Romance of California Life; Illustrated By Pacific Slope Stories, Thrilling, Pathetic And Humorous — Budge And Toddie At Aunt Alice's Part 2

A light knock was heard at Mrs. Burton's door, and then, without waiting for invitation, there came in two fresh, rosy faces, two heads of disarranged hair, and two long white nightgowns, and the occupant of the longer gown exclaimed: "Say, Uncle Harry, do you know it's Sunday?

What are you going to do about it?

We always have lots done for us Sundays, 'cause it's the only day papa's home."

"Yes, I--think I've heard--something of the kind--before," mumbled Mr. Burton, with difficulty, between the fingers which covered his aching incisor.

"Oh--h," exclaimed Toddie, "I b'lieve he' goin' to play bear!

Come on, Budge, we's got to be dogs."

And Toddie buried his face in the bed-covering and succeeded in fastening his teeth in his uncle's calf.

A

howl from the sufferer did not frighten off the amateur dog, and he was finally dislodged only by being clutched by the throat by his victim.

"_That_ izhn't the way to play bear," complained Toddie; "you ought to keep on a-howlin' an' let me keep on a-bitin', an' then you give me pennies to stop--that's the way papa does."

"_Can_ you see how Tom Lawrence can be so idiotic?"

asked Mrs. Burton.

"I suppose I could," replied the gentleman, "if I hadn't such a toothache."

"You poor old fellow!"

said Mrs. Burton, tenderly.

Then she turned to her nephews, and exclaimed: "Now, boys, listen to me!

Uncle Harry is very sick to-day--he has a dreadful toothache, and every particle of bother and noise will make it worse.

You must both keep away from his room, and be as quiet as possible wherever you may be in the house.

Even the sound of people talking is very annoying to a person with the toothache."

"Then you's a baddy woman to stay in here an' keep a-talkin' all the whole time," said Toddie, "when it makes poor old Uncle Harry supper so.

G'way."

Mrs. Burton's lord and master was not in too much pain to shake considerably with silent laughter over this unexpected rebuke, and the lady herself was too thoroughly startled to devise an appropriate retort; so the boys amused themselves by a general exploration of the chamber, not omitting even the pockets of their uncle's clothing.

This work completed, to the full extent of their ability, the boys demanded breakfast.

"Breakfast won't be ready until eight o'clock," said Mrs. Burton, "and it is now only six.

If you little boys don't want to feel dreadfully hungry, you had better go back to bed, and lie as quiet as possible."

"Is that the way not to be hungry?"

asked Toddie, with wide-open eyes, which always accompany the receptive mind.

"Certainly," said Mrs. Burton.

"If you run about, you agitate your stomachs, and that makes them restless, and so you feel hungry."

"Gwacious!"

said Toddie.

"What lots of fings little boys has got to lyne (learn), hazn't they?

Come on, Budgie--let's go put our tummuks to bed, an' keep 'em from gettin' ajjerytated."

"All right," said Budge.

"But say, Aunt Alice, don't you s'pose our stomachs would be sleepier an' not so restless if there was some crackers or bread an' butter in 'em?"

"There's no one down-stairs to get you any," said Mrs. Burton.

"Oh," said Budge, "_we_ can find them.

We know where everything is in the pantries and store-room."

"_I_ wish _I_ were so smart," sighed Mrs Burton.

"Go along--get what you want--but don't come back to this room again.

And don't let me find anything in disorder down-stairs, or I shall never trust you in my kitchen again."

Away flew the children, but their disappearance only made room for a new torment, for Mr. Burton stopped in the middle of the operation of shaving himself, and remarked: "I've been longing for Sunday to come, for your sake, my dear.

The boys, as you have frequently observed, have very strange notions about holy things; but they are also, by nature, quite religious and spiritually minded.

_You_ are not only this latter, but you are free from strange doctrines and the traditions of men.

The mystical influences of the day will make themselves felt upon those innocent little hearts, and you will have the opportunity to correct wrong teachings and instil new sentiments and truths."

