 Helen's Babies, Part I. The first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only married sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and received, just as I was trying to decide where I should spend a fortnight's vacation. Hillcrest, June 15, 1875 Dear Harry, remembering that you are always complaining that you never have a chance to read, and knowing that you won't get it this summer if you spend your vacation among people of your own set, I write to ask you to come up here. I admit that I am not wholly disinterested in inviting you. The truth is, Tom and I are invited to spend a fortnight with my old schoolmate, Alice Wayne, who you know, is the dearest girl in the world, though you didn't obey me and marry her before Frank Wayne appeared. Well, we're dying to go, for Alice and Frank live in splendid style, but as they haven't included our children in their invitation, and have no children of their own, we must leave Budge and Toddy at home. I've no doubt they'll be perfectly safe, for my girl is a jewel and devoted to the children, but I would feel a great deal easier if there was a man in the house. Besides, there's the silver, and burglars are less likely to break into a house where there's a savage-looking man. Never mind, about thanking me for the compliment. If you will only come up, my mind will be completely at rest. The children won't give you the slightest trouble. They're the best children in the world, everybody says so. Tom has plenty of cigars, I know, for the money I should have had for a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. He has some new claret, too, that he goes into ecstasies over though I can't tell it from the vilest black ink, except by the color. Our horses are in splendid condition, and so is the garden. You see, I don't forget your old passion for flowers. And, last and best, there never were so many handsome girls at Hillcrest as there are among the summer borders already here. The girls you already are acquainted with here will see that you meet all the newer acquisitions. Reply by telegraph right away. Of course you'll say yes. In great haste, your loving, sister Helen. P.S., you shall have our own chamber. It catches every breeze and commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with it, so, if anything should happen to the darlings at night, you'd be sure to hear them. Just the thing, I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had mentally selected books enough to busy me during a dozen vacations. Without sharing Helen's belief that her boys were the best ones in the world, I knew them well enough to feel assured that they would not give me any annoyance. There were two of them, since baby Phil died last fall. Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had generally, during my flying visits to Helen, worn a shy, serious, meditative noble face with great, pure, penetrating eyes that made me almost fear their stare. Tom declared he was a born philanthropist or prophet, and Helen made so free with Miss Mulock's lines as to sing, Ah, the day that thou goest a wooing, budgie, my boy! Toddy had seen but three summers, and was a happy little know-nothing, with a head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very pretty fancy for finding out sun-beams and dancing in them. I had long envied Tom his horses, his garden, his house, and his location, and the idea of controlling them for a fortnight was particularly delightful. Tom's taste in cigars and claret I had always respected, while the lady-inhabitants of Hillcrest were, according to my memory, much like those of every other suburban village, the fairest of their sex. Three days later I made the hour-and-a-half trip between New York and Hillcrest, and hired a hack-man to drive me over to Tom's. Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence our horses shied violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, turned to me and remarked, That was one of the imps. What was, I asked. That little cuss that scared the hausses, there he is now holding up that piece of brushwood. It would be just like his cheek now, to ask me to let him ride. Here he comes running, wonder where to other is. They most generally travel together. We call them the imps, about these parts, because they're so uncommon likely at mischief. Always skiering hausses or chasing cows or frightening chickens. Nice enough father and mother, too. Queer how young ones do turn out. As he spoke, the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in a very dirty sailor suit and under a broad-brimmed straw hat, with one stalking about his ankle and two shoes, averaging about two buttons each, I recognized my nephew, Budge. About the same time there emerged from the bushes by the roadside a smaller boy in a green gingham dress, a ruffle which might once have been white, dirty stockings, blue slippers worn through at the toes, and an old-fashioned straw turban. Thrusting into the dust of the road a branch from a bush and shouting, Here's my grass-cutter! he ran toward us and velloped in a pillar of cloud which might have served the purpose of Israel in Egypt. When he paused and the dust had somewhat subsided, I beheld the unmistakable lineaments of the child Toddy. There my nephews, I gasped. What! exclaimed the driver. By gracious! I forgot you were going to Colonel Lawrence's. I didn't tell anything but the truth about them, though. They're smart enough and good enough as boys go, but they'll never die of the complaint that children has in Sunday school books. Budge, said I, with all the sternness I could command. Do you know me? The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied, Yes, your Uncle Harry, did you bring us anything? I wish I could have brought you some big whippings, said I, with great severity of manner, for behaving so badly, get into this carriage. Come on, Tod, shouted Budge. Although Toddy's farther ear was not a yard from Budge's mouth, Uncle Harry's going to take us riding. Going to take us riding, echoed Toddy, with the air of one in a reverie. Both the echo and the reverie I soon learned were characteristics of Toddy. As they clambered into the carriage I noticed that each one carried a very dirty towel, knotted in the centre into what is known as a slip-noose knot, drawn very tight. After some moments of disgusted contemplation of these rags, without being in the least able to comprehend their purpose, I asked Budge what those towels were for. They're not towels, they're dollies, promptly answered my nephew. Goodness, I exclaimed, I should think your mother could buy you respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with those loathsome rags. We don't like buy dollies, explained Budge. These dollies is lovely, mine's name is Mary, and Toddy's is Marfa. Marfa? I queried. Yes, don't you know about—Marfa and Mary's just gone along to ring them charming bells. That them jubilees sings about? Oh, Marfa, you mean. Yes, Marfa, that's what I say. Toddy's dollies got brown eyes, and my dollies got blue eyes. I want a she-yours watch, remarked Toddy, snatching at my chain and rolling into my lap. Oh, so do I, shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee and, in transitue, wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat. Each imp put an arm about me to steady himself, as I produced my three hundred dollar timekeeper, and showed them the dial. I want to see the wheels go round, said Budge. Why does she wheels go round? echoed Toddy. No, I can't open my watch where there's so much dust, I said. What for? inquired Budge. Want to see the wheels go round, repeated Toddy. The dust gets inside the watch and spoils it, I explained. Want to see the wheels go round, said Toddy once more. I tell you I can't, Toddy, said I with considerable asperity. Dust spoils watches. The innocent grey eyes looked up wonderingly, the dirty but pretty lips parted slightly, and Toddy murmured. Want to see the wheels go round. I abruptly closed my watch and put it into my pocket. Instantly Toddy's lower lip commenced to turn outward, and continued to do so until I seriously feared the bony portion of his chin would be exposed to view. Then his lower jaw dropped, and he cried, Ah, I want to see the wheels go round. Charles. Charles is his baptismal name. Charles, I exclaimed with some anger, stop that noise this instant. Do you hear me? Yes, ooh, ah, ah, ah, ooh. Then stop it. Wants to she. Toddy, I've got some candy in my trunk, but I won't give you a bit if you don't stop that infernal noise. Well, I want to see wheels go round, ah. Toddy, dear, don't cry so. Here's some ladies coming in a carriage. You wouldn't let them see you crying, would you? You shall see the wheels go round as soon as we get home. A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approaching, as Toddy again raised his voice. Ah, wants to see wheels. Madly I snatched my watch from my pocket, opened the case, and exposed the works to view. The other carriage was meeting hours, and I dropped my head to avoid meeting the glance of the unknown occupants, for my few moments of contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel inexpressibly uneat. Suddenly the carriage with the ladies stopped. I heard my own name spoken and raising my head quickly. Encountering Budge's bullet head en route to the serious disarrangement of my hat, I looked into the other carriage. There, erect, fresh, neat, composed, bright eyed, fair-faced, smiling, and observant—she would have been all this even if the angel of the resurrection had just sounded his dreadful trump—sat Miss Alice Maiton, a lady who, for about a year, I had been adoring from afar. When did you arrive, Mr. Burton? she asked, and how long have you been officiating as child's companion? You're certainly a happy-looking trio, so unconventional. I hate to see children all dressed up and stiff as little mannequins when they go out to ride. And you look as if you had been having such a good time with them. I—I assure you, Miss Maiton, said I, that my experience has been the exact reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive, I'd volunteer as an executioner and engage to deliver two interesting corpses at a moment's notice. You dreadful wretch! exclaimed the lady. Mother, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Burton. Helen Lawrence's brother. How is your sister, Mr. Burton? I don't know, I replied. She has gone with her husband on a fortnight's visit to Captain and Mrs. Wayne, and I've been silly enough to promise to have an eye to the place while they're away. Why, how delightful! exclaimed Miss Maiton. Such horses! such flowers! Such a cook! And such children, said I, glaring suggestively at the imps, and rescuing from Toddy a handkerchief which he had extracted from my pocket and was waving to the breeze. Why they're the best children in the world, Helen told me so the first time I met her this season. Children will be children, you know. We had three little cousins with us last summer, and I'm sure they made me look years older than I really am. How young you must be, then, Miss Maiton, said I. I suppose I looked at her as if I meant what I said, for, although she inclined her head and said, Oh, thank you! she didn't seem to turn my compliment off in her usual invulnerable style. Nothing happening in the course of conversation ever discomposed Alice Maiton for more than a hundred seconds, however, so she soon recovered her usual expression and self-command as her next remark fully indicated. I believe you arranged the floral decorations at the St. Zephaniah's fair last winter, Mr. Burton, to us the