“I tell you I can’t, Toddie,” said I, with considerable asperity.  “Dust spoils watches.”

The innocent gray eyes looked up wonderingly, the dirty, but pretty lips parted slightly, and Toddie murmured:—­

“Want to shee the wheels go wound.”

I abruptly closed my watch and put it into my pocket.  Instantly Toddie’s lower lip commenced to turn outward, and continued to do so until I seriously feared the bony portion of his chin would be exposed to view.  Then his lower jaw dropped, and he cried:—­

“Ah—­h—­h—­h—­h—­h—­want—­to—­shee—­the wheels—­go wou—­OUND.”

“Charles” (Charles is his baptismal name),—­“Charles,” I exclaimed with some anger, “stop that noise this instant!  Do you hear me?”

“Yes—­oo—­oo—­oo—­ahoo—­ahoo.”

“Then stop it.”

“Wants to shee—­”

“Toddie, I’ve got some candy in my trunk, but I won’t give you a bit if you don’t stop that infernal noise.”

“Well, I wants to shee wheels go wound.  Ah—­ah—­h—­h—­h—­h!”

“Toddie, dear, don’t cry so.  Here’s some ladies coming in a carriage; you wouldn’t let them see you crying, would you?  You shall see the wheels go round as soon as we get home.”

A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approaching, as Toddie again raised his voice.

“Ah—­h—­h—­wants to shee wheels—­”

Madly I snatched my watch from my pocket, opened the case, and exposed the works to view.  The other carriage was meeting ours, and I dropped my head to avoid meeting the glance of the unknown occupants, for my few moments of contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel inexpressibly unneat.  Suddenly the carriage with the ladies stopped.  I heard my own name spoken, and raising my head quickly (encountering Budge’s bullet head en Route to the serious disarrangement of my hat), I looked into the other carriage.  There, erect, fresh, neat, composed, bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling and observant,—­she would have been all this, even if the angel of the resurrection had just sounded his dreadful trump,—­sat Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who, for about a year, I had been adoring from afar.

“When did you arrive, Mr. Burton?” she asked, “and how long have you been officiating as child’s companion?  You’re certainly a happy-looking trio—­so unconventional.  I hate to see children all dressed up and stiff as little manikins, when they go out to ride.  And you look as if you had been having such a good time with them.”

“I—­I assure you, Miss Mayton,” said I, “that my experience has been the exact reverse of a pleasant one.  If King Herod were yet alive I’d volunteer as an executioner, and engage to deliver two interesting corpses at a moment’s notice.”

“You dreadful wretch!” exclaimed the lady.  “Mother, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Burton,—­Helen Lawrence’s brother.  How is your sister, Mr. Burton?”