Mr. Burton's voice had grown a little shaky as he reached the close of this neat and reverential speech, so that his wife scrutinized his face closely to see if there might not be a laugh somewhere about it.

A

friendly coating of lather protected one cheek, however, and the troublesome tooth had distorted the shape of the other, so Mrs. Burton was compelled to accept the mingled ascription of praise and responsibility, which she did with a sinking heart.

"I'll take care of them while you're at church, my dear," said Mr. Burton; "they're always saintly with sick people."

Mrs. Burton breathed a sigh of relief.

She determined that she would extemporize a special "Children's service" immediately after breakfast, and impress her nephews as fully as possible with the spirit of the day;

then if her husband would but continue the good work thus begun, it would be impossible for the boys to fall from grace in the few hours which remained between dinner-time and darkness.

Full of her project, and forgetting that she had allowed her chambermaid to go to early Mass and promised herself to see that the children were dressed for breakfast, Mrs. Burton, at the breakfast-table, noticed that her nephews did not respond with their usual alacrity to the call of the bell.

Recalling her forgotten duty, she hurried to the boys' chamber, and found them already enjoying a repast which was remarkable at least for variety.

On a small table, drawn to the side of the bed, was a pie, a bowl of pickles, a dish of honey in the comb, and a small paper package of cinnamon bark, and, with spoons, knives and forks and fingers, the boys were helping themselves alternately to these delicacies.

Seeing his aunt, Toddie looked rather guilty, but Budge displayed the smile of the fully justified, and remarked: "Now, you know what kind of meals little boys like, Aunt Alice.

I hope you won't forget it while we're here."

"What do you mean!"

exclaimed Mrs. Burton, sternly, "by bringing such things up-stairs?"

"Why," said Budge, "you told us to get what we wanted, an' we supposed you told the troof."

"An' I ain't azh hungry azh I wazh," remarked Toddie, "but my tummuk feels as if it growed big and got little again, every minute or two, an' it hurts.

I wishes we could put tummuks away when we get done usin' 'em, like we do hats an' overshoes."

To sweep the remains of the unique morning lunch into a heap and away from her nephews, was a work which occupied but a second or two of Mrs. Burton's time; this done, two little boys found themselves robed more rapidly than they had ever before been.

Arrived at the breakfast-table, they eyed with withering contempt an irreproachable cutlet, some crisp-brown potatoes of wafer-like thinness, and a heap of rolls almost as light as snowflakes.

"_We_ don't want done of _this_ kind of breakfast," said Budge.

"Of course we don't," said Toddie, "when we's so awful full of uvver fings.

I don't know where I'zhe goin' to put my _dinner_ when it comes time to eat it."

"Don't fret about _that_, Tod," said Budge.

"Don't you know papa says that the Bible says something that means 'don't worry till you have to.'

" Mrs. Burton raised her eyebrows with horror not unmixed with inquiry, and her husband hastened to give Budge's sentiment its proper Biblical wording.

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

Mrs. Burton's wonder was allayed by the explanation, although her horror was not, and she made haste to say: "Boys, we will have a little Sunday-school, all by ourselves, in the parlor, immediately after breakfast."

"Hooray!"

shouted Budge.

"An' will you give us a ticket an' pass around a box for pennies, just like they do in _big_ Sunday-schools?"

"I--suppose so," said Mrs. Burton, who had not previously thought of these special attractions of the successful Sunday-school.

"Let's go right in, Tod," said Budge,"'cause the dog's in there.

I saw him as I came down, and I shut all the doors, so he couldn't get out.

We can have some fun with him 'fore Sunday-school begins."

Both boys started for the parlor-door, and, guided by that marvelous instinct with which Providence arms the few against the many, and the weak against the strong, the dog Jerry also approached the door from the inside.

As the door opened, there was heard a convulsive howl, and a general tumbling of small boys, while at almost the same instant the dog Jerry flew into the dining-room and hid himself in the folds of his mistress's morning-robe.

