his shirt on under them things?" queried my oldest nephew.

"Budge," I retorted, "how are you going to get any breakfast if you don't put on something besides that stocking?"

The young man's countenance fell, and just then the breakfast bell rang. Budge raised a blank face, hurried to the head of the stairs and shouted:—

"Maggie?"

"What is it, Budge?"

"Was—was that the rising-bell or the breakfast-bell?"

"'Twas the breakfast-bell."

There was dead silence for a moment, and then Budge shouted:—

"Well, we'll call that the risin'-bell. You can ring another bell for breakfast pretty soon when I get dressed." Then this volunteer adjuster of household affairs came calmly back and commenced dressing in good earnest, while I labored along with Toddie's wardrobe.

"Where's the button-hook, Budge?" said I.

"It's—I—oh—um—I put it—say, Tod, what did you do with the button-hook yesterday?"

"Didn't hazh no button-hook," asserted Toddie.

"Yes, you did; don't you remember how we was a playin' draw teef, an' the doctor's dog had the toofache, and I was pullin' his teef with the button-hook, an' you was my little boy, an' I gived the toof-puller to you to hold for me? Where did you put it?"

"I'D no," replied Toddie, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out a sickly-looking toad.

"Feel again," said I, throwing the toad out the window, where it was followed by an agonizing shriek from Toddie. Again he felt, and his search was rewarded by the tension screw of Helen's sewing-machine. Then I attempted some research myself, and speedily found my fingers adhering to something of a sticky consistency. I quickly withdrew my hand, exclaiming:—

"What nasty stuff HAVE you got in your pocket, Toddie?"

"'Taint nashty' tuff—it's byead an' 'lasses, an' its nice, an' Budge an' me hazh little tea-parties in de kicken-coop, an' we eats it, an' it's DOVELY."

All this was lucid and disgusting, but utterly unproductive of button-hooks, and meanwhile the breakfast was growing cold. I succeeded in buttoning Toddie's shoes with my fingers, splitting most of my nails in the operation. I had been too busily engaged with Toddie to pay any attention to Budge, who I now found about half dressed and trying to catch flies on the windowpane. Snatching Toddie, I started for the dining-room, when Budge remarked reprovingly:—

"Uncle Harry, YOU wasn't dressed when the bell rang, and YOU oughtn't to have any breakfast."

True enough—I was minus collar, cravat, and coat. Hurrying these on, and starting again, I was once more arrested:—

"Uncle Harry, must I brush my teeth this morning?"

"No—hurry up—come down without doing anything more, if you like, but COME—it'll be dinner-time before we get breakfast."

Then that imp was moved, for the first time that morning, to something like good-nature, and he exclaimed with a giggle:—

"My! What big stomachs we'd have when we got done, wouldn't we?"

At the breakfast table Toddie wept again, because I insisted on beginning operations before Budge came. Then neither boys knew exactly what he wanted. Then Budge managed to upset the contents of his plate into his lap, and while I was helping him clear away the debris, Toddie improved the opportunity to pour his milk upon his fish, and put several spoonfuls of oatmeal porridge into my coffee-cup. I made an early excuse to leave the table and turn the children over to Maggie. I felt as tired as if I had done a hard day's work, and was somewhat appalled at realizing that the day had barely begun. I lit a cigar and sat down to Helen's piano. I am not a musician, but even the chords of a hand-organ would have seemed sweet music to me on that morning. The music-book nearest to my hand was a church hymn-book, and the first air my eye struck was "Greenville." I lived once in a town, where, on a single day, a pedler disposed of thirty-eight accordeons, each with an instruction-book in which this same air under its original name was the ONLY air. For years after, a single bar of this air awakened the most melancholy reflections in my mind, but now I forgave all my musical tormentors as the familiar strains came comfortingly from the piano-keys. But suddenly I heard an accompaniment—a sort of reedy sound—and, looking around, I saw Toddie again in tears. I stopped abruptly and asked:—

"What's the matter NOW, Toddie?"

"Don't want dat old tune; wantsh dancin' tune, so I can dance."

I promptly played "Yankee Doodle," and Toddie began to trot around the room with the expression of a man who intended to do his whole duty. Then Budge appeared, hugging a bound volume of "St. Nicholas." The moment Toddie espied this he stopped dancing and devoted himself anew to the task of weeping.

"Toddie," I shouted, springing from the piano-stool, "what do you mean by crying at everything? I shall have to put you to bed again, if you're going to be such a baby."

"That's the way he ALWAYS does, rainy days," explained Budge.

"Wantsh to see the whay-al what fwollowed Djonah," sobbed Toddie.

"Can't you demand something that's within the range of possibility, Toddie?" I mildly asked.

"The whale Toddie means is in this big red book,—I'll find it for you," said Budge, turning over the leaves.

Suddenly a rejoicing squeal from Toddie announced that leviathan had been found, and I hastened to gaze. He was certainly a dreadful-looking animal, but he had an enormous mouth, which Toddie caressed with his pudgy little hand, and kissed with tenderness, murmuring as he did so:—

"DEE old whay-al, I loves you. Is Jonah all goneded out of you 'tomach, whay-al? I finks 'twas weal mean in Djonah to get froed up when you hadn't noffin' else to eat, POOR old whay-al."

"Of COURSE Jonah's gone," said Budge, "he went to heaven long ago—pretty soon after he went to Nineveh an' done what the Lord told him to do. Now swing us, Uncle Harry."

The swing was on the piazza under cover from the rain; so I obeyed. Both boys fought for the right to swing first, and when I decided in favor of Budge, Toddie went off weeping, and declaring that he would look at his dear whay-al anyhow. A moment later his wail changed to a piercing shriek; and running to his assistance, I saw him holding one finger tenderly and trampling on a wasp.

