It would be cruel to wish her in the city before the
end of August, yet I--
"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "my papa says 'tisn't nice for folks to
sit down and go to thinkin' before they've brushed their hair
mornin's--that's what he tells ME."
"I beg your pardon, Budge," said I, springing up in some
confusion; "I was thinking over a matter of a great deal of
importance."
"What was it--my goat?"
"No--of course not. Don't be silly, Budge."
"Well, I think about him a good deal, an' I don't think it's silly
a bit. I hope he'll go to heaven when he dies. Do angels have
goat-carriages, Uncle Harry?"
"No, old fellow--they can go about without carriages."
"When _I_ goesh to hebben," said Toddie, rising in bed, "Izhe
goin' to have lots of goat-cawidjes an' Izhe goin' to tate all ze
andjels a widen."
With many other bits of prophecy and celestial description I was
regaled as I completed my toilet, and I hurried out of doors for
an opportunity to think without disturbance. Strolling past the
henyard I saw a meditative turtle, and picking him up and shouting
to my nephews I held the reptile up for their inspection. Their
window-blinds flew open, and a unanimous though not exactly
harmonious "Oh!" greeted my prize.
"Where did you get it, Uncle Harry?" asked Budge.
"Down by the hen-coop.
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