“The beginning of the end!” was the remark with which Mr. Burton broke a short silence at his breakfast-table, on the last day of the time for which his little visitors had been invited.

Mrs. Burton looked meek and made no reply.

“Budders,” said Mr. Burton, addressing his nephews, “do you feel reconstructed?”

“Huh?” asked Budge.

“Do you feel mentally and morally reconstructed?” repeated the uncle.

“Reconwhichted?” asked Budge.

“That’s an awful big wyde,” remarked Toddie, through a mouthful of oatmeal porridge. “It’s like what the minister says in chych sometimes, an’ makes me want to play around in the seat.”

“Reconstructed; made over again,” explained Mr. Burton.

“Why, no,” said Budge, after looking at his hands and feeling for his stomach, as if to see if any radical physical change had taken place without his knowledge. “Maybe we’re a little bigger, but we can’t see ourselves where we grow.”

“Don’t you feel as if you wanted to see that baby sister again?” asked Mrs. Burton, endeavoring to change the subject. “Don’t you want to go back to her and stay all the time?”

“I don’t,” said Toddie, “’cauzh dere ain’t no dog at our house, an’ tryin’ to catch dogs is fun, ’cept when dey never want to be catched at all, like Terry is lotsh of de time.”

“I mean, haven’t you learned, since you’ve been here, to be a great deal better than you ever were before?” asked Mr. Burton.

“I guesh so,” Toddie replied. “I’zhe said more prayersh an’ sung more little hymns dan I ever did in all my life before. An’ I ain’t pulled off any more hind hoppers from gwasshoppers sinsh Aunt Alice told me it wazh bad. I only pulls off front hoppers now. Dey’zh real little, you know—dere’ only a little bittie of ’em to feel hurted.”

“How is it with you, Budge?” asked Mr. Burton. “Do you feel as if you had learned to act from different motives.”

“What’s a motive?” asked Budge; “anythin’ like a loco-motive? I never feel like them, ’xcept when I run pretty hard; then I puff like everythin’, only steam don’t come out of me, but I always think there’s an engine inside of me, goin’ punk! punk! like everything. Papa says it’s only a heart—a little bit of a boy’s heart, but if that’s all, I should think a big man’ heart could pull a whole train of cars.”

“You haven’t learned to bear in mind the subject of conversation. But have you become able to comprehend the inner significance of things?”

“Things inside of us, do you mean?”

“Like oatmeal powwidge?” Toddie suggested.

“Have you realized that a master mind has been exerting a reformatory influence upon you?”

“Izh master mind an’ ’must mind’s de same fing?” asked Toddie. “We wasn’t doin’ noffin’ ’cept eatin’ our brekspups. Don’t see what we’s got to mind about.”

“Have you always unhesitatingly obeyed your aunt’s commands, moved thereunto by a sense of her superiority by divine right?”

“Now, Harry!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, who during this conversation had been making mute appeals which her husband could not have resisted had he seen them, and knowing of the existence of which he had carefully kept his eyes averted from her face.

“If you don’t stop tormenting those poor children with stupid sections of dictionary you yourself shall realize my superiority by divine right, for I’ll take them up-stairs and away from you.”

“Only one more question, my dear,” said Mr. Burton, “and I’ll have done. I want only to ask the boys if they’ve noticed any conflicts of heredity, and, if so, which side has triumphed?”

“I guess you are tryin’ to play preacher, like Tod said,” remarked Budge.

“Oh!” said Mr. Burton, blushing a little under a merry laugh from his wife. “Well, how does it affect you?”

“It makes me feel like I do in church when I wish Sunday-school time would hurry up,” said Budge.

“Me too,” assented Toddie.

“You can run away and play now,” said Mrs. Burton, seeing that the children’s plates were empty.

The boys departed, the dog Terry apparently leading the way, yet being invisible when the children reached the open air.

“You needn’t have humiliated me before the children,” said Mrs. Burton.

Mr. Burton hastened to make the “amende honorable” peculiar to the conjugal relation and said:

“Don’t fear, my dear. They didn’t understand.”

