noble face, and Toddie was a happy little know-nothing of three summers,
with tangled yellow hair.

Three days later I hired a hackman to drive me from Hillcrest Station.
Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence the horses shied
violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, remarked, "That
was one of the Imps!"

As he spoke the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in
a very dirty sailor-suit I recognised my nephew Budge. Then a smaller
boy emerged from the bushes at the side of the road, and I beheld the
unmistakable lineaments of Toddie.

"They're my nephews!" I gasped.

"Budge," I said, with all the sternness I could command; "do you know
me?"

"Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?"

"I wish I could have brought you some big whippings for behaving so
badly. Get into this carriage."

As they clambered up, I noticed that each one carried a very dirty
towel, knotted tightly in the centre. After some moments' disgusted
contemplation of these rags, I asked Budge what these towels were for.

"They're not towels, they're dollies," promptly answered my nephew.

"Goodness!" I exclaimed. "I should think your mother might buy you