Two or three minutes later Budge entered the dining-room with a very rueful countenance, and remarked: "I guess we need that Sunday-school pretty quick, Aunt Alice.

The dog don't want to play with us, and we ought to be comforted some way."

"They're grown people, all over again," remarked Mr. Burton, with a laugh.

"What do you mean?"

demanded Mrs. Burton.

[Illustration: TODDIE LOOKED RATHER GUILTY, BUT BUDGE DISPLAYED THE SMILE OF THE FULLY JUSTIFIED, AND REMARKED: "NOW YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF MEALS LITTLE BOYS LIKE, AUNT ALICE."

] "Only this--that when their own devices fail, they're in a hurry for the consolations of religion," said Mr. Burton.

"May I visit the Sunday-school?"

"I suppose I can't keep you away," sighed Mrs. Burton, leading the way to the parlor.

"Boys," said she, greeting her nephews, "first, we'll sing a little hymn; what shall it be?"

"Ole Uncle Ned," said Toddie, promptly.

"Oh, that's not a Sunday song," said Mrs. Burton.

"_I_ fink tizh," said Toddie, "'cause it sayzh, free or four timezh, 'He's gone where de good niggers go,' an' that's _hebben_, you know; so it's a Sunday song."

"_I_ think 'Glory, glory, hallelujah!'

is nicer," said Budge, "an' I know _that's_ a Sunday song, 'cause I've heard it in church."

"Aw wight," said Toddie; and he immediately started the old air himself, with the words, "There liezh the whisky-bottle, empty on the sheff," but was suddenly brought to order by a shake from his aunt, while his uncle danced about the front parlor in an ecstasy not directly traceable to toothache.

"That's not a Sunday song either, Toddie," said Mrs. Burton.

"The words are real rowdyish.

Where did you learn them?"

"Round the corner from our housh," said Toddie, "an' you can shing your ole shongs yourseff, if you don't like mine."

Mrs. Burton went to the piano, rambled among chords for a few seconds, and finally recalled a Sunday-school air in which Toddie joined as angelically as if his own musical taste had never been impugned.

"Now I guess we'd better take up the collection before any little boys lose their pennies," said Budge, hurrying to the dining-room, and returning with a strawberry-box which seemed to have been specially provided for the occasion; this he passed gravely before Toddie, and Toddie held his hand over it as carefully as if he were depositing hundreds, and then Toddie took the box and passed it before Budge, who made the same dumb show, after which Budge retook the box, shook it, listened, and remarked, "It don't rattle--I guess it's all paper-money, to-day," placed it upon the mantel, reseated himself, and remarked: "_Now_ bring on your lesson."

Mrs. Burton opened her Bible with a sense of utter helplessness.

With the natural instinct of a person given to thoroughness, she opened at the beginning of the book, but she speedily closed it again--the first chapter of Genesis had suggested many a puzzling question even to her orthodox mind.

Turning the leaves rapidly, passing, for conscience sake, the record of many a battle, the details of which would have delighted the boys, and hurrying by the prophecies as records not for the minds of children, she at last reached the New Testament, and the ever-new story of the only boy who ever was all that his parents and relatives could wish him to be.

"The lesson will be about Jesus," said Mrs. Burton."

"Little-boy Jesus or big-man Jesus?"

asked Toddie.

"A--a--both," replied the teacher, in some confusion.

"Aw wight," said Toddie.

"G'won."

"There was once a time when all the world was in trouble, without knowing exactly why," said Mrs. Burton; "but the Lord understood it, for He understands everything."

"Does He knows how it feels to be a little boy?"

asked Toddie, "an' be sent to bed when He don't want to go?"

"And He determined to comfort the world, as He always does when the world finds out it can't comfort itself," continued Mrs. Burton, entirely ignoring her nephew's questions.

"But wasn't there lotzh of little boyzh then?"

asked Toddie, "an' didn't they used to be comforted as well as big folks?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Burton.

"But He knew if He comforted grown people, they would make the children happy."

"I wiss He'd comfort you an' Uncle Harry every mornin', then," said Toddie.