most tasteful display of the season. I don't wish to give any hints, but at Mrs. Clarkson's, where we're boarding, there's not a flower in the whole garden. I break the tenth commandment dreadfully every time I pass Colonel Lawrence's garden. Good-bye, Mr. Burton. Ah! thank you! I shall be delighted. Good-bye! Of course you'll call, said Miss Maiton, as her carriage started. It's dreadfully stupid here. No men, except on Sundays. I bowed assent. In the contemplation of all the shy possibilities which my short chat with Miss Maiton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the two living causes thereof. While in Miss Maiton's presence the imps had preserved perfect silence, but now their tongues were loosened. Uncle Harry, said Budge, do you know how to make whistles? Ock and Howie, murmured Toddy, does you love that lady? No, Toddy, of course not. Then use baddie-man, and the Lord won't let you go to heaven if you don't love peoples. Yes, Budge, I answered hastily. I do know how to make whistles, and you shall have one. Lord, don't like man's what don't love peoples! re-iterated Toddy. All right, Toddy, said I. I'll see if I can't please the Lord some way. Driver, whip up, won't you? I'm in a hurry to turn these youngsters over to the girl, and ask her to drop them into the bathtub. I found Helen had made every possible arrangement for my comfort. Her room commanded exquisite views of mountain slope and valley, and even the fact that the imp's bedroom adjoined mine gave me comfort, for I thought of the pleasure of contemplating them while they were asleep, and beyond the power of tormenting their deluded uncle. At the supper table Budge and Toddy appeared cleanly clothed in their rightful faces. Budge seated himself at the table. Toddy pushed back his high chair, climbed into it, and shouted, Put my legs under the table! Rightfully construing this remark as a request to be moved to the table I fulfilled his desire. The girl poured tea for me and milk for the children and retired, and then I remembered, to my dismay, that Helen never had a servant in the dining-room except upon grand occasions, her idea being that servants retail to their friends the cream of the private conversation of the family circle. In principle I agreed with her, but the penalty of the practical application, with these two little cormorants on my hands, was greater suffering than any I had ever been called upon to endure for principle's sake, but there was no help for it. I resignedly rapped on the table, bowed my head, said, From what we are about to receive the Lord make us thankful, and asked Budge whether he ate bread or biscuit. Why, we ain't asked no blessing yet, said he. Yes, I did, Budge, said I. Didn't you hear me? Do you mean what you said just now? Yes. Oh, I don't think that was no blessing at all. Papa never says that kind of a blessing. What does Papa say, may I ask? I inquired, with becoming meekness. Why, Papa says, Our Father, we thank thee for this food mercifully remember with us all the hungry and needy to-day for Christ's sake, amen. That's what he says. It means the same thing, Budge. I don't think it does, and Toddy didn't have no time to say his blessing. I don't think the Lord will like it if you do it that way. Yes, he will, old boy. He knows what people mean. Well how can he tell what Toddy means if Toddy can't say anything? Watch to say my blessing, whined Toddy. It was enough. My single encounter with Toddy had taught me to respect the young gentleman's force of character. So again I bowed my head and repeated what Budge had reported as Papa's blessing. Budge kindly prompting me where my memory failed. The moment I began Toddy commenced to jabber rapidly and allowed, and the instant the amen was pronounced he raised his head and remarked with evident satisfaction. I shed my blessing two times," and Budge said gravely. Now I guess we are all right. The supper was an exquisite one, but the appetites of those dreadful children effectively prevented my enjoying the repast. I hastily retired, called the girl, and instructed her to see that the children had enough to eat and were put to bed immediately after. Then I lit a cigar and strolled into the garden. The roses were just in bloom. The air was full of the perfume of honeysuckles. The rhododendrons had not disappeared while I saw promise of the early unfolding of many other pet flowers of mine. I confessed that I took a careful survey of the garden to see how fine a bouquet I might make for Miss Maiton, and was so abundantly satisfied with the material before me that I longed to begin the work at once, but that it would seem too hasty for true gentility. So I paced the paths, my hands behind my back and my face well hidden by fragrant clouds of smoke, and went into wondering and reveries. I wondered if there was any sense in the language of flowers, of which I had occasionally seen mention made by silly writers. I wished I had learned it if it had any meaning. I wondered if Miss Maiton understood it. At any rate I fancy that I could arrange flowers to the taste of any lady whose face I had ever seen, and for Alice Maiton I would make something so superb that her face could not help lighting up when she beheld it. I imagined just how her bluish-gray eyes would brighten, her cheeks would redden, not with sentiment, not a bit of it, but with genuine pleasure, how her strong lips would part slightly and disclose sweet lines not displayed when she held her features well in hand. I, I, a clear-headed, driving, successful salesman of white goods, actually wished I might be divested of all nineteenth- century abilities and characteristics, and be one of those fairies that only silly girls and crazy poets think of, and might, unseen, behold the meeting of my flowers with this highly cultivated specimen of the only sort of flowers our cities produce. What flower did she most resemble? A lily? No. Two. Not exactly. Two bold, but two. Two, well, I couldn't think of the word, but clearly it wasn't bold. A rose? Certainly not like those glorious but blazing remontants, nor yet like the shy, delicate ethereal tea-roses with their tender suggestions of colour. Like this perfect gloire de Dijon, perhaps, strong, vigorous, self-asserting, among its more delicate sisterhood, yet shapely, perfect in outline and development, exquisite, enchanting in its never-fully analysed tints, yet compelling the admiration of everyone and recalling its admirers again and again by the unspoken appeal of its own perfection, its unvarying radiance. Read by Kara Schellenberg on September 11, 2007, in Oceanside, California. Helen's Babies, Part 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Kara Schellenberg. Helen's Babies by John Haberton Part 2 Came from the window over my head. Then came a shout of, Uncle Harry! In a voice I recognised as that of Budge. I made no reply. There are moments when the soul is full of utterances unfit to be heard by childish ears. Uncle Harry! repeated Budge. Then I heard a window blind open and Budge exclaiming, Uncle Harry, we want you to come and tell us stories. I turned my eyes upward quickly, and was about to send a savage negative in the same direction, when I saw in the window a face unknown and yet remembered. Could those great, wistful eyes, that angelic mouth, that spiritual expression, belong to my nephew Budge? Yes, it must be, certainly, that super-celestial nose and those enormous ears never belonged to anyone else. I turned abruptly, and entered the house, and was received at the head of the stairway by two little figures in white, the larger of which remarked, We want you to tell us stories. Papa always does nights. Very well, jump into bed. What kind of stories do you like? Oh, about Jonah, said Budge. About Jonah, echoed Toddy. 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 bid. I know about 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, and it rained and blowed, and the big waves went as high as a house. And the sailors thought there must be somebody on the boat that the Lord didn't like, and Jonah said he guessed he was the man, so they picked him up and frode him in the ocean, and I don't think it was well for him to do that after Jonah told the truth. And a big whale was coming along, and he was awful hungry because 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 because they have to come up to breathe, and the little fishes don't. And Jonah found it was all dark inside the whale, and there wasn't any fire there, and it was all wet, and he couldn't take off his clothes to dry because there wasn't no place to hang them, and there wasn't no windows to look out of, nor nothing to eat, nor nothing, nor nothing, nor nothing, nor nothing. So he asked the Lord to let him out, and the Lord was sorry for him, and he made the whale go up close to the land, and Jonah jumped right out of his mouth, and wasn't he glad? And then he went to Nineveh, and 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 page, known what stood for him, asserted Tadi, in support of his brother's assertion. Tell us Nutter's story. Oh, no, sing us a song, suggested Budge. Sing a song, echoed Tadi. I searched my mind for a song, but the only one which came promptly was Mapari, 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? Because I don't. I don't know a word what you're talking about. Sing about Glory Glory Hallelujah, suggested Tadi, and I meekly obeyed. The old air has a wonderful influence over me. I heard it in western camp meetings and negro cabins when I was a boy. I saw the twenty-second Massachusetts march down Broadway singing the same air during the rush to the front during the early days of the war. I have heard it sung by warrior tongues in nearly every southern state. I heard it roared by three hundred good old hunker Democrats as they escorted New York's first colored regiment to their place of embarkation. My old brigade sang it softly, but with a swing that was terrible in its earnestness as they lay behind their stacks of arms just before going to action. I have heard it played over the grave of many a dead comrade, the semi-mutinous, the cavalry became peaceful, and patriotic again as their bandmaster played the old air after having asked permission to try his hand on them. It is the same that burst forth spontaneously in our barracks on that glorious morning when we learned that the war was over and it was sung with words adapted to the occasion by some good rebel friends of mine on our first social meeting after the war. All these recollections came hurrying into my mind as I sang and probably excited me beyond my knowledge for a budge suddenly remarked, Don't sing that all day, Uncle Harry. You sing so loud it hurts my head. Beg your pardon, budge, said I. Good night. Why, Uncle Harry, are you going? You didn't hear us say our prayers. Papa always does. Oh, well, go ahead. You must say yours first, said Budge. That's the way Papa does. Very well, said I, and I repeated St. Chrysostom's prayer from the Episcopal Service. I had hardly said amen when Budge remarked. My Papa don't say any of them things at all. I don't think that's a very good prayer. Well, you say a good prayer, Budge. All right. Budge shut his eyes, dropped his voice to the most perfect tone of supplication, while his face seemed fit for a sleeping angel. Then he said, Dear Lord, we thank you for letting us have a good time today and we hope all the little boys everywhere have had good times too. Take care of us and everybody else tonight, and don't let them have any trouble. Oh yes, and Uncle Harry's got some candy in his trunk, because he said so in the carriage. We thank you for letting Uncle Harry come to see us, and we hope he's got lots of candy, lots and piles. And we pray you to take good care of all the poor little boys and girls that haven't got any Papa's and Mama's and Uncle Harry's and candy and beds to sleep in. And take us all to heaven when we die for Christ's sake, amen. Give us the candy, Uncle Harry. Hush, Budge. Don't Toddy say any prayers? Oh yes, go on, Tod. Toddy closed his eyes, wriggled, twisted, breathed hard and quick, acting generally as if prayers were principally a matter of physical exertion. At last he began, Dear Lord, not make me so bad and bless Mama and Papa and Budgie and Doppity. Footnote, grandmother. Footnote, grandfather. And all good people in Dish-House and everybody else and my dolly. Amen. Now give us the candy, said Budge, with the usual echo from Toddy. I hastily extracted the candy from my trunk, gave some to each boy, the recipients fairly shrieking with delight, and once more said good night. Oh, you didn't give us any pennies, said Budge. Papa gives us some to put in our banks every night. Well, I haven't got any now. Wait until tomorrow. Then we want drinks. I'll let Maggie bring you drink. Want my dolly, murmured Toddy. I found the knotted towels, took the dirty things up gingerly and threw them upon the bed. Now want-to-she-wheels go round, said Toddy. I hurried out of the room and slammed the door. I looked at my watch. It was half past eight. I had spent an hour and a half with those dreadful children. They were funny, to be sure. I found myself laughing in spite of my indignation. Still, if they were to monopolize my time as they had already done, when was I to do my reading? Taking Fisk's cosmic philosophy from my trunk, I descended to the back parlor, lit a cigar, and a student lamp, and began to read. I had not fairly commenced when I heard a patter of small feet and saw my elder nephew before me. There was sorrowful protestation in every line of his countenance, as he exclaimed, You didn't say goodbye, nor God bless you, nor anything. Oh! Goodbye. Goodbye. God bless you. God bless you. Budge seemed waiting for something else. At last he said, Papa says, God bless everybody. Well, God bless everybody. God bless everybody, responded Budge, and turned silently and went upstairs. Bless your tormenting, honest little heart, I said to myself. If men trusted God as you do your Papa, how little business there'd be for preachers to do. The perfect one. The pure, fresh air, the perfume of the flowers, the music of the insect choir in the trees and shrubbery. The very season itself seemed to forbid my reading philosophy, so I laid Fisk aside, delighted myself with a few rare bits from Paul Haines' new volume of poems, read a few chapters of One Summer, and finally sauntered off to bed. My nephews were slumbering sweetly. The pure, exquisite, angelic faces before me belonged to my tormenters of a few hours before. As I lay on my couch I could see the dark shadow and rugged crest of the mountain. Above it the silver stars against the blue, and below it the rival lights of the fireflies against the dark background formed by the mountain itself. No rumbling of wheels tormented me, nor any of the thousand noises that fill city air with the spirit of unrest, and I fell into a wonder almost indignant that sensible, comfortable, loving beings could live in horrible New York while such delightful rural homes were so near at hand. Then Alice Maiton came into my mind, and then a customer. Later stars and trademarks and bouquets and dirty nephews and fireflies and bad accounts and railway tickets and candy and Herbert Spencer mixed themselves confusingly in my mind. Then a vision of a proud angel in the most fashionable attire and a modern carriage came and banished them all by its perfect radiance, and I was sinking in the most blissful unconsciousness. I whish, I hissed. The warning was heated, and I soon relapsed into oblivion. I wee beee. Toddy, do you want uncle to whip you? No. Then lie still. Well, I've lost my dolly and I can't find her anywhere. Well, I'll find her for you in the morning. Oh, I want my dolly. Well, I tell you I'll find her for you in the morning. I want her now. You can't have her now so you can go to sleep. Oh! Springing madly to my feet I started for the offender's room. I encountered a door, a jar, by the way, my forehead being first to discover it. I ground my teeth, lit a candle, and said something, no matter what. Oh, you said a bad swear, ejaculated Toddy. You won't go to heaven when you die. Neither will you if you howl like a little demon all night. Are you going to be quiet now? Yes, but I want my dolly. I don't know where your dolly is. Do you suppose I'm going to search this entire house for that confounded dolly? Tate found it. I want my dolly. I don't know where it is. You don't think I stole your dolly, do you? Well, I want it in the bed with me. Charles said I when you arise in the morning I hope your doll will be found at present, however, you must be resigned and go to sleep. I'll cover you up nicely. Here I began to rearrange the bed-clothing when the fateful dolly, source of all my woes, tumbled out of them. Toddy clutched it, his whole face lighting up with affectionate delight, and he screamed, Oh, there's my D dolly, tum to your own Papa dolly, and I'll love you. And that ridiculous child was so completely satisfied by the outlay of affection that my own indignation gave place to genuine artistic pleasure. One can tire of even beautiful pictures, though, when he is not fully awake, and is holding a candle in a draft of air, so I covered my nephews and returned to my own room, where I amused upon the contradictoryness of childhood until I fell asleep. In the morning I was awakened very early by the light streaming in the window, and I had left open the night before. The air was alive with bird-songs, and the eastern sky was flushing with tints, which no painters canvas ever caught. But anti-sunrise skies and songs are not fit subjects for the continued contemplation of men who read until midnight, so I hastily closed the blinds, drew the shade, dropped the curtains, and lay down again, dreamily thanking heaven that I was to fall asleep I am sure that I mentally forgave all my enemies as I dropped off into a most delicious dose, but the sudden realization that a light hand was passing over my cheek roused me to savage anger in an instant. I sprang up and saw budge shrink timidly away from my bedside. I was only a love in you because you was good and brought us candy. Papa lets us love him whenever we want to every morning he does. As early as this, demanded I. Yes, just as soon as we can see if we want to. Poor Tom! I never could comprehend why, with a good wife, a comfortable income and a clear conscience, he need always look thin and worn, worse than he ever did in Virginia Woods or Louisiana Swamps. But now I knew all, and yet what could one do? That child's eyes and voice and his expression which exceeded the kindness that of any of the angels I had ever imagined, that child could coax a man to do more self-forgetting deeds than the shortening of his precious sleeping hours amounted to. In fact, he was fast divesting me of my rightful sleepiness, so I kissed him and said, Run to bed now, dear old fellow, and let Uncle go to sleep again. After breakfast I'll make you a whistle. Oh, will you? The angel turned into a boy at once. Yes, now run along. A loud whistle? A real loud one? Yes, but not if you don't go right back to bed. The sound of little footsteps receded as I turned over and closed my eyes. Speedily the birdsong seemed to grow fainter. My thoughts dropped to pieces. I seemed to be floating on fleecy clouds, in company with hundreds of cherubs with budgets, features, and night-drawers. Uncle Harry! May the Lord forget the prayer I put up just then. Uncle Harry! I'll discipline you, my fine little boy, thought I. Perhaps if I let you shriek your abominable little throat-horse, you'll learn better than to torment your uncle that was just getting ready to love you dearly. Uncle Harry! Howl away, you little imp, thought I. You've got me wide awake and my lungs may suffer for it. Suddenly I heard, although in sleepy tones and with a lazy drawl, some words which appalled me. The murmur was toddy. Won't she wheels go wound? Budge, I shouted, in the desperation of my dread lest toddy, too, might wake up. What do you want? Uncle Harry! What? Uncle Harry, what kind of wood are you going to make the whistle out of? I won't make any at all. I'll cut a big stick and give you a sound whipping with it for not keeping quiet, as I told you to. Why, Uncle Harry, Papa don't whip us with sticks, he spanks us. Heavens! Papa, papa, papa, was I never to have done with this eternal quotation of Papa. I was horrified to find myself ever hatred of my excellent brother-in-law. One thing was certain, at any rate, sleep was no longer possible, so I hastily dressed and went into the garden. Among the beauty and the fragrance of the flowers and in the delicious morning air I succeeded in regaining my temper and was delighted on answering the breakfast bell two hours later to have budge accost me with. Why, Uncle Harry, where was you? Where were you and couldn't find a speck of you? End of Part 2 Read on October 1st, 2007, in Oceanside, California. Helen's Babies Part 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Helen's Babies by John Haberton Part 3 An excellent one. I afterward learned that Helen, dear old girl, had herself prepared a bill of fare for every meal I should take in the house. As the table talk of myself and nephews was not such as could do harm by being repeated, I requested Maggie, the servant, to wait upon the children and I accompanied my request with a small treasury note. Relieved thus of all responsibility for the dreadful appetites of my nephews, justice to the repast, and even regarded with some interest and amusement the industry of Budge and Toddy with their tiny forks and spoons. They ate rapidly for a while, but soon their appetites weakened and their tongues were unloosed. Ock and Howie remarked Toddy, Dejan, awful funny chunt up-tares, awful big chunt, I show it you after Brepps pup. Toddy's a silly little boy, said Budge. He always says, Brepps pup, for breakfast. Footnote. Breakfast. Oh! What does he mean by chunt, Budge? I guess he means trunk, replied my oldest nephew. Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk, it seems a century ago that I did it, caused me to smile sympathetically at Toddy to his apparent great delight. How delightful it is to strike a sympathetic chord in child nature, thought I. How quickly the infant I comprehends the look which precedes the verbal expression of an idea. Dear Toddy, for years we might sit at one table, careless of each other's words, but the casual mention of one of the delights has suddenly brought our souls into that sweetest of all human communions. That one which doubtless bound the master himself to that apostle is apparently the weakest among the chosen twelve. An awful funny chunt seemed to annihilate suddenly all differences of age, condition, and experience between the wee boy and myself, and a direful thought struck me. I dashed upstairs and into my room. Yes, he did mean my trunk. I could see nothing funny about it, quite the contrary. The bond of sympathy between my nephew and myself was suddenly broken. Looking at the matter from the comparative distance, which a few weeks have placed between that day and this, I can see that I was unable to consider the scene before me with a calm and unprejudiced mind. I am now satisfied that the sudden birth and hasty decrease of my sympathy with Toddy were striking instances of human inconsistency. My soul had gone out to his because he loved to rummage in trunks, and because I imagined he loved to see the monument of incongruous material which resulted from such an operation. The scene before me showed clearly that I had rightly divined my nephew's nature. And yet my selfish instincts hastened to obscure my soul's vision and to prevent that joy which should ensue when faith is lost in full fruition. My trunk had contained nearly everything. For while a campaigner I had learned to reduce packing to an exact science. Now had there been an atom of pride in my composition I might have glorified myself, for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon the floor could never have come out of a single trunk. Clearly Toddy was more of a general connoisseur than an amateur in packing. The method of his work I quickly discerned, and the discovery through some light upon the size of the heap in front of my trunk. A dress hat and its case when their natural relationship is dissolved occupy nearly twice as much space as before even if the former contains a blacking-box not usually kept in it and the latter contains a few cigars soaking in Bay Rome. The same might be said of a portable dressing case and its contents bought for me in Vienna by a brother ex-soldier and designed by an old continental campaigner to be perfection itself. The straps which prevented the cover from falling entirely back had been cut, broken or parted in some way, and in its hollow lay my dress coat tightly rolled up. Snatching it up with a violent exclamation and unrolling it there dropped from it one of those infernal dolls. At the same time a howl was sounded from the doorway. You took did my dolly out of her cradle. I want to walk my dolly. You young scoundrel, I screamed. Yes, how old I was so enraged. I've a great mind to cut your throat this minute. What do you mean by meddling with my trunk? I don't know. Outward turned Tottie's lower lip. I believe the sight of it would move a Bengal tiger to pity, but no such thought occurred to me just then. What made you do it? Because. Because what? I don't know. Just then a terrific roar arose from the garden. Looking out I saw a budge with a bleeding finger upon one hand and my razor in the other. He afterward explained he had been making a boat and that knife was bad to him. To apply adhesive plaster to the cut was the work of but a minute, and I had barely completed this surgical operation when Tom's gardener coachman appeared and handed me a letter. It was addressed in Helen's well-known hand and read as follows. The passages in brackets were my own comments. Bloomedale, June 21st, 1875 Dear Harry, I'm very happy in the thought that you are with my darling children although I'm having a lovely time here I often wish I was with you. So do I. I want you to know the little treasures real well. Thank you, but I don't think I care to extend the acquaintance ship farther than is absolutely necessary. It seems to me so unnatural that relatives know so little of those of their own blood and especially of the innocent little spirits whose existence is almost unheeded. When there's unlocked trunks standing about, sis. Now I want to ask a favour of you. When we were boys and girls at home you used to talk perfect oceans about physiognomy and phrenology and unerring signs of character. I thought it was all nonsense then but if you believe any of it now I wish you'd study the children and give me your well-considered opinion of them. Perfect demons, ma'am. Imps, rascals, born to be you. I can't get over the feeling that dear budge is born for something grand. Grand nuisance. He is sometimes so thoughtful and so absorbed that I almost fear the result of disturbing him. Then he has that faculty of perseverance which seems to be the only thing some men have lacked to make them great. He certainly has it. He exemplified it while I was trying to get to sleep this morning. A poet or a musician or an artist. That's so. All abominable scamps take to some artistic pursuit as an excuse for loafing. His fancies take hold of him very strongly. They do, they do. She wheels go wound, for instance. He has not budgie's sublime earnestness but he doesn't need it. The irresistible force with which he is drawn toward whatever is beautiful compensates for the lack. Ah! Perhaps that explains his operation with my trunk. But I want your own opinion for I know you make more careful distinction in character than I do. Delighting myself with the idea that I deserve most of the credit for the lots of reading you will have done by this time and hoping I shall soon have a line telling me how my darlings are, I am as ever your loving sister, Helen. Seldom have I been so roused by a letter as I was by this one and never did I promise myself more genuine pleasure in writing a reply. I determined that it should be a masterpiece of analysis and of calm yet forcible expression of opinion. Upon one step at any rate I was positively determined. Calling the girl I asked her where the key was that locked the door between my room and the children. Please, sir, toddy threw it down the well. Is there a locksmith in the village? No, sir, the nearest one is at Patterson. Is there a screwdriver in the house? Yes, sir. Bring it to me and tell the coachman to get ready at once to drive me to Patterson. The screwdriver was brought and with it I removed the lock, got into the carriage, and told the driver to take me to Patterson by the hill-road, one of the most beautiful roads in America. Patterson! exclaimed Budge. Oh, there's a candy-store in that town. Come on, toddy! Will you, thought I, snatching the whip and giving the horses a cut? Not if I can help it, the idea of having such a drive spoiled by the clatter of such a couple. Away went the horses and up rose a piercing shriek and a terrible roar. It seemed that both children must have been mortally hurt, and I looked out hastily, only to see Budge and toddy running after the carriage and crying pitifully. It was too pitiful. I could not have proceeded without them even if they had been afflicted with smallpox. The driver stopped of his own accord. He seemed to know the children's ways and their results, and I helped Budge and toddy in, meekly hoping that the eye of Providence was upon me and that so self-sacrificing an act would be duly passed to my credit. I reached the hill-road. My kindness to my nephews seemed to assume greater proportions, for the view before me was inexpressibly beautiful. The air was perfectly clear, and across two score towns I saw the great metropolis itself, the silent city of Greenwood beyond it, the bay, the narrows, the sound, the two silvery rivers lying between me and the palisades, and even across and to the south of Brooklyn, the ocean itself. Wonderful effects of light and shadow, picturesque masses composed of detached buildings so far distant that they seemed huddled together, grim factories turned to beautiful palaces by the dazzling reflection of sunlight from their windowpanes, great ships seeming in the distance to be toy boats floating idly. With no sign of life perceptible the whole scene recalled the fairy stories, read in my essays of enchanted cities, and the illusion was greatly strengthened by the dragonlike shape of the roof of New York's post office, lying in the center of everything and seeming to brood over all. Uncle Harry Ah, that was what I expected. Uncle Harry Well, budge, I always think that looks like heaven. What does? Why, all that from here over to that other sky, way back there behind everything, I mean, and I think that—here he pointed toward what probably was a photographer's rooflight— that place where it's so shiny is where God stays. Bless the child. The scene had suggested only elfin dumb to me, and yet I prided myself on my quick sense of artistic effects. And over there where that awful, bright little speck is, continued budge, that's where dear little brother Philly is. Whenever I look over there, I see him putting his hand out. Dear little Philly went to seep in a box, and the Lord took him to heaven, murmured Toddie, putting together all he had seen and heard of death. Then he raised his voice and exclaimed, Uncle Harry, you know what I is going to do when I be his big man. I is going to have hausses and tallage, and I is going to whine over all the cheese and all the houses and all the world and everything. And whole lots of little birdies is coming in my powage and sing songs to me, and you can come too if you want to, and we'll have ice cream and tallberries, and see little fishes swimming down in the water and we'll get a gate big house that's all pity on the outside and all pity on the inside, and it'll be all ours and we'll do just everything we want to. Toddie, you're an idealist. Ain't a deal-ished. Toddie's a goosey gander, remarked Budge, with great gravity. Uncle Harry, do you think Heaven's as nice as that place over there? Yes, Budge. A great deal nicer. Then why don't we die and go there? I don't want to go on living forever and ever. I don't see why we don't die right away. I think we've lived enough of days. The Lord wants us to live until we get good and strong and smart and good before we die, old fellow. That's why we don't die right away. Well, I want to see dear little Philly, and if the Lord won't let him come down here, I think he might let me die and go to Heaven. Little Philly always laughed when I jumped for him. Uncle Harry, angels has wings, don't they? Some people think they have, old boy. Well, I know they don't, because if Philly had wings, I know he'd fly right down here and see me, so they don't. But maybe he has to go somewhere else, budge. Or maybe he comes and you can't see him. We can't see angels with our eyes, you know. Then what made the Hebrew children and the fiery furnace see one? Their eyes was just like ours, wasn't they? I don't care. I want to see dear little Philly awful much. Uncle Harry, if I went to Heaven, do you know what I'd do? What would you do, budge? Why, after I saw little Philly, I'd go right up to the Lord and give him a great big hug. What for, budge? Oh, because he lets us have nice times and gave me my mama and papa and Philly, but he took him away again, and toddy, but toddy's a dreadful bad boy sometimes, though. Very true, budge, said I, remembering my trunk and the object of my ride. Uncle Harry, did you ever see the Lord? No, budge. He has been very close to me a good many times, but I never saw him. Well, I have. I see him every time I look up in the sky, and there ain't nobody with me. The driver crossed himself and whispered, He's forever saying that and be the powers I believe him. Sometimes you'd think that the holy saints themselves was a-spakin' when that boy gets to goin' on that way. It was wonderful. Budge's countenance seemed too pure to be of the earth as he continued to express his ideas of the better land and its denizens. As for toddy, his tongue was going incessantly, although in a tone scarcely audible, but when I chanced to catch his expressions they were so droll and fanciful that I took him upon my lap that I might hear him more distinctly. I even detected myself in the act of examining the mental draft of my proposed letter to Helen and of being ashamed of it. But neither toddy's fancy nor budge's spirituality caused me to forget the principal object of my ride. I found a locksmith and left the lock to be fitted with a key. Then we drove to the falls. Both boys discharged