“Didn’t hazh no button-hook,” asserted Toddie.

“Yes, you did; don’t you remember how we was a playin’ draw teef, an’ the doctor’s dog had the toofache, and I was pullin’ his teef with the button-hook, an’ you was my little boy, an’ I gived the toof-puller to you to hold for me?  Where did you put it?”

“I’d no,” replied Toddie, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out a sickly-looking toad.

“Feel again,” said I, throwing the toad out the window, where it was followed by an agonizing shriek from Toddie.  Again he felt, and his search was rewarded by the tension screw of Helen’s sewing-machine.  Then I attempted some research myself, and speedily found my fingers adhering to something of a sticky consistency.  I quickly withdrew my hand, exclaiming:—­

“What nasty stuff have you got in your pocket, Toddie?”

“‘Taint nashty’ tuff—­it’s byead an’ ‘lasses, an’ its nice, an’ Budge an’ me hazh little tea-parties in de kicken-coop, an’ we eats it, an’ it’s DOVELY.”

All this was lucid and disgusting, but utterly unproductive of button-hooks, and meanwhile the breakfast was growing cold.  I succeeded in buttoning Toddie’s shoes with my fingers, splitting most of my nails in the operation.  I had been too busily engaged with Toddie to pay any attention to Budge, who I now found about half dressed and trying to catch flies on the windowpane.  Snatching Toddie, I started for the dining-room, when Budge remarked reprovingly:—­

“Uncle Harry, you wasn’t dressed when the bell rang, and you oughtn’t to have any breakfast.”

True enough—­I was minus collar, cravat, and coat.  Hurrying these on, and starting again, I was once more arrested:—­

“Uncle Harry, must I brush my teeth this morning?”

“No—­hurry up—­come down without doing anything more, if you like, but come—­it’ll be dinner-time before we get breakfast.”

Then that imp was moved, for the first time that morning, to something like good-nature, and he exclaimed with a giggle:—­

“My!  What big stomachs we’d have when we got done, wouldn’t we?”

At the breakfast table Toddie wept again, because I insisted on beginning operations before Budge came.  Then neither boys knew exactly what he wanted.  Then Budge managed to upset the contents of his plate into his lap, and while I was helping him clear away the debris, Toddie improved the opportunity to pour his milk upon his fish, and put several spoonfuls of oatmeal porridge into my coffee-cup.  I made an early excuse to leave the table and turn the children over to Maggie.  I felt as tired as if I had done a hard day’s work, and was somewhat appalled at realizing that the day had barely begun.  I lit a cigar and sat down to Helen’s piano.  I am not a musician, but even the chords of a hand-organ would have seemed sweet music to me on that morning.  The music-book nearest to my hand was a church hymn-book,