“Do you mean Miss Mayton?” asked the lady, thinking she had a possible clue to the cause of Budge’s anxiety.

“Oh, yes—­that’s her name—­I couldn’t think of it,” eagerly replied Budge.  “An’ ain’t she awful nice?—­I know she is!”

“Your judgment is quite correct, considering your age,” said Mrs. Mayton, exhibiting more interest in Budge than she had heretofore done.  “But what makes you think she is nice?  You are rather younger than her male admirers usually are.”

“Why, my Uncle Harry told me so,” replied Budge, “an’ he knows EVERYthing.”

Mrs. Mayton grew vigilant at once, and dropped her book.

“Who is your Uncle Harry, little boy?”

“He’s Uncle Harry; don’t you know him?  He can make nicer whistles than my papa can.  An’ he found a turtle—­”

“Who is your papa?” interrupted the lady.

“Why, he’s papa—­I thought everybody knew who he was.”

“What is your name?” asked Mrs. Mayton.

“John Burton Lawrence,” promptly answered Budge.

Mrs. Mayton wrinkled her brows for a moment, and finally asked:—­

“Is Mr. Burton the uncle you are looking for?”

“I don’t know any Mr. Burton,” said Budge, a little dazed; “uncle is mamma’s brother, an’ he’s been livin’ at our house ever since mamma an’ papa went off visitin’, an’ he goes ridin’ in our carriage, an’—­”

“Humph!” remarked the lady, with so much emphasis that Budge ceased talking.  A moment later she said:—­

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, little boy; go on.”

“An’ he rides with just the loveliest lady that ever was.  He thinks so, an’ I know she is.  An’ he ’spects her.”

“What?” exclaimed the old lady.

“—­’Spects her, I say—­that’s what he says. I say ’spects means just what I call love.  Cos if it don’t, what makes him give her hugs and kisses?”

Mrs. Mayton caught her breath, and did not reply for a moment.  At last she said:—­

“How do you know he—­gives her hugs and kisses?”

“Cos I saw him, the day Toddie hurt his finger in the grass-cutter.  An’ he was so happy that be bought me a goat-carriage next morning—­I’ll show it to you if you come down to our stable, an’ I’ll show you the goat too.  An’ he bought—­”

Just here Budge stopped, for Mrs. Mayton put her handkerchief to her eyes.  Two or three moments later she felt a light touch on her knee, and, wiping her eyes, saw Budge looking sympathetically into her face.

“I’m awful sorry you feel bad,” said he.

“Are you ‘fraid to have your little girl ridin’ so long?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Mayton, with great decision.

“Well, you needn’t be,” said Budge, “for Uncle Harry’s awful careful an’ smart.”

“He ought to be ashamed of himself!” exclaimed the lady.