"Who taught you all that, Toddie?" asked one of the ladies.
"Nobody didn't taught me--I lyned [Footnote: learned] it."
"When did you learn it?"
"Lyned it zish mornin'. Ocken Hawwy said it over, an' over, an' over,
djust yots of timezh, out in ze garden."
The ladies all exchanged glances--my lady readers will understand just
how, and I assure gentlemen that I did not find their glances at all
hard to read. Alice looked at me inquiringly, and she now tells me that
I blushed sheepishly and guiltily. Poor Mrs. Mayton staggered to a
chair, and exclaimed:--
"Too late! too late!"
Considering their recent achievements, Toddie and Budge were a very
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."