modest couple as I drove them home that evening. Budge even made some
attempt at apologizing for their appearance, saying that they couldn’t
find Maggie, and _couldn’t_ wait any longer; but I assured him that
no apology was necessary. I was in such excellent spirits that my
feeling became contagious; and we sang songs, told stories, and played
ridiculous games most of the evening, paying but little attention to
the dinner that was set for us.
“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, suddenly, “do you know we haven’t ever sung,—
‘Drown old Pharaoh’s Army, Hallelujah,’
since you’ve been here? Let’s do it now.”
“All right, old fellow.” I knew the song—such as there was of it—and
its chorus, as _every_ one does who ever heard the Jubilee Singers
render it; but I scarcely understood the meaning of the preparations
which Budge made. He drew a large rocking-chair into the middle of the
room, and exclaimed:—
“There, Uncle Harry—you sit down. Come along, Tod—you sit on that knee,
and I’ll sit on this. Lift up both hands, Tod, like I do. Now we’re all
ready, Uncle Harry.”
I sang the first line:—
“When Israel was in bondage, they cried unto the Lord,”
without any assistance, but the boys came in powerfully on the refrain,
beating time simultaneously with their four fists upon my chest. I
cannot think it strange that I suddenly ceased singing, but the boys
viewed my action from a different standpoint.
“What makes you stop, Uncle Harry?” asked Budge.
“Because you hurt me badly, my boy; you mustn’t do that again.”
“Why, I guess you ain’t very strong: that’s the way we do to papa, an’
it don’t hurt _him_.”
Poor Tom! No wonder he grows flat-chested.
“Guesh you’s a ky-baby,” suggested Toddie.
This imputation I bore with meekness, but ventured to remark that it
was bedtime. After allowing a few moments for the usual expressions of
dissent, I staggered upstairs with Toddie in my arms, and Budge on my
back, both boys roaring the refrain of the negro hymn:—
“I’m a-rolling through an unfriendly World!”
The offer of a stick of candy to whichever boy was first undressed,
caused some lively disrobing, after which each boy received the prize.
Budge bit a large piece, wedged it between his cheek and his teeth,
closed his eyes, folded his hands on his breast, and prayed:—
“Dear Lord, bless papa an’ mamma, an’ Toddie an’ me, an’ that turtle
Uncle Harry found; and bless that lovely lady Uncle Harry goes ridin’
with, an’ make ’em take me too, an’ bless that nice old lady with white
hair, that cried, an’ said I was a smart boy. Amen.”
Toddie sighed as he drew his stick of candy from his lips; then he
shut his eyes and remarked:—“Dee Lord, blesh Toddie, an’ make him good
boy, an’ blesh zem ladies zat told me to say it aden”; the particular
“it” referred to being well understood by at least three adults of my
acquaintance.
The course of Budge’s interview with Mrs. Mayton was afterward related
by that lady, as follows:—
She was sitting in her own room (which was on the parlor floor, and in
the rear of the house), and was leisurely reading “Fated to be Free,”
when she accidentally dropped her glasses. Stooping to pick them up,
she became aware that she was not alone. A small, very dirty, but
good-featured boy stood before her, his hands behind his back, and an
inquiring look in his eyes.
“Run away, little boy,” said she. “Don’t you know it isn’t polite to
enter rooms without knocking?”
“I’m lookin’ for my uncle,” said Budge, in most melodious accents, “an’
the other ladies said you would know when he would come back.”
“I’m afraid they were making fun of you—or me,” said the old lady, a
little severely. “I don’t know anything about little boys’ uncles. Now,
run away, and don’t disturb me any more.”
“Well,” continued Budge, “they said your little girl went with him, and
you’d know when _she_ would come back.”
“I haven’t any little girl,” said the old lady, her indignation at a
supposed joke threatening to overcome her dignity. “Now go away.”
“She isn’t a _very_ little girl,” said Budge, honestly anxious to
conciliate; “that is, she’s bigger’n _I_ am, but they said you was
her mother, an’ so she’s your little girl, isn’t she? _I_ think she’s
lovely, too.”
[Illustration: MRS. MAYTON STOOPED TO PICK UP HER GLASSES]
“Do you mean Miss Mayton?” asked the lady, thinking she had a possible
clue to the cause of Budge’s anxiety.
“Oh, yes—that’s her name—I couldn’t think of it,” eagerly replied
Budge. “An ain’t she AWFUL nice—I _know_ she is!”
“Your judgment is quite correct, considering your age,” said Mrs.
Mayton, exhibiting more interest in Budge than she had heretofore
done. “But what makes _you_ think she is nice? You are rather younger
than her male admirers usually are.”