"What's the matter, Toddie?"

"Oo—oo—ee—ee—ee—EE—I putted my finger on a waps, and—oo—oo—the nasty waps—oo—bited me. An' I don't like wapses a bit, but I likes whay-als—oo—ee—ee."

A happy thought struck me. "Why don't you boys make believe that big packing-box in your play-room is a whale?" said I.

A compound shriek of delight followed the suggestion, and both boys scrambled upstairs, leaving me a free man again. I looked remorsefully at the tableful of books which I had brought to read, and had not looked at for a week. Even now my remorse did not move me to open them—I found myself instead attracted toward Tom's library, and conning the titles of novels and volumes of poems. My eye was caught by "Initial,"—a love-story which I had always avoided because I had heard impressible young ladies rave about it; but now I picked it up and dropped into an easy chair. Suddenly I heard Mike the coachman shouting:—

"Go away from there, will ye? Ah, ye little spalpeen, it's good for ye that yer fahder don't see ye perched up dhere. Go way from dhat, or I'll be tellin' yer uncle."

"Don't care for nasty old uncle," piped Toddie's voice.

I laid down my book with a sigh, and went into the garden. Mike saw me and shouted:—

"Misther Burthon, will ye look dhere? Did ye's ever see the loike av dhat bye?"

Looking up at the play-room window, a long, narrow sort of loop-hole in a Gothic gable, I beheld my youngest nephew standing upright on the sill.

"Toddie, go in—quick!" I shouted, hurrying under the window to catch him in case he fell outward.

"I tan't," squealed Toddie.

"Mike, run up-stairs and snatch him in; Toddie, go on, I tell you!"

"Tell you I TAN'T doe in," repeated Toddie. "ZE bit bots ish ze whay-al, an' I'ez Djonah, an' ze whay-al's froed me up, an' I'ze dot to 'tay up here else ze whay-al 'ill fwallow me aden."

"I won't LET him swallow you. Get in now—hurry," said I.

"Will you give him a penny not to fwallow me no more?" queried Toddie.

"Yes—a whole lot of pennies."

"Aw wight. Whay-al, don't you fwallow me no more, an' zen my Ocken Hawwy div you whole lots of pennies. You must be weal dood whay-al now, an' then I buys you some tandy wif your pennies, an'—"

Just then two great hands seized Toddie's frock in front, and he disappeared with a howl, while I, with the first feeling of faintness I had ever experienced, went in search of hammer, nails, and some strips of board, to nail on the outside of the window-frame. But boards could not be found, so I went up to the play-room and began to knock a piece or two off the box which had done duty as whale. A pitiful scream from Toddie caused me to stop.

"You're hurtin' my dee old whay-al; you's brakin' his 'tomach all open—you's a baddy man—'TOP hurtin' my whay-al, ee—ee—ee," cried my nephew.

"I'm not hurting him, Toddie," said I; "I'm making his mouth bigger, so he can swallow you easier."

A bright thought came into Toddie's face and shone through his tears. "Then he can fwallow Budgie too, an' there'l be two Djonahs—ha—ha—ha! Make his mouf so big he can fwallow Mike, an' zen mate it 'ittle aden, so Mike tan' det OUT; nashty old Mike!"

I explained that Mike would not come upstairs again, so I was permitted to depart after securing the window.

Again I settled myself with book and cigar; there was at least for me the extra enjoyment that comes from the sense of pleasure earned by honest toil. Pretty soon Budge entered the room. I affected not to notice him, but he was not in the least abashed by my neglect.

"Uncle Harry," said he, throwing himself in my lap between my book and me, "I don't feel a bit nice."

"What's the matter, old fellow?" I asked. Until he spoke I could have boxed his ears with great satisfaction to myself; but there is so much genuine feeling in whatever Budge says that he commands respect.

"Oh, I'm tired of playin' with Toddie, an' I feel lonesome. Won't you tell me a story?"

"Then what'll poor Toddie do, Budge?"

"Oh, he won't mind—he's got a dead mouse to be Jonah now, so I don't have no fun at all. Won't you tell me a story?"

"Which one?"

"Tell me one that I never heard before at all."

"Well, let's see; I guess I'll tell—"

"Ah—ah—ah—ah—ee—ee—ee," sounded afar off, but fatefully. It came nearer—it came down the stairway and into the library, accompanied by Toddie, who, on spying me, dropped his inarticulate utterance, held up both hands, and exclaimed:—

"Djonah bwoke he tay-al!"

True enough; in one hand Toddie held the body of a mouse, and in the other that animal's caudal appendage; there was also perceptible, though not by the sense of sight, an objectionable odor in the room.

"Toddie," said I, "go throw Jonah into the chicken-coop, and I'll give you some candy."

"Me too," shouted Budge, "cos I found the mouse for him."

I made both boys happy with candy, exacted a pledge not to go out in the rain, and then, turning them loose on the piazza, returned to my book. I had read perhaps half-a-dozen pages when there arose and swelled rapidly in volume a scream from Toddie. Madly determined to put both boys into chairs, tie them and clap adhesive plaster over their mouths, I rushed out upon the piazza.

"Budgie tried to eat my candy," complained Toddie.

"I didn't," said Budge.

"What DID you do?" I demanded.

"I didn't bite it at all—I only wanted to see how it would feel between my teeth—that's all."