“Oh, didn’t they?” exclaimed Mrs. Burton. “I wish all my adult friends had as quick perceptions as those boys. They may not understand big words, but tones and looks are enough for them.”

“Why?” said Mr. Burton, “they scarcely looked up from their plates.”

“Never mind,” replied the lady, delighted at an opportunity to reassert her superiority in at least one particular. “Children—boys, are more like women than like men. Their unblunted sensibilities are quick; their intuition is simply angelic. Would that their other qualities were also so perfect.”

“I’m very sorry, my dear,” said Mr. Burton, temporarily subjugated, “that I said a word to them, and when you are ready to kneel upon the stool of repentance I’ll depart and leave you alone.”

“You’ll have no occasion to go,” said Mrs. Burton. “I’ve confessed already—to them, and a single confession is enough. I rather like the operation, when, for my reward, I receive sympathy instead of sarcasm.”

“Again, I ask forgiveness,” said Mr. Burton; “and having made a fellow-penitent of myself, can’t I have good in return for my evil, and know what a fellow-sufferer has learned from experience?”

“Just this,” said Mrs. Burton; “that nobody is fit to take the care of children excepting the children’s own parents.”

Mr. Burton dropped his fork and exclaimed:

“My dear, that’s better than an experience. It’s a revelation.”

Mrs. Burton regained her pleasantness of countenance and said:

“I think that only one of kindred blood can comprehend an adult——”

“Unless modest enough to go out of self for a little while,” suggested Mr. Burton.

Mrs. Burton opened her eyes very wide and dropped her lip a little, but recovered herself to finish her sentence by “And I think it is ever so much harder to comprehend children, with their imperfect natures that never develop harmoniously, and that can but seldom express themselves intelligently.”

“I never noticed that the boys were at a loss to express themselves, when they wanted anything,” said Mr. Burton.

“That sounds just like a man,” said Mrs. Burton, fully herself again. “As if children had no desires and yearnings excepting for material things! What do you suppose it means when Budge sits down in a corner, goes into a brown study, and, when asked what the matter is, drawls ‘Nothin’!’s in a tone that indicates that a very considerable something is puzzling his young head? What does it mean when Toddie asks his half-funny, half-pathetic questions about matters too great for his comprehension, and looks as wistful as ever after he is answered? Do you suppose they care for nothing but food and play?”

Mr. Burton felt humbled, and his looks evinced the nature of his feeling.

“You are right, little woman. I wish I might have consulted you before I took the boys in hand last summer.”

“And I’m very glad you didn’t,” said Mrs. Burton; “for you did a great deal better with them than you could have done if I had been your adviser. There is some of the same blood in both of you, and you succeeded in many points where I have blundered. Oh, if I had but known it all before they came! How much I might have spared them—and myself!”

Mr. Burton hastened to extend to his wife some mute sympathy.

“They’re going to-day,” said Mrs. Burton, finding something in her eyes that required the attention of her kerchief—“just as I’ve learned what I should be to them! They’re angels, in spite of their pranks, and it’s always so with angels’s visits; one never discovers what they are until they spread their wings to depart.”

“This particular pair of angels can be borrowed for an extra day, I suppose, if you desire it!” suggested Mr. Burton.

“I declare,” said Mrs. Burton, “that’s a brilliant idea! I’ll go tell Helen that I don’t think she’s yet fit to have them back again.”

“And I,” said Mr. Burton, preparing to go to the city, “will try to persuade Tom into the same belief, though I know he’ll look like a man being led to execution.”

The Burtons left the house together a few minutes later, and the boys returned soon after. Being unable to find their aunt, they descended to the kitchen, and made a formal demand upon the cook for saucers, spoons, sugar and cream.

“An’ fhot are yees up to now?” asked Bridget.

“You’ll see, after you give us the things,” said Budge.

“Deysh the reddesht, biggesht ones I ever saw anywheresh,” Toddie exclaimed.

“I don’t want ye to be takin’ the things way off to nobody but the dhivil knows where,” said Bridget. “Fhot if yees should lose one of the shpoons an’ the misthress ’ud think I sthole it?”

