Budge had with great difficulty repeated the line of the glorious old anthem, then he broke down and burst out crying.
“What’s you cryin’ about?” asked Toddie. “Is you playin’ you’s an Izzyrelite?”
“No,” said Budge; “but whenever I think about that song, somethin’ comes up in my throat and makes me cry.”
The door of the room flew open, there was a rustle and a hurried tread, and Mrs. Burton, her face full of tears, snatched Budge to her breast, and kissed him repeatedly, while Toddie remarked:
“When fings come up in my froat I just fwallows ’em.”
Mrs. Burton conducted her nephews to the parlor floor, and said:
“Now, little boys, it’s nearly lunch time, and I am going to have you nicely washed and dressed, so that if any one comes in you will look like little gentlemen.”
“Ain’t we to be punished any more for bein’ bad?” asked Budge.
“No,” said Mrs. Burton, kindly; “I’m going to trust you to remember and be good.”
“That isn’t what bothers me,” said Budge; “I told a great, long Bible story to Tod up-stairs, so’s to be like big folks when they get bad, as much as I could. But Tod didn’t tell any; I don’t think he’s got his punish.”