I felt the corners of my mouth breaking down, and hurried back to the library, where I spent a quiet quarter of an hour in pondering over the demoralizing influence exerted upon principle by a sense of the ludicrous. For some time afterward the boys got along without doing anything worse than make a dreadful noise, which caused me to resolve to find some method of deadening piazza-floors if I ever owned a house in the country. In the occasional intervals of comparative quiet I caught snatches of very funny conversation. The boys had coined a great many words whose meaning was evident enough but I wonder greatly why Tom and Helen had never taught them the proper substitutes.

Among others was the word "deader," whose meaning I could not imagine. Budge shouted:—

"O Tod; there comes a deader. See where all them things like rooster's tails are a-shakin'?—Well, there's a deader under them."

"Dasth funny," remarked Toddie.

"An' see all the peoples a-comin' along," continued Budge, "THEY know 'bout the deader, an' they're goin' to see it fixed. Here it comes. Hello, deader!"

"Hay-oh, deader," echoed Toddie.

What COULD deader mean?

"Oh, here it is right in front of us," cried Budge, "and AIN'T there lots of people? An' two horses to pull the deader—SOME deaders has only one."

My curiosity was too much for my weariness; I went to the front window, and, peering through, saw—a funeral procession! In a second I was on the piazza, with my hands on the children's collars; a second later two small boys were on the floor of the hall, the front door was closed, and two determined hands covered two threatening little mouths.

When the procession had fairly passed the house I released the boys and heard two prolonged howls for my pains. Then I asked Budge if he wasn't ashamed to talk that way when a funeral was passing.

"'TWASN'T a funeral," said he. "'Twas only a deader, an' deaders can't hear nothin'."

"But the people in the carriages could," said I.

"Well," said he, "they was so glad that the other part of the deader had gone to heaven that they didn't care WHAT I said. Ev'rybody's glad when the other parts of deaders go to heaven. Papa told me to be glad that dear little Phillie was in heaven, an' I WAS, but I do want to see him again awful."

"Wantsh to shee Phillie aden awfoo," said Toddie, as I kissed Budge and hurried off to the library, unfit just then to administer farther instruction or reproof. Of one thing I was very certain—I wished the rain would cease falling, so the children could go out of doors, and I could get a little rest, and freedom from responsibility. But the skies showed no signs of being emptied, the boys were snarling on the stairway, and I was losing my temper quite rapidly.

Suddenly I bethought me of one of the delights of my own childish days—the making of scrap-books. One of Tom's library drawers held a great many Lady's Journals. Of course Helen meant to have them bound, but I could easily repurchase the numbers for her; they would cost two or three dollars; but peace was cheap at that price. On a high shelf in the playroom I had seen some supplementary volumes of "Mercantile Agency" reports which would in time reach the rag-bag; there was a bottle of mucilage in the library-desk, and the children owned an old pair of scissors. Within five minutes I had located two happy children on the bath-room floor, taught them to cut out pictures (which operation I quickly found they understood as well as I did) and to paste them into the extemporized scrap-book. Then I left them, recalling something from Newman Hall's address on "The Dignity of Labor." Why hadn't I thought before of showing my nephews some way of occupying their mind and hands? Who could blame the helpless little things for following every prompting of their unguided minds? Had I not a hundred times been told, when sent to the wood-pile or the weediest part of the garden in my youthful days, that

"Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do?"

"Never again would I blame children for being mischievous when their minds were neglected.

I spent a peaceful, pleasant hour over my novel, when I felt that a fresh cigar would be acceptable. Going up-stairs in search of one I found that Budge had filled the bathtub with water, and was sailing boats, that is, hair-brushes. Even this seemed too mild an offense to call for a rebuke, so I passed on without disturbing him, and went to my own room. I heard Toddie's voice, and having heard from my sister that Toddie's conversations with himself were worth listening to, I paused outside the door. I heard Toddie softly murmur:—

"Zere, pitty yady, 'tay ZERE. Now, 'ittle boy, I put you wif your mudder, tause mudders likes zere 'ittle boys wif zem. An' you sall have 'ittle sister tudder side of you,—zere. Now, 'ittle boy's an' 'ittle girl's mudder, don't you feel happy?—isn't I awfoo good to give you your 'ittle tsilderns? You ought to say, 'Fank you, Toddie,—you'se a nice, fweet 'ittle djentleman.'"

I peered cautiously—then I entered the room hastily. I didn't say anything for a moment, for it was impossible to do justice, impromptu, to the subject. Toddie had a progressive mind—if pictorial ornamentation was good for old books, why should not similar ornamentation be extended to objects more likely to be seen? Such may not have been Toddie's line of thought, but his recent operations warranted such a supposition. He had cut out a number of pictures, and pasted them upon the wall of my room—my sister's darling room, with its walls tinted exquisitely in pink. As a member of a hanging committee, Toddie would hardly have satisfied taller people, but he had arranged the pictures quite regularly, at about the height of his own eyes, had favored no one artist more than another, and had hung indiscriminately figure pieces, landscapes, and genre pictures. The temporary break of wall-line, occasioned by the door communicating with his own room, he had overcome by closing the door and carrying a line of pictures across its lower panels. Occasionally, a picture fell off the wall, but the mucilage remained faithful, and glistened with its fervor of devotion. And yet so untouched was I by this artistic display, that when I found strength to shout "Toddie!" it was in a tone which caused this industrious amateur decorator to start violently, and drop his mucilage-bottle, open end first, upon the carpet.

"What will mamma say?" I asked.

Toddie gazed, first blankly and then inquiringly, into my face; finding no answer or sympathy there, he burst into tears, and replied:—

"I dunno."

The ringing of the lunch-bell changed Toddie from a tearful cherub into a very practical, business-like boy, and shouting "Come on, Budge!" he hurried down-stairs, while I tormented myself with wonder as to how I could best and most quickly undo the mischief Toddie had done.

I will concede to my nephews the credit of keeping reasonably quiet during meals; their tongues doubtless longed to be active in both the principal capacities of those useful members, but they had no doubt as to how to choose between silence and hunger. The result was a reasonably comfortable half-hour. Just as I began to cut a melon, Budge broke the silence by exclaiming:—

"O Uncle Harry, we haven't been out to see the goat to-day!"

"Budge," I replied, "I'll carry you out there under an umbrella after lunch, and you may play with that goat all the afternoon, if you like."

"Oh, won't that be nice?" exclaimed Budge. "The poor goat! he'll think I don't love him a bit, 'cause I haven't been to see him to-day. Does goats go to heaven when they die, Uncle Harry?"

"Guess not—they'd make trouble in the golden streets, I'm afraid."

"Oh, dear! then Phillie can't see my goat. I'm so awful sorry," said Budge.

"I can see your goat, Budgie," suggested Toddie.

"Huh!" said Budge, very contemptuously. "YOU ain't dead."

"Well, Izhe GOIN' to be dead some day 'an zen your nashty old goat sha'n't see me a bit—see how he like ZAT." And Toddie made a ferocious attack on a slice of melon nearly as large as himself.

After lunch Toddie was sent to his room to take his afternoon nap, and Budge went to the barn on my shoulders. I gave Mike a dollar, with instructions to keep Budge in sight, to keep him from teasing the goat, and to prevent his being impaled or butted. Then I stretched myself on a lounge, and wondered whether only half a day of daylight had elapsed since I and the most adorable woman in the world had been so happy together. How much happier I would be when next I met her! The very torments of this rainy day would make my joy seem all the dearer and more intense. I dreamed happily for a few moments with my eyes open, and then somehow they closed, without my knowledge. What put into my mind the wreck-scene from the play of "David Copperfield," I don't know; but there it came, and in my dream I was sitting in the balcony at Booth's, and taking a proper interest in the scene, when it occurred to me that the thunder had less of reverberation and more woodenness than good stage thunder should have. The mental exertion I underwent on this subject disturbed the course of my nap, but as wakefulness returned, the sound of the poorly simulated thunder did not cease; on the contrary, it was just as noisy, and more hopelessly a counterfeit than ever. What could the sound be? I stepped through the window to the piazza, and the sound was directly over my head. I sprang down the terrace and out upon the lawn, looked up, and beheld my youngest nephew strutting back and forth on the tin roof of the piazza, holding over his head a ragged old parasol. I roared—

"Go in, Toddie—this instant!"

The sound of my voice startled the young man so severely that he lost his footing, fell, and began to roll toward the edge and to scream, both operations being performed with great rapidity. I ran to catch him as he fell, but the outer edge of the water-trough was high enough to arrest his progress, though it had no effect in reducing the volume of his howls.

"Toddie," I shouted, "lie perfectly still until uncle can get to you. Do you hear?"

"Ess, but don't want to lie 'till," came in reply from the roof. "'Tan't shee noffin' but sky an' rain."

"Lie still," I reiterated, "or I'll whip you dreadfully." Then I dashed up-stairs, removed my shoes, climbed out and rescued Toddie, shook him soundly, and then shook myself.

"I wazh only djust pyayin' mamma, an' walkin' in ze yain wif an umbayalla," Toddie explained.

I threw him upon his bed and departed. It was plain that neither logic, threats, nor the presence of danger could keep this dreadful child from doing whatever he chose; what other means of restraint could be employed? Although not as religious a man as my good mother could wish, I really wondered whether prayer, as a last resort, might not be effective. For his good, and my own peace, I would cheerfully have read through the whole prayer-book. I could hardly have done it just then, though, for Mike solicited an audience at the back door, and reported that Budge had given the carriage-sponge to the goat, put handfuls of oats into the pump-cylinder, pulled hairs out of the black mare's tail, and with a sharp nail drawn pictures on the enamel of the carriage-body. Budge made no denial, but looked very much aggrieved, and remarked that he couldn't never be happy without somebody having to go get bothered; and he wished there wasn't nobody in the world but organ-grinders and candy-store men. He followed me into the house, flung himself into a chair, put on a look which I imagine Byron wore before he was old enough to be malicious, and exclaimed:—

"I don't see what little boys was made for anyhow; if ev'rybody gets cross with them, an' don't let 'em do what they want to. I'll bet when I get to heaven, the Lord won't be as ugly to me as Mike is,—an' some other folks, too. I wish I could die and be buried right away,—me an' the goat—an' go to heaven, where we wouldn't be scolded."

Poor little fellow! First I laughed inwardly at his idea of heaven, and then I wondered whether my own was very different from it, or any more creditable. I had no time to spend even in pious reflection, however. Budge was quite wet, his shoes were soaking, and he already had an attack of catarrh; so I took him to his room and re-dressed him, wondering all the while how much similar duties my own father had had to do by me had shortened his life, and how, with such a son as I was, he lived as long as he did. The idea that I was in some slight degree atoning for my early sins, so filled my thoughts, that I did not at first notice the absence of Toddie. When it DID become evident to me that my youngest nephew was not in the bed in which I had placed him, I went in search of him. He was in none of the chambers, but hearing gentle murmurs issue from a long, light closet, I looked in and saw Toddie sitting on the floor, and eating the cheese out of a mouse-trap. A squeak of my boots betrayed me, and Toddie, equal to the emergency, sprang to his feet and exclaimed:—

"I didn't hurt de 'ittle mousie one bittie; I just letted him out, and he runded away."

