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"Little boysh never can do anyfing nysh wivout bein' made to don't," said Toddie. "Dzust see what an awful big splinter I got in my hand when I was froin' wood on the fire! I didn't cry a bit about it then, 'cause I fought I was makin' uvver folks happy, like the Lord wants little boysh to. But they didn't get happy, so now I am goin' to cry 'bout the splinter!"
"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," said I, opening my arms, and wondering whether 'twas not after contemplation of some such sinner that good Bishop Tegner wrote: "Depths of love are atonement's depths, for love is atonement"
"Don't WANT to bring 'em," said Toddie. "Then come here!" I shouted, dragging him across the room, and snatching up his tiny articles of apparel. I had dressed no small children since I was rather a small boy myself, and Toddie's clothing confused me somewhat. I finally got something on him, when a contemptuous laugh from Budge interrupted me.
She sat up with a forlorn sigh, adding, "Think of it, Father, twenty-two, and not a heart to hang on my chatelaine." "Hands are supposed to mean hearts nowadays," said Louis, reassuringly; "I am sure you have mittened one or two." "Oh, yes," she answered, laughing evasively, "both of little Toddie Flynn's. Mamma, don't you think I am too big a baby for you to hold long?"
Suddenly she appeared, and in an instant I fervently blessed Toddie and the soup which the child had sent upon its aimless wanderings.
The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied: "Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?" "Bring us anything?" echoed Toddie. "I wish I could have brought you some big whippings," said I, with great severity of manner, "for behaving so badly. Get into this carriage."
"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.
If you were to ask a hundred times it would not make the slightest bit of difference. You cannot go, and you must stop thinking about it." Toddie listened intelligently from beginning to end, and replied: "But I wantsh to go." "And you can't. That ends the matter." "No, it don't," said Toddie, "not a single bittle. I wantsh to go badder than ever." "But you are not going."
To say that I looked at Toddie reprovingly is to express my feelings in the most inadequate language, but of language in which to express my feelings to Toddie. I could find absolutely none.
"Feel again," said I, throwing the toad out the window, where it was followed by an agonizing shriek from Toddie. Again he felt, and his search was rewarded by the tension screw of Helen's sewing-machine. Then I attempted some research myself, and speedily found my fingers adhering to something of a sticky consistency. I quickly withdrew my hand, exclaiming:
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