window over my head. Then came a shout of--"Uncle Harry!" in a
voice I recognized as that of Budge. I made no reply: there are
moments when the soul is full of utterances unfit to be heard by
childish ears. "Uncle Har-RAY!" repeated Budge. Then I heard a
window-blind open, and Budge exclaiming:--

"Uncle Harry, we want you to come and tell us stories."

I turned my eyes upward quickly, and was about to send a savage
negative in the same direction, when I saw in the window a face
unknown and yet remembered. Could those great, wistful eyes, that
angelic mouth, that spiritual expression, belong to my nephew
Budge? Yes, it must be--certainly that super-celestial nose and
those enormous ears never belonged to any one else. I turned
abruptly, and entered the house, and was received at the head of
the stairway by two little figures in white, the larger of which
remarked:--

"We want you tell us stories--papa always does nights."

"Very well, jump into bed--what kind of stories do you like?"

"Oh, 'bout Jonah," said Budge.

"'Bout Jonah," echoed Toddie.

"Well, Jonah was out in the sun one day and a gourd-vine grew up
all of a sudden, and made it nice and shady for him, and then it
all faded as quick as it came."