“Only the angels didn’t take the gravestone, too,” said Budge. “Say, Aunt Alice, what’s the use of gravestones after folks is gone to heaven?”
“I know,” said Toddie. “I fought everybody knowed dat; it’s so’s folks know where to plant lovely flowers for deir angel what was in the grave to look down at.”
“Now,” said Budge, with the air of a champion of a newly discovered doctrine, “I’m just goin’ to ask papa who the folks are that don’t believe deaders go to heaven. I’ll jist tell ’em what geese they are.”
“Angels is dzust like birdies, isn’t they, Aunt Alice?” Toddie asked. “’Cause dey’ got winghs an’ clawshes, too.”
“How do you know they have claws?” asked Mr. Burton.
“’Cause I saw deir scratch-holes in the dyte at the grave,” said Toddie. “Dey was dzust little bits of scratchy cracks like little bydies make. I guesh dey was little baby-angels.”
Mr. Burton winked at his wife, who was looking greatly mystified, and he uttered the single monosyllable:
“Cats.”
“How did you get out of the house, children?” Mr. Burton asked.
“Jumped out of one of the kitchen windows,” said Budge. “But it was so high from the ground that we couldn’t get in again that way. And I think it’s breakfast-time; we’ve been up ’bout two hours.”