“Why, my Uncle Harry told me so,” replied Budge, “and _he_ knows
_everything_.”
Mrs. Mayton grew vigilant at once, and dropped her book.
“Who _is_ your Uncle Harry, little boy?”
“He’s Uncle Harry; don’t you know him? He can make nicer whistles than
my papa can. An’ he found a turtle——”
“Who is your papa?” interrupted the old lady.
“Why, he’s papa—I thought everybody knew who _he_ was.”
“What is your name?” asked Mrs. Mayton.
“John Burton Lawrence,” promptly answered Budge.
Mrs. Mayton wrinkled her brows for a moment, and finally asked:—
“Is Mr. Burton the uncle you are looking for?”
“I don’t know any Mr. Burton,” said Budge, a little dazed; “uncle is
mamma’s brother, an’ he’s been livin’ at our house ever since mamma and
papa went off visitin’, an’ he goes ridin’ in our carriage, an’——”
“Humph!” remarked the old lady with so much emphasis that Budge ceased
talking. A moment later she said:—
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, little boy; go on.”
“An’ he rides with just the loveliest lady that ever was. _He_ thinks
so, an’ _I_ KNOW she is. An’ he ’spects her.”
“What?” exclaimed the old lady.
”’Spects her, I say—that’s what _he_ says. _I_ say ’spect means just
what I call _love_. ’Cos if it don’t, what makes him give her hugs an’
kisses?”
Mrs. Mayton caught her breath—and did not reply for a moment. At last
she said:—
“How do you know he—gives her hugs and kisses?”
”’Cos I saw him, the day Toddie hurt his finger in the grass cutter.
An’ he was so happy that he bought me a goat-carriage next morning—I’ll
show it to you if you come down to our stable, an’ I’ll show you the
goat too. An’ he bought——”
Just here Budge stopped, for Mrs. Mayton put her handkerchief to her
eyes. Two or three moments later she felt a light touch on her knee,
and, wiping her eyes, saw Budge looking sympathetically into her face.
“I’m awful sorry you feel bad,” said he. “Are you ’fraid to have your
little girl ridin’ so long?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Mayton, with great decision.
“Well, you needn’t be,” said Budge, “for Uncle Harry’s awful careful
an’ smart.”
“He ought to be ashamed of himself!” exclaimed the lady.
“I guess he is, then,” said Budge, ”’cos he’s ev’rything he ought to
be. He’s awful careful. T’other day, when the goat ran away, an’
Toddie an’ me got in the carriage with them, he held on to her tight,
so she couldn’t fall out.”
Mrs. Mayton brought her foot down with a violent stamp.
“I know you’d ’spect _him_, if you knew how nice he was,” continued
Budge. “He sings awful funny songs, an’ tells splendid stories.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the angry mother.
“They ain’t no nonsense at all,” said Budge. “I don’t think it’s nice
for to say that, when his stories are always about Joseph, an’ Abraham,
an’ Moses, an’ when Jesus was a little boy, an’ the Hebrew children,
an’ lots of people that the Lord loved. An’ he’s awful ’fectionate,
too.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Mayton.
“When we says our prayers we prays for the nice lady what he ’spects,
an’ he likes us to do it,” continued Budge.
“How do you know?” demanded Mrs. Mayton.
”’Cos he always kisses us when we do it an’ that’s what my papa does
when he likes what we pray.”
Mrs. Mayton’s mind became absorbed in earnest thought, but Budge had
not said all that was in his heart.
“An’ when Toddie or me tumbles down an hurts ourselves, ’tain’t no
matter what Uncle Harry’s doin’, he runs right out an’ picks us up an’
comforts us. He froed away a cigar the other day, he was in such a
hurry when a wasp stung me, an’ Toddie picked the cigar up and ate it,
an’ it made him _awful_ sick.”
The last-named incident did not affect Mrs. Mayton deeply, perhaps on
the score of inapplicability to the question before her. Budge went on:—
“An’ wasn’t he good to me to-day? Just ’cos I was forlorn, ’cos I
hadn’t nobody to play with, an’ wanted to die an’ go to heaven, he
stopped shavin’, so as to comfort me.”
Mrs. Mayton had been thinking rapidly and seriously, and her heart had
relented somewhat toward the principal offender.
“Suppose,” she said, “that I don’t let my little girl go riding with
him any more?”
“Then,” said Budge, “I know he’ll be awful, awful unhappy, an’ I’ll be
awful sorry for him, ’cos nice folks oughtn’t to be made unhappy.”
“Suppose, then, that I _do_ let her go?” said Mrs. Mayton.
