and the first air my eye struck was “Greenville.”  I lived once in a town, where, on a single day, a pedler disposed of thirty-eight accordeons, each with an instruction-book in which this same air under its original name was the only air.  For years after, a single bar of this air awakened the most melancholy reflections in my mind, but now I forgave all my musical tormentors as the familiar strains came comfortingly from the piano-keys.  But suddenly I heard an accompaniment—­a sort of reedy sound—­and, looking around, I saw Toddie again in tears.  I stopped abruptly and asked:—­

“What’s the matter now, Toddie?”

“Don’t want dat old tune; wantsh dancin’ tune, so I can dance.”

I promptly played “Yankee Doodle,” and Toddie began to trot around the room with the expression of a man who intended to do his whole duty.  Then Budge appeared, hugging a bound volume of “St. Nicholas.”  The moment Toddie espied this he stopped dancing and devoted himself anew to the task of weeping.

“Toddie,” I shouted, springing from the piano-stool, “what do you mean by crying at everything?  I shall have to put you to bed again, if you’re going to be such a baby.”

“That’s the way he always does, rainy days,” explained Budge.

“Wantsh to see the whay-al what fwollowed Djonah,” sobbed Toddie.

“Can’t you demand something that’s within the range of possibility, Toddie?” I mildly asked.

“The whale Toddie means is in this big red book,—­I’ll find it for you,” said Budge, turning over the leaves.

Suddenly a rejoicing squeal from Toddie announced that leviathan had been found, and I hastened to gaze.  He was certainly a dreadful-looking animal, but he had an enormous mouth, which Toddie caressed with his pudgy little hand, and kissed with tenderness, murmuring as he did so:—­

“Dee old whay-al, I loves you.  Is Jonah all goneded out of you ’tomach, whay-al?  I finks ’twas weal mean in Djonah to get froed up when you hadn’t noffin’ else to eat, poor old whay-al.”

“Of course Jonah’s gone,” said Budge, “he went to heaven long ago —­pretty soon after he went to Nineveh an’ done what the Lord told him to do.  Now swing us, Uncle Harry.”

The swing was on the piazza under cover from the rain; so I obeyed.  Both boys fought for the right to swing first, and when I decided in favor of Budge, Toddie went off weeping, and declaring that he would look at his dear whay-al anyhow.  A moment later his wail changed to a piercing shriek; and running to his assistance, I saw him holding one finger tenderly and trampling on a wasp.

“What’s the matter, Toddie?”

“Oo—­oo—­ee—­ee—­ee—­ee—­I putted my finger on a waps, and—­oo—­ oo—­the nasty waps—­oo—­bited me.  An’ I don’t like wapses a bit, but I likes whay-als—­oo—­ee—­ee.”

A happy thought struck me.  “Why don’t you boys make believe that big packing-box in your play-room is a whale?” said I.