“Oh, we won’t go anywheres but ’cept under the trees in the back yard,” pleaded Budge. “An’ there’s all the nice berries spoilin’ now while you’re botherin’ about it. My papa says berries ought always to be eaten just when they’re picked.”

“Av it’s only berries, I s’pose yees can have the things,” muttered Bridget, bringing from a closet a small tray, and covering it with the desired articles.

“Give us another saucer, an’ we’ll bring you some,” said Budge, “’cause you’re nice to us. We’ll need more sugar, though, if we’re goin’ to do that.”

In the presence of flattery Bridget showed herself only a woman. She replaced the teacup of sugar with a well-filled bowl; she even put a few lumps on top of the powdered article which filled the bowl, and as the boys departed she remarked to the chambermaid that “that bye Budge is a rale gintleman. I’ve heard as how his father’s folks came from the ould counthry, an’ mark me words, Jane, they’re from the nobility.”

A few minutes later Mrs. Burton emerged from the sick-room of her sister-in-law. She had meant to stay but a moment, but Mrs. Lawrence’s miniature had, as a special favor, been placed in Mrs. Burton’s arms, and it was so wee and helpless, and made such funny little noises, and blinked so inquiringly, and stretched forth such a diminutive rose petal of a hand, that time had flown in apprehension, and sent the nurse to recapture the baby and banish the visitor. And Mrs. Burton was sauntering leisurely homeward, looking at nothing in particular, touching tenderly with the tip of her parasol the daisies and buttercups that looked up to her from the roadside, stopping even to look inquiringly upon a solitary ewe, who seemed solicitous for the welfare of a lamb which playfully evaded her. Suddenly Mrs. Burton heard a howl, a roar, and a scream inextricably mixed. She immediately dropped all thought of smaller beings, for she recognized the tones of her nephews. A moment later, the noise increasing in volume all the while, both boys emerged from behind a point of woods, running rapidly, and alternately howling and clapping their hands to their mouths. Mrs. Burton ran to meet them, and exclaimed:

“Boys, do stop that dreadful noise. What is the matter?”

“Ow—um—oh!” screamed Budge.

“Wezh been—ow!—eatin’ some—some—ow!—some pieces of de bad playsh,” said Toddie, “wif, oh, oh!—cream an’ sugar on ’em. But dey wazh dzust as hot as if noffin’ was on ’em.”

“Come back and let aunty see about it,” said the mystified woman, but Budge howled and twitched away, while Toddie said:

“Wantzh papa an’ manma! Deyzh had all little boy bovvers an’ knowsh what to do. Wantsh to get in our ice-housh an’ never go—ow!—out of it.”

The screaming of the children had been heard farther than Mrs. Burton imagined it could be, for a sound of heavy and rapid footsteps increased behind her and, turning, she beheld the faithful Mike, Mr. Lawrence’ gardener-coachman.

“Fhot is it, dharlin’?” asked Mike, looking sharply at each boy, and picking a red speck from the front of Toddie’s dress. “Murther alive! red peppers!”

Mike dashed across the street, vaulted a fence, and into an inclosed bit of woodland, ran frantically about among the trees, stopped in front of one and attacked it with his knife, to the astonishment of Mrs. Burton, who imagined the man had lost his senses. A few seconds later he returned with a strip of bark, which he cut into small pieces as he ran.

“Here, ye dharlin’ little divils,” said he, cramming a piece of the bark into each boy’ mouth, “chew that. It’s slippery elm; it’ll sthop the burnin’. Don’t the byes play that trick on the other byes at school often an’ often, an’ hasn’t me sister’s childher been nearly murthered by it? An’ fhot ought your father do to yees for throyin’ to shwally such thrash? Oh, but wouldn’t I loike to foind the dhivils that put yees up to it! Who was they? Tell me, so I can sind them afther their father, where it’s hotter than pepper.”

“How did you come to eat red peppers?” asked Mrs. Burton, as the children escaped slowly from their pain.

