Part 5

“Why, once there was a man, an’ his name was Ferus—_Of_ferus, an’ he went about fightin’ for kings, but when any king got afraid of anybody, he wouldn’t fight for him no more. An’ one day he couldn’t find no kings that wasn’t afraid of nobody. An’ the people told him the Lord was the biggest king in the world, an’ he wasn’t afraid of nobody nor nothing. An’ he asked ’em where he could find the Lord, an’ they said he was ’way up in heaven so nobody couldn’t see him but the angels, but he liked folks to _work_ for him instead of fight. So Ferus wanted to know what kind of work he could do, an’ the people said there was a river not far off, where there wasn’t no ferry-boats, ’cos the water run so fast, an’ they guessed if he’d carry folks across, the Lord would like it. So Ferus went there, an’ he cut him a good, strong cane, an’ whenever anybody wanted to go across the river he’d carry ’em on his back.

“One night he was sittin’ in his little house by the fire, and smokin’ his pipe an’ readin’ the paper, an’ ’twas rainin’ an’ blowin’ an’ hailin’ an’ stormin’, an’ he was so glad there wasn’t anybody wantin’ to go ’cross the river, when he heard somebody call out, ‘Ferus!’ An’ he looked out the window, but he couldn’t see nobody, so he sat down again. Then somebody called, ‘Ferus!’ again, and he opened the door again, an’ there was a little bit of a boy, ’bout as big as Toddie. An’ Ferus said, ‘Hello, young fellow, does your mother know you’re out?’ An’ the little boy said, ‘I want to go ’cross the river.’—‘Well,’ says Ferus, ‘you’re a mighty little fellow to be travelin’ alone, but hop up.’ So the little boy jumped up on Ferus’ back, and Ferus walked into the water. Oh, my—_wasn’t_ it cold? An’ every step he took, the little boy got heavier, so Ferus nearly tumbled down an’ they liked to both got drownded. An’ when they got across the river Ferus said, ’Well, you _are_ the heaviest small fry I ever carried,’ an’ he turned around to look at him, an’ ’twasn’t no little boy at all—’twas a big man—’twas Christ. An’ Christ said, ‘Ferus, I heard you was tryin’ to work for me, so I thought I’d come down an’ see you, an’ not let you know who I was. An’ now you shall have a new name; you shall be called _Christ_offerus, ’cos that means Christ-carrier.’ An’ everybody called him Christofferus after that, an’ when he died they called him _Saint_ Christopher, ’cos Saint is what they call good people when they’re dead.”

Budge, himself, had the face of a rapt saint as he told this story, but my contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie, who, disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother’s recital, had strayed into the garden, investigated a hornet’s nest, been stung, and set up a piercing shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily picked him up, he sobbed:—

“Want to be wocked.[7] Want ‘Toddie one boy day.’”

[7] Rocked

I rocked him violently, and petted him tenderly, but again he sobbed:—

“Want ‘Toddie one boy day.’”

“What _does_ the child mean?” I exclaimed.

“He wants you to sing to him about ‘Charlie boy one day,’” said Budge. “He always wants mamma to sing that when he’s hurt, an’ then he stops crying.”

“I don’t know it,” said I. “Won’t ‘Roll, Jordan,’ do, Toddie?”

“_I’ll_ tell you how it goes,” said Budge, and forthwith the youth sang the following song, a line at a time, I following him in words and air:—

“Where is my little bastik[8] gone? Said Charley boy one day; I guess some little boy or girl Has taken it away.

“An’ kittie, too—where _ish_ she gone? Oh, dear, what I shall do? I wish I could my bastik find, An’ little kittie, too.

“I’ll go to mamma’s room an’ look; Perhaps she may be there; For kittie likes to take a nap In mamma’s easy chair.

“O mamma, mamma, come an’ look! See what a little heap! Here’s kittie in the bastik here, All cuddled down to sleep.”

[8] Basket.

Where the applicability of this poem to my nephew’s peculiar trouble appeared, I could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs gave place to a sigh of relief.

“Toddie,” said I, “do you love your Uncle Harry?”

“Esh, I _do_ love you.”

“Then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you?”

“Makes me feel good, an’ all nicey,” replied Toddie.

“Wouldn’t you feel just as good if I sang, ‘Plunged in a gulf of dark despair’?”

