lps summer vacation 8

helen's babies with some account of their ways, innocent,crafty, angelic, impish, witching and impulsive; also a partial recordof their actions during ten days of their existence by john habberton part 1 the first cause, so far as it can be determined,of the existence of this book may be found in the following letter,written by my only married sister, and received by me, harryburton, salesman of white

goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and receivedjust as i was trying to decide where i should spend a fortnight'svacation:— "hillcrest, june 15, 1875. "dear harry:—remembering that you are alwayscomplaining that you never have a chance to read, and knowing thatyou won't get it this summer, if you spend your vacation among peopleof your own set, i write to ask you to come up here. i admitthat i am not wholly disinterested in inviting you. the truth is,tom and i are invited to spend a fortnight with my old schoolmate,alice wayne, who, you know,

is the dearest girl in the world, though youdidn't obey me and marry her before frank wayne appeared. well, we'redying to go, for alice and frank live in splendid style; but as theyhaven't included our children in their invitation, and have no childrenof their own, we must leave budge and toddie at home. i've no doubt they'llbe perfectly safe, for my girl is a jewel, and devoted to the children,but i would feel a great deal easier if there was a man in thehouse. besides, there's the silver, and burglars are less likely to breakinto a house where there's a savage-looking man. (never mindabout thanking me for the

compliment.) if you'll only come up, my mindwill be completely at rest. the children won't give you the slightesttrouble; they're the best children in the world—everybody saysso. "tom has plenty of cigars, i know, for themoney i should have had for a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. he hassome new claret, too, that he goes into ecstasies over, though _i_ can'ttell it from the vilest black ink, except by the color. our horsesare in splendid condition, and so is the garden—you see i don't forgetyour old passion for flowers. and, last and best, there never wereso many handsome girls at

hillcrest as there are among the summer boardersalready here; the girls you already are acquainted with herewill see that you meet all the newer acquisitions. "reply by telegraph right away. "of course you'll say 'yes.' "in great haste, your loving "sister helen. p. s. you shall have our own chamber; it catchesevery breeze, and commands the finest views. the children'sroom communicates with it;

so, if anything should happen to the darlingsat night, you'd be sure to hear them." "just the thing!" i ejaculated. five minuteslater i had telegraphed helen my acceptance of her invitation, andhad mentally selected books enough to busy me during a dozen vacations.without sharing helen's belief that her boys were the best ones inthe world, i knew them well enough to feel assured that they would notgive me any annoyance. there were two of them, since baby phil died lastfall; budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had generally, duringmy flying visits to helen,

worn a shy, serious, meditative, noble face,with great, pure, penetrating eyes, that made me almost feartheir stare. tom declared he was a born philanthropist or prophet, andhelen made so free with miss muloch's lines as to sing:— "ah, the day that thou goest a-wooing,budgie, my boy!" toddie had seen but three summers, and wasa happy little know-nothing, with a head full of tangled yellow hair, anda very pretty fancy for finding out sunbeams and dancing in them.i had long envied tom his horses, his garden, his house and his location,and the idea of

controlling them for a fortnight was particularlydelightful. tom's taste in cigars and claret i had always respected,while the lady inhabitants of hillcrest were, according tomy memory, much like those of every other suburban village, the fairestof their sex. three days later i made the hour and a halftrip between new york and hillcrest, and hired a hackman to drive meover to tom's. half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence, our horsesshied violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, turnedto me and remarked:— "that was one of the 'imps.'"

"what was?" i asked. "that little cuss that scared the hosses.there he is, now, holdin' up that piece of brushwood. 'twould be just likehis cheek, now, to ask me to let him ride. here he comes, runnin'. wonderwhere t'other is?—they most generally travel together. we call 'emthe imps, about these parts, because they're so uncommon likelyat mischief. always skeerin' hosses, or chasin' cows, or frightenin' chickens.nice enough father an' mother, too—queer, how young ones doturn out." as he spoke, the offending youth came pantingbeside our carriage, and

in a very dirty sailor-suit, and under a broad-brimmedstraw hat, with one stocking about his ankle, and two shoes,averaging about two buttons each, i recognized my nephew, budge!about the same time there emerged from the bushes by the roadside asmaller boy in a green gingham dress, a ruffle which might once havebeen white, dirty stockings, blue slippers worn through at thetoes, and an old-fashioned straw-turban. thrusting into the dust of theroad a branch from a bush, and shouting, "here's my grass-cutter!" heran toward us enveloped in a "pillar of cloud," which might have servedthe purpose of israel in

egypt. when he paused and the dust had somewhatsubsided, i beheld the unmistakable lineaments of the child toddie! "they're—my nephews," i gasped. "what!" exclaimed the driver. "by gracious!i forgot you were going to colonel lawrence's! i didn't tell anythingbut the truth about 'em, though; they're smart enough, an' good enough,as boys go; but they'll never die of the complaint that children hasin sunday-school books." "budge," said i, with all the sternness icould command, "do you know me?"

the searching eyes of the embryo prophet andphilanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied:— "yes; you're uncle harry. did you bring usanything?" "bring us anything?" echoed toddie. "i wish i could have brought you some bigwhippings," said i, with great severity of manner, "for behaving sobadly. get into this carriage." "come on, tod," shouted budge, although toddie'sfarther ear was not a yard from budge's mouth. "uncle harry's goingto take us riding!"

"going to take us riding!" echoed toddie,with the air of one in a reverie; both the echo and the reverie i soonlearned were characteristics of toddie. as they clambered into the carriage i noticedthat each one carried a very dirty towel, knotted in the center intowhat is known as a slip-noose knot, drawn very tight. after somemoments of disgusted contemplation of these rags, without beingin the least able to comprehend their purpose, i asked budge whatthose towels were for. "they're not towels—they're dollies," promptlyanswered my nephew.

"goodness!" i exclaimed. "i should think yourmother could buy you respectable dolls, and not let you appearin public with those loathsome rags." "we don't like buyed dollies," explained budge."these dollies is lovely; mine's name is mary, an' toddie'sis marfa." "marfa?" i queried. "yes; don't you know about "marfa and mary's jus' gone alongto ring dem charmin' bells, that them jubilee sings about?"

"oh, martha, you mean?" "yes, marfa—that's what i say. toddie'sdolly's got brown eyes, an' my dolly's got blue eyes." "i want to shee yours watch," remarked toddie,snatching at my chain, and rolling into my lap. "oh—oo—ee, so do i," shouted budge, hasteningto occupy one knee, and in transitu wiping his shoes on my trousersand the skirts of my coat. each imp put an arm about me to steady himself,as i produced my three-hundred-dollar time-keeper and showedthem the dial.

