I sprang up, and saw
Budge shrink timidly away from my bedside.
"I was only a-lovin' you, cos 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 in
sweetness 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 bird-song seemed to grow fainter; my
thoughts dropped to pieces; I seemed to be floating on fleecy
clouds, in company with hundreds of cherubs with Budge's 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.
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