Part 4

I complied with his request. Theoretically I had long believed that the higher wisdom of the Creator was most frequently expressed through the medium of his most innocent creations. Surely here was a confirmation of my theory, for who else had ever practically taught me the duty of the injured one toward his offender? I kissed Toddie and petted him, and at length succeeded in quieting him; his little face, in spite of much dirt and many tear-stains, was upturned with more of beauty in it than it ever held when its owner was full of joy; he looked earnestly, confidingly, into my eyes, and I congratulated myself upon the perfection of my forgiving spirit, when Toddie suddenly re-exhibited to me my old unregenerate nature, and the incompleteness of my forgiveness, by saying:—

“Kish my dolly, too.”

I obeyed. My forgiveness was made complete, but so was my humiliation. I abruptly closed our interview. We exchanged “God bless you’s,” according to Budge’s instructions of the previous night, and at least one of the participants in this devotional exercise hoped the petitions made by the other were distinctly heard. Then I dropped into an easy-chair in the library, and fell to thinking. I found myself really and seriously troubled by the results of Toddie’s operation with my bouquet. I might explain the matter to Miss Mayton—I undoubtedly could, for she was too sensible a woman to be easily offended merely by a ridiculous mistake, caused by a child. But she would laugh at _me_—how could she help it?—and to be laughed at by Miss Mayton was a something, the mere thought of which tormented me in a manner that made me fairly ashamed of myself. Like every other young man among young men, I had been the butt of many a rough joke, and had borne them without wincing; it seemed cowardly and contemptible that I should be so sensitive under the mere thought of laughter which would probably be heard by no one but Miss Mayton herself. But the laughter of a mere acquaintance is likely to lessen respect for the person laughed at. Heavens! the thought was unendurable! At any rate, I must write an early apology. When I was correspondent for the house with which I am now salesman, I reclaimed many an old customer who had wandered off—certainly I might hope, by a well-written letter, to regain in Miss Mayton’s respect whatever position I had lost. I hastily drafted a letter, corrected it carefully, copied it in due form, and forwarded it by the faithful Michael. Then I tried to read, but without the least success. For hours I paced the piazza and consumed cigars; when at last I retired it was with many ideas, hopes, fears, and fancies which had never before been mine. True to my trust, I looked into my nephews’ room; there lay the boys, in postures more graceful than any which brush or chisel have ever reproduced. Toddie, in particular, wore so lovely an expression that I could not refrain from kissing him. But I was none the less careful to make use of my new key, and to lock my other door also.

The next day was the Sabbath. Believing fully in the binding force and worldly wisdom of the Fourth Commandment, so far as it refers to rest, I have conscientiously trained myself to sleep two hours later on the morning of the holy day than I ever allowed myself to do on business days. But having inherited, besides a New England conscience, a New England abhorrence of waste, I regularly sit up two hours later on Saturday nights than on any others; and the night preceding this particular Sabbath was no exception to the rule, as the reader may imagine from the foregoing recital. At about 5.30 A.M., however, I became conscious that my nephews were not in accord with me on the Sinaitic law. They were not only awake, but were disputing vigorously, and, seemingly very loudly, for I heard their words quite distinctly. With sleepy condescension I endeavored to ignore these noisy irreverents, but I was suddenly moved to a belief in the doctrine of vicarious atonement, for a flying body, with more momentum than weight, struck me upon the not prominent bridge of my nose, and speedily and with unnecessary force accommodated itself to the outline of my eyes. After a moment spent in anguish, and in wondering how the missive came through closed doors and windows, I discovered that my pain had been caused by one of the dolls, which from its extreme uncleanness, I suspected belonged to Toddie; I also discovered that the door between the rooms was open.

“Who threw that doll?” I shouted, sternly.

There came no response.

“Do you hear?” I roared.

“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?”

“Why—why—I—because—why, you see—because, why, Toddie froo his dolly in my mouth; some of her hair went in, anyhow, an’ I didn’t want his dolly in my mouth, so I sent it back to him, an’ the foot of the bed didn’t stick up enough, so it went froo the door to your bed—that’s what for.”

