“That izhn’t the way to play bear,” complained Toddie; “you ought to keep on a-howlin’ an’ let me keep on a-bitin’, an’ then you give me pennies to stop—­that’s the way papa does.”

“Can you see how Tom Lawrence can be so idiotic?” asked Mrs. Burton.

“I suppose I could,” replied the gentleman, “if I hadn’t such a toothache.”

“You poor old fellow!” said Mrs. Burton, tenderly.  Then she turned to her nephews, and exclaimed:  “Now, boys, listen to me!  Uncle Harry is very sick to-day—­he has a dreadful toothache, and every particle of bother and noise will make it worse.  You must both keep away from his room, and be as quiet as possible wherever you may be in the house.  Even the sound of people talking is very annoying to a person with the toothache.”

“Then you’s a baddy woman to stay in here an’ keep a-talkin’ all the whole time,” said Toddie, “when it makes poor old Uncle Harry supper so.  G’way.”

Mrs. Burton’s lord and master was not in too much pain to shake considerably with silent laughter over this unexpected rebuke, and the lady herself was too thoroughly startled to devise an appropriate retort; so the boys amused themselves by a general exploration of the chamber, not omitting even the pockets of their uncle’s clothing.  This work completed, to the full extent of their ability, the boys demanded breakfast.

“Breakfast won’t be ready until eight o’clock,” said Mrs. Burton, “and it is now only six.  If you little boys don’t want to feel dreadfully hungry, you had better go back to bed, and lie as quiet as possible.”

“Is that the way not to be hungry?” asked Toddie, with wide-open eyes, which always accompany the receptive mind.

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Burton.  “If you run about, you agitate your stomachs, and that makes them restless, and so you feel hungry.”

“Gwacious!” said Toddie.  “What lots of fings little boys has got to lyne (learn), hazn’t they?  Come on, Budgie—­let’s go put our tummuks to bed, an’ keep ’em from gettin’ ajjerytated.”

“All right,” said Budge.  “But say, Aunt Alice, don’t you s’pose our stomachs would be sleepier an’ not so restless if there was some crackers or bread an’ butter in ’em?”

“There’s no one down-stairs to get you any,” said Mrs. Burton.

“Oh,” said Budge, “we can find them.  We know where everything is in the pantries and store-room.”

“I wish I were so smart,” sighed Mrs Burton.  “Go along—­get what you want—­but don’t come back to this room again.  And don’t let me find anything in disorder down-stairs, or I shall never trust you in my kitchen again.”

Away flew the children, but their disappearance only made room for a new torment, for Mr. Burton stopped in the middle of the operation of shaving himself, and remarked: