I threw him upon his bed and departed. It was plain that neither logic, threats, nor the presence of danger could keep this dreadful child from doing whatever he chose; what other means of restraint could be employed? Although not as religious a man as my good mother could wish, I really wondered whether prayer, as a last resort, might not be effective. For his good and my own peace, I would cheerfully have read through the whole prayer-book. I could hardly have done it just then, though, for Mike solicited an audience at the back door, and reported that Budge had given the carriage sponge to the goat, put handfuls of oats into the pump cylinder, pulled hairs out of the black mare’s tail, and with a sharp nail drawn pictures on the enamel of the carriage-body. Budge made no denial, but looked very much aggrieved, and remarked that he couldn’t never be happy without somebody having to go get bothered; and he wished there wasn’t nobody in the world but organ-grinders and candy-store men. He followed me into the house, flung himself into a chair, put on a look which I imagine Byron wore before he was old enough to be malicious, and exclaimed:— “I don’t see what little boys was made for, anyhow; if ev’rybody gets cross with them, an’ don’t let ’em do what they want to. I’ll bet when I get to heaven, the Lord won’t be as ugly to me as Mike is,—an’ some other folks, too. I wish I could die and be buried right away,—me an’ the goat—an’ go to heaven, where we wouldn’t be scolded.” Poor little fellow! First I laughed inwardly at his idea of heaven, and then I wondered whether my own was very different from it, or any more creditable. I had no time to spend, however, even in pious reflection. Budge was quite wet, his shoes were soaking, and he already had an attack of catarrh; so I took him to his room and redressed him, wondering all the while how much similar duties my own father had had to do for me had shortened his life, and how with such a son as I was, he lived as long as he did. The idea that I was in some slight degree atoning for my early sins, so filled my thoughts that I did not at first notice the absence of Toddie. When it _did_ become evident to me that my youngest nephew was not in the bed in which I had placed him, I went in search of him. He was in none of the chambers, but hearing gentle murmurs issue from a long, light closet, I looked in and saw Toddie sitting on the floor, and eating the cheese out of a mouse-trap. A squeak of my boots betrayed me, and Toddie, equal to the emergency, sprang to his feet and exclaimed:— “I didn’t hurt de ’ittle mousie one bittie; I just letted him out, and he runded away.” [Illustration: “I DIDN’T HURT DE ’ITTLE MOUSIE”]