"i want to see the wheels go round," saidbudge. "want to shee wheels go wound," echoed toddie. "no; i can't open my watch where there's somuch dust," i said. "what for?" inquired budge. "want to shee the wheels go wound," repeatedtoddie. "the dust gets inside the watch and spoilsit," i explained. "want to shee the wheels go wound," said toddie,once more. "i tell you i can't, toddie," said i, withconsiderable asperity. "dust spoils watches."

the innocent gray eyes looked up wonderingly,the dirty, but pretty lips parted slightly, and toddie murmured:— "want to shee the wheels go wound." i abruptly closed my watch and put it intomy pocket. instantly toddie's lower lip commenced to turn outward,and continued to do so until i seriously feared the bony portionof his chin would be exposed to view. then his lower jaw dropped, and hecried:— "ah—h—h—h—h—h—want—to—shee—thewheels—go wou—ound." "charles" (charles is his baptismal name),—"charles,"i exclaimed with

some anger, "stop that noise this instant!do you hear me?" "yes—oo—oo—oo—ahoo—ahoo." "then stop it." "wants to shee—" "toddie, i've got some candy in my trunk,but i won't give you a bit if you don't stop that infernal noise." "well, i wants to shee wheels go wound. ah—ah—h—h—h—h!" "toddie, dear, don't cry so. here's some ladiescoming in a carriage; you wouldn't let them see you crying, wouldyou? you shall see the

wheels go round as soon as we get home." a carriage containing a couple of ladies wasrapidly approaching, as toddie again raised his voice. "ah—h—h—wants to shee wheels—" madly i snatched my watch from my pocket,opened the case, and exposed the works to view. the other carriage wasmeeting ours, and i dropped my head to avoid meeting the glance of theunknown occupants, for my few moments of contact with my dreadful nephewshad made me feel inexpressibly unneat. suddenly the carriagewith the ladies stopped. i

heard my own name spoken, and raising my headquickly (encountering budge's bullet head en route to the seriousdisarrangement of my hat), i looked into the other carriage. there, erect,fresh, neat, composed, bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling and observant,—shewould have been all this, even if the angel of the resurrectionhad just sounded his dreadful trump,—sat miss alice mayton, alady who, for about a year, i had been adoring from afar. "when did you arrive, mr. burton?" she asked,"and how long have you been officiating as child's companion? you'recertainly a happy-looking

trio—so unconventional. i hate to see childrenall dressed up and stiff as little manikins, when they go outto ride. and you look as if you had been having such a good time withthem." "i—i assure you, miss mayton," said i, "thatmy experience has been the exact reverse of a pleasant one. if kingherod were yet alive i'd volunteer as an executioner, and engage todeliver two interesting corpses at a moment's notice." "you dreadful wretch!" exclaimed the lady."mother, let me make you acquainted with mr. burton,—helen lawrence'sbrother. how is your

sister, mr. burton?" "i don't know," i replied; "she has gone withher husband on a fortnight's visit to captain and mrs. wayne,and i've been silly enough to promise to have an eye to the place whilethey're away." "why, how delightful!" exclaimed miss mayton."such horses! such flowers! such a cook!" "and such children," said i, glaring suggestivelyat the imps, and rescuing from toddie a handkerchief whichhe had extracted from my pocket, and was waving to the breeze.

"why, they're the best children in the world.helen told me so the first time i met her this season! childrenwill be children, you know. we had three little cousins with us last summer,and i'm sure they made me look years older than i really am." "how young you must be, then, miss mayton!"said i. i suppose i looked at her as if i meant what i said, for, althoughshe inclined her head and said, "oh, thank you," she didn't seemto turn my compliment off in her usual invulnerable style. nothing happeningin the course of conversation ever discomposed alice maytonfor more than a hundred

seconds, however, so she soon recovered herusual expression and self-command, as her next remark fully indicated. "i believe you arranged the floral decorationsat the st. zephaniah's fair, last winter, mr. burton? 'twas the mosttasteful display of the season. i don't wish to give any hints, butat mrs. clarkson's, where we're boarding, there's not a flower in thewhole garden. i break the tenth commandment dreadfully every time ipass colonel lawrence's garden. good-by, mr. burton." "ah, thank you; i shall be delighted. good-by."

"of course you'll call," said miss mayton,as her carriage started,—"it's dreadfully stupid here—nomen except on sundays." i bowed assent. in the contemplation of allthe shy possibilities which my short chat with miss mayton had suggested,i had quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the two living causes thereof.while in miss mayton's presence the imps had preserved perfectsilence, but now their tongues were loosened. "uncle harry," said budge, "do you know howto make whistles?" "ucken hawwy," murmured toddie, "does youlove dat lady?"

"no, toddie, of course not." "then you's baddy man, an' de lord won't letyou go to heaven if you don't love peoples." "yes, budge," i answered hastily, "i do knowhow to make whistles, and you shall have one." "lord don't like mans what don't love peoples,"reiterated toddie. "all right, toddie," said i. "i'll see ifi can't please the lord some way. driver, whip up, won't you? i'm in ahurry to turn these youngsters over to the girl, and ask her todrop them into the

bath-tub." i found helen had made every possible arrangementfor my comfort. her room commanded exquisite views of mountain-slopeand valley, and even the fact that the imps' bedroom adjoined minegave me comfort, for i thought of the pleasure of contemplating themwhile they were asleep, and beyond the power of tormenting their deludeduncle. at the supper-table budge and toddie appearedcleanly clothed in their rightful faces. budge seated himself at thetable; toddie pushed back his high-chair, climbed into it, and shouted:

"put my legs under ze tabo." rightfully construing this remark as a requestto be moved to the table, i fulfilled his desire. the girl pouredtea for me and milk for the children, and retired; and then i remembered,to my dismay, that helen never had a servant in the dining-roomexcept upon grand occasions, her idea being that servants retailto their friends the cream of the private conversation of the familycircle. in principle i agreed with her, but the penalty of the practicalapplication, with these two little cormorants on my hands, wasgreater suffering than any

i had ever been called upon to endure forprinciple's sake; but there was no help for it. i resignedly rapped onthe table, bowed my head, said, "from what we are about to receive,the lord make us thankful," and asked budge whether he ate bread or biscuit. "why, we ain't asked no blessin' yet," saidhe. "yes, i did, budge," said i. "didn't you hearme?" "do you mean what you said just now?" "yes." "oh, i don't think that was no blessin' atall. papa never says that

kind of a blessin'." "what does papa say, may i ask?" i inquired,with becoming meekness. "why, papa says, 'our father, we thank theefor this food; mercifully remember with us all the hungry and needyto-day, for christ's sake, amen.' that's what he says." "it means the same thing, budge." "_i_ don't think it does; and toddie didn'thave no time to say his blessin'. i don't think the lord'll like itif you do it that way." "yes, he will, old boy; he knows what peoplemean."

