“We want you tell us stories—­papa always does nights.”

“Very well, jump into bed—­what kind of stories do you like?”

“Oh, ’bout Jonah,” said Budge.

“’Bout Jonah,” echoed Toddie.

“Well, Jonah was out in the sun one day and a gourd-vine grew up all of a sudden, and made it nice and shady for him, and then it all faded as quick as it came.”

A dead silence prevailed for a moment, and then Budge indignantly remarked:—­

 “That ain’t Jonah a bit—­I know ’bout Jonah.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” said I.  “Then maybe you’ll be so good as to enlighten me?”

“Huh?”

“If you know about Jonah, tell me the story; I’d really enjoy listening to it.”

“Well,” said Budge, “once upon a time the Lord told Jonah to go to Nineveh and tell the people they was all bad.  But Jonah didn’t want to go, so he went on a boat that was going to Joppa.  And then there was a big storm, an’ it rained an’ blowed and the big waves went as high as a house.  An’ the sailors thought there must be somebody on the boat that the Lord didn’t like.  An’ Jonah said he guessed he was the man.  So they picked him up and froed him in the ocean, an’ I don’t think it was well for ’em to do that after Jonah told the troof.  An’ a big whale was comin’ along, and he was awful hungry, cos the little fishes what he likes to eat all went down to the bottom of the ocean when it began to storm, and whales can’t go to the bottom of the ocean, cos they have to come up to breeve, an’ little fishes don’t.  An’ Jonah found ’twas all dark inside the whale, and there wasn’t any fire there, an’ it was all wet, and he couldn’t take off his clothes to dry, cos there wasn’t no place to hang ’em, an’ there wasn’t no windows to look out of, nor nothin’ to eat, nor nothin’ nor nothin’ nor nothin.’  So he asked the Lord to let Mm out, an’ the Lord was sorry for him, an’ he made the whale go up close to the land, an’ Jonah jumped right out of his mouth, an’ wasn’t he glad?  An’ then he went to Nineveh, an’ done what the Lord told him to, and he ought to have done it in the first place if he had known what was good for him.”

“Done first payshe, know what’s dood for him,” asserted Toddie, in support of his brother’s assertion.  “Tell us ’nudder story.”

“Oh, no, sing us a song,” suggested Budge.

“Shing us shong,” echoed Toddie.

I searched my mind for a song, but the only one which came promptly was “M’Appari,” several bars of which I gave my juvenile audience, when Budge interrupted me, saying:—­

“I don’t think that’s a very good song.”

“Why not, Budge?”

“Cos I don’t.  I don’t know a word what you’re talking ’bout.”