"When Israel was in bondage, they cried unto de 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 bed-time. After allowing a few moments for the usual expressions of
dissent, I staggered up--stairs with Toddie in my arms, and Budge on my
back, both boys roaring in 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 riding
with an' make 'em take me too, an' bless that nice old lady with white
hair, that cried, and 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 acquaintances.
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 you're little girl, isn't she? _I_ think she's
lovely, too."
"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, "an' 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 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.