"well, how can he tell what toddie means iftoddie can't say anything?" "wantsh to shay my blessin'," whined toddie. it was enough; my single encounter with toddiehad taught me to respect the young gentleman's force of character.so again i bowed my head, and repeated what budge had reported as "papa'sblessin'," budge kindly prompting me where my memory failed. the momenti began, toddie commenced to jabber rapidly and aloud, andthe instant the "amen" was pronounced he raised his head and remarkedwith evident satisfaction:— "i shed my blessin' two timesh."

and budge said gravely:— "now i guess we are all right." the supper was an exquisite one, but the appetitesof those dreadful children effectually prevented my enjoyingthe repast. i hastily retired, called the girl, and instructed,her to see that the children had enough to eat, and were put to bed immediatelyafter; then i lit a cigar and strolled into the garden. the roseswere just in bloom, the air was full of the perfume of honeysuckles,the rhododendrons had not disappeared, while i saw promise of the earlyunfolding of many other

pet flowers of mine. i confess that i tooka careful survey of the garden to see how fine a bouquet i might makefor miss mayton, and was so abundantly satisfied with the materialbefore me that i longed to begin the work at once, but that it wouldseem too hasty for true gentility. so i paced the paths, my handsbehind my back, and my face well hidden by fragrant clouds of smoke, andwent into wondering and reveries. i wondered if there was any sensein the language of flowers, of which i had occasionally seen mention madeby silly writers; i wished i had learned it if it had any meaning;i wondered if miss

mayton understood it. at any rate, i fanciedi could arrange flowers to the taste of any lady whose face i had everseen; and for alice mayton i would make something so superb that herface could not help lighting up when she beheld it. i imagined just howher bluish-gray eyes would brighten, her cheeks would redden,—not withsentiment, not a bit of it; but with genuine pleasure,—how her stronglips would part slightly and disclose sweet lines not displayed whenshe held her features well in hand. i—i, a clear-headed, driving, successfulsalesman of white goods—actually wished i might be divestedof all nineteenth-century

abilities and characteristics, and be oneof those fairies that only silly girls and crazy poets think of, andmight, unseen, behold the meeting of my flowers with this highly cultivatedspecimen of the only sort of flowers our cities produce. what flowerdid she most resemble? a lily?—no; too—not exactly too bold,but too—too, well, i couldn't think of the word, but clearly it wasn't bold.a rose! certainly, not like those glorious but blazing remontants,nor yet like the shy, delicate, ethereal tea-roses with their tendersuggestions of color. like this perfect gloire de dijon, perhaps;strong, vigorous,

self-asserting, among its more delicate sisterhood;yet shapely, perfect in outline and development, exquisite,enchanting in its never fully-analyzed tints, yet compelling the admirationof every one, and recalling its admirers again and again bythe unspoken appeal of its own perfection—its unvarying radiance. "ah—h—h—h—ee—ee—ee—ee—ee—oo—oo—oo—oo"came from the window over my head. then came a shout of—"uncleharry!" in a voice i recognized as that of budge. i made no reply:there are moments when the soul is full of utterances unfit to beheard by childish ears.

"uncle har-ray!" repeated budge. then i hearda window-blind open, and budge exclaiming:— "uncle harry, we want you to come and tellus stories." i turned my eyes upward quickly, and was aboutto send a savage negative in the same direction, when i sawin the window a face unknown and yet remembered. could those great, wistfuleyes, that angelic mouth, that spiritual expression, belong tomy nephew budge? yes, it must be—certainly that super-celestial noseand those enormous ears never belonged to any one else. i turned abruptly,and entered the

house, and was received at the head of thestairway by two little figures in white, the larger of which remarked:— "we want you tell us stories—papa alwaysdoes nights." "very well, jump into bed—what kind of storiesdo you like?" "oh, 'bout jonah," said budge. "'bout jonah," echoed toddie. "well, jonah was out in the sun one day anda gourd-vine grew up all of a sudden, and made it nice and shady for him,and then it all faded as quick as it came."

a dead silence prevailed for a moment, andthen budge indignantly remarked:— "that ain't jonah a bit—_i_ know 'bout jonah." "oh, you do, do you?" said i. "then maybeyou'll be so good as to enlighten me?" "huh?" "if you know about jonah, tell me the story;i'd really enjoy listening to it." "well," said budge, "once upon a time thelord told jonah to go to

nineveh and tell the people they was all bad.but jonah didn't want to go, so he went on a boat that was going tojoppa. and then there was a big storm, an' it rained an' blowed and thebig waves went as high as a house. an' the sailors thought there mustbe somebody on the boat that the lord didn't like. an' jonah said he guessedhe was the man. so they picked him up and froed him in the ocean,an' i don't think it was well for 'em to do that after jonah told the troof.an' a big whale was comin' along, and he was awful hungry, costhe little fishes what he likes to eat all went down to the bottom ofthe ocean when it began to

storm, and whales can't go to the bottom ofthe ocean, cos they have to come up to breeve, an' little fishes don't.an' jonah found 'twas all dark inside the whale, and there wasn't anyfire there, an' it was all wet, and he couldn't take off his clothesto dry, cos there wasn't no place to hang 'em, an' there wasn't no windowsto look out of, nor nothin' to eat, nor nothin' nor nothin' nornothin.' so he asked the lord to let mm out, an' the lord was sorryfor him, an' he made the whale go up close to the land, an' jonah jumpedright out of his mouth, an' wasn't he glad? an' then he went to nineveh,an' done what the lord

told him to, and he ought to have done itin the first place if he had known what was good for him." "done first payshe, know what's dood for him,"asserted toddie, in support of his brother's assertion. "tellus 'nudder story." "oh, no, sing us a song," suggested budge. "shing us shong," echoed toddie. i searched my mind for a song, but the onlyone which came promptly was "m'appari," several bars of which i gave myjuvenile audience, when budge interrupted me, saying:—

"i don't think that's a very good song." "why not, budge?" "cos i don't. i don't know a word what you'retalking 'bout." "shing 'bout 'glory, glory, hallelulyah,'"suggested toddie, and i meekly obeyed. the old air has a wonderfulinfluence over me. i heard it in western camp-meetings and negro-cabinswhen i was a boy; i saw the 22d massachusetts march down broadway,singing the same air during the rush to the front during the early daysof the war; i have heard it sung by warrior tongues in nearly every southernstate; i heard it

roared by three hundred good old hunker democratsas they escorted new york's first colored regiment to their placeof embarkation; my old brigade sang it softly, but with a swing thatwas terrible in its earnestness, as they lay behind their stacksof arms just before going to action; i have heard it played over thegrave of many a dead comrade; the semi-mutinous—the cavalry becamepeaceful and patriotic again as their band-master played the oldair after having asked permission to try his hand on them; it isthe same that burst forth spontaneously in our barracks, on that gloriousmorning when we learned