“No, don’t like dokdishpairs; if a dokdishpair done anyfing to me, I’d knock it right down dead.”

With this extremely lucid remark, our conversation on this particular subject ended; but I wondered, during a few uneasy moments, whether the temporary mental aberration which had once afflicted Helen’s grandfather and mine was not reappearing in this, his youngest descendant. My wondering was cut short by Budge, who remarked, in a confidential tone:—

“Now, Uncle Harry, we’ll have the whistles, I guess.”

I acted upon the suggestion, and led the way to the woods. I had not had occasion to seek a hickory sapling before for years; not since the war, in fact, when I learned how hot a fire small hickory sticks would make. I had not sought wood for whistles since—— Gracious, nearly a quarter of a century ago! The dissimilar associations called up by these recollections threatened to put me in a frame of mind which might have resulted in a bad poem, had not my nephews kept up a lively succession of questions, such as no one but children can ask. The whistles completed, I was marched, with music, to the place where the “jacks” grew. It was just such a place as boys instinctively delight in—low, damp, and boggy, with a brook hiding treacherously away, under overhanging ferns and grasses. The children knew by sight the plant which bore the “jacks,” and every discovery was announced by a piercing shriek of delight. At first, I looked hurriedly toward the brook as each yell clove the air; but, as I became accustomed to it, my attention was diverted by some exquisite ferns. Suddenly, however, a succession of shrieks announced that something was wrong, and across a large fern I saw a small face in a great deal of agony. Budge was hurrying to the relief of his brother, and was soon as deeply imbedded as Toddie was, in the rich black mud at the bottom of the brook. I dashed to the rescue, stood astride the brook, and offered a hand to each boy, when a treacherous tuft of grass gave way, and, with a glorious splash, I went in myself. This accident turned Toddie’s sorrow to laughter, but I can’t say I made light of my misfortune on that account. To fall into _clean_ water is not pleasant, even when one is trout-fishing; but to be clad in white pants, and suddenly drop knee-deep in the lap of mother Earth is quite a different thing. I hastily picked up the children, and threw them upon the bank, and then wrathfully strode out myself, and tried to shake myself as I have seen a Newfoundland dog do. The shake was not a success—it caused my trouser-leg to flap dismally about my ankles, and sent the streams of loathsome ooze trickling down into my shoes. My hat, of drab felt, had fallen off by the brookside, and been plentifully spattered as I got out. I looked at my youngest nephew with speechless indignation.

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, ”’twas real good of the Lord to let you be with us, else Toddie might have been drownded.”

“Yes,” said I, “and I shouldn’t have much——”

“Ocken Hawwy,” cried Toddie, running impetuously toward me, pulling me down, and patting my cheek with his muddy, black hand, “I _loves_ you for taking me out de water.”

“I accept your apology,” said I, “but let’s hurry home.” There was but one residence to pass, and that, thank fortune, was so densely screened by shrubbery that the inmates could not see the road. To be sure, we were on a favorite driving-road, but we could reach home in five minutes, and we might dodge into the woods if we heard a carriage coming. Ha! There came a carriage already, and we—was there ever a sorrier-looking group? There were ladies in the carriage, too—could it be—of course it was—did the evil spirit, which guided those children always, send an attendant for Miss Mayton before he began operations? There she was, anyway—cool, neat, dainty, trying to look collected, but severely flushed by the attempt. It was of no use to drop my eyes, for she had already recognized me; so I turned to her a face which I think must have been just the one—unless more defiant—that I carried into two or three cavalry charges.

“You seem to have been having a real good time together,” said she, with a conventional smile, as the carriage passed. “Remember, you’re all going to call on me to-morrow afternoon.”

Bless the girl! Her heart was as quick as her eyes—almost any other young lady would have devoted her entire energy to laughing on such an occasion, but _she_ took her earliest opportunity to make me feel at ease. Such a royal-hearted woman deserves to—I caught myself just here, with my cheeks growing quite hot under the mud Toddie had put on them, and I led our retreat with a more stylish carriage than my appearance could possibly have warranted, and then I consigned my nephews to the maid with very much the air of an officer turning over a large number of prisoners he had captured. I hastily changed my soiled clothing for my best—not that I expected to see anyone, but because of a sudden increase in the degree of respect I felt toward myself. When the children were put to bed, and I had no one but my thoughts for companions, I spent a delightful hour or two in imagining as possible some changes of which I had never dared to think before.

