“An’ zey takes us to get jacks,” observed Toddie.

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Budge; “jacks-in-the-pulpit—­don’t you know?”

“Hum—­ye—­es; I do remember some such thing in my youthful days.  They grow where there’s plenty of mud, don’t they?”

“Yes, an’ there’s a brook there, an’ ferns, an’ birch-bark, an’ if you don’t look out you’ll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch.”

“An’ we goes to Hawksnest Rock,” piped Toddie, “an’ papa carries us up on his back when we gets tired.”

“An’ he makes us whistles,” said Budge.

“Budge,” said I, rather hastily, “enough.  In the language of the poet

    “‘These earthly pleasures I resign,’

and I’m rather astonished that your papa hasn’t taught you to do likewise.  Don’t he ever read to you?”

“Oh, yes,” cried Budge, clapping his hands, as a happy thought struck him.  “He gets down the Bible—­the great big Bible, you know—­an’ we all lay on the floor, an’ he reads us stories out of it.  There’s David, an’ Noah, an’ when Christ was a little boy, an’ Joseph, an’ turnbackPharo’sannyhallelujah—­”

“And what?”

“TurnbackPharo’sarmyhallelujah,” repeated Budge.  “Don’t you know how Moses held out his cane over the Red Sea, an’ the water went way up one side, an’ way up the other side, and all the Isrulites went across?  It’s just the same thing as DROWNoldPharo’sarmyhallelujah—­don’t you know?”

“Budge,” said I, “I suspect you of having heard the Jubilee Singers.”

“Oh, and papa and mama sings us all those Jubilee songs—­there’s ‘Swing Low,’ an’ ‘Roll Jordan,’ an’ ‘Steal Away,’ an’ ’My Way’s Cloudy,’ an’ ‘Get on Board, Childuns,’ an’ lots.  An’ you can sing us every one of ’em.”

“An’ papa takes us in the woods, an’ makesh us canes,” said Toddie.

“Yes,” said Budge, “and where there’s new houses buildin’, he takes us up ladders.”

“Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon?” I asked.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Budge, “but he puts an India-rubber blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down an’ make b’lieve we’re soldiers asleep.  Only sometimes when we wake up papa stays asleep, an’ mama won’t let us wake him.  I don’t think that’s a very nice play.”

“Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don’t you?”

Budge seemed somewhat in doubt.  “I think swingin’ is nicer,” said he—­“oh, no;—­let’s get some jacks—­I’ll tell you what!—­make us whistles an’ we can blow on ’em while we’re goin’ to get the jacks.  Toddie, dear, wouldn’t you like jacks and whistles?”

“Yesh—­an’ swingin’—­an’ birch—­an’ wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock,” answered Toddie.

“Let’s have Bible stories first,” said I.  “The Lord mightn’t like it if you didn’t learn anything good to-day.”

“Well,” said Budge, with the regulation religious-matter-of-duty-face, “let’s.  I guess I like ’bout Joseph best.”