He winked cheeringly as I explained the nature of his
errand, and he whispered:--
"I'll do it as clane as a whistle, yer honor. Mistress Clarkson's
cook an' mesilf understhand each other, an' I'm used to goin' up
the back way. Dhivil a man can see but the angels, an' 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 ride 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. Toddie disappeared
somewhere, and came back very disconsolate.
"Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined.
"Never mind, old pet," said I, soothingly. "Uncle will ride you on
his foot."
"But I WANT my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteously rolling out his
lower lip.
I remembered my experience when Toddie wanted to "shee wheels go
wound," and I trembled.
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