“Why, a boy once told us they was strawberries,” cried Budge, “an’ to-day we saw a lot where men was spoilin’ a garden to build a house, an’ we asked ’em if we could have ’em, an’ they said yes, an’ we brought ’em all back in a piece of paper, an’ didn’t bite one of ’em, ’cause we wanted to eat ’em all in a littel tea-party like gentlemen, and the first one I chewed—ow! That poor rich man in the fire—I know just how he felt when he begged Abraham to have his tongue cooled with a drop of water.”

“Poor old rich man didn’t have all de fire in hizh mouf, ’pectin’ dat ’twazh goin’ to be strawbewwies,” sobbed Toddie.

“There wasn’t no dear old Mike to go an’ get him slippery elm, either,” said Budge. “Soon’s we come back home to stay, Mike, I’m goin’ to put dirt in the stable-pump, just to be real good about stoppin’ when you tell me to.”

“An’ I,” said Toddie, “’zh goin’ to make you a present all alone by myseff. I don’t know yet what it’ll be. I guess it’ll have to be a ’prise. What would you like best?—a gold watch or a piece of peanut candy?”

Between two presents of such nearly equal value Michael, the benefactor, found some difficulty in deciding, and he walked away with that application of fingers to head which is peculiar to many persons when in a quandary. Meanwhile Mrs. Burton led the children toward her own house, saying:

“What can we do to-day that can be extremely nice, little boys? Mamma expects you home to-morrow, and Aunt Alice wants to make your last day a very happy one.”

“To-morrow!” exclaimed Budge, apparently oblivious to all else his aunt had said. “I thought we were going home to-day!”

“So you were, dear,” said Mrs. Burton; “but you didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and I couldn’t bear to let you go so soon. Did you really want to go to-day?”

“Why, I’ve been thinkin’ about it an’ countin’ days till to-day ever since we’ve come,” said Budge. “Sometimes it seemed as if I’d burst if I couldn’t be back home again, but I tried to be real good about it, ’cause papa said ’twould be better for the sister-baby and mamma if we stayed away. Sometimes in the night-time, I’ve cried because I wasn’t in my own little bed.”

“You poor dear boy,” said Mrs. Burton, stopping to kiss Budge, “why didn’t you tell Aunt Alice when you were so unhappy?”

“You couldn’t do me any good,” said Budge. “Nobody could but my papa or mamma. An’ then I don’t like to tell what’ hurtin’ my heart—somethin’ in my throat makes me hate to tell such things.”

“Haven’t you had a pleasant time at our house? When you’ve not been doing whatever you liked, haven’t Uncle Harry and I been trying to make you happy?”

“Oh, yes. But some folks know just what we like, and some other folks know what they want us to like; and the first some folks are my papa and mamma, an’ the other some folks are you an’ Uncle Harry. You’ve done some real nice things for us, though, an’ I’m goin’ to ask mamma to let us invite you to our house, an’ then I’ll show you how to take care of little boys an’ make ’em happy!”

“You come to vizhit at our housh,” said Toddie,” an you can have cake between mealsh, an’ make mud-pies whenever you want to, no matter if youzh got your very besht clozhezh on. An’ I won’t ever say ‘Don’t!’s to you one single time!”

“An’ you shall have your own mamma come every day to frolic an’ cut up with you,” said Budge. “I wish you had a papa; we’d have him too!”

“Aunt Alice,” said Budge, “how do big folks get along without papas and mammas?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure, dear,” said Mrs. Burton, remembering how helpless she found herself when her husband first took her from beneath her mother’s wing.

“Don’t they ever have somethin’ to tell ’em, an’ then feel like somebody else when they find they ain’t there to tell ’em to?”

“I suppose some do,” said Mrs. Burton, recalling some periods of her own life when she longed for a confidant who should be neither lover nor friend.

“Don’t you think maybe they look all around then, an’ think the nicer things are the lonelier they are?” continued Budge.

“Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Burton, with a kiss.

“Musht be awful not to have anybody to ask for pennies when youzh lonesome an’ don’t know what else to do,” said Toddie.