"G'won."

"So He sent His own Son--his only Son--down to the world to be a dear little baby."

"_I_ should think He'd have made Him a _sister_ baby," said Budge, "if He'd wanted to make everybody happy."

"He knew best," said Mrs. Burton.

"And while smart people everywhere were wondering what would or could happen to quiet the restless heart of people--" "Izh restless hearts like restless tummuks?"

interrupted Toddie.

"Kind o' limpy an' wabbley?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Burton.

"_Poor_ folks," said Toddie clasping, his hands over his waistband: "Izhe sorry for 'em."

"While smart folks were trying to think out what should be done," continued Mrs. Burton, "some simple shepherds, who used to sit around at night under the moon and stars, and wonder about things which they could not understand, saw a wonderfully bright star up in the sky."

"Was it one of the twinkle-twinkle kind, or one of the stand-still kind?"

asked Toddie.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Burton, after a moment's reflection.

"Why do you ask?"

"'Cauzh," said Toddie, "I know what 'twazh there for, an' it ought to have twinkled, 'cauzh twinkley star bobs open and shut that way 'cauzh they're laughin' and can't keep still, an' I know I'd have laughed if I'd been a star an' was goin' to make a lot of folks so awful happy.

G'won."

"Then," said Mrs. Burton, looking alternately and frequently at the two accounts of the Advent, "they suddenly saw an angel, and the shepherds were afraid."

"Should fink they _would_ be," said Toddie.

"Everybody gets afraid when they see good people around.

I 'spec' they thought the angel would say 'don't!'

in about a minute."

"But the angel told them not to be afraid," said Mrs. Burton, "for he had come to bring good news.

There was to be a dear little baby born at Bethlehem, and He would make everybody happy."

"_Wouldn't_ it be nice if that angel would come an' do it all over again?"

said Budge.

"Only he ought to pick out little boys instead of sheep fellows.

_I_ wouldn't be afraid of an angel."

"Neiver would I," said Toddie, "but I dzust go round behind him an' see how his wings was fastened on."

"Then a great many other angels came," said Mrs. Burton, "and they all sang and sang together.

The poor shepherds didn't know what to make of it, but after the singing was over, they all started for Bethlehem, to see that wonderful baby."

"Just like the other day we went to see the sister-baby."

"Yes," said Mrs. Burton; but instead of finding Him in a pleasant home and a nice room, with careful friends and nurses around Him, He was in a manger out in a stable."

"That was 'cause he was so smart that He could do just what He wanted to, an' be just where he liked," said Budge, "an' He was a little boy, an' little boys always like stables better than houses--I wish _I_ could live in a stable always an' for ever."

"So do I," said Toddie, "an' sleep in mangers, 'cauzh then the horses would kick anybody that made me put on clean clothezh when I didn't want to.

They gaveded him presentsh, didn't they?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Burton; "gold, frankincense, and myrrh."

"Why didn't they give him rattles and squealey-balls, like folks did budder Phillie when _he_ was a baby," asked Toddie.

"Because, Toddie," said Mrs. Burton, glad of an opportunity to get the sentiment of the story into her own hands, from which it had departed very early in the course of the lesson--"because He was no common baby, like other children.

He was the Lord."

"What!

The Lord once a dear little baby?"

exclaimed Toddie.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Burton, shuddering to realize that Toddie had not before been taught of the nature of the Holy Trinity.

"An' played around like uvver little boysh?"

continued Toddie.

"I--I--suppose so," said Mrs. Burton, fearing lest in trying to instill reverence into her nephews, she herself might prove irreverent.

"Did somebody say 'Don't' at _Him_ every time he did anyfing?"

continued Toddie.

"N--n--n--o!

I imagine not," said Mrs. Burton, "because he was always good."

"_That_ don't make any diffwelence," said Toddie.

"The better a little boy triesh to be, the more folks say 'Don't' to him.

So I guesh nobody had any time to say anyfing elsh at all to Jesus."

