The night was a perfect one. The pure, fresh air, the perfume of the flowers, the music of the insect choir in the trees and shrubbery—the very season itself seemed to forbid my reading philosophy, so I laid Fiske aside, delighted myself with a few rare bits from Paul Hayne’s new volume of poems, read a few chapters of “One Summer,” and finally sauntered off to bed. My nephews were slumbering sweetly; it seemed impossible that the pure, exquisite, angelic faces before me belonged to my tormentors of a few hours before. As I lay on my couch I could see the dark shadow and rugged crest of the mountain; above it, the silver stars against the blue, and below it the rival lights of the fireflies against the dark background formed by the mountain itself. No rumbling of wheels tormented me, nor any of the thousand noises that fill city air with the spirit of unrest, and I fell into a wonder almost indignant that sensible, comfort-loving beings could live in horrible New York, while such delightful rural homes were so near at hand. Then Alice Mayton came into my mind, and then a customer; later, stars and trade-marks, and bouquets, and dirty nephews, and fireflies and bad accounts, and railway tickets, and candy and Herbert Spencer, mixed themselves confusingly in my mind. Then a vision of a proud angel, in the most fashionable attire and a modern carriage, came and banished them all by its perfect radiance, and I was sinking in the most blissful unconsciousness— “Ah—h—h—h—h—h—oo—oo—oo—oo—ee—ee—e—” “Sh—h—h!” I hissed. The warning was heeded, and I soon relapsed into oblivion. “Ah—h—h—h—oo—oo—ee—_ee_—EE—ee!” “Toddie, do you want your uncle to whip you?” “No.” “Then lie still.” “Well, I’ze lost my dolly, an’ I tan’t find her anywhere.” “Well, I’ll find her for you in the morning.” “Oo—oo—ee—I want my dolly.” “Well, I tell you I’ll find her for you in the morning.” “I want her _now_—oo—oo—” “You can’t have her now, so you can go to sleep.” [Illustration: I ENCOUNTERED A DOOR AJAR] “Oh—oo—oo—oo—ee—” Springing madly to my feet, I started for the offender’s room. I encountered a door ajar by the way, my forehead being the first to discover it. I ground my teeth, lit a candle, and said something—no matter what. “Oh, you said a bad swear!” ejaculated Toddie; “you won’t go to heaven when you die.” “Neither will you, if you howl like a little demon all night. Are you going to be quiet, now?” “Yesh, but I wants my dolly.” “_I_ don’t know where your dolly is—do you suppose I’m going to search this entire house for that confounded dolly?” “_’Tain’t_ ’founded. I wants my dolly.” “I don’t know where it is. You don’t think I stole your dolly, do you?” “Well, I wants it, in de bed wif me.”