[Illustration: MADE HIM AWFUL SICK]
“Then I’ll give you a whole stomachful of kisses for being so good to
my uncle,” said Budge. And assuming that the latter course would be the
one adopted by Mrs. Mayton, Budge climbed into her lap and began at
once to make payment.
“Bless your dear little heart! exclaimed Mrs. Mayton; “you’re of the
same blood, and it _is_ good, if it _is_ rather hasty.”
As I rose the next morning, I found a letter under my door.
Disappointed that it was not addressed in Alice’s writing, I was
nevertheless glad to get a word from my sister, particularly as the
letter ran as follows:—
“July 1, 1875.
“DEAR OLD BROTHER:—I’ve been recalling a fortnight’s experience _we_
once had of courtship in a boarding-house, and I’ve determined to cut
short our visit here, hurry home, and give you and Alice a chance or
two to see each other in parlors where there won’t be a likelihood of
the dozen or two interruptions you must suffer each evening now. Tom
agrees with me, like the obedient old darling that he is; so please
have the carriage at Hillcrest station for us at 11:40 Friday morning.
Invite Alice and her mother for me to dine with us Sunday,—we’ll bring
them home from church with us.
“Lovingly your sister,
“HELEN.
“P. S. Of course you’ll have my darlings in the carriage to receive me.
“P. S. _Would_ it annoy you to move into the best guest-chamber? I
can’t bear to sleep where I can’t have _them_ within reach.”
Friday morning they intended to arrive,—blessings on their thoughtful
hearts!—and _this_ was Friday. I hurried into the boys’ room and
shouted:—
“Toddie! Budge! who do you think is coming to see you this morning?”
“Who?” asked Budge.
“Organ-grinder?” queried Toddie.
“No, your papa and mamma.”
Budge looked like an angel in an instant, but Toddie’s eyes twitched a
little, and he mournfully murmured:—
“I fought it wash an organ-grinder.”
“O Uncle Harry!” said Budge, springing out of bed in a perfect delirium
of delight, “I believe if my papa and mamma had stayed away any longer,
I believe I would _die_. I’ve been _so_ lonesome for ’em that I haven’t
known what to do—I’ve cried whole pillowsful about it, right here in
the dark.”
“Why, my poor old fellow,” said I, picking him up and kissing him, “why
didn’t you come up and tell Uncle Harry, and let him try to comfort
you?”
“I _couldn’t_,” said Budge; “when I gets lonesome, it feels as if my
mouth was all tied up, an’ a great big stone was right in here.” And
Budge put his hand on his chest.
“If a big ’tone wazh inshide of _me_,” said Toddie, “I’d take it out
an’ fro it at the shickens.”
“Toddie,” said I, “aren’t you glad papa and mamma are coming?”
“Yesh,” said Toddie, “I fink it’ll be awfoo nish. Mamma always bwings
me candy fen she goes away anyfere.”
“Toddie, you’re a mercenary wretch.”
“_Ain’t_ a mernesary wetch; Izhe Toddie Yawncie.”
Toddie made none the less haste in dressing than his brother,
however. Candy was to him what some systems of theology are to their
adherents—not a very lofty motive of action, but sweet, and something
he could fully understand; so the energy displayed in getting himself
tangled up in his clothes was something wonderful.
“Stop, boys,” said I; “you must have on clean clothes to-day. You don’t
want your father and mother to see you all dirty, do you?”
“Of course not,” said Budge.
“Oh, izh I goin’ to be djessed up all nicey?” asked Toddie. “Goody!
goody! goody!”
I always thought my sister Helen had an undue amount of vanity, and
here it was reappearing in the second generation.
“An’ I wantsh my shoes made all nigger,” said Toddie.
“What?”
“Wantsh my shoes made all nigger wif a bottle-bwush, too,” said Toddie.
I looked appealingly at Budge, who answered:—
“He means he wants his shoes blacked, with the polish that’s in the
bottle, an’ you rub it on with a brush.”
“An’ I wantsh a thath on,” continued Toddie.
“Sash, he means,” said Budge. “He’s awful proud.”
“An’ Izhe doin’ to wear my takker-hat,” said Toddie. “An’ my wed
djuvs.”
“That’s his tassel-hat an’ his red gloves,” continued the interpreter.
“Toddie, you can’t wear gloves such hot days as these,” said I.
A look of inquiry was speedily followed by Toddie’s own unmistakable
preparations for weeping; and as I did not want his eyes dimmed when
his mother looked into them I hastily exclaimed:—
“Put them on, then—put on the mantle of rude Boreas if you choose; but
don’t go to crying.”
“Don’t want no mantle-o’wude-baw-yusses,” declared Toddie, following me
phonetically, “wantsh my own pitty cozhesh, an’ nobody eshesh.”