The explanation seemed to bear marks of genuineness, albeit the pain in my eye was not alleviated thereby, while the exertion expended in eliciting the information had so thoroughly awakened me that further sleep was out of the question. Besides, the open door—had a burglar been in the room? No, my watch and pocket-book were undisturbed.

“Budge, who opened that door?”

After some hesitation, as if wondering who really did it, Budge replied:—

“Me.”

“How did you do it?”

“Why, you see we wanted a drink, an’ the door was fast, so we got out the window on the parazzo roof, an’ comed in your window.” (Here a slight pause.) “An’ ’twas fun. An’ then we unlocked the door, an’ comed back.”

Then I should be compelled to lock my window blinds—or theirs, and this in the summer season, too! Oh, if Helen could have but passed the house as that white-robed procession had filed along the piazza roof! I lay pondering over the vast amount of unused ingenuity that was locked up in millions of children, or employed only to work misery among unsuspecting adults, when I heard light footfalls at my bedside, and saw a small shape with a grave face approach and remark:

“I wants to come in your bed.”

“What for, Toddie?”

“To fwolic; papa always fwolics us Sunday mornin’s. Tum, Budgie, Ocken Hawwy’s doin’ to fwolic us.”

Budge replied by shrieking with delight, tumbling out of bed, and hurrying to that side of my bed not already occupied by Toddie. Then those two little savages sounded the onslaught and advanced precipitately upon me. Sometimes, during the course of my life, I have had day-dreams which I have told to no one. Among these has been one—not now so distinct as it was before my four years of campaigning—of one day meeting in deadly combat the painted Indian of the plains; of listening undismayed to his frightful war-whoop, and of exemplifying in my own person the inevitable result of the paleface’s superior intelligence. But upon this particular Sunday morning I relinquished this idea informally but forever. Before the advance of these diminutive warriors I quailed contemptibly, and their battle-cry sent more terror to my soul than that member ever experienced from the well-remembered rebel yell. According to Toddie, I was going to “fwolic” _them_; but from the first they took the whole business into their own little but effective hands. Toddie pronounced my knees, collectively, “a horsie-bonnie.” and bestrode them, laughing gleefully at my efforts to unseat him, and holding himself in position by digging his pudgy fingers into whatever portions of my anatomy he could most easily seize. Budge shouted,” I want a horsie, too!” and seated himself upon my chest. “This is the way the horsie goes,” explained he, as he slowly rocked himself backward and forward. I began to realize how my brother-in-law, who had once been a fine gymnast, had become so flat-chested. Just then Budge’s face assumed a more spirited expression, his eyes opened wide and lighted up, and shouting,” This the way the horsie _trots_,” he stood upright, threw up his feet, and dropped his forty-three avoirdupois pounds forcibly upon my lungs. He repeated this operation several times before I fully recovered from the shock conveyed by his combined impudence and weight; but pain finally brought my senses back, and with a wild plunge I unseated my demoniac riders and gained a clear space in the middle of the floor.

“Ah—h—h—h—h—h—h!” screamed Toddie; “I wants to ride horshie backen.”

“Boo—oo—oo—oo—!” roared Budge; “I think you’re real mean. I don’t love you at all.”

