“Now, it’s my tyne (turn.) Dear Lord, when I getsh to be a little boy anzel up in hebben, don’t let growed-up anzels come along whenever I’m doin’ anyfing nice for ’em, an’ say ‘don’t,’ or tumble me down in heaps of nashty old black coal. There!  Amen!”

It was with a sneaking sense of relief that Mrs. Burton awoke on the following morning, and realized that the day was Sunday.  Even schoolteachers have two days of rest in every seven, thought Mrs. Burton to herself, and no one doubts that they deserve them.  How much more deserving of rest and relief, then, must be the volunteer teacher who, not for a few hours only, but from dawn to twilight, has charge of two children whose capacity for both learning and mischief, surely equals any school-full of boys?  The realization that she was attempting, for a few days only, that which mothers everywhere were doing without hope of rest excepting in heaven, made Mrs. Burton feel more humble and worthless than she had ever done in her life before, but it did not banish her wish to turn the children over to the care of their uncle for the day.  If Mrs. Burton had been honest with herself she would have admitted that the principal cause of her anxiety for relief was her unwillingness to have her husband witness the failures which she had come to believe were to be her daily lot while trying to train her nephews.  Thoughts of a Sunday excursion, from participation in which she should in some way excuse herself; of volunteering to relieve her sister-in-law’s nurse during the day, and thus leaving her husband in charge of the house and the children; of making that visit to her mother which is always in order with the newly-made wife—­all these, and other devices not so practicable, came before Mrs. Burton’s mind’s eye for comparison, but they all and together took sudden wing when Mr. Burton awoke and complained of a raging toothache.  Truly pitiful and sympathetic as Mrs. Burton was, she exhibited remarkable resignation in the face of the thought that her husband would probably need to remain in his room all day, and that it would be absolutely necessary to keep the children out of his sight and hearing.  Then he could find nothing to criticise; she might fail as frequently as she probably would, but he would know only of her successes.

A light knock was heard at Mrs. Burton’s door, and then, without waiting for invitation, there came in two fresh, rosy faces, two heads of disarranged hair, and two long white nightgowns, and the occupant of the longer gown exclaimed: 

“Say, Uncle Harry, do you know it’s Sunday?  What are you going to do about it?  We always have lots done for us Sundays, ’cause it’s the only day papa’s home.”

“Yes, I—­think I’ve heard—­something of the kind—­before,” mumbled Mr. Burton, with difficulty, between the fingers which covered his aching incisor.

“Oh—­h,” exclaimed Toddie, “I b’lieve he’ goin’ to play bear!  Come on, Budge, we’s got to be dogs.”  And Toddie buried his face in the bed-covering and succeeded in fastening his teeth in his uncle’s calf.  A howl from the sufferer did not frighten off the amateur dog, and he was finally dislodged only by being clutched by the throat by his victim.