“July 1, 1875.

“Dear old brother,—­I’ve been recalling a fortnight’s experience we once had of courtship in a boarding-house, and I’ve determined to cut short our visit here, hurry home, and give you and Alice a chance or two to see each other in parlors where there won’t be a likelihood of the dozen or two interruptions you must suffer each evening now.  Tom agrees with me, like the obedient old darling that he is; so please have the carriage at Hillcrest station for us at 11:40 Friday morning.  Invite Alice and her mother for me to dine with us Sunday,—­we’ll bring them home from church with us.

“Lovingly, your sister, Helen.

“P.  S. Of course you’ll have my darlings in the carriage to receive me.

“P.  P. S. Would it annoy you to move into the best guest-chamber?  —­I can’t bear to sleep where I can’t have them within reach.”

Friday morning they intended to arrive,—­blessings on their thoughtful hearts!—­and this was Friday.  I hurried into the boys’ room, and shouted:—­

“Toddie!  Budge! who do you think is coming to see you this morning?”

“Who?” asked Budge.

“Organ-grinder?” queried Toddie.

“No, your papa and mamma.”

Budge looked like an angel in an instant, but Toddie’s eyes twitched a little, and he mournfully murmured:—­

“I fought it wash an organ-grinder.”

“O Uncle Harry!” said Budge, springing out of bed in a perfect delirium of delight, “I believe if my papa an’ mamma had stayed away any longer, I believe I would die.  I’ve been so lonesome for ’em that I haven’t known what to do—­I’ve cried whole pillowsful about it, right here in the dark.”

“Why, my poor old fellow,” said I, picking him up and kissing him, “why didn’t you come and tell Uncle Harry, and let him try to comfort you?”

“I couldn’t,” said Budge; “when I gets lonesome, it feels as if my mouth was all tied up, an’ a great big stone was right in here.”  And Budge put his hand on his chest.

“If a big’tone wazh inshide of me,” said Toddie, “I’d take it out an’ frow it at the shickens.”

“Toddie,” said I, “aren’t you glad papa an’ mamma are coming?”

“Yesh,” said Toddie, “I fink it’ll be awfoo nish.  Mamma always bwings me candy fen she goes away anyfere.”

“Toddie, you’re a mercenary wretch.”

“Ain’t a mernesary wetch; Izhe Toddie Yawncie.”

Toddie made none the less haste in dressing than his brother, however.  Candy was to him what some systems of theology are to their adherents—­not a very lofty motive of action but sweet, and something he could fully understand; so the energy displayed in getting himself tangled up in his clothes was something wonderful.

“Stop, boys,” said I, “you must have on clean clothes to-day.  You don’t want your father and mother to see you all dirty, do you?”