"What did He do next?"

asked Budge, as deeply interested as if he had not heard the same story many times before.

"He grew strong in body and spirit," said Mrs. Burton, "and everybody loved Him; but before He had time to do all that, an angel came and frightened His papa in a dream, and told him that the king of that country would kill little Jesus if he could find Him.

So Joseph, the papa of Jesus, and Mary, His mamma, got up in the middle of the night, and started off to Egypt."

"Seems to me that Egypt was 'bout as bad in those days as Europe is now," remarked Budge.

"Whenever papa tells about anybody that nobody can find, he says, 'Gone to Europe, I s'pose.'

What did they find when they got there?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Burton, musing.

"I suppose the papa worked hard for money to buy good food and comfortable resting-places for his wife and baby; and I suppose the mamma walked about the fields, and picked pretty flowers for her baby to play with; and I suppose the baby cooed when His mamma gave them to Him, and laughed and danced and played, and then got tired, and came and hid His little face in His mamma's lap, and was taken into her arms and held ever so tight, and fell asleep, and that His mother looked into His face as if she would look through it, while she tried to find out what her baby would be and do when He grew up, and whether He would be taken away from _her_, while it seemed as if she couldn't live at all without having Him very closely pressed to her breast and--" Mrs. Burton's voice grew a little shaky, and, finally, failed her entirely.

Budge came in front of her, scrutinized her intently, but with great sympathy, also, and, finally, leaned his elbows on her knees, dropped his face into his own hands, looked up into her face, and remarked: "Why, Aunt Alice, she was just like _my_ mamma, wasn't she?

An' I think _you_ are just like both of 'em!"

Mrs. Burton took Budge hastily into her arms, covered his face with kisses, and totally destroyed another chance of explaining the difference between the earthly and the heavenly to her pupils, while Toddie eyed the couple with evident disfavor, and remarked: "_I_ fink 'twould be nicer if you'd see if dinner was bein' got ready, instead of stoppin' tellin' stories an' huggin' Budge.

My tummuk's all gotted little again."

Mrs. Burton came back to the world of to-day from that of history, though not without a sigh, while the dog Jerry, who had divined the peaceful nature of the occasion so far as to feel justified in reclining beneath his mistress's chair, now contracted himself into the smallest possible space, slunk out of the doorway, and took a lively quickstep in the direction of the shrubbery.

Toddie had seen him, however, and told the news to Budge, and both boys were soon in pursuit; noticing which the dog Jerry speedily betook himself to that distant retirement which the dog who has experience in small boys knows so well how to discover and maintain.

As the morning wore on, the boys grew restless, fought, drummed on the piano, snarled when that instrument was closed, meddled with everything that was within reach, and finally grew so troublesome that their aunt soon felt that to lose was cheaper than to save, so she left the house to the children, and sought the side of the lounge upon which her afflicted husband reclined.

The divining sense of childhood soon found her out, however, and Budge remarked: "Aunt Alice, if you're going to church, seems to me it's time you was getting ready."

"I can't go to church, Budge," sighed Mrs. Burton.

"If I do, you boys will only turn the whole house upside down, and drive your poor uncle nearly crazy."

"No, we won't," said Budge.

"You don't know what nice nurses we can be to sick people.

_Papa_ says nobody can even _imagine_ how well we can take care of anybody until they see us do it.

If you don't believe it, just leave us with Uncle Harry, an' stay home from church an' peek through the key-hole."

"Go on, Allie," said Mr. Burton.

"If you want to go to church, don't be afraid to leave me.

I think you _should_ go--after your experience of this morning.

I shouldn't think your mind could be at peace until you had joined your voice with that of the great congregation, and acknowledged yourself to be a miserable sinner."

Mrs. Burton winced, but nevertheless retired, and soon appeared dressed for church, kissed her husband and her nephews, gave many last instructions, and departed.

Budge followed her with his eye until she had stepped from the piazza, and then remarked, with a sigh of relief: "_Now_ I guess we'll have what papa calls a good, old-fashioned time--we've got rid of _her_."