that the war was over, and it was sung, withwords adapted to the occasion, by some good rebel friends of mine,on our first social meeting after the war. all these recollectionscame hurrying into my mind as i sang, and probably excited me beyondmy knowledge, for budge suddenly remarked:— "don't sing that all day, uncle harry; yousing so loud, it hurts my head." "beg your pardon, budge," said i. "good-night." "why, uncle harry, are you going? you didn'thear us say our

prayers,—papa always does." "oh! well, go ahead." "you must say yours first," said budge; "that'sthe way papa does." "very well," said i, and i repeated st. chrysostom'sprayer, from the episcopal service. i had hardly said "amen,"when budge remarked:— "my papa don't say any of them things at all;i don't think that's a very good prayer." "well, you say a good prayer, budge." "allright." budge shut his eyes, dropped hisvoice to the most perfect

tone of supplication, while his face seemedfit for a sleeping angel, then he said:— "dear lord, we thank you for lettin' us havea good time to-day, an' we hope all the little boys everywhere have hadgood times too. we pray you to take care of us an' everybody elseto-night, an' don't let 'em have any trouble. oh, yes, an' uncle harry'sgot some candy in his trunk, cos he said so in the carriage,—wethank you for lettin' uncle harry come to see us, an' we hope he's gotlots of candy—lots an' piles. an' we pray you to take good care ofall the poor little boys

and girls that haven't got any papas an' mammasan' uncle harrys an' candy an' beds to sleep in. an' take us allto heaven when we die, for christ's sake. amen. now give us the candy,uncle harry." "hush, budge; don't toddie say any prayers?" "oh yes; go on, tod." toddie closed his eyes, wriggled, twisted,breathed hard and quick, acting generally as if prayers were principallya matter of physical exertion. at last he began:— "dee lord, not make me sho bad, an' besh mamma,an' papa, an' budgie,

and doppity, [footnote: grandmother.] an'both boggies, [footnote: grandfathers.] an' all good people in dishhouse, and everybody else, an' my dolly. a—a—amen!" "now give us the candy," said budge, withthe usual echo from toddie. i hastily extracted the candy from my trunk,gave some to each boy, the recipients fairly shrieking with delight,and once more said good-night. "oh, you didn't give us any pennies," saidbudge. "papa gives us some to put in our banks, every nights." "well, i haven't got any now—wait untilto-morrow."

"then we want drinks." "i'll let maggie bring you drink." "want my dolly," murmured toddie. i found the knotted towels, took the dirtythings up gingerly and threw them upon the bed. "now want to shee wheels go wound," said toddie. i hurried out of the room and slammed thedoor. i looked at my watch—it was half-past eight; i had spentan hour and a half with those dreadful children. they were funny tobe sure—i found myself

laughing in spite of my indignation. still,if they were to monopolize my time as they had already done, when wasi to do my reading? taking fiske's "cosmic philosophy" from my trunki descended to the back parlor, lit a cigar and a student-lamp, andbegan to read. i had not fairly commenced when i heard a patter ofsmall feet, and saw my elder nephew before me. there was sorrowful protestationin every line of his countenance, as he exclaimed:— "you didn't say 'good-by' nor 'god bless you'nor anything." "oh—good-by."

"good-by." "god bless you." budge seemed waiting for something else. atlast he said:— "papa says, 'god bless everybody.'" "well, god bless everybody." "god bless everybody," responded budge, andturned silently and went up-stairs. "bless your tormenting honest little heart,"i said to myself; "if men trusted god as you do your papa, how littlebusiness there'd be for

preachers to do." the night was a perfect one. the pure freshair, the perfume of the flowers, the music of the insect choir inthe trees and shrubbery—the very season itself seemed to forbid my readingphilosophy, so i laid fiske aside, delighted myself with a few rarebits from paul hayne's new volume of poems, read a few chapters of"one summer," and finally sauntered off to bed. my nephews were slumberingsweetly; it seemed impossible that the pure, exquisite, angelicfaces before me belonged to my tormentors of a few hours before. asi lay on my couch i could

see the dark shadow and rugged crest of themountain; above it, the silver stars against the blue, and below itthe rival lights of the fireflies against the dark background formedby the mountain itself. no rumbling of wheels tormented me, nor any ofthe thousand noises that fill city air with the spirit of unrest, andi fell into a wonder almost indignant that sensible, comfortable,loving beings could live in horrible new york, while such delightfulrural homes were so near at hand. then alice mayton came into my mind,and then a customer; later, stars and trademarks, and bouquets, and dirtynephews, and fireflies

and bad accounts, and railway tickets, andcandy and herbert spencer, mixed themselves confusingly in my mind. thena vision of a proud angel, in the most fashionable attire anda modern carriage, came and banished them all by its perfect radiance,and i was sinking in the most blissful unconsciousness— "ah—h—h—h—h—h—oo—oo—oo—oo—ee—ee—ee—" "sh—h—h!" i hissed. the warning was heeded, and i soon relapsedinto oblivion. "ah—h—h—h—oo—oo—ee—ee—ee—be—ee."

"toddie, do you want uncle to whip you?" "no." "then lie still." "well, ize lost my dolly, an' i tant findher anywhere." "well, i'll find her for you in the morning." "oo—oo—ee—i wants my dolly." "well, i tell you i'll find her for you inthe morning." "i want her now—oo—oo—" "you can't have her now, so you can go tosleep."

"oh—oo—oo—oo—ee—" springing madly to my feet, i started forthe offender's room. i encountered a door ajar by the way, my foreheadbeing first to discover it. i ground my teeth, lit a candle, and saidsomething—no matter what. "oh, you said a bad swear!" ejaculated toddie."you won't go to heaven when you die." "neither will you, if you howl like a littledemon all night. are you going to be quiet, now?" "yesh, but i wants my dolly."

"_i_ don't know where your dolly is—do yousuppose i'm going to search this entire house for that confounded dolly?" "'tain't 'founded. i wants my dolly." "i don't know where it is; you don't thinki stole your dolly, do you?" "well, i wants it, in de bed wif me." "charles," said i, "when you arise in morning,i hope your doll will be found. at present, however, you must be resignedand go to sleep. i'll cover you up nicely;" here i began to rearrangethe bed-clothing, when the fateful dolly, source of all my woes,tumbled out of them. toddie

clutched it, his whole face lighting up withaffectionate delight, and he screamed:— "oh, dare is my dee dolly: tum to your ownpapa, dolly, an' i'll love you." and that ridiculous child was so completelysatisfied by his outlay of affection that my own indignation gave placeto genuine artistic pleasure. one can tire of even beautiful pictures,though, when he is not fully awake, and is holding a candle ina draught of air; so i covered my nephews and returned to my ownroom, where i mused upon the