On Monday morning I was in the garden at sunrise. Toddie was to carry his expiatory bouquet to Miss Mayton that day, and I proposed that no pains should be spared to make his atonement as handsome as possible. I canvassed carefully every border, bed, and detached flowering plant until I had as accurate an idea of their possibilities as if I had inventoried the flowers in pen and ink. This done, I consulted the servant as to the unsoiled clothing of my nephews? She laid out the entire wardrobe for my inspection, and after a rigid examination of everything, I selected the suits which the boys were to wear in the afternoon. Then I told the girl that the boys were going with me after dinner to call on some ladies and that I desired that she should wash and dress them carefully.

“Tell me just what time you’ll start, sir, and I’ll begin an hour beforehand,” said she. “That’s the only way to be sure that they don’t disgrace you.”

For breakfast, we had, among other things, some stewed oysters served in soup-plates.

“O Tod,” shrieked Budge, “there’s the turtle-plates again—oh, _ain’t_ I glad!”

“Oo—ee—turtle pyates!” squealed Toddie.

“What on earth do you mean, boys?” I demanded.

“_I’ll_ show you,” said Budge, jumping down from his chair, and bringing his plate of oysters cautiously toward me. “Now you just put your head down underneath my plate, and look up, and you’ll see a turtle.”

For a moment I forgot that I was not at a restaurant, and I took the plate, held it up, and examined its bottom.

“There!” said Budge, pointing to the trade-mark, in colors, of the makers of the crockery, “don’t you see the turtle?”

I abruptly ordered Budge to his seat, unmoved even by Toddie’s remark, that—

“Dey ish turtles, but dey can’t kwawl awound like udder turtles.”

After breakfast I devoted a great deal of fussy attention to myself. Never did my own wardrobe seem so meager and ill-assorted; never did I cut myself so many times while shaving; never did I use such unsatisfactory shoe-polish. I finally gave up in despair my effort to appear genteel, and devoted myself to the bouquet. I cut almost flowers enough to dress a church, and then remorselessly excluded every one which was in the least particular imperfect. In making the bouquet I enjoyed the benefit of my nephews’ assistance and counsel, and took enforced part in conversation which flowers suggested.

“Ocken Hawwy,” said Toddie, “ish heaven all like this, wif pretty f’owers? ’Cos I don’t see what ze angels ever turns out for if ’tis.”

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “when the leaves all go up and down and wriggle around so, are they talking to the wind?”

“I—I guess so, old fellow.”

“Who are you making that bouquet for, Uncle Harry?” asked Budge.

“For a lady—for Miss Mayton—that lady that saw us all muddy yesterday afternoon,” said I.

“Oh, I like her,” said Budge. “She looks so nice and pretty—just like a cake—just as if she was good to eat—oh, I just love her, don’t _you_?”

“Well, I respect her very highly, Budge.”

”’Spect? What does ’spect mean?”

“Why it means that I think she’s a lady—a real pleasant lady—just the nicest sort of lady in the world—the sort of person I’d like to see every day, and like to see her better than anyone else.”

“Oh, why, ’spect an’ love means just the same thing, don’t they, Uncle Har——”

“Budge,” I exclaimed, somewhat hastily, “run, ask Maggie for a piece of string—quick!”

“All right,” said Budge, moving off, “but they _do_, don’t they?”

At two o’clock I instructed Maggie to dress my nephews, and at three we started to make our call. To carry Toddie’s bouquet, and hold a hand of each boy so as to keep them from darting into the hedges for grasshoppers and the gutters for butterflies, was no easy work, but I managed to do it. As we approached Mrs. Clarkson’s boarding-house I felt my hat was over one ear, and my cravat awry, but there was no opportunity to rearrange them, for I saw Alice Mayton on the piazza, and felt that she saw me. Handing the bouquet to Toddie, and promising him three sticks of candy if he would be careful and not drop it, we entered the garden. The moment we were inside the hedge and Toddie saw a man going over the lawn with a lawn-mower, he shrieked: “Oh, deresh a cutter-grass!” and dropped the bouquet with the carelessness born of perfect ecstasy. I snatched it before it reached the ground, dragged the offending youth up the walk, saluted Miss Mayton, and told Toddie to give the bouquet to the lady. This he succeeded in doing, but as Miss Mayton thanked him and stooped to kiss him he wriggled off the piazza like a little eel, shouted, “Turn on!” to his brother, and a moment later my nephews were following the “cutter-grass” at a respectful distance in the rear.

