Mrs. Burton looked meek and made no reply.
“Budders,” said Mr. Burton, addressing his nephews, “do you feel reconstructed?”
“Huh?” asked Budge.
“Do you feel mentally and morally reconstructed?” repeated the uncle.
“Reconwhichted?” asked Budge.
“That’s an awful big wyde,” remarked Toddie, through a mouthful of oatmeal porridge. “It’s like what the minister says in chych sometimes, an’ makes me want to play around in the seat.”
“Reconstructed; made over again,” explained Mr. Burton.
“Why, no,” said Budge, after looking at his hands and feeling for his stomach, as if to see if any radical physical change had taken place without his knowledge. “Maybe we’re a little bigger, but we can’t see ourselves where we grow.”
“Don’t you feel as if you wanted to see that baby sister again?” asked Mrs. Burton, endeavoring to change the subject. “Don’t you want to go back to her and stay all the time?”
“I don’t,” said Toddie, “’cauzh dere ain’t no dog at our house, an’ tryin’ to catch dogs is fun, ’cept when dey never want to be catched at all, like Terry is lotsh of de time.”