contradictoriness of childhood until i fellasleep. in the morning i was awakened very early bythe light streaming in the window, the blinds of which i had left openthe night before. the air was alive with bird-songs, and the easternsky was flushing with tints which no painter's canvas ever caught. butante-sunrise skies and songs are not fit subjects for the continued contemplationof men who read until midnight; so i hastily closed the blinds,drew the shade, dropped the curtains and lay down again, dreamilythanking heaven that i was to fall asleep to such exquisite music. i amsure that i mentally forgave

all my enemies as i dropped off into a mostdelicious doze, but the sudden realization that a light hand was passingover my cheek roused me to savage anger in an instant. i sprangup, and saw budge shrink timidly away from my bedside. "i was only a-lovin' you, cos you was good,and brought us candy. papa lets us love him whenever we want to—everymorning he does." "as early as this?" demanded i. "yes, just as soon as we can see, if we wantto." poor tom! i never could comprehend why witha good wife, a comfortable

income, and a clear conscience, he need alwayslook thin and worn—worse than he ever did in virginiawoods or louisiana swamps. but now i knew all. and yet, what could one do?that child's eyes and voice, and his expression, which exceededin sweetness that of any of the angels i had ever imagined,—that childcould coax a man to do more self-forgetting deeds than the shorteningof his precious sleeping-hours amounted to. in fact, he wasfast divesting me of my rightful sleepiness, so i kissed him and said:— "run to bed, now, dear old fellow, and letuncle go to sleep again.

after breakfast, i'll make you a whistle." "oh, will you?" the angel turned into a boyat once. "yes; now run along." "a loud whistle—a real loud one?" "yes, but not if you don't go right back tobed." the sound of little footsteps receded as iturned over and closed my eyes. speedily the bird-song seemed to growfainter; my thoughts dropped to pieces; i seemed to be floatingon fleecy clouds, in company with hundreds of cherubs with budge's featuresand night-drawers—

"uncle harry!" may the lord forget the prayer i put up justthen! "i'll discipline you, my fine little boy,"thought i. "perhaps, if i let you shriek your abominable little throathoarse, you'll learn better than to torment your uncle, that wasjust getting ready to love you dearly." "uncle har-ray!" "howl, away, you little imp," thought i. "you'vegot me wide awake, and your lungs may suffer for it." suddenly iheard, although in sleepy

tones, and with a lazy drawl, some words whichappalled me. the murmurer was toddie:— "want—she—wheels—go—wound." "budge!" i shouted, in the desperation ofmy dread lest toddie, too, might wake up, "what do you want?" "what!" "uncle harry, what kind of wood are you goingto make the whistle out of?" "i won't make any at all—i'll cut a bigstick and give you a sound

whipping with it, for not keeping quiet, asi told you to."' "why, uncle harry, papa don't whip us withsticks—he spanks us." heavens! papa! papa! papa! was i never tohave done with this eternal quotation of "papa"? i was horrified to findmyself gradually conceiving a dire hatred of my excellent brother-in-law.one thing was certain, at any rate: sleep was no longerpossible; so i hastily dressed, and went into the garden. among thebeauty and the fragrance of the flowers, and in the delicious morningair, i succeeded in regaining my temper, and was delighted, onanswering the

breakfast-bell, two hours later, to have budgeaccost me with:— "why, uncle harry, where was you? we lookedall over the house for you, and couldn't find a speck of you." the breakfast was an excellent one. i afterwardlearned that helen, dear old girl, had herself prepared a billof fare for every meal i should take in the house. as the table talkof myself and nephews was not such as could do harm by being repeated,i requested maggie, the servant, to wait upon the children, and iaccompanied my request with a small treasury note. relieved, thus, of allresponsibility for the

dreadful appetites of my nephews, i did fulljustice to the repast, and even regarded with some interest and amusementthe industry of budge and toddie with their tiny forks and spoons.they ate rapidly for a while, but soon their appetites weakened andtheir tongues were unloosed. "ocken hawwy," remarked toddie, "daysh anawfoo funny chunt up 'tairs—awfoo big chunt. i show it you afterbrepspup." "toddie's a silly little boy," said budge;"he always says brepspup for brekbux." [footnote: breakfast.]

"oh! what does he mean by chunt, budge?" "i guess he means trunk," replied my oldestnephew. recollections of my childish delight in rummagingan old trunk—it seems a century ago that i did it—causedme to smile sympathetically at toddie, to his apparent great delight.how delightful it is to strike a sympathetic chord in child-nature,thought i; how quickly the infant eye comprehends the look which precedesthe verbal expression of an idea! dear toddie! for years we might sitat one table, careless of each other's words, but the casual mentionof one of thy delights has

suddenly brought our souls into that sweetestof all human communions—that one which doubtless boundthe master himself to that apostle who was otherwise apparently the weakestamong the chosen twelve. "an awfoo funny chunt" seemed to annihilatesuddenly all differences of age, condition and experiencebetween the wee boy and myself, and— a direful thought struck me. i dashed up-stairsand into my room. yes, he did mean my trunk. _i_ could see nothingfunny about it—quite the contrary. the bond of sympathy between mynephew and myself was

suddenly broken. looking at the matter fromthe comparative distance which a few weeks have placed between thatday and this, i can see that i was unable to consider the scene beforeme with a calm and unprejudiced mind. i am now satisfied thatthe sudden birth and hasty decease of my sympathy with toddie were strikinginstances of human inconsistency. my soul had gone out to hisbecause he loved to rummage in trunks, and because i imagined he lovedto see the monument of incongruous material which resulted from suchan operation; the scene before me showed clearly that i had rightlydivined my nephew's nature.

and yet my selfish instincts hastened to obscuremy soul's vision, and to prevent that joy which should ensue when"faith is lost in full fruition." my trunk had contained nearly everything,for while a campaigner i had learned to reduce packing to an exact science.now, had there been an atom of pride in my composition i might haveglorified myself, for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon the floorcould never have come out of a single trunk. clearly, toddie wasmore of a general connoisseur than an amateur in packing. themethod of his work i

quickly discerned, and the discovery threwsome light upon the size of the heap in front of my trunk. a dress-hatand its case, when their natural relationship is dissolved, occupynearly twice as much space as before, even if the former contains a blacking-boxnot usually kept in it, and the latter contains a few cigars soakingin bay rum. the same might be said of a portable dressing-caseand its contents, bought for me in vienna by a brother ex-soldier, anddesigned by an old continental campaigner to be perfection itself.the straps which prevented the cover from falling entirelyback had been cut, broken or

parted in some way, and in its hollow laymy dresscoat, tightly rolled up. snatching it up with a violent exclamation,and unrolling it, there dropped from it—one of those infernal dolls.at the same time a howl was sounded from the doorway. "you tookted my dolly out of her cradle—iwant to wock my dolly—oo—oo—oo—ee—ee—ee—" "you young scoundrel," i screamed—yes, howled,i was so enraged—"i've a great mind to cut your throat this minute.what do you mean by meddling with my trunk?"