Regardless alike of Toddie’s desires, of Budge’s opinion and the cessation of his regard, I performed a hasty toilet. Notwithstanding my lost rest, I savagely thanked the Lord for Sunday; at church, at least, I could be free from my tormentors. At the breakfast table both boys invited themselves to accompany me to the sanctuary, but I declined, without thanks. To take them might be to assist somewhat in teaching them one of the best habits, but I strongly doubted whether the severest Providence would consider it my duty to endure the probable consequences of such an attempt. Besides I _might_ meet Miss Mayton. I both hoped and feared I might, and I could not endure the thought of appearing before her with the causes of my pleasant _remembrance_. Budge protested, and Toddie wept, but I remained firm, although I was so willing to gratify their reasonable desires that I took them out for a long ante-service walk. While enjoying this little trip I delighted the children by killing a snake and spoiling a slender cane at the same time, my own sole consolation coming from the discovery that the remains of the staff were sufficient to make a cane for Budge. While returning to the house and preparing for church I entered into a solemn agreement with Budge, who was usually recognized as the head of this fraternal partnership. Budge contracted, for himself and brother, to make no attempts to enter my room; to refrain from fighting; to raise loose dirt only with a shovel, and to convey it to its destination by means other than their own hats and aprons; to pick no flowers; to open no water-faucets; to refer all disagreements to the cook, as arbitrator, and to build no houses of the new books which I had stacked upon the library table. In consideration of the promised faithful observance of these conditions, I agreed that Budge should be allowed to come alone to Sabbath-school, which convened directly after morning service, he to start only after Maggie had pronounced him duly cleansed and clothed. As Toddie was daily kept in bed from eleven till one, I felt that I might safely worship without distracting fears, for Budge could not alone, and in a single hour, become guilty of any particular sin. The church at Hillcrest had many more seats than members, and as but few summer visitors had yet appeared in the town, I was conscious of being industriously stared at by the native members of the congregation. This was of itself discomfort enough, but not all to which I was destined, for the usher conducted me quite near to the altar, and showed me into a pew whose only other occupant was Miss Mayton! Of course the lady did not recognize me—she was too carefully bred to do anything of the sort in church, and I spent ten uncomfortable minutes in mentally abusing the customs of good society. The beginning of the service partially ended my uneasiness, for I had no hymn-book—the pew contained none—so Miss Mayton kindly offered me a share in her own. And yet so faultlessly perfect and stranger-like was her manner that I wondered whether her action might not have been prompted merely by a sense of Christian duty; had I been the Khan of Tartary she could not have been more polite and frigid. The music to the first hymn was an air I had never heard before, so I stumbled miserably through the tenor, although Miss Mayton rendered the soprano without a single false note. The sermon was longer than I was in the habit of listening to, and I was frequently conscious of not listening at all. As for my position and appearance, neither ever seemed so insignificant as they did throughout the entire service.

The minister reached “And finally, dear brethren,” with my earnest prayers for a successful and speedy finale. It seemed to me that the congregation sympathized with me, for there was a general rustle behind me as these words were spoken. It soon became evident, however, that the hearers were moved by some other feeling, for I heard a profound titter or two behind me. Even Miss Mayton turned her head with more alacrity than was consistent with that grace which usually characterized her motions, and the minister himself made a pause of unusual length, I turned in my seat, and saw my nephew Budge, dressed in his best, his head irreverently covered, and his new cane swinging in the most stylish manner. He paused at each pew, carefully surveyed its occupants, seemed to fail in finding the object of his search, but continued his efforts in spite of my endeavors to catch his eye. Finally he recognized a family acquaintance, and to him he unburdened his bosom by remarking, in tones easily heard throughout the church:—

“I want to find my uncle.”

Just then he caught my eye, smiled rapturously, hurried to me, and laid his rascally soft cheek confidingly against mine, while an audible sensation pervaded the church. What to do or say to him I scarcely knew; but my quandary was turned to wonder, as Miss Mayton, her face full of ill-repressed mirth, but her eyes full of tenderness, drew the little scamp close to her, and kissed him soundly. At the same instant, the minister, not without some little hesitation, said, “Let us pray.” I hastily bowed my head, glad of a chance to hide my face; but as I stole a glance at the cause of this irreligious disturbance, I caught Miss Mayton’s eye. She was laughing so violently that the contagion was unavoidable, and I laughed all the harder as I felt that one mischievous boy had undone the mischief caused by another.

After the benediction, Budge was the recipient of a great deal of attention, during the confusion of which I embraced the opportunity to say to Miss Mayton:—

“Do you still sustain my sister in her opinion of my nephews, Miss Mayton?”

“I think they’re too funny for anything,” replied the lady, with great enthusiasm. “I _do_ wish you would bring them to call upon me. I’m longing to see an _original_ young gentleman.”

“Thank you,” said I. “And I’ll have Toddie bring a bouquet by way of atonement.”

“Do,” she replied, as I allowed her to pass from the pew. The word was an insignificant one, but it made me happy once more.

