Toddie--this instant!"

The sound of my voice startled the young man so severely that he lost
his footing, fell, and began to roll toward the edge and to scream,
both operations being performed with great rapidity. I ran to catch him
as he fell, but the outer edge of the water-trough was high enough to
arrest his progress, though it had no effect in reducing the volume of
his howls.

"Toddie," I shouted, "lie perfectly still until uncle can get to you.
Do you hear?"

"Ess, but don't want to lie 'till," came in reply from the roof.
"'Tan't shee noffin' but sky an' rain."

"Lie still," I reiterated, "or I'll whip you dreadfully." Then I dashed
up-stairs, removed my shoes, climbed out and rescued Toddie, shook him
soundly, and then shook myself.

"I wazh only djust pyayin' mamma, an' walkin' in ze yain wif an
umbayalla," Toddie explained.

I threw him upon his bed and departed. It was plain that neither logic,
threats, nor the presence of danger could keep this dreadful child from
doing whatever he chose; what other means of restraint could be
employed? Although not as religious a man as my good mother could wish,
I really wondered whether prayer, as a last resort, might not be
effective. For his good, and my own peace, I would cheerfully have read
through the whole prayer-book. I could hardly have done it just then,
though, for Mike solicited an audience at the back door, and reported
that Budge had given the carriage-sponge to the goat, put handfuls of
oats into the pump-cylinder, pulled hairs out of the black mare's tail,
and with a sharp nail drawn pictures on the enamel of the
carriage-body. Budge made no denial, but looked very much aggrieved,
and remarked that he couldn't never be happy without somebody having to
go get bothered; and he wished there wasn't nobody in the world but
organ-grinders and candy-store men. He followed me into the house,
flung himself into a chair, put on a look which I imagine Byron wore
before he was old enough to be malicious, and exclaimed:--

"I don't see what little boys was made for anyhow; if ev'rybody gets
cross with them, an' don't let 'em do what they want to. I'll bet when
I get to heaven, the Lord won't be as ugly to me as Mike is,--an' some
other folks, too. I wish I could die and be buried right away,--me an'
the goat--an' go to heaven, where we wouldn't be scolded."

Poor little fellow! First I laughed inwardly at his idea of heaven, and
then I wondered whether my o