urried off to the library, unfit just then to administer farther
instruction or reproof. Of one thing I was very certain--I wished the
rain would cease falling, so the children could go out of doors, and I
could get a little rest, and freedom from responsibility. But the skies
showed no signs of being emptied, the boys were snarling on the
stairway, and I was losing my temper quite rapidly.

Suddenly I bethought me of one of the delights of my own childish
days--the making of scrap-books. One of Tom's library drawers held a
great many Lady's Journals. Of course Helen meant to have them bound,
but I could easily repurchase the numbers for her; they would cost two
or three dollars; but peace was cheap at that price. On a high shelf in
the playroom I had seen some supplementary volumes of "Mercantile
Agency" reports which would in time reach the rag-bag; there was a
bottle of mucilage in the library-desk, and the children owned an old
pair of scissors. Within five minutes I had located two happy children
on the bath-room floor, taught them to cut out pictures (which
operation I quickly found they understood as well as I did) and to
paste them into the extemporized scrap-book. Then I left them,
recalling something from Newman Hall's address on "The Dignity of
Labor." Why hadn't I thought before of showing my nephews some way of
occupying their mind and hands? Who could blame the helpless little
things for following every prompting of their unguided minds? Had I not
a hundred times been told, when sent to the wood-pile or the weediest
part of the garden in my youthful days, that

"Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do?"

"Never again would I blame children for being mischievous when their
minds were neglected.

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