“Those are my sister’s ‘best children in the world,’ Miss Mayton,” said I.

“Bless the little darlings!” replied the lady; “I _do_ love to see children enjoying themselves.”

“So do I,” said I, “when I’m not responsible for their well-being; but if the effort I’ve expended on those boys had been directed toward the interests of my employers, those worthy gentlemen would consider me invaluable.”

Miss Mayton made some witty reply, and we settled to a pleasant chat about mutual acquaintances, about books, pictures, music and gossip of our set. I would cheerfully have discussed Herbert Spencer’s system, the Assyrian Tablets, or any other dry subject with Miss Mayton, and felt that I was richly repaid by the pleasure of seeing her. Handsome, intelligent, composed, tastefully dressed, without a suspicion of the flirt or the languid woman of fashion about her, she awakened to the uttermost every admiring sentiment and every manly feeling. But, alas! my enjoyment was probably more than I deserved, so it was cut short. There were other ladies boarding at Mrs. Clarkson’s, and, as Miss Mayton truthfully observed at our first meeting, men were very scarce at Hillcrest. So the ladies, by the merest accident, of course, happened upon the piazza and each one was presented to me, and common civility made it impossible for me to speak to Miss Mayton more than once in ten minutes. At any other time and place I should have found the meeting of so many ladies a delightful experience, but now——

Suddenly, a compound shriek arose from the lawn, and all the ladies sprang to their feet. I followed their example, setting my teeth firmly and viciously, hoping that whichever nephew had been hurt was _badly_ hurt. We saw Toddie running toward us with one hand in his mouth, while Budge ran beside him, exclaiming:—

“_Poor_ little Toddie! Don’t cry! _Does_ it hurt you awful? Never mind—Uncle Harry’ll comfort you. Don’t cry, Toddie, _de_-ar!”

Both boys reached the piazza steps, and clambered up, Budge exclaiming:—

“O Uncle Harry, Toddie put his fingers in the little wheels of the cutter-grass, an’ it turned just the least little biddie, an’ it hurted him.”

But Toddie ran up to me, clasped my legs and sobbed: “Sing ‘Toddie one boy day.’”

My blood seemed to freeze. I could have choked that dreadful child, suffering though he was. I stooped over him, caressed him, promised him candy, took out my watch and gave it to him to play with, but he returned to his original demand. A lady—the homeliest in the party—suggested that she should bind up his hand, and I inwardly blessed her, but he reiterated his request for “Toddie one boy day,” and sobbed pitifully.

“What _does_ he mean?” asked Miss Mayton.

“He wants Uncle Harry to sing, ‘Charley boy one day,’” explained Budge; “he always wants that song when he’s hurt anyway.”

“Oh, do sing it to him, Mr. Burton,” pleaded Miss Mayton; and all the other ladies exclaimed, “Oh, do!”

I wrathfully picked him up in my arms and hummed the air of the detested song.

“Sit in a wockin’-chair,” sobbed Toddie.

I obeyed; and then my tormentor remarked:—

“You don’t sing the wydes [words]—I wants the wydes.”

I sang the words as softly as possible, with my lips close to his ear, but he roared:—

“Sing louder!”

“I don’t know any more of it, Toddle,” I exclaimed in desperation.

“Oh, I’ll tell it all to you, Uncle Harry,” said Budge. And there, before that audience, and _her_, I was obliged to sing that dreadful doggerel, line for line, as Budge repeated it. My teeth were set tight, my brow grew clammy, and I gazed upon Toddie with terrible thoughts in my mind. No one laughed—I grew so desperate that a titter would have given relief. At last I heard someone whisper:—

“_See_ how he loves him! Poor man!—he’s in perfect agony over the little fellow.”

Had not the song reached its natural end just then, I believe I should have tossed my wounded nephew over the piazza rail. As it was, I set him upon his feet, announced the necessity of our departure, and began to take leave, when Miss Mayton’s mother insisted that we should stay to dinner.

“For myself, I should be delighted, Mrs. Mayton,” said I; “but my nephews have hardly learned company manners yet. I’m afraid my sister wouldn’t forgive me if she heard I had taken them out to dinner.”

“Oh, I’ll take care of the little dears,” said Miss Mayton; “they’ll be good with _me_, I _know_.”

