and worldly wisdom of the Fourth Commandment, so far as it refers to
rest, I have conscientiously trained myself to sleep two hours later
on the morning of the holy day than I ever allowed myself to do on
business days. But having inherited, besides a New England conscience,
a New England abhorrence of waste, I regularly sit up two hours later
on Saturday nights than on any others; and the night preceding this
particular Sabbath was no exception to the rule, as the reader may
imagine from the foregoing recital. At about 5.30 A.M., however, I
became conscious that my nephews were not in accord with me on the
Sinaitic law. They were not only awake, but were disputing vigorously,
and, seemingly very loudly, for I heard their words quite distinctly.
With sleepy condescension I endeavored to ignore these noisy
irreverents, but I was suddenly moved to a belief in the doctrine of
vicarious atonement, for a flying body, with more momentum than weight,
struck me upon the not prominent bridge of my nose, and speedily and
with unnecessary force accommodated itself to the outline of my eyes.
After a moment spent in anguish, and in wondering how the missive came
through closed doors and windows, I discovered that my pain had been
caused by one of the dolls, which from its extreme uncleanness, I
suspected belonged to Toddie; I also discovered that the door between
the rooms was open.
“Who threw that doll?” I shouted, sternly.
There came no response.
“Do you hear?” I roared.
“What is it, Uncle Harry?” asked Budge, with most exquisitely polite
inflection.
“Who threw that doll?”
“Huh?”
“I say, who threw that doll?”
“Why, nobody did it.”
“Toddie, who threw that doll?”
“Budge did,” replied Toddie, in muffled tones, suggestive of a
brotherly hand laid forcibly over a pair of small lips.
“Budge, what did you do it for?”
“Why—why—I—because—why, you see—because, why, Toddie froo his dolly in
my mouth; some of her hair went in, anyhow, an’ I didn’t want his dolly
in my mouth, so I sent it back to him, an’ the foot of the bed didn’t
stick up enough, so it went froo the door to your bed—that’s what for.”
The explanation seemed to bear marks of genuineness, albeit the pain
in my eye was not alleviated thereby, while the exertion expended in
eliciting the information had so thoroughly awakened me that further
sleep was out of the question. Besides, the open door—had a burglar
been in the room? No, my watch and pocket-book were undisturbed.
“Budge, who opened that door?”
After some hesitation, as if wondering who really did it, Budge
replied:—
“Me.”
“How did you do it?”
“Why, you see we wanted a drink, an’ the door was fast, so we got out
the window on the parazzo roof, an’ comed in your window.” (Here a
slight pause.) “An’ ’twas fun. An’ then we unlocked the door, an’ comed
back.”
Then I should be compelled to lock my window blinds—or theirs, and
this in the summer season, too! Oh, if Helen could have but passed the
house as that white-robed procession had filed along the piazza roof! I
lay pondering over the vast amount of unused ingenuity that was locked
up in millions of children, or employed only to work misery among
unsuspecting adults, when I heard light footfalls at my bedside, and
saw a small shape with a grave face approach and remark:
“I wants to come in your bed.”
“What for, Toddie?”
“To fwolic; papa always fwolics us Sunday mornin’s. Tum, Budgie, Ocken
Hawwy’s doin’ to fwolic us.”
[Illustration: TWO LITTLE SAVAGES]
Budge replied by shrieking with delight, tumbling out of bed, and
hurrying to that side of my bed not already occupied by Toddie.
Then those two little savages sounded the onslaught and advanced
precipitately upon me. Sometimes, during the course of my life, I
have had day-dreams which I have told to no one. Among these has
been one—not now so distinct as it was before my four years of
campaigning—of one day meeting in deadly combat the painted Indian
of the plains; of listening undismayed to his frightful war-whoop,
and of exemplifying in my own person the inevitable result of the
paleface’s superior intelligence. But upon this particular Sunday
morning I relinquished this idea informally but forever. Before the
advance of these diminutive warriors I quailed contemptibly, and
their battle-cry sent more terror to my soul than that member ever
experienced from the well-remembered rebel yell. According to Toddie,
I was going to “fwolic” _them_; but from the first they took the whole
business into their own little but effective hands. Toddie pronounced
my knees, collectively, “a horsie-bonnie.” and bestrode them, laughing
gleefully at my efforts to unseat him, and holding himself in position
by digging his pudgy fingers into whatever portions of my anatomy
he could most easily seize. Budge shouted,” I want a horsie, too!”