volleys of questions as we stood by the gorge and the fact that the roar of the falling water prevented me from hearing them did not cause them to relax their efforts in the least. I walked to the hotel for a cigar taking the children with me. I certainly spent no more than minutes in selecting and lighting a cigar and asking the barkeeper a few questions about the falls, but when I turned the children were missing nor could I see them in any direction. Suddenly before my eyes arose from the nearer brink of the gorge two yellowish disks which I recognized as the hats of my nephews then I saw between the disks and me two small figures lying upon the ground. I was afraid to shout for fear and to hear me. I bounded across the grass, industriously raving and praying by turns. They were lying on their stomachs and looking over the edge of the cliff. I approached them on tiptoe, threw myself upon the ground and grasped a foot of each child. Oh, Uncle Harry screamed budge in my ear as I dragged him close to me kissing and shaking him alternately. I hunged over more than Toddie did. Well, I hunged over a good deal anyhow, said Toddie in self-defense. That afternoon I devoted to making a bouquet for Miss Maiton and a most delightful occupation I found it. It was no florist's bouquet composed of only a few kinds of flowers wired upon sticks and arranged according to geometric pattern. I used many a rare flower too shy of bloom to recommend itself to florists. I combined tints almost as numerous as the flowers were, and perfumes to which city bouquets are utter strangers. Arranging flowers is a favourite pastime of mine, but upon this particular occasion I enjoyed my work more than I had ever done before. Not, but I was in love with Miss Maiton. A man may honestly and strongly admire a handsome, brilliant woman without being in love with her. He can delight himself in trying to consider that she shall give him herself in return. Since I arrived at years of discretion I have always smiled sarcastically at the mention of the generosity of men who were in love. They have seemed to me rather to be asking an immense price for what they offered. I had no such feeling toward Miss Maiton. There have been heathens who have offered gifts to goddesses out of pure adoration and without any idea of ever having the favourite divinities. I never offered Miss Maiton any attention which did not put me into closer sympathy with these same great-soul old pagans and with such Christians as follow their good example. With each new grace my bouquet took on, my pleasure and satisfaction increased at the thought of how she would enjoy the completed evidence of my taste. At length it was finished, but my delight suddenly became clouded by the dreadful thought, what will folks say? Had we been in New York instead of Hillcrest no one but the florist, his messenger, the lady and myself would know if I sent a bouquet to Miss Maiton, but in Hillcrest with its several hundred native-born gossips and its acquaintance of everybody with everybody else and their affairs I feared talk. Upon the discretion of Mike, the gossips safely rely. I had already confidentially conveyed sundry bits of fractional currency to him and informed him of one of the parties at our store whose family Mike had known in old Aaron, but everyone knew where Mike was employed. Everyone knew—country—that I was the only gentleman at present residing at Colonel Lawrence's. Ah, I had it. I had seen in one of the library-drawers a small shaped-like-a-band box. Doubtless that would hold it. I found the box. It was of just the size I needed. I dropped my card into the bottom. No danger of a lady not finding the card accompanying a gift of flowers. Neatly fitted the bouquet in the centre of the box and went in search of Mike. He winked geringly as I explained the nature of his errand and he whispered, I'll do it as clean as a whistler your honour. Mistress Clarkson's self-understand each other, and I am used to going up the back way. Divel a man can see but the angels and they won't tell. Very well, Mike, here's a dollar for you. You'll find the box on the hat rack in the hall. Half an hour later, while I sat in my chamber window reading, I beheld Mike, cleanly shaved, dressed and brushed, swinging up the road with my box balanced on one of his enormous hands. With a head full of pleasing fancies I went down to supper. My new friends were unusually good. Their rides seemed to have toned down their boisterousness and elevated their little souls. Their appetites exhibited no diminution of force but they talked but little, and all that they said was smart, funny or startling. So much so that when after supper they invited me to put them to bed I gladly accepted the invitation. Todd he disappeared somewhere and came back very disconsolate. Can't find my dolly's cattle, he whined. Never mind old Pet, said I soothingly. Uncle will ride you on his foot. But I want my dolly's cattle, said he, piteously rolling out his lower lip. I remembered my experience when Toddy wanted to she-wheels go round and I trembled. Toddy, said I, in a tone so persuasive that it would be worth thousands a year as a salesman if I could only command it at will. Toddy, don't you want to ride on Uncle's back? No, want my dolly's cattle. Don't you want me to tell you a story? For a moment Toddy's face indicated a terrible internal conflict between old Adam and mother Eve but curiosity finally overpowered natural depravity and Toddy murmured Yesh, what shall I tell you about? About Nondark. About what? He means Noah and the Ark exclaimed Budge. That's what I say, Nondark declared Toddy. Well, said I, hastily refreshing my memory by picking up the Bible for Helen like most people is pretty sure to forget to pack her a Bible when she runs away from home for a few days. Well, once it rained forty days and nights and everybody was drowned from the face of the earth accepting Noah, a righteous man, who was saved with all his family in an Ark which the Lord commanded him to build. Uncle Harry, said Budge, after contemplating me with open eyes and mouth for at least two minutes after I had finished. Do you think that's Noah? Certainly, Budge. Here's the whole story in the Bible. Well, I don't think it's Noah one single bit, said he with increasing emphasis. I'm beginning to think we read different Bibles, Budge, but let's hear your version. Huh? Tell me about Noah if you know so much about him. I will if you want me to. Once the Lord felt so uncomfortable because folks was bad that he was sorry he ever made anybody or any world or anything, but Noah wasn't bad. The Lord liked him first rate, so he told Noah to build a big Ark, and then the Lord would let it rain so everybody should be grounded, but Noah and his little boys and girls and doggies and pussies and mama cows and little boy cows and little girl cows and horses and everything. They'd go in the Ark and wouldn't get wetted a bit when it rained. And Noah took lots of things to eat in the Ark, cookies and milk and oatmeal and strawberries and porgies and oh yes, and plum puddings and pumpkin pies. But Noah didn't want everybody to get grounded, so he said, soon you better be good and then the Lord will let you come into my Ark. And they just said, oh, if it rains we'll go in the house till it stops. And other folks said, we ain't afraid of rain, we've got an umbrella. And some more said they wasn't going to be afraid of just a rain, but it did rain. Folks went in their houses and the water came in and they went upstairs and the water came up there and they got to on the tops of the houses and up in big trees and up in the mountains and the water went around at everybody, only just except Noah and the people in the Ark. And it rained forty days and nights and then it stopped. And Noah got out of the Ark and he and his little boys and girls went wherever they wanted to and everything in the world was all theirs. There wasn't anybody to tell him to go home, nor no kindergarten schools to go to, nor no bad boys to fight him, nor nothing. Now tell us another story. I determined that I would not again attempt to repeat portions of the narrative. My experience in that direction had not been encouraging. I ventured upon a war story. Do you know what the war was? I asked by way of reconnaissance. Oh yes, said Budge. Papa was there and he's got a sword. Don't you see it hanging up there? Yes, I saw it. And the difference between the terrible field where last I saw Tom's sword in action and this quiet room where it now hung forced me into a reverie from which I was aroused by Budge remarking. Ain't you going to tell us one? Oh yes, Budge. One day while the war was going on there was a whole lot of soldiers going along a road and they were as hungry as they could be. They hadn't had anything to eat that day. Why didn't they go into the houses and tell the people they was hungry? That's what I do when I go along roads. Because the people in that country didn't like them. The brothers and papas and husbands of those people were soldiers too, but they didn't like the soldiers I told you about first and they wanted to kill them. I don't think they were a bit nice, said Budge with considerable decision. Well, the first soldiers wanted to kill them, Budge. Then they was all bad to want to kill each other. Oh no, they weren't. There were a great many real good men on both sides. Poor Budge looked sadly puzzled as he had excellent right to do since the wisest and best men are sorely perplexed by the nature of warlike feeling. Both parties of soldiers were on horseback, I continued, and they were near each other, and when they saw each other they made their horses run fast, and the bugles blew and the soldiers all took their swords out to kill each other with when just then a little boy who had been out in the woods to pick berries for his mama tried to run across the road and caught his toe in some way and cried. Then somebody hallowed halt, very loud, and all the horses on one side stopped and then somebody else hallowed halt, and a lot of bugles blew and every horse on the other side stopped and one soldier jumped off his horse and picked up the little boy. He was only about as big as you, Budge, and tried to comfort him, and then a soldier from the other side came up to look at him, and then more soldiers came from both sides to look at him, and when he got better and walked home the soldiers all rode away because they didn't feel like fighting just then. Oh, Uncle Harry, I think it was an awful good soldier that got off his horse to take care of that poor little boy. Do you, Budge? Who do you think it was? I don't know. It was your papa. Oh! If Tom could have but seen the expression upon his boy's face as he prolonged this exclamation, his loss of one of the grandest chances a cavalry officer ever had would not have seemed so great to him as it had done for years. He seemed to take in the story in all its bearings, and his great eyes grew in depth as they took on the faraway look which seemed too earnest for the strength of an earthly being to support. But Toddy, he who a fond mama thought endowed with art sense, Toddy had throughout my recital the air of a man who was musing on some affair of his own, and Budge's exclamation had hardly died away when Toddy commenced to wave aloud an extravaganza wholly his own. When I was a soldier, he remarked very gravely, I had a coat, and a hat on, and a muff, and a little knake. Footnote, snake, tip it. Wound my neck to keep me warm, and it waned, and hailed, and tormed, and I felt bad, so I swallowed a sword and burned me dead. And how did you get here, I