’"Scat!”

Then both boys dropped their instruments, Toddie finding the ways of his own feet seriously compromised by the strings of the violin, while both children turned happy faces toward their aunt, and shouted: 

“Happy Burfday!”

Mr. Burton hurried to the rescue of his darling instrument while his wife gave each boy an appreciative kiss, and showed them a couple of grateful tears.  Then her eye was caught by the fruit on the sideboard, and she read the cards aloud: 

“Mrs. Frank Rommery—­this is like her effusiveness.  I’ve never met her but once, but I suppose her bananas must atone for her lack of manners.  Why, Charley Crewne!  Dear me!  What memories some men have!”

A cloud came upon Mr. Burton’s brow.  Charlie Crewne had been one of his rivals for Miss Mayton’s hand, and Mrs. Burton was looking a trifle thoughtful, and her husband was as unreasonable as newly-made husbands are sure to be, when Mrs. Burton exclaimed: 

“Some one has been picking the grapes off in the most shameful manner.  Boys!”

“Ain’t from no Rommerys an’ Crewnes,” said Toddie.  “Theysh from me an’ Budge, an’ we dzust tasted ’em to see if they’d got sour in the night.”

“Where did the cards come from?” asked Mrs. Burton.

“Out of the basket in the parlor,” said Budge; “but the back is the nice part of ’em.”

Mrs. Burton’s thoughtful expression and her husband’s frown disappeared together, as they seated themselves at the table.  Both boys wriggled rigorously until their aunt raised her plate, and then Budge exclaimed: 

“A penny for each year, you know.”

“Thirty-one!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, after counting the heap.  “How complimentary!”

“What doesh you do for little boys on your bifeday?” asked Toddie, after breakfast was served.  “Mamma does lots of fings.”

“Yes,” said Budge, “she says she thinks people ought to get their own happy by makin’ other people happy.  An’ mamma knows better than you, you know, ’cause she’s been married longest.”

Although Mrs. Burton admitted the facts, the inference seemed scarcely natural, and she said so.

“Well—­a—­a—­a—­a—­anyhow,” said Toddie, “mamma always has parties on her bifeday, an’ we hazh all the cake we want.”

“You shall be happy to-day, then,” said Mrs. Burton; “for a few friends will be in to see me this afternoon, and I am going to have a nice little lunch for them, and you shall lunch with us, if you will be very good until then, and keep yourselves clean and neat.”

“Aw wight,” said Toddie.  “Izhn’t it most time now?”

“Tod’s all stomach,” said Budge, with some contempt.  “Say, Aunt Alice, I hope you won’t forget to have some fruit-cake.  That’s the kind we like best.”

“You’ll come home very early, Harry?” asked Mrs. Burton, ignoring her nephew’s question.

“By noon, at furthest,” said the gentleman.  “I only want to see my morning letters, and fill any orders that may be in them.”