“We don’t want done of this kind of breakfast,” said Budge.

“Of course we don’t,” said Toddie, “when we’s so awful full of uvver fings.  I don’t know where I’zhe goin’ to put my dinner when it comes time to eat it.”

“Don’t fret about that, Tod,” said Budge.  “Don’t you know papa says that the Bible says something that means ’don’t worry till you have to.’”

Mrs. Burton raised her eyebrows with horror not unmixed with inquiry, and her husband hastened to give Budge’s sentiment its proper Biblical wording.  “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”  Mrs. Burton’s wonder was allayed by the explanation, although her horror was not, and she made haste to say: 

“Boys, we will have a little Sunday-school, all by ourselves, in the parlor, immediately after breakfast.”

“Hooray!” shouted Budge.  “An’ will you give us a ticket an’ pass around a box for pennies, just like they do in big Sunday-schools?”

“I—­suppose so,” said Mrs. Burton, who had not previously thought of these special attractions of the successful Sunday-school.

“Let’s go right in, Tod,” said Budge,"’cause the dog’s in there.  I saw him as I came down, and I shut all the doors, so he couldn’t get out.  We can have some fun with him ’fore Sunday-school begins.”

Both boys started for the parlor-door, and, guided by that marvelous instinct with which Providence arms the few against the many, and the weak against the strong, the dog Jerry also approached the door from the inside.  As the door opened, there was heard a convulsive howl, and a general tumbling of small boys, while at almost the same instant the dog Jerry flew into the dining-room and hid himself in the folds of his mistress’s morning-robe.  Two or three minutes later Budge entered the dining-room with a very rueful countenance, and remarked: 

“I guess we need that Sunday-school pretty quick, Aunt Alice.  The dog don’t want to play with us, and we ought to be comforted some way.”

“They’re grown people, all over again,” remarked Mr. Burton, with a laugh.

“What do you mean?” demanded Mrs. Burton.

[Illustration:  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.”]

“Only this—­that when their own devices fail, they’re in a hurry for the consolations of religion,” said Mr. Burton.  “May I visit the Sunday-school?”

“I suppose I can’t keep you away,” sighed Mrs. Burton, leading the way to the parlor.  “Boys,” said she, greeting her nephews, “first, we’ll sing a little hymn; what shall it be?”

“Ole Uncle Ned,” said Toddie, promptly.

“Oh, that’s not a Sunday song,” said Mrs. Burton.

“I fink tizh,” said Toddie, “’cause it sayzh, free or four timezh, ‘He’s gone where de good niggers go,’ an’ that’s hebben, you know; so it’s a Sunday song.”