So Miss Mayton sat down to dinner with Budge upon one side and
Toddie on the other, while I was fortunately placed opposite, from
which position I could indulge in warning winks and frowns. The
soup was served. I signaled the boys to tuck their napkins under
their chins, and then turned to speak to the lady on my right. She
politely inclined her head toward me, but her thoughts seemed
elsewhere; following her eyes, I beheld my youngest nephew with
his plate upraised in both hands, his head on the table-cloth, and
his eyes turned painfully upward. I dared not speak, for fear he
would drop the plate. Suddenly he withdrew his head, put on an
angelic smile, tilted his plate so part of its contents sought
refuge in the fold of Miss Mayton's dainty, snowy dress, while the
offender screamed:--
"Oo--ee--!--zha turtle on my pyate!--Budgie, zha turtle on my
pyate!"
Budge was about to raise the plate when he caught my eye and
desisted. Poor Miss Mayton actually looked discomposed for the
first time in her life, so far as I knew or could imagine. She
recovered quickly, however, and treated that wretched boy with the
most Christian forbearance and consideration during the remainder
of the meal. When the dessert was finished she quickly excused
herself, while I removed Toddie to a secluded corner of the
piazza, and favored him with a lecture which caused him to howl
pitifully, and compelled me to caress him and undo all the good
which my rebukes had done.
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