I spent a peaceful, pleasant hour over my novel, when I felt that
a fresh cigar would be acceptable. Going up-stairs in search of
one I found that Budge had filled the bathtub with water, and was
sailing boats, that is, hair-brushes. Even this seemed too mild an
offense to call for a rebuke, so I passed on without disturbing
him, and went to my own room. I heard Toddie's voice, and having
heard from my sister that Toddie's conversations with himself were
worth listening to, I paused outside the door. I heard Toddie
softly murmur:--
"Zere, pitty yady, 'tay ZERE. Now, 'ittle boy, I put you wif your
mudder, tause mudders likes zere 'ittle boys wif zem. An' you sall
have 'ittle sister tudder side of you,--zere. Now, 'ittle boy's
an' 'ittle girl's mudder, don't you feel happy?--isn't I awfoo
good to give you your 'ittle tsilderns? You ought to say, 'Fank
you, Toddie,--you'se a nice, fweet 'ittle djentleman.'"
I peered cautiously--then I entered the room hastily. I didn't say
anything for a moment, for it was impossible to do justice,
impromptu, to the subject. Toddie had a progressive mind--if
pictorial ornamentation was good for old books, why should not
similar ornamentation be extended to objects more likely to be
seen? Such may not have been Toddie's line of thought, but his
recent operations warranted such a supposition.
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