“I’ve been longing for Sunday to come, for your sake, my dear.  The boys, as you have frequently observed, have very strange notions about holy things; but they are also, by nature, quite religious and spiritually minded. You are not only this latter, but you are free from strange doctrines and the traditions of men.  The mystical influences of the day will make themselves felt upon those innocent little hearts, and you will have the opportunity to correct wrong teachings and instil new sentiments and truths.”

Mr. Burton’s voice had grown a little shaky as he reached the close of this neat and reverential speech, so that his wife scrutinized his face closely to see if there might not be a laugh somewhere about it.  A friendly coating of lather protected one cheek, however, and the troublesome tooth had distorted the shape of the other, so Mrs. Burton was compelled to accept the mingled ascription of praise and responsibility, which she did with a sinking heart.

“I’ll take care of them while you’re at church, my dear,” said Mr. Burton; “they’re always saintly with sick people.”

Mrs. Burton breathed a sigh of relief.  She determined that she would extemporize a special “Children’s service” immediately after breakfast, and impress her nephews as fully as possible with the spirit of the day; then if her husband would but continue the good work thus begun, it would be impossible for the boys to fall from grace in the few hours which remained between dinner-time and darkness.  Full of her project, and forgetting that she had allowed her chambermaid to go to early Mass and promised herself to see that the children were dressed for breakfast, Mrs. Burton, at the breakfast-table, noticed that her nephews did not respond with their usual alacrity to the call of the bell.  Recalling her forgotten duty, she hurried to the boys’ chamber, and found them already enjoying a repast which was remarkable at least for variety.  On a small table, drawn to the side of the bed, was a pie, a bowl of pickles, a dish of honey in the comb, and a small paper package of cinnamon bark, and, with spoons, knives and forks and fingers, the boys were helping themselves alternately to these delicacies.  Seeing his aunt, Toddie looked rather guilty, but Budge displayed the smile of the fully justified, and remarked: 

“Now, you know what kind of meals little boys like, Aunt Alice.  I hope you won’t forget it while we’re here.”

“What do you mean!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, sternly, “by bringing such things up-stairs?”

“Why,” said Budge, “you told us to get what we wanted, an’ we supposed you told the troof.”

“An’ I ain’t azh hungry azh I wazh,” remarked Toddie, “but my tummuk feels as if it growed big and got little again, every minute or two, an’ it hurts.  I wishes we could put tummuks away when we get done usin’ ’em, like we do hats an’ overshoes.”

To sweep the remains of the unique morning lunch into a heap and away from her nephews, was a work which occupied but a second or two of Mrs. Burton’s time; this done, two little boys found themselves robed more rapidly than they had ever before been.  Arrived at the breakfast-table, they eyed with withering contempt an irreproachable cutlet, some crisp-brown potatoes of wafer-like thinness, and a heap of rolls almost as light as snowflakes.