I will concede to my nephews the credit of keeping reasonably
quiet during meals; their tongues doubtless longed to be active in
both the principal capacities of those useful members, but they
had no doubt as to how to choose between silence and hunger. The
result was a reasonably comfortable half-hour. Just as I began to
cut a melon, Budge broke the silence by exclaiming:--
"O Uncle Harry, we haven't been out to see the goat to-day!"
"Budge," I replied, "I'll carry you out there under an umbrella
after lunch, and you may play with that goat all the afternoon, if
you like."
"Oh, won't that be nice?" exclaimed Budge. "The poor goat! he'll
think I don't love him a bit, 'cause I haven't been to see him to-
day. Does goats go to heaven when they die, Uncle Harry?"
"Guess not--they'd make trouble in the golden streets, I'm
afraid."
"Oh, dear! then Phillie can't see my goat. I'm so awful sorry,"
said Budge.
"_I_ can see your goat, Budgie," suggested Toddie.
"Huh!" said Budge, very contemptuously. "YOU ain't dead."
"Well, Izhe GOIN' to be dead some day 'an zen your nashty old goat
sha'n't see me a bit--see how he like ZAT." And Toddie made a
ferocious attack on a slice of melon nearly as large as himself.
After lunch Toddie was sent to his room to take his afternoon nap,
and Budge went to the barn on my shoulders.
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