asked, with interest proportioned to the importance of Toddy's last claws. Oh, I got up from the burndown dead, and come right here, and I want my dolly's cattle. Oh, persistent little dragon, if you were of age, what a fortune you might make in business. Uncle Harry, I wish my papa would come home right away, said Budge. Why, Budge? I want to love him for being so good to that poor little boy in the war. Ock and Howie, I want my dolly's cattle, toss my dolly's in it, and I want to sheer her. Thus spake Toddy. Don't you think the Lord loved my papa awful much for doing that sweet thing, Uncle Harry? Asked Budge. Yes, old fellow, I feel sure that he did. Lord loved my papa very much, so I loved the Lord very much, remarked Toddy, and I want my dolly's cattle and my dolly. Toddy, I don't know where either of them are. I can't find them now, do wait until morning, then Uncle Harry will look for them. I don't see how the Lord can get along in heaven without my papa, Uncle Harry, said Budge. Lord takes papa to heaven, and Budge and me, and we'll go walkin' and seize the Lord, and play with the angel's wings, and has good times, and never have to go to bed at all. Pure hearted little innocence, compared with older people whom we endure how great thy faith, and how few thy faults, how superior thy love. A knock at the door interrupted me. Come in, I shouted. End of Part 3. Read by Kara Schellenberg www.kray.org on November 8, 2007 in Oceanside, California. Helen's Babies. Part 4 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Helen's Babies. By John Haberton. Part 4. In Stepped Mike With an air of the greatest secrecy handed me a letter and the identical box in which I had sent the flowers to Miss Maiton. What could it mean? I hastily opened the envelope and at the same time Toddie shrieked, Oh, dash my dolly's cattle, dare-tige! Snatched and opened the box and displayed his doll. My heart sickened and did not regain its strength during the perusal of the following note. Miss Maiton, herewith, returns to Mr. Burton the package which just arrived with his card. She recognizes the contents as a portion of the apparent property of one of Burton's nephews but is unable to understand why it should have been sent to her. June 20th, 1875. Toddie! I roared as my younger nephew caressed his loathsome doll and murmured endearing words to it. Where did you get that box? On the hat-wack! replied the youth with perfect fearlessness. I keeps it in the bookcase, Roger, and somebody took it away with the old flowers in it. Where are those flowers, I demanded. Toddie looked up with considerable surprise but promptly replied, I frode them away. Don't want all flowers in my dolly's cattle. That's the way she walks, see? And this horrible little destroyer of human hopes rolled that box back and forth with the most utter unconcern as he spoke endearing words to the substitute for my beautiful bouquet. To say that I looked at Toddie reprovingly is to express my feelings in the most inadequate language. But of language in which to express my feelings to Toddie I could find absolutely none. Within two or three short moments I had discovered how very anxious I really was to merit Miss Maiton's regard, and how very different was the regard I wanted from that which I had previously hoped might be accorded me. It seemed too ridiculous to be true that I, who had for years had dozens of charming lady acquaintances and yet had always maintained my common sense and self-control. I, who had always considered it unmanly for a man to specially interest himself in any lady until he had an income of five thousand a year. I, who had skillfully and at many times argued that life attachments or attempts there at which were made without a careful preliminary study of the characteristics of the partner desired was the most unpardonable folly. I had transgressed every one of my own rules and, as if to mock me for any pretended wisdom and care, my weakness was made known to me by a three-year-old marplot and a hideous ragdoll. That merciful and ennobling dispensation by which providence enables us to temper the severity of our own sufferings by alleviating those of others soon to my rescue. Under my stern glance Toddie gradually lost interest in his doll and its cradle and began to thrust forth and outward his piteous lower lip and to weep copiously. D. Lord, make me not so bad! he cried through his tears. I doubt his having had any very clear idea of what he was saying or whom he was addressing, but had the publican of whose prayer Toddie made so fair a paraphrase worn such a face when he offered his famous petition it could not have been denied for a moment. Toddie even retired to a corner and hid his face in self-imposed penance. Never mind, Toddie, said I sadly. You didn't mean to do it, I know. I want to love you! sobbed Toddie. Well, come here, you poor little fellow, said I, opening my arms and wondering whether it was not after contemplation at such center that Good Bishop Tegner wrote, Depths of love are atonement's depths, for love is atonement. Toddie came to my arms, shed tears freely upon my shirt-front, and finally, after heaving a very long sigh remarked, Want you to love me! I complied with his request. Theoretically, I had long believed that the higher wisdom of the creator was most frequently expressed in the realm of his most innocent creations. Surely here was a confirmation of my theory, for who else has ever practically taught me the duty of the injured one toward his offender? I kissed Toddie and petted him and at length succeeded in quieting him. His little face, in spite of much dirt and many tear stains, was upturned with more of beauty in it than it ever held when its owner was full of joy. He looked earnestly pidingly into my eyes, and I congratulated myself upon the perfection of my forgiving spirit when Toddie suddenly re-exhibited to me my old unregenerate nature and the incompleteness of my forgiveness by saying, Kiss my dolly, too! I obeyed. My forgiveness was made complete, but so was my humiliation. I abruptly closed our interview. We exchanged, God bless yous, according to Budge's instructions of the previous night, and at least one of the participants in this devotional exercise hoped the petitions made by the other were distinctly heard. Then I dropped into an easy chair in the library and fell to thinking of Toddie's operation with my bouquet. I might explain the matter to Miss Maiton, I undoubtedly could, for she was too sensible a woman to be easily offended merely by a ridiculous mistake caused by a child. But she would laugh at me. How could she help it? And to be laughed at by Miss Maiton was a something, the mere thought of which tormented me in a manner that made me fairly ashamed of myself. Like every other young man among young men I had been the butt of many a rough joke and had borne them without wincing. It seemed cowardly and contemptible that I should be so sensitive under the mere thought of laughter which would probably be heard by no one but Miss Maiton. But the laughter of a mere acquaintance is likely to lessen respect for the person laughed at. Heaven's the thought was unendurable. At any rate I must write an early apology. When I was correspondent for the house with which I am now salesman I reclaimed many an old customer who had wandered off. Certainly I might hope by a well-written letter to regain in Miss Maiton's respect whatever position I had lost. I hastily drafted a letter, carefully copied it in due form and forwarded it by the faithful Michael. Then I tried to read, but without the least success. For hours I paced the piazza and consumed cigars. When at last I retired it was with many ideas, hopes, fears, and fancies which had never before been mine. True to my trust I looked into my nephew's rooms. There lay the boys in postures more graceful than any which brush or chisel have ever reproduced. Toddy in particular wore so lovely an expression that I could not refrain from kissing him. But I was nonetheless careful to make use of my new key, and to lock my other door also. The next day was the Sabbath. Believing fully in the binding force and worldly wisdom of the Fourth Commandment, so far as it refers to rest I have conscientiously trained myself to two hours later on the morning of the Holy Day than I ever allowed myself to do on business days. But having inherited, besides a New England conscience, a New England abhorrence of waste, I regularly sit up two hours later on Saturday nights than on any others. And the night preceding this particular Sabbath was no exception to the rule, as the reader may imagine from the foregoing recital. At about five-thirty a.m. however I became conscious that my nephews were not in accord with me on the Sinaitic Law. They were not only awake, but were disputing vigorously and seemingly very loudly, for I heard their words very distinctly. With sleepy condescension I endeavored to ignore these noisy irreverence, but I was suddenly moved to a belief in the doctrine of vicarious atonement for a flying body with more momentum than weight struck me upon the not prominent bridge of my nose and speedily and with unnecessary force accommodated itself to the outline of my eyes. After a moment spent in anguish and in wondering how the missive came through closed doors and windows, I discovered that my pain had been caused by one of the dolls, which, from its extreme uncleanness, I suspected belonged to Toddy. I also discovered that the door between the rooms was open. Who threw that doll? I shouted sternly. There came no response. Do you hear? I roared. What is it, Uncle Harry? asked Budge with most exquisitely polite inflection. Who threw that doll? Huh? I say who threw that doll? Why, nobody did it. Toddy, who threw that doll? Budge did, replied Toddy in muffled tones, suggestive of a brotherly hand laid forcibly over a pair of small lips. Budge, what did you do it for? Why, why, why, because, why you see, because, why, Toddy threw his dolly in my mouth. Some of her hair went in anyhow and I didn't want his dolly in my mouth so I sent it back to him and the foot of the bed didn't stick up enough so it went from the door to your bed. That's what for. The explanation seemed to bear marks of genuineness, albeit the pain of my eye was not alleviated thereby, while the exertion expended in eliciting the information had so thoroughly awakened me that further sleep was out of the question. Besides, the open door had a burglar been in the room? No, my watch and pocketbook were undisturbed. Budge, who opened that door? After some hesitation, as if wondering who really did it, Budge replied, me? How did you do it? Why, you see, we wanted a drink and the door was fast so we got out the window on the Parazzo roof and come in your window. Here, a slight pause and it was fun and then the door had come to back. Then I should be compelled to lock my window-blinds, or theirs, and this in the summer season too, oh, if Helen could have but passed the house as that white-robed procession had filed along the Piazza roof. I lay pondering over the vast amount of unused ingenuity that was locked up in millions of children, or employed only to work misery among suspecting adults at my bedside and saw a small shape with a grave face approach and remark, I want to come in your bed. What for, Toddy? To frolic, Papa always frolics us on Sunday mornings, tum-budgy, ock-and-howies don't frolic us. Budge replied by shrieking with delight, tumbling out of bed and hurrying to that side of my bed not already occupied by Toddy. Then those two little savages sounded the onslaught and advanced