and seated himself upon my chest. “This is the way the horsie goes,”
explained he, as he slowly rocked himself backward and forward. I began
to realize how my brother-in-law, who had once been a fine gymnast, had
become so flat-chested. Just then Budge’s face assumed a more spirited
expression, his eyes opened wide and lighted up, and shouting,” This
the way the horsie _trots_,” he stood upright, threw up his feet, and
dropped his forty-three avoirdupois pounds forcibly upon my lungs. He
repeated this operation several times before I fully recovered from the
shock conveyed by his combined impudence and weight; but pain finally
brought my senses back, and with a wild plunge I unseated my demoniac
riders and gained a clear space in the middle of the floor.
“Ah—h—h—h—h—h—h!” screamed Toddie; “I wants to ride horshie backen.”
“Boo—oo—oo—oo—!” roared Budge; “I think you’re real mean. I don’t love
you at all.”
Regardless alike of Toddie’s desires, of Budge’s opinion and the
cessation of his regard, I performed a hasty toilet. Notwithstanding my
lost rest, I savagely thanked the Lord for Sunday; at church, at least,
I could be free from my tormentors. At the breakfast table both boys
invited themselves to accompany me to the sanctuary, but I declined,
without thanks. To take them might be to assist somewhat in teaching
them one of the best habits, but I strongly doubted whether the
severest Providence would consider it my duty to endure the probable
consequences of such an attempt. Besides I _might_ meet Miss Mayton.
I both hoped and feared I might, and I could not endure the thought
of appearing before her with the causes of my pleasant _remembrance_.
Budge protested, and Toddie wept, but I remained firm, although I
was so willing to gratify their reasonable desires that I took them
out for a long ante-service walk. While enjoying this little trip I
delighted the children by killing a snake and spoiling a slender cane
at the same time, my own sole consolation coming from the discovery
that the remains of the staff were sufficient to make a cane for
Budge. While returning to the house and preparing for church I entered
into a solemn agreement with Budge, who was usually recognized as the
head of this fraternal partnership. Budge contracted, for himself
and brother, to make no attempts to enter my room; to refrain from
fighting; to raise loose dirt only with a shovel, and to convey it to
its destination by means other than their own hats and aprons; to pick
no flowers; to open no water-faucets; to refer all disagreements to the
cook, as arbitrator, and to build no houses of the new books which I
had stacked upon the library table. In consideration of the promised
faithful observance of these conditions, I agreed that Budge should
be allowed to come alone to Sabbath-school, which convened directly
after morning service, he to start only after Maggie had pronounced
him duly cleansed and clothed. As Toddie was daily kept in bed from
eleven till one, I felt that I might safely worship without distracting
fears, for Budge could not alone, and in a single hour, become guilty
of any particular sin. The church at Hillcrest had many more seats
than members, and as but few summer visitors had yet appeared in the
town, I was conscious of being industriously stared at by the native
members of the congregation. This was of itself discomfort enough,
but not all to which I was destined, for the usher conducted me quite
near to the altar, and showed me into a pew whose only other occupant
was Miss Mayton! Of course the lady did not recognize me—she was too
carefully bred to do anything of the sort in church, and I spent ten
uncomfortable minutes in mentally abusing the customs of good society.
The beginning of the service partially ended my uneasiness, for I had
no hymn-book—the pew contained none—so Miss Mayton kindly offered me
a share in her own. And yet so faultlessly perfect and stranger-like
was her manner that I wondered whether her action might not have been
prompted merely by a sense of Christian duty; had I been the Khan of
Tartary she could not have been more polite and frigid. The music to
the first hymn was an air I had never heard before, so I stumbled
miserably through the tenor, although Miss Mayton rendered the soprano
without a single false note. The sermon was longer than I was in the
habit of listening to, and I was frequently conscious of not listening
at all. As for my position and appearance, neither ever seemed so
insignificant as they did throughout the entire service.