And still it rained. Oh, for a single hour of sunlight, so that the mud might be only damp dirt, and the children could play without tormenting other people! But it was not to be; slowly, and by the aid of songs, stories, an improvised menagerie, in which I personated every animal, besides playing ostrich and armadillo, and a great many disagreements, the afternoon wore to its close, and my heart slowly lightened. Only an hour or two more, and the children would be in bed for the night, and then I would enjoy, in unutterable measure, the peaceful hours which would be mine. Even now they were inclined to behave themselves; they were tired and hungry, and stretched themselves on the floor, to await dinner. I embraced the opportunity to return to my book, but I had hardly read a page, when a combined crash and scream summoned me to the dining-room. On the floor lay Toddie, a great many dishes, a roast leg of lamb, several ears of green corn, the butter-dish and its contents, and several other misplaced edibles. One thing was quite evident; the scalding contents of the gravy-dish had been emptied on Toddie's arm, and how severely the poor child might be scalded I did not know. I hastily slit open his sleeve from wrist to shoulder, and found the skin very red; so, remembering my mother's favorite treatment for scalds and burns, I quickly spread the contents of a dish of mashed potato on a clean handkerchief, and wound the whole around Toddie's arm as a poultice. Then I demanded an explanation.

"I was only djust reatchin for a pieshe of bwed," sobbed Toddie, "an' then the bad old tabo beginded to froe all its fings at me, an' tumble down bang."

He undoubtedly told the truth as far as he knew it, but reaching over tables is a bad habit in small boys, especially when their mothers cling to old-fashioned heirlooms of tables, which have folding leaves; so I banished Toddie to his room, supperless, to think of what he had done. With Budge alone, I had a comfortable dinner off the salvage from the wreck caused by Toddie, and then I went up-stairs to see if the offender had repented. It was hard to tell, by sight, whether he had or not, for his back was to me, as he flattened his nose against the window, but I could see that my poultice was gone.

"Where is what uncle put on your arm, Toddie?" I asked.

"I ate it up," said the truthful youth.

"Did you eat the handkerchief, too?"

"No; I froed nashty old handkerchief out the window—don't want dirty old handkerchiefs in my nice 'ittle room."

I was so glad that his burn had been slight that I forgave the insult to my handkerchief and called up Budge, so that I might at once get both boys into bed, and emerge from the bondage in which I had lived all day long. But the task was no easy one. Of course my brother-in-law, Tom Lawrence, knows better than any other man the necessities of his own children, but no children of mine shall ever be taught so many methods of imposing upon parental good nature. Their program called for stories, songs, moral conversations, frolics, the presentation of pennies, the dropping of the same, at long intervals, into tin savings banks, followed by a deafening shaking-up of both banks; then a prayer must be offered, and no conventional one would be tolerated; then the boys performed their own devotions, after which I was allowed to depart with an interchange of "God bless you's." As this evening I left the room with their innocent benedictions sounding in my ears, a sense of personal weakness, induced by the events of the day, moved me to fervently respond "Amen!"

Mothers of American boys, accept from me a tribute of respect, which no words can fitly express—of wonder greater than any of the great things of the world ever inspired—of adoration as earnest and devout as the Catholic pays to the Virgin. In a single day, I, a strong man, with nothing else to occupy my mind, am reduced to physical and mental worthlessness by the necessities of two boys not overmischievous or bad. And you—Heaven only knows how—have unbroken weeks, months, years, yes, lifetimes of just such experiences, and with them the burden of household cares, of physical ills and depressions, of mental anxieties that pierce your hearts with as many sorrows as grieved the Holy Mother of old. Compared with thy endurance, that of the young man, the athlete, is as weakness; the secret of thy nerves, wonderful even in their weakness, is as great as that of the power of the winds. To display decision, thy opportunities are more frequent than those of the greatest statesman; thy heroism laughs into insignificance that of fort and field; thou art trained in a school of diplomacy such as the most experienced court cannot furnish. Do scoffers say thou canst not hold the reins of government? Easier is it to rule a band of savages than to be the successful autocrat of thy little kingdom. Compared with the ways of men, even thy failures are full of glory. Be thy faults what they may, thy one great, mysterious, unapproachable success places thee, in desert, far above warrior, rabbi or priest.

The foregoing soliloquy passed through my mind as I lay upon the bed where I had thrown myself after leaving the children's room. Whatever else attempted to affect me mentally found my mind a blank until the next morning, when I awoke to realize that I had dropped asleep just where I fell, and that I had spent nearly twelve hours lying across a bed in an uncomfortable position, and without removing my daily attire. My next impression was that quite a bulky letter had been pushed under my chamber-door. Could it be that my darling—I hastily seized the envelope and found it addressed in my sister's writing, and promising a more voluminous letter than that lady had ever before honored me with. I opened it, dropping an enclosure which doubtless was a list of necessities which I would please pack, etc., and read as follows:—

"JULY 1, 1875.

"MY DEAR OLD BROTHER:—WOULDN'T I like to give you the warmest of sisterly hugs? I can't believe it, and yet I'm in ecstasies over it. To think that you should have got that perfection of a girl, who has declined so many great catches—YOU, my sober, business-like, unromantic big brother—oh, it's too wonderful! But now I think of it, you're just the people for each other. I'd like to say that it's just what I'd always longed for, and that I invited you to Hillcrest to bring it about; but the trouble with such a story would be that it wouldn't have a word of truth in it. You always DID have a faculty of doing just what you pleased, and what nobody ever expected you to do, but now you've exceeded yourself.