“You see, Uncle Harry,” exclaimed Budge, as we left the church together, “the Sunday-school wasn’t open yet, an’ I wanted to hear if they’d sing again in church; so I came in, an’ you wasn’t in papa’s seat, an’ I knew you was _some_where, so I _looked_ for you.”

“Bless you,” thought I, snatching him into my arms as if to hurry him into Sabbath-school, but really to give him a kiss of grateful affection, “you did right—_exactly_ right.”

My Sunday dinner was unexceptional in point of quantity and quality, and a bottle of my brother-in-law’s claret proved to be the most excellent; yet a certain uneasiness of mind prevented my enjoying the meal as thoroughly as under other circumstances I might have done. My uneasiness came of a mingled sense of responsibility and ignorance. I felt that it was the proper thing for me to see that my nephews spent the day with some sense of the requirements and duties of the Sabbath; but how I was to bring it about I hardly knew. The boys were too small to have Bible-lessons administered to them, and they were too lively to be kept quiet by any ordinary means. After a great deal of thought, I determined to consult the children themselves, and try to learn what their parents’ custom had been.

“Budge,” said I, “what do you do Sundays when your papa and mamma are home? What do they read to you—what do they talk about?”

“Oh, they swing us—lots!” said Budge, with brightening eyes.

“An’ zey takes us to get jacks,” observed Toddie.

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Budge; “jacks-in-the-pulpit,—don’t you know?”

“Hum—ye—es; I do remember some such thing in my youthful days; they grow where there’s plenty of mud, don’t they?”

“Yes, an’ there’s a brook there, an’ ferns, an’ birchbark, an’ if you don’t look out you’ll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch.”

“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?”

“Oh, yes,” cried Budge, clapping his hands as a happy thought struck him. “He gets down the Bible—the great _big_ Bible, you know—an’ we all lay on the floor, an’ he reads us stories out of it. There’s David, an’ Noah, an’ when Christ was a little boy, an’ Joseph, an’ turn back Pharo’s army hallelujah——”

“And what?”

“TurnbackPharo’sarmyhallelujah,” repeated Budge. “Don’t you know how Moses held his cane out over the Red Sea, an’ the water went ’way up one side, an’ ’way up the other side, and all the Isrulites went across? It’s just the same thing as _drown_ old Pharo’s army hallelujah—don’t you know.”

“Budge,” said I; “I suspect you of having, heard the Jubilee Singers.”

“Oh, an’ papa an’ mamma sings us all those jubilee songs—there’s ‘Swing Low,’ an’ ‘Roll Jordan,’ an’ ‘Steal Away,’ an’ ‘My Way’s Cloudy,’ an’ ’Get on Board, Childuns,’ an’ lots. An’ you can sing us every one of ’em.”

“An’ papa takes us in the woods and makesh us canes,” said Toddie.

“Yes,” said Budge, “and where there’s new houses buildin’, he takes us up ladders.”

“Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon?” I asked.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Budge, “but he puts an India-rubber blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down and make b’lieve we’re soldiers asleep. Only sometimes when we wake up, papa stays asleep, an’ mamma won’t let us wake him. I don’t think that’s a very nice play.”

“Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don’t you?”

Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. “I think swingin’ is nicer,” said he—“oh, no;—let’s get some jacks—_I’ll_ tell you what!—make us whistles, an’ we can blow on ’em while we’re goin’ to get the jacks. Toddie, dear, wouldn’t _you_ like jacks an’ whistles?”

“Yesh—an’ swingin’—an’ birch—an’ wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock,” answered Toddie.

“Let’s have Bible stories first,” said I. “The Lord mightn’t like it if you didn’t learn anything good to-day.”

“Well,” said Budge, with the regulation religious-matter-of-duty face, “let’s. I guess I like ’bout Joseph best.”

“Tell us ’bout Bliaff,” suggested Toddie.