“An’ not to have anybody hold you to keep from kind o’s tumblin’ to pieces when you’ve seen enough of everythin’, an’ done enough of everythin’, an’ don’t know what’ goin’ to happen next, an’ wish it wouldn’t happen at all,” said Budge. “Say, Aunt Alice, folks don’t ever have to feel that way when they get to be angels, do they?”

“No, indeed!”

“Well, do you think it makes folks in heaven happy to have a father—the Lord, you know, when there ain’t anythin’ to ask Him for? If they’re happy the whole time, I don’t see when they can think about how nice it is to have a heavenly papa. Do little angels ever have to go away from home an’ stay a few days, an’ not see their father at all?”

“Mercy—no!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, with a shudder. “Where do you get such ideas, Budge?”

“Nowhere. I don’t get ’em at all—they get me, an’ don’t let go of me until I think myself most to pieces, or else get somethin’ new to do that makes me forget ’em.”

Mrs. Burton mentally resolved to immediately find something new for Budge to do, if only to keep him from leading her mind upon ground which, being unknown to her, she assumed must be dangerous. Her anxiety was not lessened when Toddie strayed into more active conversation.

“Aunt Alish,” said he, “what does little boy angels do wif deir pennies when dey get ’em? Ish dere candy stores up in hebben, and do de folks dat keeps ’em give more for a penny dan dey do here?”

“Pennies are of no use in heaven, Toddie,” said Mrs. Burton, almost frantic to find a way of escape from the pair of literalists, yet remembering her longings of the early morning, to have the boys with her that she might find her way to their hearts and lead them into her own.

“What? Not good for anyfin’?” asked Toddie. “Wouldn’t it be dweadful den if I was to get to be an angel right now?—dere’h sixty-four pennies in my savings bank.”

“You can’t carry pennies to heaven, you silly boy!” exclaimed Budge. “In a place where the streets are made of gold, you don’t s’pose anybody cares for pennies, do you? I don’t b’lieve you could buy a single stick of candy there for less than a dollar bill!”

“If you little boys are so fond of candy,” said Mrs. Burton, in desperation, “we will make a lot ourselves, after lunch.”

“Oh, oh!” Budge exclaimed. “Can common folks like us make candy?”

“But we are not common folks, Budge.”

“I think we are,” said the boy, “when I think what lovely people candy-makers must be.”

“How much will we make?” asked Toddie. “Two pennies’s worth?”

“Oh, yes. More than two little boys can eat in a day.”

“Gwacious Peter!” Toddie exclaimed, “dat would be more dan a whole candystore full! Come on! Don’t letsh eat any lunch at all, so’s to have our tummuks all empty for de candy.”

“I’ll bet I can walk faster than you can, Aunt Alice,” said Budge, tugging at his aunt with one hand and pushing her with the other.

“I can run faster dan bofe of you,” shouted Toddie. “Come on!”

Mrs. Burton declined both challenges, so the boys went rapidly over the course without her and ran frantically up and down the piazza until their aunt joined them.

“What are you goin’ to make it in, Aunt Alice?” shouted Budge, while Mrs. Burton was yet a hundred yards away.

“A saucepan.”

“A washboiler would be better—two washboilersh!” suggested Toddie.

“Now, do you want to go home to-day, Budge?” asked Mrs. Burton mischievously.

“I—well—I guess you’d better not remind me very much about it,” replied Budge, “else maybe I will. What kind of candy is it goin’ to be?”

“Molasses.”

“De stick kind, or de sticky?” asked Toddie.

“Both,” replied the lady, ascending the steps.

“Oh, goody, goody!” exclaimed Toddie, clutching at his aunt’s dress. “I wants to kish you.”

“An’ I want to give you an awful big hug,” said Budge.

