In spite of their incessant mischief, their overpowering activity of mind and body--which must have induced the feeling in Mr Burton of being permanently located on a barrel of gunpowder lighted match in hand--it is impossible not to love the honest little souls, whose worst sins often proceed from the very best intentions; and accordingly we do love Budge dearly, when, on the following day, he surpasses all his previous achievements and covers himself with glory. Uncle Harry announces his intention of taking the boys to see Miss Mayton, and adjourns to the garden to arrange another bouquet, which Toddie is to present as a propitiatory offering. The children take great interest in the proceedings, and learning that Miss Mayton is the destined recipient of the nosegay, Budge asserts that she is 'just like a cake;' and announcing that he 'just loves her,' puts to his uncle the embarrassing query: 'Don't _you_?' 'Well, I respect her very highly, Budge,' replies that individual; and in answer to his interrogator, explains the meaning of the word respect as applied to Miss Mayton in such fashion, that that dreadfully acute infant comes to the conclusion that ''spect and love means just the same thing.' Mr Burton at this point judges it prudent to break off the conversation, and the trio start on their expedition. The bouquet is delivered without _contre-temps_; Miss Mayton is graciousness itself; and the visit proceeds so satisfactorily that they agree to remain to dinner. Uncle Harry has his misgivings; but beyond the upsetting of the contents of a plate into Miss Mayton's lap, his nephews' conduct is so very blameless, that it is with no feeling but that of lover-like ecstasy, that he finds himself seated in the deepening twilight by the side of the woman he adores, his eyes making confession of his weakness. Suddenly a voice from between them murmurs in sweet tones: 'Uncle Harry 'spects you, Miss Mayton.' 'Suspects me! Of what, pray?' asks the lady. 'Budge!' exclaims the horrified uncle--and we can well believe his statement that his voice rose nearly to a scream--'Budge, I must beg of you to respect the sanctity of confidential communications.' But Miss Mayton's curiosity is aroused; and Budge is not to be silenced, even when his uncle explains to her that 'respect' is what the boy is trying to say, owing to his endeavour to explain to him the nature of the respect in which gentlemen hold ladies. 'Yes,' says Budge; 'only Uncle Harry don't say it right. What he calls 'espect, _I_ calls love.' After this, what can happen but that the confession should pass from the eyes to the lips? And Budge is forgotten and left out in the cold, until, waxing impatient, he gives his version of how he would behave under the like circumstances: 'I--I--when _I_ loves any one, I kisses them.'