[Illustration: MY NEPHEW BUDGE IN HIS BEST]
The minister reached “And finally, dear brethren,” with my earnest
prayers for a successful and speedy finale. It seemed to me that the
congregation sympathized with me, for there was a general rustle
behind me as these words were spoken. It soon became evident, however,
that the hearers were moved by some other feeling, for I heard a
profound titter or two behind me. Even Miss Mayton turned her head
with more alacrity than was consistent with that grace which usually
characterized her motions, and the minister himself made a pause of
unusual length, I turned in my seat, and saw my nephew Budge, dressed
in his best, his head irreverently covered, and his new cane swinging
in the most stylish manner. He paused at each pew, carefully surveyed
its occupants, seemed to fail in finding the object of his search,
but continued his efforts in spite of my endeavors to catch his eye.
Finally he recognized a family acquaintance, and to him he unburdened
his bosom by remarking, in tones easily heard throughout the church:—
“I want to find my uncle.”
Just then he caught my eye, smiled rapturously, hurried to me, and laid
his rascally soft cheek confidingly against mine, while an audible
sensation pervaded the church. What to do or say to him I scarcely
knew; but my quandary was turned to wonder, as Miss Mayton, her face
full of ill-repressed mirth, but her eyes full of tenderness, drew the
little scamp close to her, and kissed him soundly. At the same instant,
the minister, not without some little hesitation, said, “Let us pray.”
I hastily bowed my head, glad of a chance to hide my face; but as I
stole a glance at the cause of this irreligious disturbance, I caught
Miss Mayton’s eye. She was laughing so violently that the contagion
was unavoidable, and I laughed all the harder as I felt that one
mischievous boy had undone the mischief caused by another.
After the benediction, Budge was the recipient of a great deal of
attention, during the confusion of which I embraced the opportunity to
say to Miss Mayton:—
“Do you still sustain my sister in her opinion of my nephews, Miss
Mayton?”
“I think they’re too funny for anything,” replied the lady, with great
enthusiasm. “I _do_ wish you would bring them to call upon me. I’m
longing to see an _original_ young gentleman.”
“Thank you,” said I. “And I’ll have Toddie bring a bouquet by way of
atonement.”
“Do,” she replied, as I allowed her to pass from the pew. The word was
an insignificant one, but it made me happy once more.
“You see, Uncle Harry,” exclaimed Budge, as we left the church
together, “the Sunday-school wasn’t open yet, an’ I wanted to hear if
they’d sing again in church; so I came in, an’ you wasn’t in papa’s
seat, an’ I knew you was _some_where, so I _looked_ for you.”
“Bless you,” thought I, snatching him into my arms as if to hurry
him into Sabbath-school, but really to give him a kiss of grateful
affection, “you did right—_exactly_ right.”
My Sunday dinner was unexceptional in point of quantity and quality,
and a bottle of my brother-in-law’s claret proved to be the most
excellent; yet a certain uneasiness of mind prevented my enjoying the
meal as thoroughly as under other circumstances I might have done. My
uneasiness came of a mingled sense of responsibility and ignorance. I
felt that it was the proper thing for me to see that my nephews spent
the day with some sense of the requirements and duties of the Sabbath;
but how I was to bring it about I hardly knew. The boys were too small
to have Bible-lessons administered to them, and they were too lively to
be kept quiet by any ordinary means. After a great deal of thought, I
determined to consult the children themselves, and try to learn what
their parents’ custom had been.
“Budge,” said I, “what do you do Sundays when your papa and mamma are
home? What do they read to you—what do they talk about?”
“Oh, they swing us—lots!” said Budge, with brightening eyes.
“An’ zey takes us to get jacks,” observed Toddie.
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Budge; “jacks-in-the-pulpit,—don’t you know?”
“Hum—ye—es; I do remember some such thing in my youthful days; they
grow where there’s plenty of mud, don’t they?”
