"All right," said Budge; "but I like to look like mans when I drive."
The horses went at a gentle trot, and the goat followed very closely. When within a minute of the depot the train swept in. I gave the horses the whip, looked, and saw the boys close behind me. Nothing but the sharpest of turns saved me from a severe accident. As it was, I heard two hard thumps upon the wooden wall, and two frightful howls, and saw both my nephews mixed up on the platform, while the driver of the stage growled in my ear, "What in thunder did you let 'em hitch that goat to your axletree for?"
How the goat's head and shoulders maintained their normal connection during the last minute of my drive, I leave naturalists to explain. Fortunately, the children had struck on their heads, and the Lawrence-Burton skull is a marvel of solidity. I set them on their feet, promised them all the candy they could eat for a week, and hurried them to the other side of the depot. Budge rushed at Tom, exclaiming, "See my goat, papa?"
Helen was somewhat concerned about the children, but found time to look at me with so much of sympathy, humour, affection, and condescension that I really felt relieved when we reached the house. And how gloriously the rest of the day passed off! We had a delightful little lunch, and Tom brought up a bottle of Roederer, and we drank to "her and her mother." Then Helen proposed, "The makers of the match--Budge and Toddie," which was honoured with bumpers. The gentlemen toasted did not respond, but stared so curiously I sprang from my chair and kissed them soundly, while Helen and Tom exchanged significant glances.
Young as they are, I find frequent reason to be jealous of them, but artifice alone can prevent them monopolising the time of an adorable being of whose society I cannot possibly have too much. She insists that, when the ceremony takes place in December, they shall officiate as groomsmen, and I have no doubt she will carry her point In fact, when I retire for the night without first seeking their room, and putting a grateful kiss on their unconscious lips, my conscience upbraids me with base ingratitude. To think I might yet be a hopeless bachelor had it not been for them, is to overflow with gratitude to the Giver of Helen's Babies.
LUDOVIC HALEVY
The Abbé Constantin
Ludovic Halevy, born in Paris on January 1, 1834, was a nephew of Jacques François Halevy, the famous operatic composer. Beginning life in the Civil Service, he himself achieved considerable distinction as a dramatic author, "Frou-Frou," written in collaboration with Meilhac, being one of the greatest theatrical successes of his century. He soon, however, forsook the drama for fiction. His first novel, "Monsieur and Madame Cardinal," published in 1873, gave ample promise of the inventive genius and gift of characterisation that were fully realised nine years later in "L'Abbé Constantin." The tale, an exquisite study of French provincial life, came as a distinct revelation of French life and character to English readers. It has reached 240 editions, and has been translated into all European languages. In 1886 Halevy was elected to the French Academy. He died on May 8, 1908.