"Now want to shee wheels go wound," said Toddie.
I hurried out of the room and slammed the door. I looked at my watch—it was half-past eight; I had spent an hour and a half with those dreadful children. They were funny, to be sure—I found myself laughing, in spite of my indignation. Still, if they were to monopolize my time as they had already done, when was I to do my reading? Taking Fiske's "Cosmic Philosophy" from my trunk, I descended to the back parlor, lit a cigar and a student-lamp, and began to read. I had not fairly commenced when I heard a patter of small feet, and saw my elder nephew before me. There was sorrowful protestation in every line of his countenance, as he exclaimed:—
"You didn't say 'Good-by,' nor 'God bless you,' nor anything."
"Oh—good-by."
"Good-by."
"God bless you."
"God bless you."
Budge seemed waiting for something else. At last he said:—
"Papa says, 'God bless everybody.'"
"Well, God bless everybody."