“Yes, an’ there’s a brook there, an’ ferns, an’ birchbark, an’ if you
don’t look out you’ll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch.”
“An’ we goes to Hawksnest Rock,” piped Toddie, “an’ papa carries us up
on his back when we gets tired.”
“An’ he makes us whistles,” said Budge.
“Budge,” said I, rather hastily, “enough. In the language of the poet
‘These earthly pleasures I resign’
and I’m rather astonished that your papa hasn’t taught you to do
likewise. Don’t he ever read to you?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Budge, clapping his hands as a happy thought struck
him. “He gets down the Bible—the great _big_ Bible, you know—an’ we all
lay on the floor, an’ he reads us stories out of it. There’s David,
an’ Noah, an’ when Christ was a little boy, an’ Joseph, an’ turn back
Pharo’s army hallelujah——”
“And what?”
“TurnbackPharo’sarmyhallelujah,” repeated Budge. “Don’t you know
how Moses held his cane out over the Red Sea, an’ the water went
’way up one side, an’ ’way up the other side, and all the Isrulites
went across? It’s just the same thing as _drown_ old Pharo’s army
hallelujah—don’t you know.”
“Budge,” said I; “I suspect you of having, heard the Jubilee Singers.”
“Oh, an’ papa an’ mamma sings us all those jubilee songs—there’s ‘Swing
Low,’ an’ ‘Roll Jordan,’ an’ ‘Steal Away,’ an’ ‘My Way’s Cloudy,’ an’
’Get on Board, Childuns,’ an’ lots. An’ you can sing us every one of
’em.”
“An’ papa takes us in the woods and makesh us canes,” said Toddie.
[Illustration: PUTTING AN EXTENSION ON THE AFTERNOON]
“Yes,” said Budge, “and where there’s new houses buildin’, he takes us
up ladders.”
“Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon?” I asked.
“I don’t know what that is,” said Budge, “but he puts an India-rubber
blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down and make b’lieve we’re
soldiers asleep. Only sometimes when we wake up, papa stays asleep, an’
mamma won’t let us wake him. I don’t think that’s a very nice play.”
“Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don’t you?”
Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. “I think swingin’ is nicer,” said
he—“oh, no;—let’s get some jacks—_I’ll_ tell you what!—make us
whistles, an’ we can blow on ’em while we’re goin’ to get the jacks.
Toddie, dear, wouldn’t _you_ like jacks an’ whistles?”
“Yesh—an’ swingin’—an’ birch—an’ wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock,”
answered Toddie.
“Let’s have Bible stories first,” said I. “The Lord mightn’t like it if
you didn’t learn anything good to-day.”
“Well,” said Budge, with the regulation religious-matter-of-duty face,
“let’s. I guess I like ’bout Joseph best.”
“Tell us ’bout Bliaff,” suggested Toddie.
“Oh, no, Tod,” remonstrated Budge; “Joseph’s coat was just as bloody
as Goliath’s head was.” Then Budge turned to me and explained that
“all Tod likes Goliath for is ’cause when his head was cut off it was
all bloody.” And then Toddie—the airy sprite whom his mother described
as being irresistibly drawn to whatever was beautiful—Toddie glared
upon me, as a butcher’s apprentice might stare at a doomed lamb, and
remarked:—
“Bliaff’s head was all bluggy, an’ David’s sword was all bluggy—bluggy
as everyfing.”
I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened the Bible, turned to the
story of Joseph, and audibly condensed it, as I read:
“Joseph was a good little boy, whose papa loved him very dearly. But
his brothers didn’t like him. And they sold him to go to Egypt. And he
was very smart, and told people what their dreams meant, and he got to
be a great man. And his brothers went to Egypt to buy corn, and Joseph
sold them some, and then he let them know who he was. And he sent them
home to bring their papa to Egypt, and then they all lived there
together.”
“That ain’t it,” remarked Toddie, with the air of a man who felt
himself to be unjustly treated. “Is it, Budge?”