"i—doe—know." outward turned toddie'slower lip; i believe the sight of it would move a bengal tiger to pity, butno such thought occurred to me just then. "what made you do it?" "be—cause." "because what?" "i—doe—know." just then a terrific roar arose from the garden.looking out, i saw budge with a bleeding finger upon one hand,and my razor in the other;

he afterward explained he had been makinga boat, and that knife was bad to him. to apply adhesive plaster to thecut was the work of but a minute, and i had barely completed this surgicaloperation when tom's gardener-coachman appeared and handed me aletter. it was addressed in helen's well-known hand, and read as follows(the passages in brackets were my own comments):— "bloomdale, june 21, 1875. "dear harry:—i'm very happy in the thoughtthat you are with my darling children, and, although i'm havinga lovely time here, i often

wish i was with you. [ump—so do i.] i wantyou to know the little treasures real well. [thank you, but i don'tthink i care to extend the acquaintanceship farther than is absolutelynecessary.] it seems to me so unnatural that relatives know so littleof those of their own blood, and especially of the innocent little spiritswhose existence is almost unheeded. [not when there's unlocked trunksstanding about, sis.] "now i want to ask a favor of you. when wewere boys and girls at home, you used to talk perfect oceans about physiognomy,and phrenology, and unerring signs of character. i thought itwas all nonsense then, but if

you believe any of it now, i wish you'd studythe children, and give me your well-considered opinion of them. [perfectdemons, ma'am; imps, rascals, born to be hung—both of them.] "i can't get over the feeling that dear budgeis born for something grand. [grand nuisance.] he is sometimes sothoughtful and so absorbed, that i almost fear the result of disturbinghim; then, he has that faculty of perseverance which seems to bethe on|y thing some men have lacked to make them great. [he certainly hasit; he exemplified it while i was trying to get to sleep this morning.]

"toddie is going to make a poet or a musicianor an artist. [that's so; all abominable scamps take to some artisticpursuit as an excuse for loafing.] his fancies take hold of him verystrongly. [they do—they do; "shee wheels go wound," for instance.]he has not budgie's sublime earnestness, but he doesn't need it; the irresistibleforce with which he is drawn toward whatever is beautiful compensatesfor the lack. [ah—perhaps that explains his operationwith my trunk.] but i want your own opinion, for i know you make morecareful distinction in character than i do.

"delighting myself with the idea that i deservemost of the credit for the lots of reading you will have done bythis time, and hoping i shall soon have a line telling me how my darlingsare, i am as ever, "your loving sister, "helen." seldom have i been so roused by a letter asi was by this one, and never did i promise myself more genuine pleasurein writing a reply. i determined that it should be a masterpieceof analysis and of calm yet forcible expression of opinion.

upon one step, at any rate, i was positivelydetermined. calling the girl, i asked her where the key was that lockedthe door between my room and the children. "please, sir, toddie threw it down the well." "is there a locksmith in the village?" "no, sir; the nearest one is at paterson." "is there a screwdriver in the house?" "yes, sir." "bring it to me, and tell the coachman toget ready at once to drive me

to paterson." the screwdriver was brought, and with it iremoved the lock, got into the carriage, and told the driver to takeme to paterson by the hill-road—one of the most beautiful roadsin america. "paterson!" exclaimed budge. "oh, there'sa candy-store in that town, come on, toddie." "will you?" thought i, snatching the whipand giving the horses a cut. "not if _i_ can help it. the idea of havingsuch a drive spoiled by the clatter of such a couple!"

away went the horses, and up rose a piercingshriek and a terrible roar. it seemed that both children must havebeen mortally hurt, and i looked out hastily, only to see budge andtoddie running after the carriage, and crying pitifully. it was toopitiful,—i could not have proceeded without them, even if they had beenafflicted with small-pox. the driver stopped of his own accord,—heseemed to know the children's ways and their results,—and i helped budgeand toddie in, meekly hoping that the eye of providence was uponme, and that so self-sacrificing an act would be duly passedto my credit. as we

reached the hill-road, my kindness to my nephewsseemed to assume, greater proportions, for the view before mewas inexpressibly beautiful. the air was perfectly clear, andacross two score towns i saw the great metropolis itself, the silentcity of greenwood beyond it, the bay, the narrows, the sound, the twosilvery rivers lying between me and the palisades, and even, acrossand to the south of brooklyn, the ocean itself. wonderful effectsof light and shadow, picturesque masses, composed of detached buildingsso far distant that they seemed huddled together; grim factoriesturned to beautiful

palaces by the dazzling reflection of sunlightfrom their window-panes; great ships seeming in the distance to betoy-boats floating idly;—with no sign of life perceptible,the whole scene recalled the fairy stories, read in my youthful days, ofenchanted cities, and the illusion was greatly strengthened by the dragon-likeshape of the roof of new york's new post-office, lying in thecenter of everything, and seeming to brood over all. ah, that was what i expected! "well, budge?"

"i always think that looks like heaven." "what does?" "why, all that,—from here over to that othersky way back there behind everything, i mean. and i think that (herehe pointed toward what probably was a photographer's roof-light)—thatplace where it's so shiny, is where god stays." bless the child! the scene had suggested onlyelfindom to me, and yet i prided myself on my quick sense of artisticeffects. "an' over there where that awful bright littlespeck is," continued

budge, "that's where dear little brother phillieis; whenever i look over there, i see him putting his hand out." "dee 'ittle phillie went to s'eep in a boxand the lord took him to heaven," murmured toddie, putting togetherall he had seen and heard of death. then he raised his voice, and exclaimed:— "ocken hawwy, you know what iz'he goin' dowhen i be's big man? iz'he goin' to have hosses and tarridge, an' iz'hegoin' to wide over all ze chees an' all ze houses, an' all ze worldan' evvyfing. an' whole lots of little birdies is comin' in my tarridgean' sing songs to me, an'

you can come too if you want to, an' we'llhave ice-cream an' 'trawberries, an' see 'ittle fishes swimmin'down in ze water, an' we'll get a g'eat big house that's all p'ittyon the outshide an' all p'itty on the inshide, and it'll all be oursand we'll do just evvyfing we want to." "toddy, you're an idealist." "ain't a 'dealisht." "toddy's a goosey-gander," remarked budge,with great gravity. "uncle harry, do you think heaven's as nice as thatplace over there?"