“O Uncle Harry,” exclaimed Budge, “I want to bring mamma home in my
goat-carriage!”
“The goat isn’t strong enough, Budge, to draw mamma and you.”
“Well, then, let me drive down to the depot, just to _show_ papa an’
mamma I’ve got a goat-carriage—I’m sure mamma would be very unhappy
when she found out I had one, and she hadn’t seen it first thing.”
“Well, I guess you may follow me down, Budge; but you must drive very
carefully.”
“Oh, yes—I wouldn’t get us hurt when mamma was coming for _any_thing.”
“Now, boys,” said I, “I want you to stay in the house and play this
morning. If you go out of doors you’ll get yourselves dirty.”
“I guess the sun’ll be disappointed if it don’t have us to look at,”
suggested Budge.
[Illustration: “THE SUN’LL BE DISAPPOINTED IF IT DON’T HAVE US TO LOOK
AT”]
“Never mind,” said I, “the sun’s old enough to have learned to be
patient.”
Breakfast over, the boys moved reluctantly away to the play-room,
while I inspected the house and grounds pretty closely, to see that
everything should at least fail to do my management discredit. A dollar
given to Mike and another to Maggie were of material assistance in
this work, so I felt free to adorn the parlors and Helen’s chamber
with flowers. As I went into the latter room I heard some one at the
wash-stand, which was in an alcove and, on looking in, I saw Toddie
drinking the last of the contents of a goblet which contained a
dark-colored mixture.
“Izhe tatin’ black medshin,” said Toddie; “I likes black medshin awfoo
muts.”
“What do you make it of?” I asked, with some sympathy, and tracing
parental influence again. When Helen and I were children we spent hours
in soaking licorice in water and administering it as medicine.
“Makesh it out of shoda mitsture,” said Toddie.
This was another medicine of our childhood days, but one prepared
according to physician’s prescription, and not beneficial when taken
_ad libitum_. As I took the vial—a two-ounce one—I asked:—
“How much did you take, Toddie?”
“Took whole bottoo full—’twas nysh,” said he.
Suddenly, the label caught my eye—it read PAREGORIC. In a second I had
snatched a shawl, wrapped Toddie in it, tucked him under my arm, and
was on my way to the barn. In a moment more I was on one of the horses
and galloping furiously to the village, with Toddie under one arm, his
yellow curls streaming in the breeze. People came out and stared as
they did at John Gilpin, while one old farmer whom I met turned his
team about, whipped up furiously, and followed me, shouting, “Stop,
thief!” I afterward learned that he took me to be one of the abductors
of Charlie Ross, with the lost child under my arm, and that visions of
the $20,000 reward floated before his eyes. In front of an apothecary’s
I brought the horse suddenly upon his haunches, and dashed in,
exclaiming:—
“Give this child a strong emetic—quick! He’s swallowed poison!”
The apothecary hurried to his prescription-desk, while a
motherly-looking Irish woman upon whom he had been waiting, exclaimed,
“Holy Mither! I’ll run an’ fetch Father O’Kelley,” and hurried out.
Meanwhile Toddie, upon whom the medicine had not commenced to take
effect, had seized the apothecary’s cat by the tail, which operation
resulted in a considerable vocal protest from that animal.
The experiences of the next few moments were more pronounced and
revolutionary than pleasing to relate in detail. It is sufficient
to say that Toddie’s weight was materially diminished, and that his
complexion was temporarily pallid. Father O’Kelley arrived at a brisk
run, and was honestly glad to find that his services were not required,
although I assured him that if Catholic baptism and a sprinkling of
holy water would have improved Toddie’s character, I thought there was
excuse for several applications. We rode quietly back to the house, and
while I was asking Maggie to try and coax Toddie into taking a nap, I
heard the patient remark to his brother:—
[Illustration: GALLOPING FURIOUSLY TO THE VILLAGE]
“Budgie, down to the village I was a whay-al. I didn’t froe up Djonah,
but I froed up a whole floor full of uvver fings.”
During the hour which passed before it was time to start for the depot
my sole attention was devoted to keeping the children from soiling
their clothes; but my success was so little, that I lost my temper
entirely. First they insisted upon playing on a part of the lawn which
the sun had not yet reached. Then, while I had gone into the house for
a match to light my cigar, Toddie had gone with his damp shoes into the
middle of the road, where the dust was ankle deep. Then they got upon
their hands and knees on the piazza and played bear. Each one wanted
to pick a bouquet for his mother, and Toddie took the precaution to
smell every flower he approached—an operation which caused him to get
his nose covered with lily-pollen, so that he looked like a badly used
prize-fighter. In one of their spasms of inaction, Budge asked:—
“What makes some of the men in church have no hair on the tops of their
heads, Uncle Harry?”
