early sins, so filled my thoughts, that I did not at first notice the absence of Toddie.  When it did become evident to me that my youngest nephew was not in the bed in which I had placed him, I went in search of him.  He was in none of the chambers, but hearing gentle murmurs issue from a long, light closet, I looked in and saw Toddie sitting on the floor, and eating the cheese out of a mouse-trap.  A squeak of my boots betrayed me, and Toddie, equal to the emergency, sprang to his feet and exclaimed:—­

“I didn’t hurt de ’ittle mousie one bittie; I just letted him out, and he runded away.”

And still it rained.  Oh, for a single hour of sunlight, so that the mud might be only damp dirt, and the children could play without tormenting other people!  But it was not to be; slowly, and by the aid of songs, stories, an improvised menagerie, in which I personated every animal, besides playing ostrich and armadillo, and a great many disagreements, the afternoon wore to its close, and my heart slowly lightened.  Only an hour or two more, and the children would be in bed for the night, and then I would enjoy, in unutterable measure, the peaceful hours which would be mine.  Even now they were inclined to behave themselves; they were tired and hungry, and stretched themselves on the floor, to await dinner.  I embraced the opportunity to return to my book, but I had hardly read a page, when a combined crash and scream summoned me to the dining-room.  On the floor lay Toddie, a great many dishes, a roast leg of lamb, several ears of green corn, the butter-dish and its contents, and several other misplaced edibles.  One thing was quite evident; the scalding contents of the gravy-dish had been emptied on Toddie’s arm, and how severely the poor child might be scalded I did not know.  I hastily slit open his sleeve from wrist to shoulder, and found the skin very red; so, remembering my mother’s favorite treatment for scalds and burns, I quickly spread the contents of a dish of mashed potato on a clean handkerchief, and wound the whole around Toddie’s arm as a poultice.  Then I demanded an explanation.

“I was only djust reatchin for a pieshe of bwed,” sobbed Toddie, “an’ then the bad old tabo beginded to froe all its fings at me, an’ tumble down bang.”

He undoubtedly told the truth as far as he knew it, but reaching over tables is a bad habit in small boys, especially when their mothers cling to old-fashioned heirlooms of tables, which have folding leaves; so I banished Toddie to his room, supperless, to think of what he had done.  With Budge alone, I had a comfortable dinner off the salvage from the wreck caused by Toddie, and then I went up-stairs to see if the offender had repented.  It was hard to tell, by sight, whether he had or not, for his back was to me, as he flattened his nose against the window, but I could see that my poultice was gone.

“Where is what uncle put on your arm, Toddie?” I asked.