John Habberton, the author of "Helen's Babies," was born in
Brooklyn, New York, on February 24, 1842. He enlisted in the
army in 1862, and served through the Civil War, at the close
of which he adopted journalism as a profession, becoming, in
due course, literary editor of the "Christian Union." His
first and most popular story, "Helen's Babies," after being
declined by various publishers, appeared in 1876, and more
than a quarter of a million copies have been sold in America
alone. According to Mr. Habberton himself, the story "grew out
of an attempt to keep for a single day the record of the
doings of a brace of boys of whom the author is half-owner."
Apart from a number of novels, Mr. Habberton has also written
a "Life of George Washington," and a play, "Deacon Cranket,"
performed more than five hundred times.
_I.--The Imps_
The first cause of the existence of this book may be found in a letter,
written by my sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of
white goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, just as I was trying to decide
where I should spend a fortnight's vacation. She suggested, as I was
always complaining of never having time to read, I should stay at her
place, while she and her husband went on a fortnight's visit. She owned
she would feel easier if she knew there was a man in the house.
"Just the thing!" I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed my
acceptance, and had mentally selected books enough for a dozen
vacations. I knew enough of Helen's boys to be sure they would give one
no annoyance. Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had
generally, during my flying visits, worn a shy, serious, meditative,
noble face, and Toddie was a happy little know-nothing of three summers,
with tangled yellow hair.
Three days later I hired a hackman to drive me from Hillcrest Station.
Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence the horses shied
violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, remarked, "That
was one of the Imps!"
As he spoke the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in
a very dirty sailor-suit I recognised my nephew Budge. Then a smaller
boy emerged from the bushes at the side of the road, and I beheld the
unmistakable lineaments of Toddie.
"They're my nephews!" I gasped.
"Budge," I said, with all the sternness I could command; "do you know
me?"
"Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?"
"I wish I could have brought you some big whippings for behaving so
badly. Get into this carriage."
As they clambered up, I noticed that each one carried a very dirty
towel, knotted tightly in the centre. After some moments' disgusted
contemplation of these rags, I asked Budge what these towels were for.
"They're not towels, they're dollies," promptly answered my nephew.
"Goodness!" I exclaimed. "I should think your mother might buy you
respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with these loathsome
rags."
"We don't like buyed dollies," said Budge. "These dollies is lovely.
Mine's got blue eyes and Toddie's has got brown eyes."
"I want to shee your watch," remarked Toddie, snatching the chain and
rolling into my lap.
"Oh-oo-ee! So do I!" shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee, and in
transit wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat.
A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approaching; I
dropped my head to avoid meeting their glance, for my few minutes of
contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel inexpressibly un-neat.
The carriage stopped. I heard my own name spoken. There, erect, fresh,
neat, bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling, and observant, sat Miss Alice
Mayton, a lady who for about a year I had been adoring from afar.
"When did you arrive, Mr. Burton?" she asked. "You're certainly a
happy-looking trio--so unconventional! You look as if you had been
having _such_ a good time."
"I--I assure you, Miss Mayton, that my experience has been the reverse
of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive I'd volunteer as an
executioner."
"You dreadful wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "Mother, let me make you
acquainted with Mr. Burton, Helen Lawrence's brother. How is your
sister, Mr. Burton?"
"I don't know," I replied; "she's gone with her husband on a visit, and
I've been silly enough to promise to give an eye to the place while
they're away."
"Why, how delightful!" said Miss Mayton. "Such horses! Such flowers!
Such a cook!"
"And such children!" said I, glaring at the Imps, and rescuing my
handkerchief from Toddie.
"Why, they're the best children in the world! Helen told me so. Children
will be children, you know. I don't wish to give any hints, but at Mrs.
Clarkson's, where we're boarding, there's not a flower in the whole
garden. I break the Tenth Commandment every time I pass Colonel
Lawrence's. Good-bye."
"Of course you'll call," said Miss Mayton, as the carriage started;
"it's dreadfully stupid here. No men, except on Sundays."
I bowed assent. In the contemplation of all the shy possibilities my
short chat with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my
dusty clothing and the two little living causes thereof.
