“Who?” asked Budge.

“Organ-grinder?” queried Toddie.

“No; your papa and mamma.”

Budge looked like an angel at once, but Toddie murmured mournfully, “I fought it wash an organ-grinder.”

“Oh, Uncle Harry,” said Budge, in a perfect delirium of delight, “I believe if my papa and mamma had stayed away any longer I believe I would die.  I’ve been so lonesome for them that I haven’t known what to do.  I’ve cried whole pillowsful about it, right here in the dark.”

“Why, my poor old fellow,” said I, picking him up and kissing him.  “Why didn’t you come and tell Uncle Harry, and let him try to comfort you?”

“I couldn’t,” said Budge.  “When I gets lonesome, it feels as if my mouth was all tied up, and a big, great stone was right in here.”  And Budge put his hand on his chest.

“If a big tone wash inshide of me,” said Toddie, “I’d take it out and frow it at the shickens.”

“Toddie,” I said, “aren’t you glad papa and mamma are coming?”

“Yesh,” said Toddie.  “Mamma always bwings me candy fen she goes anyfere.”

During the hour which passed before it was time to start for the depot, my sole attention was devoted to keeping the children from soiling their clothes, but my success was so little, I lost my temper utterly.

“Harness the horse, Mike,” I shouted.

“An’ the goat, too,” added Budge.

Five minutes later I was seated in the carriage.

“Are you all ready, boys?” I asked.

“In a minute,” said Budge; “soon as I fix this.  Now,” he continued, getting into his seat and seizing the reins and whip, “go ahead!”

“Wait a minute, Budge.  Put down that whip, and don’t touch the goat with it once.  I’m going to drive very slowly; all you need do is to hold the reins.”

“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?”