"No, old fellow—they can go about without carriages."
"When I goesh to hebben," said Toddie, rising in bed, "Izhe goin' to have lots of goat cawidjes an' Izhe goin' to tate all ze andjels a-widen."
With many other bits of prophesy and celestial description I was regaled as I completed my toilet, and I hurried out of doors for an opportunity to think without disturbance. Strolling past the hen-yard, I saw a meditative turtle, and, picking him up and shouting to my nephews, I held the reptile up for their inspection. Their window blinds flew open and a unanimous though not exactly harmonious "Oh!" greeted my prize."
"Where did you get it, Uncle Harry?" asked Budge.
"Down by the hen-coop."
Budge's eyes opened wide; he seemed to devote a moment to profound thought, and then he exclaimed:—
"Why, I don't see how the hens could lay such a big thing—just put him in your hat till I come down, will you?"
I dropped the turtle into Budge's wheelbarrow, and made a tour of the flower-borders. The flowers, always full of suggestion to me, seemed suddenly to have new charms and powers; they actually impelled me to try to make rhymes,—me, a steady white-goods salesman! The impulse was too strong to be resisted, though I must admit that the results were pitifully meager:—
"As radiant as that matchless rose
Which poet-artists fancy;