The screwdriver was brought, and with it I removed the lock, got
into the carriage, and told the driver to take me to Paterson by
the hill-road--one of the most beautiful roads in America.

"Paterson!" exclaimed Budge. "Oh, there's a candy-store in that
town, come on, Toddie."

"Will you?" thought I, snatching the whip and giving the horses a
cut. "Not if _I_ can help it. The idea of having such a drive
spoiled by the clatter of SUCH a couple!"

Away went the horses, and up rose a piercing shriek and a terrible
roar. It seemed that both children must have been mortally hurt,
and I looked out hastily, only to see Budge and Toddie running
after the carriage, and crying pitifully. It was too pitiful,--I
could not have proceeded without them, even if they had been
afflicted with small-pox. The driver stopped of his own accord,--
he seemed to know the children's ways and their results,--and I
helped Budge and Toddie in, meekly hoping that the eye of
Providence was upon me, and that so self-sacrificing an act would
be duly passed to my credit. As we reached the hill-road, my
kindness to my nephews seemed to assume, greater proportions, for
the view before me was inexpressibly beautiful. The air was
perfectly clear, and across two score towns I saw the great
metropolis itself, the silent city of Greenwood beyond it, the
bay, the narrows, the sound, the two silvery rivers lying between
me and the Palisades, and even, across and to the south of
Brooklyn, the ocean itself. Wonderful effects of light and shadow,
picturesque masses, composed of detached buildings so far distant