“Aw wight,” said Toddie, hurrying into the parlor, and returning with the cards of a lady and gentleman, taken haphazard from his aunt’s card-receiver.
“Now, we must write ‘Happy Birthday’ on the backs of ’em,” said Budge, exploring his pockets, and extracting a stump of a lead pencil. “Now,” continued Budge, leaning over the card, and displaying all the facial contortions of the unpractised writer, as he laboriously printed, in large letters, speaking, as he worked, a letter at a time:
“H—A—P—P—E B—U—R—F—D—A—Happy Birthday. Now, you must hold the pencil for yours, or else it won’t be so sweet; that’s what mamma says.”
Toddie took the pencil in his pudgy hand, Budge guided it, and two juvenile heads touched each other and swayed and twisted and bobbed in unison until the work was completed.
“Now, I think she ought to come,” said Budge. (Breakfast-time was still more than an hour distant.) “Why, the rising-bell hasn’t rung yet! Let’s ring it!”
The boys fought for possession of the bell, but superior might conquered and Budge marched up and down the hall, ringing with the enthusiasm and duration peculiar to the amateur.
“Bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, hastening to complete her toilet. “How time does fly—sometimes!”
Mr. Burton saw something in his wife’ face that called for lover-like treatment, but it was not without a sense of injury that he exclaimed, immediately after, as he drew forth his watch:
“I declare! I would make an affidavit that we hadn’t been awake half an hour. Ah! I forgot to wind my watch last night.”
The boys hurried into the parlor.