_II.--The Fate of a Bouquet_
Next morning at breakfast Toddie remarked, "Ocken Hawwy, darsh an awfoo
funny chunt upstairs. I show it to you after brepspup."
"Toddie's a silly little boy," said Budge, "he always says brepspup for
brekbux."
"Oh, what does he mean by chunt, Budge?"
"I guess he means trunk," replied my elder nephew.
Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk caused me
to smile sympathetically at Toddie, to his great delight.
A direful thought struck me. I dashed upstairs. Yes, he did mean my
trunk. While a campaigner, I had learned to reduce packing to an exact
science. Now, if I had an atom of pride in me, I might have glorified
myself, for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon the floor could
never have come out of one single trunk.
In the lid of my dressing-case lay my dress-coat, tightly rolled up.
Snatching it up, with a violent exclamation, there dropped from it--one
of these infernal dolls. A howl resounded from the doorway.
"You tookted my dolly out of her k'adle--want to wock my dolly oo-ee-
ee!"
I called the girl, and asked where the key was that locked the door
between my room and the children's.
"Please sir, Toddie threw it down the well."
I removed the lock and told the coachman to get ready at once to drive
to Paterson, where the nearest locksmith lived, by the hill road, one of
the most beautiful roads in America.
Away went the horses, and up rose a piercing shriek and a terrible roar.
I looked out hastily, only to see Budge and Toddie running after the
carriage and crying pitifully. The driver stopped of his own accord--he
seemed to know the children's ways and their results--and I helped them
in, meekly hoping the eye of Providence was upon me.
That afternoon I devoted myself to making a bouquet for Miss Mayton, and
a most delightful occupation I found it.
Not that I was in love with Miss Mayton. A man may honestly and strongly
admire a handsome, brilliant woman, and delight himself in trying to
give her pleasure without feeling it necessary she shall give him
herself in return.
My delight suddenly became clouded. What would folks say? Everybody knew
where Mike was employed--everybody knew I was the only gentleman at
present residing at Colonel Lawrence's. Ah, I had it.
I had seen in one of the library drawers a pasteboard box--just the
size. I dropped my card into the bottom, neatly fitted in the bouquet,
and went in search of Mike.
He winked cheeringly, and said he would do it "as clane as a whistle.
Divil a man can see, but the angels, and 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."
With a head full of pleasing fancies I went down to supper, and found my
new friends unusually good. Their ride seemed to have toned down their
boisterousness, and elevated their little souls. So when they invited me
to put them to bed I gladly accepted. Toddie disappeared somewhere, and
came back disconsolate.
"Can't find my doll'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, tawse my dolly's in it, and I want to
shee her!"
"Don't you want me to tell you a story?"
For a moment Toddle's face indicated a terrible internal conflict
between old Adam and Mother Eve; finally curiosity overpowered natural
depravity, and Toddie muttered, "Yesh!"
Very soon a knock at the door interrupted me. "Come in!" I shouted.
In stepped Mike, with an air of the greatest secrecy, handed me a letter
and _the_ box. What could it mean? I hastily opened the envelope, while
Toddie shrieked, "Oh, darsh my dolly's k'adle--dare tizh!" snatched and
opened the box, and displayed--his doll!
My heart sickened as I read, "Miss Mayton herewith returns to Mr. Burton
the package which has just arrived, with his card. She recognises the
contents as a portion of the property of one of Mr. Burton's nephews,
but is unable to understand why it should have been sent to her."
"Toddie!" I roared, as my younger nephew caressed his loathsome doll,
"where did you get that box?"
"On the hat-wack," he replied, with perfect fearlessness. "I keeps it in
ze bookcase djawer, and somebody took it 'way an' put nasty ole flowers
in it."
"Where are those flowers?" I demanded.
Toddie looked up with considerable surprise, but promptly replied, "I
froed 'em away--don't want no ole flowers in my dolly's k'adle. That's
ze way she wocks--see?" And this horrible little destroyer of human
hopes rolled that box back and forth with the most utter unconcern.
