“Yesh,” added Toddie, “an’ little bydie ishn’t like us. ’Twon’t have to wunner how it’ll feel to hazh wings when it gets to be a angel, ’cause ’twas all used to wings ’fore it died.”
“Birds don’t go——” began Mrs. Burton, intending to correct the children’s views as to the future state of the animal kingdom, when there flashed through her mind some of the wonderings of her own girlish days, and the inability of her riper experience to answer them, so she again postponed, and with a renewed sense of its vastness, the duty of reforming the opinions of her nephews on things celestial. At about the same time her cook sought an interview, and complained of the absence of two of the silver tablespoons. Mrs. Burton went into the mingled despondency, suspicion and anger which is the frequent condition of all American women who are unfortunate enough to have servants.
“YES, AN’ WE PUT A LITTLE STONE AT THE HEAD OF THE GRAVE”
“Where is the chambermaid?” she asked.
“An’ ye’s needn’t be a-suspectin’ av her,” said the cook. “It’s them av yer own family that I’m thinkin’ hez tuk ’em.” And the cook glared suggestively upon the boys. Mrs. Burton accepted the hint.
“Boys, have either of you taken any of auntie’s spoons for anything?”
“No,” answered Toddie, promptly; and Budge looked very saintly and shy, as if he knew something that, through delicacy of feeling and not fear, he shrank from telling.
“What is it, Budge?” asked Mrs. Burton.
“Why, you see,” said Budge, in the sweetest of tones, “we wanted somethin’ yesterday to dig the grave of the birdie with, an’ we couldn’t think of anything else so nice as spoons. There was plenty of ugly old iron ones lyin’ around, but birdies are so sweet an’ nice that I wouldn’t have none of ’em. An’ the dinner-dishes was all lyin’ there with the big silver spoons on top of ’em, so I just got two of ’em—they wasn’t washed yet, but we washed ’em real clean so’s to be real nice about everythin’, so that if the little birdie’ spirit was lookin’ at us it wouldn’t be disgusted.”