“Oh, no,” said Budge, “you didn’t read it good a bit; _I’ll_ tell you
how it is. Once there was a little boy named Joseph, an’ he had eleven
budders—they was _awful_ eleven budders. An’ his papa gave him a new
coat, an’ his budders hadn’t nothin’ but their old jackets to wear. An’
one day he was carrying ’em their dinner, an’ they put him in a deep,
dark hole, but they didn’t put his nice new coat in—they killed a kid,
an’ dipped the coat—just think of doin’ that to a nice new coat—they
dipped it in the kid’s blood, an’ made it all bloody.”
“All bluggy,” echoed Toddie, with ferocious emphasis. Budge continued:—
“But there were some Ishmalites comin’ along that way, and the awful
eleven budders took him out of the deep, dark hole, an’ sold him
to the Ishmalites, an’ they sold him away down in Egypt. An’ his
poor old papa cried, an’ cried, an’ cried, ’cause he thought a big
lion ate Joseph up; but he wasn’t ate up a bit; but there wasn’t no
post-office nor choo-choos,[6] nor stages in Egypt, an’ there wasn’t
any telegraphs, so Joseph couldn’t let his papa know where he was; an’
he got so smart an’ so good that the king of Egypt let him sell all
the corn an’ take care of the money; ’an one day some men came to buy
some com, an’ Joseph looked at ’em ’an they was his own budders! An’ he
scared ’em like everything; _I’d_ have _slapped_ ’em all if _I’d_ been
Joseph, but he just scared ’em, an’ then he let ’em know who he was,
an’ he kissed ’em an’ he didn’t whip ’em, or make ’em go without their
breakfast, or stand in a corner, nor none of them things; an’ then he
sent them back for their papa, an’ when he saw his papa comin’, he ran
like everything, and gave him a great big hug and a kiss. Joseph was
too big to ask him if he’d brought him any candy, but he was awful glad
to see him. An’ the king gave Joseph’s papa a nice farm, an’ they all
had real good times after that.”
[6] Railway cars.
“An’ they dipped the coat in the blood, an’ made it all bluggy,”
reiterated Toddie.
“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “what do you think _my_ papa would do, if
he thought I was all ate up by a lion? I guess he’d cry _awful_, don’t
you? Now tell us another story—oh, _I’ll_ tell you—read us ’bout—”
”’Bout Bliaff,” interrupted Toddie.
“_You_ tell _me_ about him, Toddie,” said I.
“Why,” said Toddie, “Bliaff was a brate bid man, an’ Dave was brate
little man, an’ Bliaff said, ‘Come over here, an’ I’ll eat you up,’ an’
Dave said, ‘_I_ ain’t fyaid of you.’ So Dave put five little stones in
a sling an’ asked de Lord to help him, an’ let ze sling go bang into
bequeen Bliaff’s eyes an’ knocked him down dead, an’ Dave took Bliaff’s
sword an’ sworded Bliaff’s head off, an’ made it all bluggy, an’ Bliaff
runned away.” This short narration was accompanied by more spirited and
unexpected gestures than Mr. Gough ever puts into a long lecture.
“I don’t like ’bout Goliath at all,” remarked Budge, “_I’d_ like to
hear ’bout Ferus.”
“Who?”
“Ferus; don’t you know?”
“Never heard of him, Budge.”
[Illustration: “IF I WAS ALL ATE UP BY A LION”]
“Why—y—y—!” exclaimed Budge; “didn’t you have no papa when you was a
little boy?”
“Yes, but he never told me about any one named Ferus; there is no such
person named in Anthon’s Classical Dictionary, either. What sort of a
man was he?”
“Why, once there was a man, an’ his name was Ferus—_Of_ferus, an’ he
went about fightin’ for kings, but when any king got afraid of anybody,
he wouldn’t fight for him no more. An’ one day he couldn’t find no
kings that wasn’t afraid of nobody. An’ the people told him the Lord
was the biggest king in the world, an’ he wasn’t afraid of nobody nor
nothing. An’ he asked ’em where he could find the Lord, an’ they said
he was ’way up in heaven so nobody couldn’t see him but the angels,
but he liked folks to _work_ for him instead of fight. So Ferus wanted
to know what kind of work he could do, an’ the people said there was a
river not far off, where there wasn’t no ferry-boats, ’cos the water
run so fast, an’ they guessed if he’d carry folks across, the Lord
would like it. So Ferus went there, an’ he cut him a good, strong cane,
an’ whenever anybody wanted to go across the river he’d carry ’em on
his back.