"And to think that my little darlings played an important part in bringing it all about! I shall take the credit for THAT, for if it hadn't been for me, who would have helped you, sir? I shall expect you to remember both of them handsomely at Christmas.

"I don't believe I'm guilty of a breach of confidence in sending the enclosed, which I have just received from my sister-in-law that is to be. It will tell you some causes of your success of which you, with a man's conceit, haven't imagined for a minute, and it will tell you, too, of a maiden's first and natural fear under such circumstances,—a fear which I know that you, with your honest, generous heart, will hasten to dispel. As you're a man, you're quite likely to be too stupid to read what's written between the lines; so I'd better tell you that Alice's fear is that in letting herself go so easily she may have seemed to lack proper reserve and self-respect. You don't need to be told that no woman alive has more of these very qualities.

"Bless your dear old heart, Harry,—you deserve to be shaken to death if you're not the happiest man alive. I MUST hurry home and see you both with my own eyes, and learn to believe that all this wonderful glorious thing has come to pass. Give Alice a sister's kiss from me (if you know how to give more than one kind), and give my cherubs a hundred each from the mother that wants to see them so much.

"With love and congratulations,

"HELEN."

The other letter, which I opened with considerable reverence and more delight, ran as follows:—

"HILLCREST, June 29, 1875.

"DEAR FRIEND HELEN:—Something has happened, and I am very happy, but I am more than a little troubled over it, too, and as you are one of the persons nearly concerned, I am going to confess to you as soon as possible. Harry—your brother, I mean—will be sure to tell you very soon, if he hasn't done so already, and I want to make all possible haste to solemnly assure you that I hadn't the slightest idea of such a thing coming to pass, and I didn't do the slightest thing to bring it about.

"I always thought your brother was a splendid fellow, and have never been afraid to express my mind about him, when there was no one but girls to listen. But out here I've somehow learned to admire him more than ever. I cheerfully acquit HIM of intentionally doing anything to create a favorable impression; if his several appearances before me HAVE been studied, he is certainly the most original being I ever heard of. Your children are angels—you've told me so yourself, and I've my own very distinct impression on the subject, but they DON'T study to save their uncle's appearance. The figures that unfortunate man has cut several times—well, I won't try to describe them on paper, for fear he might some day see a scrap of it, and take offense. But he always seems to be patient with them, and devoted to them, and I haven't been able to keep from seeing that a man who could be so lovable with thoughtless and unreasonable children must be perfectly adorable to the woman he loved, if she were a woman at all. Still, I hadn't the faintest idea that I would be the fortunate woman. At last THE day came, but I was in blissful ignorance of what was to happen. Your little Charley hurt himself, and insisted upon Har—your brother singing an odd song to him; and just when the young gentleman was doing the elegant to a dozen of us ladies at once, too! If you COULD have seen his face!—it was too funny, until he got over his annoyance, and began to feel properly sorry for the little fellow—then he seemed all at once to be all tenderness and heart, and I DID wish for a moment that conventionalities didn't exist, and I might tell him that he was a model. Then your youngest playfully spilt a plate of soup on my dress (don't be worried—'twas only a common muslin, and 'twill wash). Of course I had to change it, and as I retired the happy thought struck me that I'd make so elaborate a toilet that I wouldn't finish in time to join the other ladies for the usual evening walk; consequence, I would have a chance to monopolize a gentleman for half an hour or more—a chance which, no thanks to the gentlemen who don't come to Hillcrest, no lady here has had this season. Every time I peered through the blinds to see if the other girls had started, I could see HIM, looking so distressed, and brooding over those two children as if he was their mother, and he seemed so good. He seemed pleased to see ME when I appeared, and coming from such a man, the implied compliment was fully appreciated; everything he said to me seemed a little more worth hearing than if it had come from any man not so good. Then suddenly your eldest insisted on retailing the result of a conversation he had had with his uncle, and the upshot was that Harry declared himself; he wasn't romantic a bit, but he was real straightforward and manly, while I was so completely taken aback that I couldn't think of a thing to say. Then the impudent fellow kissed me, and I lost my tongue worse than ever. If I had known anything of his feelings beforehand, I should have been prepared to behave more properly; but—O Helen, I'm so glad I DIDN'T know! I should be the happiest being that ever lived, if I wasn't afraid that you and your husband might think that I had given myself away too hastily. As to other people, we will see that they don't know a word about it for months to come.

"DO write that I was not to blame, and make believe accept me as a sister, because I CAN'T offer to give Harry up to any one else you may have picked out for him.

"Your sincere friend,

"ALICE MAYTON."

Was there ever so delightful a reveille? All the boyishness in me seemed suddenly to come to the surface, and instead of saying and doing the decorous things which novelists' heroes do under similar circumstances, I shouted "Hurrah!" and danced into the children's room so violently that Budge sat up in bed, and regarded me with reproving eyes, while Toddie burst into a happy laugh, and volunteered as a partner in the dance. Then I realized that the rain was over, and the sun was shining—I could take Alice out for another drive, and until then the children could take care of themselves. I remembered suddenly, and with a sharp pang, that my vacation was nearly at an end, and I found myself consuming with impatience to know how much longer Alice would remain at Hillcrest. It would be cruel to wish her in the city before the end of August, yet I—

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "my papa says 'tisn't nice for folks to sit down and go to thinkin' before they've brushed their hair mornin's—that's what he tells ME."

"I beg your pardon, Budge," said I, springing up in some confusion; "I was thinking over a matter of a great deal of importance."

"What was it—my goat?"

"No—of course not. Don't be silly, Budge."

"Well, I think about him a good deal, an' I don't think it's silly a bit. I hope he'll go to heaven when he dies. Do angels have goat-carriages, Uncle Harry?"