precipitately upon me. Sometimes, during the course of my life, I have had daydreams which I have told to no one. Among these has been one, not now so distinct as it was before my four years of campaigning, of one day meeting in deadly combat the painted Indian of the plains, of listening undismayed to his frightful war-whoop, and of exemplifying in my own person inevitable result of the pale face's superior intelligence. But upon this particular Sunday morning I relinquished this idea informally, but for ever. Before the advance of these diminutive warriors I quailed contemptibly, and their battle cry sent more terror to my soul than that member ever experienced from the well-remembered rebel yell. According to Toddy, I was going to frolic them, but from first they took the whole business into their own little but effective hands. Toddy pronounced my knees, collectively a horsey Bonnie, and bestowed them, laughing gleefully at my efforts to unseat him, and holding himself in position by digging his pudgy fingers into whatever portions of my anatomy he could most easily seize. Bud shouted, I want a horsey too, and seated himself upon his feet as the way the horsey goes explained he as he slowly rocked himself backward and forward. I began to realize how my brother in law, who had once been a fine gymnast, had become so flat chested. Just then Bud's face assumed a more spirited expression. His eyes opened wide and lightened up, and shouting, This is the way the horsey trots! He stood upright, threw up his feet, and dropped his forty-three pounds forcibly upon my lungs. He repeated this operation several times before I fully recovered from the shock conveyed by his combined impudence and weight. But pain finally brought my senses back, and with a wild plunge I unseated my demonic riders and gained a clear space in the middle of the floor. Screamed Toddy, I once too wide horsey back in the room. Oh, Lord Budge, I think you're real mean. I don't love you at all. Regardless of Toddy's desires, of Budge's opinion, and the cessation of his regard, I performed a hasty toilette. Notwithstanding my lost rest I savagely thanked the Lord for Sunday at church at least, I could be free from my tormentors. At the breakfast table both boys invited themselves to me to the sanctuary, but I declined without thanks. To take them might be to assist somewhat in teaching them one of the best of habits, but I strongly doubted whether the severest providence would consider it my duty to endure the probable consequences of such an attempt. Besides, I might meet Miss Maiton. I both hoped and feared I might, and I could not endure the thought of appearing before her with the causes of my pleasant remembrance. Budge protested and Toddy wept, but I remained firm, although I was so willing to gratify their reasonable desires that I took them out for a long anti-service walk. While enjoying this little trip I delighted the children by killing a snake and spoiling a slender cane at the same time, my own sole consolation coming from the discovery that the remains of the staff were sufficient to make a cane for Budge. While returning to the house and preparing for church I entered into a solemn agreement with Budge, who was usually recognized as the head of this fraternal partnership. Budge contracted, for himself and brother, to make no attempts to enter my room, to refrain from fighting, to raise loose dirt only with a shovel, and to convey it to its destination by means other than their own hats and aprons, to pick no flowers, to open no water faucets, to refer all disagreements to the cook, as arbitrator, and to build no houses of the new books which I had stacked upon the library table. In consideration of the promised faithful observance of these conditions I agreed that Budge should be allowed to come alone to Sabbath School, which convened directly after morning service, he to start only after Maggie had pronounced him duly cleansed and clothed. As Toddy was daily kept in bed from eleven to one I felt that I might safely worship without distracting fears, for Budge could not alone, and in a single hour, become guilty of any particular sin. The church at Hillcrest had many more seats than members, and as but few summer visitors had yet appeared in the town I was conscious of being industriously stared at by the native members of the congregation. This was of itself discomfort enough, but not all to which I was destined, for the usher conducted me quite near to the altar, and showed me into a pew whose only other occupant was Miss Maiton. Of course the lady did not recognize me, she was too carefully bred to do anything of the sort in church, and I spent ten uncomfortable minutes in mentally abusing the customs of good society. The beginning of the service partially ended my uneasiness, for I had no hymn book, the pew contained none, so Miss Maiton kindly offered me a share in her own. And yet so faultlessly perfect and stranger like was her manner that I wondered whether her action might not have been prompted merely by a sense of Christian duty. Had I been the con of tartary she could not have been more polite and frigid. The music to the first hymn was an air I had never heard before, so I stumbled miserably through the tenor, although Miss Maiton feared the soprano without a single false note. The sermon was longer than I was in the habit of listening to, and I was frequently conscious of not listening at all. As for my position and appearance, neither ever seemed so insignificant as they did throughout the entire service. End of Part Four Read by Kara Schellenberg www.kray.org on November 9th, 2007 in Oceanside, California. Helen's Babies Part Five This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Helen's Babies by John Haberton Part Five The minister reached and finally, dear brethren with my earnest prayers for a successful and speedy finale. It seemed to me that the congregation sympathized with me, for there was a general rustle behind me as these words were spoken. It soon became evident, however, that the hearers were moved by some other feeling, for I heard a profound titter or two behind me. Even Miss Maiton turned her head with more alacrity than was consistent with that grace which usually characterized her motions, and the minister himself made a pause of unusual length. I turned in my seat and saw my nephew Judge, dressed in his best, his head irreverently covered and his new cane swinging in the most stylish manner. He paused at each pew, carefully surveyed its occupants, seemed to fail in finding the object of his search, but continued his efforts in spite of my endeavors to catch his eye. Finally he recognized a family acquaintance, and to him he unburdened his bosom by remarking in tones easily heard throughout the church. I want to find my uncle. Just then he caught my eye, smiled rapturously, hurried to me, and laid his rascally soft cheek confidingly against mine, while an audible sensation pervaded the church. What to do or say to him I scarcely knew, but my quandary was turned to wonder, as Miss Maiton, her face full of ill repressed mirth, but her eyes full of tenderness, drew the little scamp to her, and kissed him soundly. At the same instant the minister, not without some little hesitation, said, Let us pray. I hastily bowed my head, glad of a chance to hide my face, but as I stole a glance at the cause of this irreligious disturbance, I caught Miss Maiton's eye. She was laughing so violently that the contagion was unavoidable, and I laughed all the harder as I felt that one mischievous boy had undone the mischief by another. After the benediction, Budge was the recipient of a great deal of attention during the confusion of which I embraced the opportunity to say to Miss Maiton, Do you still sustain my sister in her opinion of my nephews, Miss Maiton? I think they are too funny for anything, replied the lady with great enthusiasm. I do wish you would bring them to call upon me. I am longing to see an original young gentleman. Thank you, said I, and I'll have Tadi bring a bouquet by way of atonement. Do, she replied, as I allowed her to pass from the pew. The word was an insignificant one, but it made me happy once more. You see, Uncle Harry, exclaimed Budge, as we left the church together. The Sunday school wasn't open yet, and I wanted to hear if they'd sing again in church, so I came in and you wasn't in Papa's seat, and I knew you was somewhere so I looked for you. Bless you, thought I, snatching him into my arms as if to hurry him into Sabbath school, but really to give him a kiss of grateful affection. You did right, exactly right. My Sunday dinner was unexceptional in point of quantity and quality, and a bottle of my brother-in-law's claret proved to be most excellent, yet a certain uneasiness of mind prevented my enjoying the meal as thoroughly as under other circumstances I might have given. My uneasiness came of a mingled sense of responsibility and ignorance. I felt that it was the proper thing for me to see that my nephews spent the day with some sense of the requirements and duties of the Sabbath. But how I was to bring it about I hardly knew. The boys were too small to have Bible lessons administered to them, and they were too lively to be kept quiet by any ordinary means. After a great deal of thought they went to consult the children themselves and tried to learn what their parents custom had been. Budge said, I, what do you do Sundays when your papa and mama are home? What do they read to you? What do they talk about? Oh, they swing us lots, said Budge with brightening eyes. And they take us to get jacks, observed Toddy. Oh yes, exclaimed Budge, jacks in the pulpit, don't you know? Hmm, yes, I do remember some such thing in my youthful days. They grow where there's plenty of mud, don't they? Yes, and there's a brook there and ferns and birch bark, and if you don't look out you'll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch. And we go to hawks nest rock, piped Toddy, and papa carries us up on his back when we get tired. And he makes us whistles, said Budge. Budge, said I, rather hastily, enough in the language of the poet. These earthly pleasures I resign. And I'm rather astonished that your papa hasn't taught you to do likewise. Don't he ever read to you? Oh yes, cried Budge, clapping his hands as a happy thought struck him. He gets down the bible, the great big bible you know, and we all lay on the floor and he reads us stories out of it. There's David and Noah, and when Christ was a little boy, and Joseph, and Turnback Pharaoh's army hallelujah. And what? Turnback Pharaoh's army hallelujah, repeated Budge. Don't you know how Moses held out his cane over the Red Sea, and the water went way up one side, and way up the other side, and all the Israelites went across? It's just the same thing as drown ol' Pharaoh's army hallelujah, don't you know? Budge, said I, I suspect you of having heard the jubilee singers. Oh, and papa and mama sings us all those jubilee songs. There's Sing Low, and Roll Jordan, and Steal Away, and My Way's Cloudy, and Get On Board Children's and Lots, and you can sing us every one of them. And papa takes us in the woods and makes us canes, said Toddie. Yes, said Budge, and where there's new houses built, and he takes us up ladders. Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon, I asked? I don't know what that is, said Budge, but he puts an India rubber blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down and believe we're soldiers asleep. Only sometimes when we wake up, papa stays asleep, and mama won't let us wake him. I don't think that's a very nice play. Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don't you? Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. I think Swingin' is nicer, said he. Oh, no, let's get some jacks. I'll tell you what, make us whistles, and we can blow on while we're going to get the jacks. Toddie, dear, wouldn't you, like jacks and whistles? Yes, and Swingin' and Burge and want to go to Hawkshnash Rock, answered Toddie. Let's have Bible stories first, said I. The Lord mightn't like it if you didn't learn anything good today. Well, said Budge, with the regulation religious matter-of-duty face, let's, I guess I like about Joseph best. Tell us about Blythe, suggested Toddie. Oh, no, Todd, remonstrated Budge, Joseph's coat was just as bloody as Goliath's head was. Then Budge turned to me and explained that all Todd likes Goliath for his cause when his head was cut off, it was all bloody. And then Toddie, the airy sprite whom his mother described as being irresistibly drawn to whatever was beautiful, Toddie glared upon me a butcher's apprentice might stare at a doomed lamb, and remarked, Blythe's head was all bloody and David's sword was all bloody, bloody as everything! I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened the Bible, turned to the story of Joseph and audibly condensed it as I read. Joseph was a good little boy whose papa loved him very dearly but his brothers didn't like him and they sold him to go to Egypt and he was very smart and told the people what their dreams meant and he got to be a great man and his brothers went to Egypt to buy corn and Joseph sold them some and then he let them know who he was and he sent them home to bring their papa to Egypt and then they all lived there together. That ain't it, remarked Toddie with the air of a man who felt himself to be unjustly treated. Is it, Budge? Oh no, said Budge. You didn't read it good a bit. I'll tell you how it is. Once there was an awful little boy named Joseph and he had eleven butters and they was awful eleven butters and his papa gave him a new coat and his butters had nothing but their old jackets to wear and one day he was carrying them their dinner and they put him in a deep dark hole but they didn't put his nice new coat in they killed a kid and dipped the coat just think of doing that to a nice new coat they dipped it in the kids and made it all bloody all bloody echoed Toddie with ferocious emphasis Budge continued but there were some Ishmaelites coming along that way and the awful eleven butters took him out of the deep dark hole and sold him to the Ishmaelites and they sold him away down in Egypt and his poor old papa cried and cried cause he thought a big lion ate Joseph up but he wasn't ate up a bit but there wasn't no post office nor choo choos footnote railway cars nor stages in Egypt and there wasn't any telegraphs so Joseph couldn't let his papa know where he was and he got so smart and so good that the king of Egypt let him sell all the corn and take care of the money and one day some men came to buy some corn and Joseph looked at him and there they was his own butters and he scared him like everything I'd have slapped him all I'd been Joseph but he just scared him and then he let him know who he was and he kissed him and he didn't whip him or make him go without their breakfast or stand in a corner nor none of them things and then he sent him back for their papa and when he saw his papa coming he ran like everything and gave him a great big hug and a kiss Joseph was too big to ask his papa if he brought him any candy but he was awful glad to see him and the king gave Joseph's papa a nice farm and they all had real good times after that and they dipped the coat in the blood and made it all bluggy reiterated Toddy Uncle Harry said budge what do you think my papa would do if he thought I was all ate up by a lion I guess he'd cry awful don't you now tell us another story oh I'll tell you read us about Blyoth interrupted Toddy you tell me about him Toddy said I why? said Toddy Blyoth was a great big man and Dave was a great little man and Blyoth said come over here and I'll eat you up and Dave said I ain't afraid of you so Dave put five little stones in a sling and asked the lord to help him and let the sling go bang into between Blyoth's eyes and knocked him down dead and Dave took Blyoth's sword and sorted Blyoth's head off and made it all bluggy this short narration was accompanied by more spirited and unexpected gestures than Mr. Gao ever puts into a long lecture I don't like about Blyoth at all remarked budge I'd like to hear about Ferris who? Ferris don't you know never heard of him budge why? exclaimed budge didn't you have no papa when you was a little boy yes but he never told me about anyone named Ferris there's no such person named in Anthon's classical dictionary either what sort of a man was he why once there was a man and his name was Ferris and he went about fighting for kings but when any king got afraid of anybody he wouldn't fight for him no more and one day he couldn't find no kings that wasn't afraid of nobody and the people told him the lord was the biggest king in the world and he wasn't afraid of nobody or nothing but the lord and they said he was way up in heaven so nobody couldn't see him but the angels but he liked folks to work for him instead of fight so Ferris wanted to know what kind of work he could do and the people said there was a river not far off where there wasn't no ferry boats because the water runs so fast and they guessed if he'd carry folks across the lord would like it so Ferris went there and he cut him a good strong cane and whenever anybody wanted to go across the river he'd carry him on his back one night he was sitting in his little house by the fire and smoking his pipe and reading the paper and it was raining and blowing and hailing and storming and he was so glad there wasn't anybody wanting to go across the river when he heard somebody call out Ferris and he looked out the window but he couldn't see nobody so he sat down again then somebody called Ferris again and he opened the door again and there was a little bit of a boy about as big as Toddy and Ferris said hello young fellow you're out and the little boy said I want to go across the river well says Ferris you're a mighty little fellow to be travelling alone but hop up so the little boy jumped up on Ferris's back and Ferris walked into the water oh my wasn't it cold and every step he took that little boy got heavier so Ferris nearly tumbled down and they liked to both got grounded and when they got across the river Ferris said well you are the heaviest small fry I ever carried and he turned around to look at him and wasn't no little boy at all Twas a big man Twas Christ and Christ said Ferris I heard you was trying to work for me so I thought I'd come down and see you and not let you know who I was and now you shall have a new name you shall be called Christophorus because that means Christ carrier and everybody called him Christophorus after that and when he died they called him Saint Christopher because Saint is what they called good people when they're dead Budge himself had the face of a wrapped Saint as he told this story but my contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie who disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother's recital had strayed into the garden investigated a hornet's nest bin stung and set up a piercing shriek he ran into me and as I hastily picked him up want to be walked footnote rocked want Toddie one boy day I rocked him violently and petted him tenderly but again he sobbed want Toddie one boy day what does the child mean I exclaimed he wants you to sing to him about Charlie boy one day said Budge he always wants mama to sing that when he's hurt and then he stops crying I don't know it said I won't roll Jordan do Toddie I'll tell you how it goes said Budge and forthwith the youth sang the following song a line at a time I following him in words and air where is my little Bastic footnote basket gone said Charlie one boy day I guess some little boy or girl has taken it away and kitty too where is she gone oh dear what shall I do I wish I could my Bastic find and little kitty too I'll go to mama's room and look perhaps she may be there for kitty likes to take a nap in mama's easy chair oh mama mama come and look see what a little heap here's kitty in the Bastic here all cuddled down to sleep where the applicability of this poem to my nephew's peculiar trouble appeared I could not see but as I finished it his sobs gave place to a sigh of relief Toddie said I do you love your Uncle Harry ash I do love you then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you makes me feel good and all nicey replied Toddie wouldn't you feel just as good if I sang plunged in a gulf of dark despair no don't like Dr. Spares if a Dr. Spare done anything to me I'd knock it right down dead with this extremely lucid remark our conversation on this particular subject ended but I wondered during a few uneasy moments whether the temporary mental aberration which had once afflicted Helen's grandfather and mine was not reappearing in this his youngest descendant my wondering was cut short by budge who remarked in a confident tone now Uncle Harry we'll have the whistles I guess I acted upon the suggestion and led the way to the woods I had not had occasion to seek a hickory sapling before for years not since the war in fact when I learned how hot a fire small hickory sticks would make I had not sought wood for whistles since gracious nearly a quarter of a century ago the dissimilar associations called up by these recollections threatened to put me in a frame of mind which might have resulted in a bad poem had not my nephews kept up a lively succession of questions such as no one but children can ask the whistles completed I was marched with music to the place where the jacks grew it was just such a place as boys instinctively delight him low damp and boggy with a brook hiding treacherously away under overhanging ferns and grasses the children knew by sight the plant which bore the jacks and every discovery was announced by a piercing shriek of delight at first I looked hurriedly toward the brook as each yell clove the air but as I became accustomed to it my attention was diverted by some exquisite ferns suddenly however a succession of shrieks announced that something was wrong and across a large fern I saw a small face in a great deal of agony budge was hurrying to the relief of his brother and was soon as deeply embedded as Todd he was in the rich black mud at the bottom of the brook I dashed to the rescue stood astride the brook and offered a hand to each boy when a treacherous tuft of grass gave way and with a glorious splash I went in myself this accident turned Todd to laughter but I can't say I made light of my misfortune on that account to fall into clean water is not pleasant even when one is trout fishing but to be clad in white pants and nearly knee deep into the lap of mother earth is quite a different thing I hastily picked up the children and threw them upon the bank and then wrathfully strode out myself and tried to shake myself as I have seen a Newfoundland dog do the shake was not a success it caused my trouser leg to flap dismally about my ankles and sent the streams of loathsome ooze trickling down into my shoes my hat, I've drab felt had fallen off by the brookside and been plentifully spattered as I got out I looked at my youngest nephew with speechless indignation End of Part 5 Read by Kara Schallenberg www.kray.org on January 25th, 2008 in San Diego, California