it's DOVELY."

All this was lucid and disgusting, but utterly unproductive of b.u.t.ton-hooks, and meanwhile the breakfast was growing cold. I succeeded in b.u.t.toning 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. s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 a.s.sistance, 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 t.i.tles 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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?"