ars. I stopped
abruptly and asked:--

"What's the matter NOW, Toddie?"

"Don't want dat old tune; wantsh dancin' tune, so I can dance."

I promptly played "Yankee Doodle," and Toddie began to trot around the
room with the expression of a man who intended to do his whole duty.
Then Budge appeared, hugging a bound volume of "St. Nicholas." The
moment Toddie espied this he stopped dancing and devoted himself anew
to the task of weeping.

"Toddie," I shouted, springing from the piano-stool, "what do you mean
by crying at everything? I shall have to put you to bed again, if
you're going to be such a baby."

"That's the way he ALWAYS does, rainy days," explained Budge.

"Wantsh to see the whay-al what fwollowed Djonah," sobbed Toddie.

"Can't you demand something that's within the range of possibility,
Toddie?" I mildly asked.

"The whale Toddie means is in this big red book,--I'll find it for
you," said Budge, turning over the leaves.

Suddenly a rejoicing squeal from Toddie announced that leviathan had
been found, and I hastened to gaze. He was certainly a dreadful-looking
animal, but he had an enormous mouth, which Toddie caressed with his
pudgy little hand, and kissed with tenderness, murmuring as he did so:--

"DEE old whay-al, I loves you. Is Jonah all goneded out of you 'tomach,
whay-al? I finks 'twas weal mean in Djonah to get froed up when you
hadn't noffin' else to eat, POOR old whay-al."

"Of COURSE Jonah's gone," said Budge, "he went to heaven long
ago--pretty soon after he went to Nineveh an' done what the Lord told
him to do. Now swing us, Uncle Harry."

The swing was on the piazza under cover from the rain; so I obeyed.
Both boys fought for the right to swing first, and when I decided in
favor of Budge, Toddie went off weeping, and declaring that he would
look at his dear whay-al anyhow. A moment later his wail changed to a
piercing shriek; and running to his assistance, I saw him holding one
finger tenderly and trampling on a wasp.

"What's the matter, Toddie?"

"Oo--oo--ee--ee--ee--EE--I putted my finger on a waps, and--oo--oo--the
nasty waps--oo--bited me. An' I don't like wapses a bit, but I likes
whay-als--oo--ee--ee."

A happy thought struck me. "Why don't you boys make believe that big
packing-box in your play-room is a whale?" said I.

A compound shriek of delight followed the suggestion, and both boys
scrambled upstairs, leaving me a free man again. I looked remorsefully
at the tab