Mrs. Burton accepted these proffered tokens of esteem and afterward spent two miserable hours in trying to pacify the boys until lunch-time. They ate scarcely anything, and remonstrated so persistently against their aunt’s appetite that the meal remained almost untouched. Then the lady was escorted to the kitchen by her nephews and there was an animated discussion as to the size of the saucepan to be used, and the boys watched the pouring of the molasses so closely that not a fly dared to assist. Then they quarreled for the right to stir the odorous mass until Mrs. Burton was obliged to allot them three-minute reliefs by the kitchen clock, and Budge declared that his turns didn’t last more than a second, while Toddie complained that they occupied two hours, and each boy had to assist at the critical operation of “trying,” and they consumed what seemed to them long, weary years in watching the paste cool itself. When, at last, Mrs. Burton pronounced one panfull ready to “pull,” a deep sigh of relief burst from each little chest.

“This is the way to pull candy,” said Mrs. Burton, touching her fingers lightly with butter, and then taking a portion of the paste from a pan and drawing it into a string in the usual manner. “And here,” she said, separating the smaller portions, “is a piece for each of you.”

Budge carefully oiled his fingers as he had seen his aunt do, and proceeded cautiously to draw his candy, but Toddie seized his portion with both hands, raised it to his mouth, and fastened his teeth in it. Mrs. Burton sprang at him in an instant.

“Stop, Toddie—quick! It may fasten your teeth together so you can’t easily open them.”

Many were the inarticulate noises, all in a tone of remonstrance, that Toddie made as his aunt forcibly removed the mass from his face. When at last he could open his mouth he exclaimed:

“Don’t want mine pulled! itsh too awful good the way it izh—you’ll pull de good out, I’zh ’fwaid.”

“You boys should have aprons,” said Mrs. Burton. “Budge, put down your candy, run up-stairs and tell Jane to bring down two of Toddie’s aprons.”

Budge hurried up-stairs, forgetting the first half of his aunt’s injunction. Returning, he had just reached the foot of the main stair, when the door-bell rang. Hastily putting his candy down, he opened the door and admitted two ladies, who asked for Mrs. Burton.

“I guess she’s too busy makin’ candy to be bothered by any lady,” said Budge, “but I’ll ask her. Sit down.”

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Burton, by a concentration of effort peculiar to woman, but which must ever remain a mystery to man, entered the parlor in afternoon dress, and greeted her visitors. Both rose to meet her, and with one of them rose also a rocking-chair with a cane seat. This remained in mid-air only an instant, however, for the lady’s dress had not been designed for the purpose of moving furniture; with a sharp, ripping sound, like that of musketry file-firing afar off, her skirt soon took the appearance of a train dress, heavily puffed at the waist with fabric of another color.

Both ladies endeavored to disengage her; Mrs. Burton turned pale and then red as she discovered the cause of the accident, while Budge’s voice was heard from the doorway saying:

“Aunt Alice, have you seen my candy? I laid it down somewhere so’s to let the ladies in, an’ now I can’t find it!”

An indignant gesture by Mrs. Burton sent Budge away pouting and grumbling and the chambermaid was summoned, the visitor’ dress was repaired temporarily and the accident was being laughed away, when from the kitchen there arose an appalling sound. It was compounded of shrieks, yelps, and a peculiar noise as of something being thrown upon the floor.

The noise increased; there were irregular footfalls upon the kitchen-stairs, and at last Toddie appeared, dragging by the collar the dog Terry, from whose fore feet hung, by a slowly lengthening rope of candy, one of the pans of the unpulled paste.

“I fought if I gived him candy he would be nicer to me,” Toddie explained,” so I chased him into a closet, an’ put the pan up to his nose, an’ told him to help hisself. And he stuck his foot in, an’——”

Further explanation was given by deeds, not words, for as Toddie spoke the dog kicked violently with his hind feet, disengaged himself from Toddie and started for the door, dragging and lengthening his sweet bonds behind him upon the floor. Toddie shrieked and attempted to catch him, stepped upon the candy-rope, found himself fastened to the carpet, and burst into tears, while the visitors departed and told stories which by the next afternoon had developed into the statement that Mrs. Burton had been foolish enough to indulge her nephews in a candy-pulling in her parlor and upon her new carpet.

As for the boys, Budge ate some of his candy, and Toddie ate much of everybodies, and had difficulty in saving a fragment for his uncle. And when at night he knelt in spotless white to pray he informed Heaven that now he understood what ladies meant when they said they had had a real sweet time.