"yes, budge, a great deal nicer." "then why don't we die an' go there? i don'twant to go on livin' forever an' ever. i don't see why we don'tdie right away; i think we've lived enough of days." "the lord wants us to live until we get goodand strong and smart, and do a great deal of good before we die, oldfellow—that's why we don't die right away." "well, i want to see dear little phillie,an' if the lord won't let him come down here, i think he might let me diean' go to heaven. little

phillie always laughed when i jumped for him.uncle harry, angels has wings, don't they?" "some people think they have, old boy." "well, i know they don't, cos if phillie hadwings, i know he'd fly right down here an' see me. so they don't." "but maybe he has to go somewhere else, budge,or maybe he comes and you can't see him. we can't see angels withour eyes, you know." "then what made the hebrew children in thefiery furnace see one? their eyes was just like ours, wasn't they? i don'tcare; i want to see dear

little phillie awful much. uncle harry, ifi went to heaven, do you know what i'd do?" "what would you do, budge?" "why, after i saw little phillie, i'd go rightup to the lord an' give him a great big hug." "what for, budge?" "oh, cos he lets us have nice times, an' gaveme my mama an' papa, an' phillie—but he took him away again—an'toddie, but toddie's a dreadful bad boy sometimes, though."

"very true, budge," said i, remembering mytrunk and the object of my ride. "uncle harry, did you ever see the lord?" "no, budge; he has been very close to me agood many times, but i never saw him." "well, _i_ have; i see him every time i lookup in the sky, and there ain't nobody 'with me." the driver crossed himself and whispered,"he's foriver a-sayin' that, an' be the powers, i belave him. sometimesye'd think that the howly

saints thimselves was a-sphak-in' whin thatbye gits to goin' on that way." it was wonderful. budge's countenanceseemed too pure to be of the earth as he continued to express his ideasof the better land and its denizens. as for toddie, his tongue wasgoing incessantly, although in a tone scarcely audible; but when i chancedto catch his expressions, they were so droll and fanciful,that i took him upon my lap that i might hear him more distinctly.i even detected myself in the act of examining the mental draft of myproposed letter to helen, and of being ashamed of it. but neither toddie'sfancy nor budge's

spirituality caused me to forget the principalobject of my ride. i found a locksmith and left the lock to befitted with a key; then we drove to the falls. both boys discharged volleysof questions as we stood by the gorge, and the fact that theroar of the falling water prevented me from hearing them did not causethem to relax their efforts in the least. i walked to the hotelfor a cigar, taking the children with me. i certainly spent no morethan three minutes in selecting and lighting a cigar, and askingthe barkeeper a few questions about the falls; but when i turned,the children were

missing, nor could i see them in any direction.suddenly before my eyes arose from the nearer brink of the gorge twoyellowish disks, which i recognized as the hats of my nephews; theni saw between the disks and me two small figures lying upon the ground.i was afraid to shout, for fear of scaring them, if they happened tohear me, i bounded across the grass, industriously raving and praying byturns. they were lying on their stomachs and looking over the edge ofthe cliff. i approached them on tip-toe, threw myself upon the ground,and grasped a foot of each child.

"oh, uncle harry!" screamed budge in my ear,as i dragged him close to me, kissing and shaking him alternately, "ihunged over more than toddie did." "well, i—i—i—i—i—i—i hunged overa good deal, any how," said toddie, in self-defense. that afternoon i devoted to making a bouquetfor miss mayton, and a most delightful occupation i found it. itwas no florist's bouquet, composed of only a few kinds of flowers, wiredupon sticks, and arranged according to geometric pattern. iused many a rare flower, too

shy of bloom to recommend itself to florists;i combined tints almost as numerous as the flowers were, and perfumesto which city bouquets are utter strangers. arranging flowers isa favorite pastime of mine, but upon this particular occasion i enjoyedmy work more than i had ever done before. not that i was in love withmiss mayton; a man may honestly and strongly admire a handsome, brilliantwoman without being in love with her; he can delight himself intrying to give her pleasure, without feeling it necessary thatshe shall give him herself in return. since i arrived at years of discretion,i have always smiled

sarcastically at the mention of the generosityof men who were in love; they have seemed to me rather to be askingan immense price for what they offered. i had no such feeling towardmiss mayton. there have been heathens who have offered gifts to goddessesout of pure adoration and without any idea of ever having the exclusivecompanionship of their favorite divinities. i never offered missmayton any attention which did not put me into closer sympathy with thesesame great-souled old pagans, and with such christians as followtheir good example. with each new grace my bouquet took on, my pleasureand satisfaction

increased at the thought of how she wouldenjoy the completed evidence of my taste. at length it was finished, but my delightsuddenly became clouded by the dreadful thought, "what will folks say?"had we been in new york instead of hillcrest, no one but the florist,his messenger, the lady and myself would know if i sent a bouquetto miss mayton; but in hillcrest, with its several hundred native-borngossips and its acquaintance of everybody with everybody elseand their affairs, i feared talk. upon the discretion of mike,the coachman, i could safely

rely; i had already confidentially conveyedsundry bits of fractional currency to him, and informed him of one ofthe parties at our store whose family mike had known in old erin; butevery one knew where mike was employed; every one knew—mysterious,unseen and swift are the ways of communication in the country!—that iwas the only gentleman at present residing at colonel lawrence's. ah!—ihad it. i had seen in one of the library-drawers a small pasteboardbox, shaped like a band-box—doubtless that would hold it. ifound the box—it was of just the size i needed. i dropped my card intothe bottom,—no danger of a

lady not finding the card accompanying a giftof flowers,—neatly fitted the bouquet in the center of the box,and went in search of mike. he winked cheeringly as i explainedthe nature of his errand, and he whispered:— "i'll do it as clane as a whistle, yer honor.mistress clarkson's cook an' mesilf understhand each other, an' i'mused to goin' up the back way. dhivil a man can see but the angels,an' they won't tell." "very well, mike; here's a dollar for you;you'll find the box on the hat-rack in the hall."

half an hour later, while i sat in my chamberwindow, reading, i beheld mike, cleanly shaved, dressed and brushed,swinging up the road, with my box balanced on one of his enormous hands.with a head full of pleasing fancies, i went down to supper. mynew friends were unusually good. their ride seemed to have toned downtheir boisterousness and elevated their little souls; their appetitesexhibited no diminution of force, but they talked but little, and allthat they said was smart, funny, or startling—so much so that when,after supper, they invited me to put them to bed, i gladly accepted theinvitation. toddie

disappeared somewhere, and came back verydisconsolate. "can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined. "never mind, old pet," said i, soothingly."uncle will ride you on his foot." "but i want my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteouslyrolling out his lower lip. i remembered my experience when toddie wantedto "shee wheels go wound," and i trembled. "toddie," said i, in a tone so persuasivethat it would be worth

thousands a year to me, as a salesman, ifi could only command it at will; "toddie, don't you want to ride on uncle'sback?" "no: want my dolly's k'adle." "don't you want me to tell you a story?" for a moment toddie's face indicated a terribleinternal conflict between old adam and mother eve, but curiosityfinally overpowered natural depravity, and toddie murmured:— "yesh." "what shall i tell you about?"

