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"Ocken Hawwy," remarked Toddie, "daysh an awfoo funny chunt up 'tairs awfoo BIG chunt. I show it you after brepspup." "Oh! What does he mean by chunt, Budge?" "I GUESS he means trunk," replied my oldest nephew. Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk it seems a century ago that I did it caused me to smile sympathetically at Toddie, to his apparent great delight.
"An awfoo funny chunt" seemed to annihilate suddenly all differences of age, condition and experience between the wee boy and myself, and A direful thought struck me. I dashed up-stairs and into my room. Yes, he DID mean my trunk. I could see nothing funny about it quite the contrary. The bond of sympathy between my nephew and myself was suddenly broken.
Even Lil Abner and Snuffy Smith battled the vegetation while no one but Jiggs remained absolutely impervious. The Greengrass Blues was heard on every radio and came from every adolescent's phonograph until it was succeeded by Itty Bitty Seed Made Awfoo Nasty Weed. Perhaps the most notable feature of this period was a preoccupation with permanency.
"Wantsh to shee Phillie aden awfoo," said Toddie, as I kissed Budge and hurried off to the library, unfit just then to administer farther instruction or reproof. Of one thing I was very certain I wished the rain would cease falling, so the children could go out of doors, and I could get a little rest, and freedom from responsibility.
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."
"Zere, pitty yady, 'tay ZERE. Now, 'ittle boy, I put you wif your mudder, tause mudders likes zere 'ittle boys wif zem. An' you sall have 'ittle sister tudder side of you, zere. Now, 'ittle boy's an' 'ittle girl's mudder, don't you feel happy? isn't I awfoo good to give you your 'ittle tsilderns? You ought to say, 'Fank you, Toddie, you'se a nice, fweet 'ittle djentleman."
As I went into the latter room I heard some one at the wash-stand, which was in the alcove, and on looking I saw Toddie drinking the last of the contents of a goblet which contained a dark-colored mixture. "Ize takin' 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.
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