"Budge!"

exclaimed Mr. Burton, sternly, and springing to his feet, "do you know who you are talking about?

Don't you know that your Aunt Alice is my wife, and that she has saved you from many a scolding, done you many a favor, and been your best friend?"

"Oh, yes," said Budge, with at least a dozen inflections on each word, "but ev'ry day friends an' Sunday friends are kind o' different; don't you think so?

_She_ can't make whistles, or catch bull-frogs, or carry both of us up the mountain on her shoulders, or sing 'Roll, Jordan.'

" "And do you expect _me_ to do all these things to-day?"

asked Mr. Burton.

"N--n--no," said Budge, "unless you should get well an' feel just like it; but we'd like to be with somebody who _could_ do 'em if he wanted to.

We like ladies that's _all_ ladies, but then we like men that's all men, too.

Aunt Alice is a good deal like an angel, I think, and you--you _ain't_.

An' we don't want to be with angels all the time until we're angels ourselves."

Mr. Burton turned over suddenly and contemplated the back of the lounge at this honest avowal of one of humanity's prominent weaknesses, while Budge continued: "We don't want _you_ to get to be an angel, so what I want to know is, how to make you well.

Don't you think if I borrowed papa's horse and carriage an' took you ridin' you'd feel better?

I know he'd lend 'em to me if I told him you were goin' to drive."

"And if you said you were going with me to take care of me?"

suggested Mr. Burton.

"Y--e--es," said Budge, as hesitatingly as if such an idea had never occurred to him.

"An' don't you think that up to the top of the Hawksnest Rock an' out to Passaic Falls would be the nicest places for a sick man to go?

When you got tired of ridin' you could stop the carriage an' cut us a cane, or make us whistles, or find us pfingster apples (the seed-balls of the wild azalea), or even send us in swimming in a brook somewhere if you got tired of us."

"H'm!"

grunted Mr. Burton.

"An' you might take fings to eat wif you," suggested Toddie, "an' when you got real tired and felt bad, you might stop and have a little picnic.

I fink that would be dzust the fing for a man wif the toothache.

And we could help you lotsh."

"I'll see how I feel after dinner," said Mr. Burton.

"But what are you going to do for me between now and then, to make me feel better?"

"We tell you storiezh," said Toddie.

"_Them's_ what sick folks alwayzh likesh."

"Very well," said Mr. Burton.

"Begin right away."

"Aw wight," said Toddie.

"Do you want a sad story or a d'zolly one?"

"Anything," said Mr. Burton.

"Men with the toothache can stand nearly anything.

Don't draw on your imagination _too_ hard."

"Don't _never_ draw on madzinasuns," said Toddie; "I only draws on slatesh."

"Never mind; give us the story."

"Well," said Toddie, seating himself in a rocking-chair, and fixing his eyes on the ceiling, "guesh I'll tell about AbrahammynIsaac.

Onesh the Lord told a man named Abraham to go up the mountain an' chop his little boy's froat open an' burn him up on a naltar.

So Abraham started to go to do it.

An' he made his little boy Isaac, that he was going to chop and burn up carry the kindlin' wood he was goin' to set him a-fire wiz.

An' I want to know if you fink that wazh very nysh of him?"

"Well,--no," said Mr. Burton.

"Tell you what," said Budge, "you don't ever catch _me_ carryin' sticks up the mountain, even if my papa wants me to."

"When they got up there," said Toddie, "Abraham made a naltar an' put little Ikey on it, an' took a knife an' was goin' to chop his froat open, when a andzel came out of hebben an' said: 'Stop a-doin' that.'

So Abraham stopped, an' Ikey skooted; an' Abraham saw a sheep caught in the bushes, an' he caught _him_ an' killed him.

He wasn't goin' to climb way up a mountain to kill somebody an' not have his knife bluggy a bit.

An' he burned the sheep up.

An' then he went home again."

"I'll bet you Isaac's mamma never knew what his papa wanted to do with him," said Budge, "or she'd never let her little boy go away in the mornin'.

