"P. P. S. WOULD it annoy you to move into the best guest-chamber?
--I can't bear to sleep where I can't have THEM within reach."
Friday morning they intended to arrive,--blessings on their
thoughtful hearts!--and THIS was Friday. I hurried into the boys'
room, and shouted:--
"Toddie! Budge! who do you think is coming to see you this
morning?"
"Who?" asked Budge.
"Organ-grinder?" queried Toddie.
"No, your papa and mamma."
Budge looked like an angel in an instant, but Toddie's eyes
twitched a little, and he mournfully murmured:--
"I fought it wash an organ-grinder."
"O Uncle Harry!" said Budge, springing out of bed in a perfect
delirium of delight, "I believe if my papa an' mamma had stayed
away any longer, I believe I would DIE. I've been SO lonesome for
'em that I haven't known what to do--I've cried whole pillowsful
about it, right here in the dark."
"Why, my poor old fellow," said I, picking him up and kissing him,
"why didn't you come and tell Uncle Harry, and let him try to
comfort you?"
"I COULDN'T," said Budge; "when I gets lonesome, it feels as if my
mouth was all tied up, an' a great big stone was right in here."
And Budge put his hand on his chest.
"If a big'tone wazh inshide of ME," said Toddie, "I'd take it out
an' frow it at the shickens.
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