somewhere, and came back very disconsolate.

"Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined.

"Never mind, old pet," said I, soothingly. "Uncle will ride you on
his foot."

"But I WANT my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteously rolling out his
lower lip.

I remembered my experience when Toddie wanted to "shee wheels go
wound," and I trembled.

"Toddie," said I, in a tone so persuasive that it would be worth
thousands a year to me, as a salesman, if I could only command it
at will; "Toddie, don't you want to ride on uncle's back?"

"No: want my dolly's k'adle."

"Don't you want me to tell you a story?"

For a moment Toddie's face indicated a terrible internal conflict
between old Adam and mother Eve, but curiosity finally overpowered
natural depravity, and Toddie murmured:--

"Yesh."

"What shall I tell you about?"

"'Bout Nawndeark."