Of language to express my feeling to Toddie, I could find absolutely
none. Within these few minutes I had discovered how very anxious I
really was to merit Miss Mayton's regard, and how very different was the
regard I wanted from that which I had previously hoped might be accorded
to me. Under my stern glance Toddie gradually lost interest in his doll,
and began to thrust forth his piteous lower lip, and to weep copiously.
"Dee Lord, not make me sho bad." He even retired to a corner and hid his
face in self-imposed penance.
"Never mind, Toddie," said I sadly; "you didn't mean to do it, I know."
"I wantsh to love you," sobbed Toddie.
"Well, come here, you poor little fellow."
Toddie came to my arms, shed tears freely upon my shirt-front, and
finally remarked, "Wantsh you to love me!"
I kissed Toddie, and petted him, and at length succeeded in quieting
him. He looked earnestly, confidingly, in my eyes, and then said, "Kish
my dolly, too!"
I obeyed. My forgiveness was complete, and so was my humiliation. I
withdrew abruptly to write an apology.
_III.--Budge, the Interpreter_
On Monday morning I devoted myself to Toddie's expiatory bouquet, in
which I had the benefit of my nephews' assistance and counsel, and took
enforced part in the conversation.
At two o'clock I instructed Maggie to dress my nephews, and at three we
started to make our call. As we approached, I saw Miss Mayton on the
piazza. Handing the bouquet to Toddie, we entered the garden, when he
shrieked, "Oh, there's a cutter-grass!" and with the carelessness born
of perfect ecstasy, dropped the bouquet.
I snatched it before it reached the ground, dragged him up to Miss
Mayton, and told him to give the bouquet to the lady. As she stooped to
kiss him, he wriggled off like a little eel, shouted "Tum on!" to his
brother, and a moment later both were following the lawn-mower at a
respectful distance.
"Bless the little darlings!" said Miss Mayton. "I do love to see
children enjoying themselves!"
We settled down to a pleasant chat about books, pictures, music, and the
gossip of our set. Handsome, intelligent, composed, tastefully dressed,
she awakened to the uttermost every admiring sentiment and every manly
feeling. When I began to take leave, Miss Mayton's mother insisted that
we should stay to dinner.
"For myself, I should be delighted, Mrs. Mayton," said I, "but my
nephews have hardly learned company manners yet."
"Oh, I'll take care of the little dears," said Miss Mayton. "They'll be
good with me, I know."
She insisted, and the pleasure of submitting to her will was so great
that I would have risked even greater mischief. The soup was served, and
Toddie immediately tilted his plate so that part of its contents sought
refuge in the folds of Miss Mayton's dainty, snowy dress. She treated
that wretched boy with the most Christian forbearance during the rest of
the meal.
When the dessert was finished, she quickly excused herself, and I
removed Toddie to a secluded corner, and favoured him with a lecture
which caused him to howl pitifully, and compelled me to caress him and
undo all the good I had done.
I awaited Miss Mayton's reappearance to offer an apology for Toddie, and
to make my adieus. The other ladies departed in twos and threes, and
left us without witnesses.
Suddenly she appeared, and, whatever was the cause, she looked queenly.
She dropped into a chair, and the boys retired to the end of the piazza
to make experiments on a large Newfoundland dog, while I, the happiest
man alive, talked to the glorious woman before me, and enjoyed her
radiant beauty. The twilight came and deepened, and our voices
unconsciously dropped to lower tones, and her voice seemed purest music.
Suddenly a small shadow came between, and the voice of Budge remarked,
"Uncle Harry 'spects you, Miss Mayton."
"Suspects me! Of what, pray?" exclaimed the lady, patting my nephew's
cheek.
"Budge," said I--I felt my voice rising nearly to a scream--"Budge, I
must beg you to respect the sanctity of confidential communications."
"What is it, Budge?" persisted Miss Mayton. "You know the old adage, Mr.
Burton, 'Children and fools speak the truth.' Of what does he suspect
me, Budge?"
"'Tain't _sus_pect at all," said Budge; "it's espect."
"Expect?" echoed Miss Mayton.
"Respect is what the boy is trying to say, Miss Mayton," I interrupted.
"Budge has a terrifying faculty for asking questions, and the result of
some of them this morning was my endeavour to explain the nature of the
respect in which gentlemen hold ladies."