“One night he was sittin’ in his little house by the fire, and smokin’
his pipe an’ readin’ the paper, an’ ’twas rainin’ an’ blowin’ an’
hailin’ an’ stormin’, an’ he was so glad there wasn’t anybody wantin’
to go ’cross the river, when he heard somebody call out, ‘Ferus!’ An’
he looked out the window, but he couldn’t see nobody, so he sat down
again. Then somebody called, ‘Ferus!’ again, and he opened the door
again, an’ there was a little bit of a boy, ’bout as big as Toddie.
An’ Ferus said, ‘Hello, young fellow, does your mother know you’re
out?’ An’ the little boy said, ‘I want to go ’cross the river.’—‘Well,’
says Ferus, ‘you’re a mighty little fellow to be travelin’ alone, but
hop up.’ So the little boy jumped up on Ferus’ back, and Ferus walked
into the water. Oh, my—_wasn’t_ it cold? An’ every step he took, the
little boy got heavier, so Ferus nearly tumbled down an’ they liked
to both got drownded. An’ when they got across the river Ferus said,
’Well, you _are_ the heaviest small fry I ever carried,’ an’ he turned
around to look at him, an’ ’twasn’t no little boy at all—’twas a big
man—’twas Christ. An’ Christ said, ‘Ferus, I heard you was tryin’ to
work for me, so I thought I’d come down an’ see you, an’ not let you
know who I was. An’ now you shall have a new name; you shall be called
_Christ_offerus, ’cos that means Christ-carrier.’ An’ everybody called
him Christofferus after that, an’ when he died they called him _Saint_
Christopher, ’cos Saint is what they call good people when they’re
dead.”
Budge, himself, had the face of a rapt saint as he told this story, but
my contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie,
who, disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother’s recital,
had strayed into the garden, investigated a hornet’s nest, been stung,
and set up a piercing shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily picked
him up, he sobbed:—
“Want to be wocked.[7] Want ‘Toddie one boy day.’”
[7] Rocked
I rocked him violently, and petted him tenderly, but again he sobbed:—
“Want ‘Toddie one boy day.’”
“What _does_ the child mean?” I exclaimed.
“He wants you to sing to him about ‘Charlie boy one day,’” said Budge.
“He always wants mamma to sing that when he’s hurt, an’ then he stops
crying.”
“I don’t know it,” said I. “Won’t ‘Roll, Jordan,’ do, Toddie?”
“_I’ll_ tell you how it goes,” said Budge, and forthwith the youth sang
the following song, a line at a time, I following him in words and air:—
“Where is my little bastik[8] gone?
Said Charley boy one day;
I guess some little boy or girl
Has taken it away.
“An’ kittie, too—where _ish_ she gone?
Oh, dear, what I shall do?
I wish I could my bastik find,
An’ little kittie, too.
“I’ll go to mamma’s room an’ look;
Perhaps she may be there;
For kittie likes to take a nap
In mamma’s easy chair.
“O mamma, mamma, come an’ look!
See what a little heap!
Here’s kittie in the bastik here,
All cuddled down to sleep.”
[8] Basket.
Where the applicability of this poem to my nephew’s peculiar trouble
appeared, I could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs gave place to
a sigh of relief.
“Toddie,” said I, “do you love your Uncle Harry?”
“Esh, I _do_ love you.”
“Then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you?”
“Makes me feel good, an’ all nicey,” replied Toddie.
“Wouldn’t you feel just as good if I sang, ‘Plunged in a gulf of dark
despair’?”
“No, don’t like dokdishpairs; if a dokdishpair done anyfing to me, I’d
knock it right down dead.”