"No, old fellow—they can go about without carriages."

"When I goesh to hebben," said Toddie, rising in bed, "Izhe goin' to have lots of goat-cawidjes an' Izhe goin' to tate all ze andjels a widen."

With many other bits of prophecy and celestial description I was regaled as I completed my toilet, and I hurried out of doors for an opportunity to think without disturbance. Strolling past the henyard I saw a meditative turtle, and picking him up and shouting to my nephews I held the reptile up for their inspection. Their window-blinds flew open, and a unanimous though not exactly harmonious "Oh!" greeted my prize.

"Where did you get it, Uncle Harry?" asked Budge.

"Down by the hen-coop."

Budge's eyes opened wide; he seemed to devote a moment to profound thought, and then he exclaimed:—

"Why, I don't see how the hens COULD lay such a big thing—just put him in your hat till I come down, will you?"

I dropped the turtle in Budge's wheelbarrow, and made a tour of the flower-borders. The flowers, always full of suggestion to me, seemed suddenly to have new charms and powers; they actually impelled me to try to make rhymes,—me, a steady white-goods salesman! The impulse was too strong to be resisted, though I must admit that the results were pitifully meager:—

"As radiant as that matchless rose Which poet-artists fancy; As fair as whitest lily-blows, As modest as the pansy; As pure as dew which hides within Aurora's sun-kissed chalice; As tender as the primrose sweet— All this, and more, is Alice."

In inflicting this fragment upon the reader, I have not the faintest idea that he can discover any merit in it; I quote it only that a subsequent experience of mine may be more intelligible. When I had composed these wretched lines I became conscious that I had neither pencil nor paper wherewith to preserve them. Should I lose them—my first self-constructed poem? Never! This was not the first time in which I had found it necessary to preserve words by memory alone. So I repeated my ridiculous lines over and over again, until the eloquent feeling of which they were the graceless expression inspired me to accompany my recital with gestures. Six—eight—ten—a dozen—twenty times I repeated these lines, each time with additional emotion and gestures, when a thin voice, very near me, remarked:—

"Ocken Hawwy, you does djust as if you was swimmin'."

Turning, I beheld my nephew Toddie—how long he had been behind me I had no idea. He looked earnestly into my eyes and then remarked:—

"Ocken Hawwy, your faysh is wed, djust like a wosy-posy."

"Let's go right in to breakfast, Toddie," said I aloud, as I grumbled to myself about the faculty of observation which Tom's children seemed to have.

Immediately after breakfast I despatched Mike with a note to Alice, informing her that I would be glad to drive her to the Falls in the afternoon calling for her at two. Then I placed myself unreservedly at the disposal of the boys for the morning, it being distinctly understood that they must not expect to see me between lunch and dinner. I was first instructed to harness the goat, which order I obeyed, and I afterward watched that grave animal as he drew my nephews up and down the carriage-road, his countenance as demure as if he had no idea of suddenly departing when my back should be turned. The wheels of the goat carriage uttered the most heartrending noises I had ever heard from ungreased axle; so I persuaded the boys to dismount, and submit to the temporary unharnessing of the goat, while I should lubricate the axles. Half an hour of dirty work sufficed, with such assistance as I gained from juvenile advice, to accomplish the task properly; then I put the horned steed into the shafts, Budge cracked the whip, the carriage moved off without noise, and Toddie began to weep bitterly.

"Cawwidge is all bwoke," said he; "WHEELSH DON'T SING A BITTIE NO MORE," while Budge remarked:—

"I think the carriage sounds kind o' lonesome now, don't you, Uncle Harry?"

"Uncle Harry," asked Budge, a little later in the morning, "do you know what makes the thunder?"

"Yes, Budge—when two clouds go bump into each other they make a good deal of noise, and they call it thunder."

"That ain't it at all," said Budge. "When it thundered yesterday it was because the Lord was riding along through the sky and the wheels of his carriage made an awful noise, an' that was the thunder."

"Don't like nashty old 'funder," remarked Toddie. "It goesh into our cellar an' makesh all ze milk sour—Maggie said so. An' so I can't hazh no nice white tea for my brepspup."

"I should think you'd like the Lord to go a ridin', Toddie, with all the angels running after him," said Budge, "even if the thunder DOES make the milk sour. And 'tis so splendid to SEE the thunder bang."

"How do you see it, Budge?" I asked.

"Why, don't you know when the thunder bangs, and then you see an awful bright place in the sky?—that's where the Lord's carriage gives an awful pound, and makes little cracks through the floor of heaven, an' we see right in. But what's the reason we can't ever see anybody through the cracks, Uncle Harry?"

"I don't know—old fellow,—I guess it's because it isn't cracks in heaven that look so bright,—it's a kind of fire that the Lord makes up in the clouds. You'll know all about it when you get bigger."

"Well, I'll feel awful sorry if 'tain't anything but fire. Do you know that funny song my papa sings 'bout:—

"'Roarin' thunders, lightenin's blazes, Shout the great Creator's praises?'"

I don't know zactly what it means, but I think it's kind o' splendid, don't you?"

I DID know the old song; I had heard it in a Western camp-meeting, when scarcely older than Budge, and it left upon my mind just the effect it seemed to have done on his. I blessed his sympathetic young heart, and snatched him into my arms. Instantly he became all boy again.

"Uncle Harry," he shouted, "you crawl on your hands and knees and play you was a horse, and I'll ride on your back."

"No, thank you, Budge, not on the dirt."

"Then let's play menagerie, an' you be all the animals."