"Yes," said Budge; "I know all about it. Only Uncle Harry don't say it
right. What he calls respect _I_ calls _love_."
"Miss Mayton," I said hastily, earnestly, "Budge is a marplot, but he is
a very truthful interpreter, for all that. Whatever my fate may be, do
not----"
"I want to talk some," observed Budge. "You talk all the whole time.
I--when I loves anybody I kisses them." Miss Mayton gave a little start,
and my thoughts followed each other with unimagined rapidity. She was
not angry, evidently. Could it be that----? I bent over her, and acted
on Budge's suggestion. She raised her head slightly, and I saw that
Alice Mayton had surrendered at discretion. Taking her hand, I offered
to the Lord more fervent thanks than He had ever heard from me in
church. Then Budge said, "I wants to kiss you, too." And I saw my
glorious Alice snatch the little scamp into her arms and treat him with
more affection than I had ever imagined was in her nature.
Suddenly two or three ladies came upon the piazza.
"Come, boys!" said I. "Then I'll call with the carriage to-morrow at
three, Miss Mayton. Good-evening."
That night I wrote to my sister to inform her that the scales had fallen
from my eyes--I saw clearly that my nephews were angels. And I begged to
refer her to Alice Mayton for collateral evidence.
_IV.--The Fruit of My Visit_
A few days later I had a letter from my sister to say she had been
recalling a fortnight's experience they once had of courtship in a
boarding-house, so had determined to cut short her visit and hurry home.
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 at once, but Toddie murmured mournfully, "I
fought it wash an organ-grinder."
"Oh, Uncle Harry," said Budge, 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 them 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 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, and a big, great stone was right in here." And Budge
put his hand on his chest.
"If a big tone wash inshide of me," said Toddie, "I'd take it out and
frow it at the shickens."
"Toddie," I said, "aren't you glad papa and mamma are coming?"
"Yesh," said Toddie. "Mamma always bwings me candy fen she goes
anyfere."
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, I lost my temper utterly.
"Harness the horse, Mike," I shouted.
"An' the goat, too," added Budge.
Five minutes later I was seated in the carriage.
"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 seizing the reins and whip, "go ahead!"
"Wait a minute, Budge. Put down that whip, and don't touch the goat with
it once. I'm going to drive very slowly; all you need do is to hold the
reins."
"All right," said Budge; "but I like to look like mans when I drive."
The horses went at a gentle trot, and the goat followed very closely.
When within a minute of the depot the train swept in. I gave the horses
the whip, looked, and saw the boys close behind me. Nothing but the
sharpest of turns saved me from a severe accident. As it was, I heard
two hard thumps upon the wooden wall, and two frightful howls, and saw
both my nephews mixed up on the platform, while the driver of the stage
growled in my ear, "What in thunder did you let 'em hitch that goat to
your axletree for?"
How the goat's head and shoulders maintained their normal connection
during the last minute of my drive, I leave naturalists to explain.
Fortunately, the children had struck on their heads, and the Lawrence-
Burton skull is a marvel of solidity. I set them on their feet, promised
them all the candy they could eat for a week, and hurried them to the
other side of the depot. Budge rushed at Tom, exclaiming, "See my goat,
papa?"
Helen was somewhat concerned about the children, but found time to look
at me with so much of sympathy, humour, affection, and condescension
that I really felt relieved when we reached the house. 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 we drank to "her and
her mother." Then Helen proposed, "The makers of the match--Budge and
Toddie," which was honoured with bumpers. The gentlemen toasted did not
respond, but stared so curiously I sprang from my chair and kissed them
soundly, while Helen and Tom exchanged significant glances.
Young as they are, I find frequent reason to be jealous of them, but
artifice alone can prevent them monopolising the time of an adorable
being of whose society I cannot possibly have too much. She insists
that, when the ceremony takes place in December, they shall officiate as
groomsmen, and I have no doubt she will carry her point In fact, when I
retire for the night without first seeking their room, and putting a
grateful kiss on their unconscious lips, my conscience upbraids me with
base ingratitude. To think I might yet be a hopeless bachelor had it not
been for them, is to overflow with gratitude to the Giver of Helen's
Babies.
* * * * *