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Updated: May 15, 2025
"No," said Budge; "somebody's got to be knocked down first. Then we will." A sudden tumble by Toddie was the signal for devotional exercises, and both boys knelt beside the bed. "Now, darlings," said Mrs. Burton, "you have made some sad mistakes to-day, and they should teach you that, even when you want most to do right, you need to be helped by somebody better. Don't you think so?"
"When they got up there," said Toddie, "Abraham made a naltar an' put little Ikey on it, an' took a knife an' was goin' to chop his froat open, when a andzel came out of hebben an' said: 'Stop a-doin' that. So Abraham stopped, an' Ikey skooted; an' Abraham saw a sheep caught in the bushes, an' he caught him an' killed him.
"What is it, Uncle Harry?" asked Budge, with most exquisitely polite inflection. "Who threw that doll?" "Huh?" "I say, who threw that doll?" "Why, nobody did it." "Toddie, who threw that doll?" "Budge did," replied Toddie in muffled tones, suggestive of a brotherly hand laid forcibly over a pair of small lips. "Budge, what did you do it for?"
Joseph was too big to ask his papa if he'd brought him any candy, but he was awful glad to see him. An' the king gave Joseph's papa a nice farm, an' they all had real good times after that." "And they dipped the coat in the blood; an' made it all bluggy," reiterated Toddie. "Uncle Harry," said Budge, "what do you think MY papa would do if he thought I was all ate up by a lion?
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."
Half an hour of dirty work sufficed, with such assistance as I gained from juvenile advice, to accomplish the task properly; then I put the horned steed into the shafts, Budge cracked the whip, the carriage moved off without noise, and Toddie began to weep bitterly. "Cawwidge is all bwoke," said he; "WHEELSH DON'T SING A BITTIE NO MORE," while Budge remarked:
Come here to your own Aunt Alice, Budgie dear, and you, too, Toddie, you know you said we could pick the boys up on the road, Harry. There, there don't cry let me wipe the ugly old dirt off you, and kiss the face, and make it well." "Alice," I protested, "don't let those dirty boys clamber all over you in that way."
"An' we goes to Hawksnest Rock," piped Toddie, "an' papa carries us up on his back when we gets tired." "An' he makes us whistles," said Budge. "Budge," said I, rather hastily, "enough. In the language of the poet "'These earthly pleasures I resign, and I'm rather astonished that your papa hasn't taught you to do likewise. Don't he ever read to you?"
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.
Burton, leading the way to the parlor. "Boys," said she, greeting her nephews, "first, we'll sing a little hymn; what shall it be?" "Ole Uncle Ned," said Toddie, promptly. "Oh, that's not a Sunday song," said Mrs. Burton. "I fink tizh," said Toddie, "'cause it sayzh, free or four timezh, 'He's gone where de good niggers go, an' that's hebben, you know; so it's a Sunday song."
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