“Because,” said I, pausing long enough to shake Toddie for trying to
get my watch out of my pocket, “because they have bad little boys to
bother them all the time, so their hair drops out.”
“I dess _my_ hairs is a-goin’ to drop out pitty soon, then,” remarked
Toddie, with an injured air.
[Illustration: MIKE TELLING MAGGIE TO GET LUNCH]
“Harness the horses, Mike!” I shouted.
“An’ the goat, too,” added Budge.
Five minutes later I was seated in the carriage, or rather in Tom’s
two-seated open wagon. “Mike,” I shouted, “I forgot to tell Maggie to
have some lunch ready for the folks when they get here—run, tell her,
quick, won’t you?”
“Oye, oye, sur,” said Mike, and off he went.
“Are you all ready, boys?” I asked.
“In a minute,” said Budge; “soon as I fix this. Now,” he continued,
getting into his seat, and taking the reins and whip, “go ahead.”
“Wait a moment, Budge—put down that whip, and don’t touch the goat with
it once on the way. I’m going to drive very slowly—there’s plenty of
time, and all you need to do is to hold your reins.”
“All right,” said Budge, “but I like to look like mans when I drive.”
“You may do that when somebody can run beside you. Now!”
The horses started at a gentle trot, and the goat followed very
closely. When within a minute of the depot, however, the train swept
in. I had intended to be on the platform to meet Tom and Helen, but my
watch was evidently slow. I gave the horses the whip, looked behind
and saw the boys were close upon me, and I was so near the platform
when I turned my head that nothing but the sharpest of turns saved me
from a severe accident. The noble animals saw the danger as quickly as
I did, however, and turned in marvelously small space; as they did so,
I heard two hard thumps upon the wooden wall of the little depot, heard
also two frightful howls, saw both my nephews considerably mixed up on
the platform, while the driver of the Bloom-Park stage growled in my
ear:—
“What in thunder did you let ’em hitch that goat to your axle-tree for?”
I looked, and saw the man spoke with just cause. How the goat’s
head and shoulders had maintained their normal connection during
the last minute of my drive, I leave for naturalists to explain. I
had no time to meditate on the matter just then, for the train had
stopped. Fortunately the children had struck on their heads, and the
Lawrence-Burton skull is a marvel of solidity. I set them upon their
feet, brushed them off with my hands, promised them all the candy they
could eat for a week, wiped their eyes, and hurried them to the other
side of the depot. Budge rushed at Tom, exclaiming:—
“See my goat, papa!”
Helen opened her arms, and Toddie threw himself into them, sobbing:—
“Mam—_ma_! shing ’Toddie one-boy-day!’”
How uncomfortable a man _can_ feel in the society of a dearly beloved
sister and an incomparable brother-in-law I never imagined until that
short drive. Helen was somewhat concerned about the children, but she
found time to look at me with so much of sympathy, humor, affection,
and condescension that I really felt relieved when we reached the
house. I hastily retired to my own room, but before I had shut the door
Helen was with me, and her arms were about my neck; before the dear old
girl removed them we had grown far nearer to each other than we had
ever been before.
And how gloriously the rest of the day passed off. We had a delightful
little lunch, and Tom brought up a bottle of Roederer, and Helen
didn’t remonstrate when he insisted on its being drank from her finest
glasses, and there were toasts drank to “Her” and “Her Mother,” and
to the Benedict that was to be. And then Helen proposed “The makers
of the match—Budge and Toddie!” which was honored with bumpers. The
gentlemen toasted did not respond, but they stared so curiously that I
sprang from my chair and kissed them soundly, upon which Tom and Helen
exchanged significant glances.
Then Helen walked down to Mrs. Clarkson’s boarding-house, all for
the purpose of showing a lady there, with a skirt to make over, just
how she had seen a similar garment rearranged exquisitely. And Alice
strolled down to the gate with her to say good-by; and they had so much
to talk about that Helen walked Alice nearly to our house, and then
insisted on her coming the rest of the way, so she might be driven
home. And then Mike was sent back with a note to say to Mrs. Mayton
that her daughter had been prevailed upon to stay to evening dinner,
but would be sent home under capable escort. And after dinner was
over and the children put to bed, Tom groaned that he _must_ attend a
road-board meeting, and Helen begged us to excuse her just a minute
while she ran in to the doctor’s to ask how poor Mrs. Brown had been
doing, and she consumed three hours and twenty-five minutes in asking,
bless her sympathetic soul!