To this proposition I assented, and after hiding ourselves in one of the retired angles of the house, so that no one could know who was guilty of disturbing the peace by such dire noises, the performance commenced. I was by turns a bear, a lion, a zebra, an elephant, dogs of various kinds, and a cat. As I personated the latter-named animals, Toddie echoed my voice.

"Miauw! Miauw!" said he, "dat's what cats saysh when they goesh down wells."

"Faith, an' it's him that knows," remarked Mike, who had invited himself to a free seat in the menagerie, and assisted in the applause which had greeted each personation.

"Would ye belave it, Misther Harry, dhat young dhivil got out the front door one mornin' afore sunroise, all in his little noight-gown, an' wint over to the doctor's an' picked up a kitten lyin' on the kitchen door-mat, an' throwed it down dhe well. The docthor wasn't home, but the missis saw him, an' her heart was dhat tindher that she hurried out and throwed boords down for dhe poor little baste to stand on, an' let down a hoe on a sthring, an' whin she got dhe poor little dhing out, she was dhat faint that she dhrapped on dhe grass. An' it cost Mr. Lawrence nigh onto thirty dollars to have dhe docthor's well claned out."

"Yes," said Toddie, who had listened carefully to Mike's recital, "an' kitty-kitty said, 'Miauw! Miauw!' when she goed down ze well. An' Mish Doctor sed, 'Bad boy—go home—don't never tum to my housh no more,'—dat's what she said to me. Now be some more animals, Ocken Hawwy. Can't you be a whay-al?"

"Whales don't make a noise, Toddie; they only splash about in the water."

"Zen grop in the cistern an' 'plash, can't you?"

Lunch-time, and after it the time for Toddie to take his nap. Poor Budge was bereft of a playmate, for the doctor's little girl was sick; so he quietly followed me about with a wistful face, that almost persuaded me to take him with me on my drive—OUR drive. Had he grumbled, I would have felt less uncomfortable; but there's nothing so touching and overpowering to either gods or men as the spectacle of mute resignation. At last, to my great relief, he opened his mouth.

"Uncle Harry," said he, "do you 'spose folks ever get lonesome in heaven?"

"I guess not, Budge."

"Do little boy-angels' papas an' mammas go off visitin', an' stay so long?"

"I don't exactly know, Budge, but if they do, the little boy-angels have plenty of other little boy-angels to play with, so they can't very well be lonesome."

"Well, I don't b'leeve they could make ME happy, when I wanted to see my papa an' mamma. When I haven't got anybody to play with, then I want papa an' mamma SO bad—so bad as if I would die if I didn't see 'em right away."

I was shaving, and only half-done, but I hastily wiped off my face, dropped into a rocking-chair, took the forlorn little boy into my arms, and kissed him, caressed him, sympathized with him, and devoted myself entirely to the task and pleasure of comforting him. His sober little face gradually assumed a happier appearance; his lips parted in such lines as no old master ever put upon angel lips; his eyes from being dim and hopeless, grew warm and lustrous and melting. At last he said:—

"Uncle Harry, I'm EVER so happy now. An' can't Mike go around with me and the goat all the time you're away riding? An' bring us home some candy, an' marbles—oh, yes—an' a new dog."

Anxious as I was to hurry off to meet my engagement, I was rather disgusted as I unseated Budge and returned to my razor. So long as he was lonesome and I was his only hope, words couldn't express his devotion, but the moment he had, through my efforts, regained his spirits, his only use for me was to ask further favors. Yet in trying the poor boy, judicially, the evidence was more dangerous to humanity in general than to Budge; it threw a great deal of light upon my own peculiar theological puzzles, and almost convinced me that my duty was to preach a new gospel.

As I drove up to the steps of Mrs. Clarkson's boarding-house it seemed to me a month had elapsed since last I was there, and this apparent lapse of time was all that prevented my ascribing to miraculous agencies the wonderful and delightful change that Alice's countenance had undergone in two short days. Composure, quickness of perception, the ability to guard one's self, are indications of character which are particularly in place in the countenance of a young lady in society, but when, without losing these, the face takes on the radiance born of love and trust, the effect is indescribably charming—especially to the eyes of the man who causes the change. Longer, more out-of-the-way roads between Hillcrest and the Falls I venture to say were never known than I drove over that afternoon, and my happy companion, who in other days I had imagined might one day, by her decision, alertness and force exceed the exploits of Lady Baker or Miss Tinne, never once asked if I was sure we were on the right road. Only a single cloud came over her brow, and of this I soon learned the cause.

"Harry," said she, pressing closer to my side, and taking an appealing tone, "do you love me well enough to endure something unpleasant for my sake?"

My answer was not verbally expressed, but its purport seemed to be understood and accepted, for Alice continued:—

"I wouldn't undo a bit of what's happened—I'm the happiest, proudest woman in the world. But we HAVE been very hasty, for people who have been mere acquaintances. And mother is dreadfully opposed to such affairs—she is of the old style, you know."

"It was all my fault," said I. "I'll apologize promptly and handsomely. The time and agony which I didn't consume in laying siege to your heart I'll devote to the task of gaining your mother's good graces."

The look I received in reply to this remark would have richly repaid me had my task been to conciliate as many mothers-in-law as Brigham Young possesses. But her smile faded as she said:—

"You don't know what a task you have before you. Mother has a very tender heart, but it's thoroughly fenced in by proprieties. In her day and set, courtship was a very slow, stately affair, and mother believes it the proper way now; so do I, but I admit possible exceptions, and mother doesn't. I'm afraid she won't be patient if she knows the whole truth, yet I can't bear to keep it from her. I'm her only child, you know."