“I couldn’t be so unkind as to let you try it, Miss Mayton,” I replied. But she insisted, and the pleasure of submitting to her will was so great that I would have risked even greater mischief. So Miss Mayton sat down to dinner with Budge upon one side and Toddie on the other, while I was fortunately placed opposite, from which position I could indulge in warning winks and frowns. The soup was served. I signaled the boys to tuck their napkins under their chins, and then turned to speak to the lady on my right. She politely inclined her head toward me, but her thoughts seemed elsewhere; following her eyes, I beheld my youngest nephew with his plate upraised in both hands, his head on the tablecloth, and his eyes turned painfully upward. I dared not speak, for fear he would drop the plate. Suddenly he withdrew his head, put on an angelic smile, tilted his plate so part of its contents sought refuge in the folds of Miss Mayton’s dainty, snowy dress, while the offender screamed:—

“Oo-ee! zha turtle on my pyate!—Budgie, zha turtle on my pyate!”

Budge was about to raise his plate when he caught my eye and desisted. Poor Miss Mayton actually looked discomposed for the first time in her life, so far as I knew or could imagine. She recovered quickly, however, and treated that wretched boy with the most Christian forbearance and consideration during the remainder of the meal. When the dessert was finished she quickly excused herself, while I removed Toddie to a secluded corner of the piazza, and favored him with a lecture which caused him to howl pitifully, and compelled me to caress him and undo all the good which my rebukes had done. Then he and Budge removed themselves to the lawn, while I awaited Miss Mayton’s reappearance to offer an apology for Toddie, and make our adieus. It was the custom of the ladies at Mrs. Clarkson’s to stroll about the lovely rural walks after dinner and until twilight; and on this particular evening they departed in twos and threes, leaving me to make my apology without witnesses. I was rather sorry they went; it was not pleasant to feel that I was principally responsible for my nephew’s blunder, and to have no opportunity to allay my conscience-pangs by conversation. It seemed to me Miss Mayton was forever in appearing; I even called up my nephews to have some one to talk to.

Suddenly she appeared, and in an instant I fervently blessed Toddie and the soup which the child had sent upon its aimless wanderings. I would rather pay the price of a fine dress than try to describe Miss Mayton’s attire; I can only say that in style, color and ornament it became her perfectly, and set off the beauties of a face which I had never before thought was more than pleasing and intelligent. Perhaps the anger, which was excusable after Toddie’s graceless caper, had something to do with putting unusual color into her cheeks, and a brighter sparkle than usual in her eyes. Whatever was the cause, she looked queenly, and I half imagined that I detected in her face a gleam of satisfaction at the involuntary start which her unexpected appearance caused me to make. She accepted my apology for Toddie with queenly graciousness, and then, instead of proposing that we should follow the other ladies, as a moment before I had hoped she would, she dropped into a chair. I accepted the invitation; the children should have been in bed half an hour before, but my sense of responsibility had departed when Miss Mayton appeared. The little scamps were safe until they should perform some new and unexpected act of impishness. They retired to one end of the piazza, and busied themselves in experiments upon a large Newfoundland dog, while I, the happiest man alive, talked to the glorious woman before me, and enjoyed the spectacle of her radiant beauty. The twilight came and deepened, but imagination prevented the vision from fading. With the coming of the darkness and the starlight, our voices unconsciously dropped to lower tones, and _her_ voice seemed purest music. And yet we said nothing which all the world might not have listened to without suspecting a secret. The ladies returned in little groups, but either out of womanly intuition or in answer to my unspoken but fervent prayers, passed us and went into the house. I was affected by an odd mixture of desperate courage and despicable cowardice. I determined to tell her all, yet I shrank from the task with more terror than ever befell me in the first steps of a charge.

Suddenly a small shadow came from behind us and stood between us, and the voice of Budge remarked:—

“Uncle Harry ’spects you, Miss Mayton.”

“Suspects me?—of what, pray?” exclaimed the lady, patting my nephew’s cheek.

“Budge!” said I—I feel that my voice rose nearly to a scream—“Budge, I must beg of you to respect the sanctity of confidential communications.”

“What is it, Budge?” persisted Miss Mayton. “You know the old adage, Mr. Burton: ‘Children and fools speak the truth.’ Of what does he suspect me, Budge?”

”’Taint _sus_-pect at all,” said Budge, “it’s es-spect.”