"'bout nawndeark." "about what?" "he means noah an' the ark," exclaimed budge. "datsh what _i_ shay—nawndeark," declaredtoddie. "well," said i, hastily refreshing my memoryby picking up the bible,—for helen, like most people, is prettysure to forget to pack her bible when she runs away from home fora few days,—"well, once it rained forty days and nights, and everybodywas drowned from the face of the earth excepting noah, a righteous man,who was saved, with all

his family, in an ark which the lord commandedhim to build." "uncle harry," said budge, after contemplatingme with open eyes and mouth for at least two minutes after i hadfinished, "do you think that's noah?" "certainly, budge; here's the whole storyin the bible." "well, _i_ don't think it's noah one singlebit," said he, with increasing emphasis. "i'm beginning to think we read differentbibles, budge; but let's hear your version."

"tell me about noah, if you know so much abouthim." "i will, if you want me to. once the lordfelt so uncomfortable cos folks was bad that he was sorry he ever madeanybody, or any world or anything. but noah wasn't bad—the lord likedhim first-rate, so he told noah to build a big ark, and then thelord would make it rain so everybody should be drownded but noah an'his little boys an' girls, an' doggies an' pussies an' mama-cows an'little-boy-cows an' little-girl-cows an' hosses an' everything—they'dgo in the ark an' wouldn't get wetted a bit, when it rained.an' noah took lots of things

to eat in the ark—cookies, an' milk, an'oatmeal, an' strawberries, an' porgies, an'—oh, yes; an' plum-puddin'san' pumpkin-pies. but noah didn't want everybody to get drownded, sohe talked to folks an' said, 'it's goin' to rain awful pretty soon; you'dbetter be good, an' then the lord'll let you come into my ark.' an'they jus' said, 'oh, if it rains we'll go in the house till it stops;'an' other folks said, 'we ain't afraid of rain—we've got an umbrella.'an' some more said, they wasn't goin' to be afraid of just a rain.but it did rain though, an' folks went in their houses, an' the watercame in, an' they went

up-stairs, an' the water came up there, an'they got on the tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' up in mountains,an' the water went after 'em everywhere an' drownded everybody,only just except noah and the people in the ark. an' it rained fortydays an' nights, an' then it stopped, an' noah got out of the ark, an'he and his little boys an' girls went wherever they wanted to, and everythingin the world was all theirs; there wasn't anybody to tell 'em togo home, nor no kindergarten schools to go to, nor no badboys to fight 'em, nor nothin'. now tell us 'nother story."

i determined that i would not again attemptto repeat portions of the scripture narrative—my experience in thatdirection had not been encouraging. i ventured upon a war story. "do you know what the war was?" i asked, byway of reconnoissance. "oh, yes," said budge; "papa was there, an'he's got a sword; don't you see it, hangin' up there?" yes, i saw it, and the difference betweenthe terrible field where last i saw tom's sword in action, and this quietroom where it now hung, forced me into a reverie from which i wasaroused by budge remarking:—

"ain't you goin' to tell us one?" "oh, yes, budge. one day while the war wasgoing on, there was a whole lot of soldiers going along a road, and theywere as hungry as they could be; they hadn't had anything to eatthat day." "why didn't they go into the houses, and thepeople they was hungry? that's what _i_ do when i goes along roads." "because the people in that country didn'tlike them; the brothers and papas and husbands of those people were soldiers,too; but they didn't like the soldiers i told you about first,and they wanted to kill them."

"i don't think they were a bit nice," saidbudge, with considerable decision. "well, the first soldiers wanted to kill them,budge." "then they was all bad, to want to kill eachother." "oh, no, they weren't; there were a greatmany real good men on both sides." poor budge looked sadly puzzled, as he hadan excellent right to do, since the wisest and best men are sorely perplexedby the nature of warlike feeling.

"both parties of soldiers were on horseback,"i continued, "and they were near each other, and when they saw eachother they made their horses run fast, and the bugles blew, andthe soldiers all took their swords out to kill each other with, when justthen a little boy, who had been out in the woods to pick berriesfor his mama, tried to run across the road, and caught his toe some way,and fell down, and cried. then somebody hallooed 'halt!' very loud,and all the horses on one side stopped, and then somebody else hallooed'halt!' and a lot of bugles blew, and every horse on the other;side stopped, and one

soldier jumped off his horse, and picked upthe little boy—he was only about as big as you, budge—and tried tocomfort him; and then a soldier from the other side came up to lookat him, and then more soldiers came from both sides to look at him;and when he got better and walked home, the soldiers all rode away,because they didn't feel like fighting just then." "oh, uncle harry! i think it was an awfulgood soldier that got off his horse to take care of that poor little boy." "do you, budge? who do you think it was?"

"i dunno." "it was your papa." "oh—h—h—h—h!" if tom could have butseen the expression upon his boy's face as he prolonged this exclamation,his loss of one of the grandest chances a cavalry officer ever hadwould not have seemed so great to him as it had done for years. heseemed to take in the story in all its bearings, and his great eyes grewin depth as they took on the far-away look which seemed too earnestfor the strength of an earthly being to support.

but toddie,—he who a fond mama thought endowedwith art sense,—toddie had throughout my recital the air of a manwho was musing on some affair of his own, and budge's exclamationhad hardly died away, when toddie commenced to wave aloud an extravaganzawholly his own. "when _i_ was a soldier," he remarked, verygravely, "i had a coat an' a hat on, an' a muff an' a little knake [footnote:snake: tippet.] wound my neck to keep me warm, an' it wained,an' hailed, an' 'tormed, an' i felt bad, so i whallowed a sword an'burned me all down dead." "and how did you get here?" i asked, withinterest proportioned to the

importance of toddie's last clause. "oh, i got up from the burn-down dead, an'comed right here. an' i want my dolly's k'adle." oh persistent little dragon! if you were ofage, what a fortune you might make in business! "uncle harry, i wish my papa would come homeright away," said budge. "why, budge?" "i want to love him for bein' so good to thatpoor little boy in the war."

"ocken hawwy, i wants my dolly's k'adle, tausemy dolly's in it, an' i want to shee her;" thus spake toddie. "don't you think the lord loved my papa awfulmuch for doin' that sweet thing, uncle harry?" asked budge. "yes, old fellow, i feel sure that he did." "lord lovesh my papa vewy much, so i loveze lord vewy much," remarked toddie. "an' i wants my dolly's k'adle an'my dolly." "toddie, i don't know where either of themare—i can't find them now—do wait until morning, then uncle harrywill look for them."

"i don't see how the lord can get along inheaven without my papa, uncle harry," said budge. "lord takesh papa to heaven, an' budgie an'me, an' we'll go walkin' an' see ze lord, an' play wif ze angels' wings,an' hazh good timsh, an' never have to go to bed at all, at all." pure hearted little innocents! compared witholder people whom we endure, how great thy faith and how few thyfaults! how superior thy love— a knock at the door interrupted me. "comein!" i shouted.

end of part 3