Do you want to bet?"

"N--no, not on Sunday, I guess," said Mr. Burton.

"Now, suppose you little boys go out of doors and play for a while, while uncle tries to get a nap."

The boys accepted the suggestion and disappeared.

Half an hour later, as Mrs. Burton was walking home from church under escort of old General Porcupine, and enduring with saintly fortitude the general's compliments upon her management of the children, there came screams of fear and anguish from the general's own grounds, which the couple were passing.

"Who can that be?"

exclaimed the general, his short hairs bristling like the quills of his titular godfather.

"_We_ have no children."

"I--think I know the voices," gasped Mrs. Burton, turning pale.

"Bless my soul!"

exclaimed the general, with an accent which showed that he was wishing the reverse of blessings upon souls less needy than his own.

"You don't mean--" "Oh, I do!"

said Mrs. Burton, wringing her hands.

"Do hurry!"

The general puffed and snorted up his gravel walk and toward the shrubbery, behind which was a fish-pond, from which direction the sound came.

Mrs. Burton followed, in time to see her nephew Budge help his brother out of the pond, while the general tugged at a large crawfish which had fastened its claw upon Toddie's finger.

The fish was game, but, with a mighty pull from the general, and a superhuman shriek from Toddie, the fish's claw and body parted company, and the general, still holding the latter tightly, staggered backward, and himself fell into the pond.

"Ow--ow--ow!"

howled Toddie, clasping the skirt of his aunt's mauve silk in a ruinous embrace, while the general floundered and snorted like a whale in dying agonies, and Budge laughed as merrily as if the whole scene had been provided especially for his entertainment.

Mrs. Burton hurried her nephews away, forgetting, in her mortification, to thank the general for his service, and placing a hand over Toddie's mouth.

"It hurts," mumbled Toddie.

"What did you touch the fish at all for?"

asked Mrs. Burton.

"It was a little baby-lobster," sobbed Toddie; "an' I loves little babies--all kinds of 'em--an' I wanted to pet him.

An' then I wanted to grop him."

"Why didn't you do it, then?"

demanded the lady.

"'Cauze he wouldn't grop," said Toddie; "he isn't all gropped yet."

True enough, the claw of the fish still hung at Toddie's finger, and Mrs. Burton spoiled a pair of four-button kids in detaching it, while Budge continued to laugh.

At length, however, mirth gave place to brotherly love, and Budge tenderly remarked: "Toddie, dear, don't you love Brother Budge?"

"Yesh," sobbed Toddie.

"Then you ought to be happy," said Budge, "for you've made _him_ awful happy.

If the fish hadn't caught you, the general couldn't have pulled him off, an' then he wouldn't have tumbled into the pond, an' oh, my!

--_didn't_ he splash bully!"

"Then _you's_ got to be bited with a fiss," said Toddie, "an' make him tumble in again, for _me_ to laugh 'bout."

"You're two naughty boys," said Mrs. Burton.

"Is this the way you take care of your sick uncle?"

"_Did_ take care of him," exclaimed Toddie; "told him a lovely Bible story, an' you didn't, an' he wouldn't have had no Sunday at all if I hadn't done it.

An' we's goin' to take him widin' this afternoon."

Mrs. Burton hurried home, but it seemed to her that she had never met so many inquiring acquaintances during so short a walk.

Arrived at last, she ordered her nephews to their room, and flung herself in tears beside her husband, murmuring: "Henry!"

And Mr. Burton, having viewed the ruined dress with the eye of experience, uttered the single word: "Boys!"

"What am I to do with them?"

asked the unhappy woman.

Mr. Burton was an affectionate husband.

He adored womankind, and sincerely bemoaned its special grievances; but he did not resist the temptation to recall his wife's announcement of five days before, so he whispered: "Train them."

Mrs. Burton's humiliation by her own lips was postponed by a heavy footfall, which, by turning her face, she discovered was that of her brother-in-law, Tom Lawrence, who remarked: "Tender confidences, eh?