“They’re—­my nephews,” I gasped.

“What!” exclaimed the driver.  “By gracious!  I forgot you were going to Colonel Lawrence’s!  I didn’t tell anything but the truth about ’em, though; they’re smart enough, an’ good enough, as boys go; but they’ll never die of the complaint that children has in Sunday-school books.”

“Budge,” said I, with all the sternness I could command, “do you know me?”

The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied:—­

“Yes; you’re Uncle Harry.  Did you bring us anything?”

“Bring us anything?” echoed Toddie.

“I wish I could have brought you some big whippings,” said I, with great severity of manner, “for behaving so badly.  Get into this carriage.”

“Come on, Tod,” shouted Budge, although Toddie’s farther ear was not a yard from Budge’s mouth.  “Uncle Harry’s going to take us riding!”

“Going to take us riding!” echoed Toddie, with the air of one in a reverie; both the echo and the reverie I soon learned were characteristics of Toddie.

As they clambered into the carriage I noticed that each one carried a very dirty towel, knotted in the center into what is known as a slip-noose knot, drawn very tight.  After some moments of disgusted contemplation of these rags, without being in the least able to comprehend their purpose, I asked Budge what those towels were for.

“They’re not towels—­they’re dollies,” promptly answered my nephew.

“Goodness!” I exclaimed.  “I should think your mother could buy you respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with those loathsome rags.”

“We don’t like buyed dollies,” explained Budge.  “These dollies is lovely; mine’s name is Mary, an’ Toddie’s is Marfa.”

“Marfa?” I queried.

“Yes; don’t you know about

    “Marfa and Mary’s jus’ gone along
    To ring dem charmin’ bells,

that them Jubilee sings about?”

“Oh, Martha, you mean?”

“Yes, Marfa—­that’s what I say.  Toddie’s dolly’s got brown eyes, an’ my dolly’s got blue eyes.”

“I want to shee yours watch,” remarked Toddie, snatching at my chain, and rolling into my lap.

“Oh—­oo—­ee, so do I,” shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee, and in TRANSITU wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat.  Each imp put an arm about me to steady himself, as I produced my three-hundred-dollar time-keeper and showed them the dial.

“I want to see the wheels go round,” said Budge.

“Want to shee wheels go wound,” echoed Toddie.

“No; I can’t open my watch where there’s so much dust,” I said.

“What for?” inquired Budge.

“Want to shee the wheels go wound,” repeated Toddie.

“The dust gets inside the watch and spoils it,” I explained.

“Want to shee the wheels go wound,” said Toddie, once more.