“Oh, no, Tod,” remonstrated Budge; “Joseph’s coat was just as bloody as Goliath’s head was.” Then Budge turned to me and explained that “all Tod likes Goliath for is ’cause when his head was cut off it was all bloody.” And then Toddie—the airy sprite whom his mother described as being irresistibly drawn to whatever was beautiful—Toddie glared upon me, as a butcher’s apprentice might stare at a doomed lamb, and remarked:—

“Bliaff’s head was all bluggy, an’ David’s sword was all bluggy—bluggy as everyfing.”

I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened the Bible, turned to the story of Joseph, and audibly condensed it, as I read:

“Joseph was a good little boy, whose papa loved him very dearly. But his brothers didn’t like him. And they sold him to go to Egypt. And he was very smart, and told people what their dreams meant, and he got to be a great man. And his brothers went to Egypt to buy corn, and Joseph sold them some, and then he let them know who he was. And he sent them home to bring their papa to Egypt, and then they all lived there together.”

“That ain’t it,” remarked Toddie, with the air of a man who felt himself to be unjustly treated. “Is it, Budge?”

“Oh, no,” said Budge, “you didn’t read it good a bit; _I’ll_ tell you how it is. Once there was a little boy named Joseph, an’ he had eleven budders—they was _awful_ eleven budders. An’ his papa gave him a new coat, an’ his budders hadn’t nothin’ but their old jackets to wear. An’ one day he was carrying ’em their dinner, an’ they put him in a deep, dark hole, but they didn’t put his nice new coat in—they killed a kid, an’ dipped the coat—just think of doin’ that to a nice new coat—they dipped it in the kid’s blood, an’ made it all bloody.”

“All bluggy,” echoed Toddie, with ferocious emphasis. Budge continued:—

“But there were some Ishmalites comin’ along that way, and the awful eleven budders took him out of the deep, dark hole, an’ sold him to the Ishmalites, an’ they sold him away down in Egypt. An’ his poor old papa cried, an’ cried, an’ cried, ’cause he thought a big lion ate Joseph up; but he wasn’t ate up a bit; but there wasn’t no post-office nor choo-choos,[6] nor stages in Egypt, an’ there wasn’t any telegraphs, so Joseph couldn’t let his papa know where he was; an’ he got so smart an’ so good that the king of Egypt let him sell all the corn an’ take care of the money; ’an one day some men came to buy some com, an’ Joseph looked at ’em ’an they was his own budders! An’ he scared ’em like everything; _I’d_ have _slapped_ ’em all if _I’d_ been Joseph, but he just scared ’em, an’ then he let ’em know who he was, an’ he kissed ’em an’ he didn’t whip ’em, or make ’em go without their breakfast, or stand in a corner, nor none of them things; an’ then he sent them back for their papa, an’ when he saw his papa comin’, he ran like everything, and gave him a great big hug and a kiss. Joseph was too big to ask him 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.”

[6] Railway cars.

“An’ 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? I guess he’d cry _awful_, don’t you? Now tell us another story—oh, _I’ll_ tell you—read us ’bout—”

”’Bout Bliaff,” interrupted Toddie.

“_You_ tell _me_ about him, Toddie,” said I.

“Why,” said Toddie, “Bliaff was a brate bid man, an’ Dave was brate little man, an’ Bliaff said, ‘Come over here, an’ I’ll eat you up,’ an’ Dave said, ‘_I_ ain’t fyaid of you.’ So Dave put five little stones in a sling an’ asked de Lord to help him, an’ let ze sling go bang into bequeen Bliaff’s eyes an’ knocked him down dead, an’ Dave took Bliaff’s sword an’ sworded Bliaff’s head off, an’ made it all bluggy, an’ Bliaff runned away.” This short narration was accompanied by more spirited and unexpected gestures than Mr. Gough ever puts into a long lecture.

“I don’t like ’bout Goliath at all,” remarked Budge, “_I’d_ like to hear ’bout Ferus.”

“Who?”

“Ferus; don’t you know?”

“Never heard of him, Budge.”

“Why—y—y—!” exclaimed Budge; “didn’t you have no papa when you was a little boy?”

“Yes, but he never told me about any one named Ferus; there is no such person named in Anthon’s Classical Dictionary, either. What sort of a man was he?”