The driver crossed himself and whispered, “He’s foriver a-sayin’ that, an’ be the powers, I belave him.  Sometimes ye’d think that the howly saints thimselves was a-sphak-in’ whin that bye gits to goin’ on that way.”  It was wonderful.  Budge’s countenance seemed too pure to be of the earth as he continued to express his ideas of the better land and its denizens.  As for Toddie, his tongue was going incessantly, although in a tone scarcely audible; but when I chanced to catch his expressions, they were so droll and fanciful, that I took him upon my lap that I might hear him more distinctly.  I even detected myself in the act of examining the mental draft of my proposed letter to Helen, and of being ashamed of it.  But neither Toddie’s fancy nor Budge’s spirituality caused me to forget the principal object of my ride.  I found a locksmith and left the lock to be fitted with a key; then we drove to the Falls.  Both boys discharged volleys of questions as we stood by the gorge, and the fact that the roar of the falling water prevented me from hearing them did not cause them to relax their efforts in the least.  I walked to the hotel for a cigar, taking the children with me.  I certainly spent no more than three minutes in selecting and lighting a cigar, and asking the barkeeper a few questions about the Falls; but when I turned, the children were missing, nor could I see them in any direction.  Suddenly before my eyes arose from the nearer brink of the gorge two yellowish disks, which I recognized as the hats of my nephews; then I saw between the disks and me two small figures lying upon the ground.  I was afraid to shout, for fear of scaring them, if they happened to hear me, I bounded across the grass, industriously raving and praying by turns.  They were lying on their stomachs and looking over the edge of the cliff.  I approached them on tip-toe, threw myself upon the ground, and grasped a foot of each child.

“Oh, Uncle Harry!” screamed Budge in my ear, as I dragged him close to me, kissing and shaking him alternately, “I hunged over more than Toddie did.”

“Well, I—­I—­I—­I—­I—­I—­I hunged over a good deal, any how,” said Toddie, in self-defense.

That afternoon I devoted to making a bouquet for Miss Mayton, and a most delightful occupation I found it.  It was no florist’s bouquet, composed of only a few kinds of flowers, wired upon sticks, and arranged according to geometric pattern.  I used many a rare flower, too shy of bloom to recommend itself to florists; I combined tints almost as numerous as the flowers were, and perfumes to which city bouquets are utter strangers.  Arranging flowers is a favorite pastime of mine, but upon this particular occasion I enjoyed my work more than I had ever done before.  Not that I was in love with Miss Mayton; a man may honestly and strongly admire a handsome, brilliant woman without being in love with her; he can delight himself in trying to give her pleasure, without feeling