“I have no doubt of the intention and discretion of either of you,” resumed Mrs. Mayton, “but you cannot possibly be too cautious.” Here a loud laugh from the shrubbery under the windows drowned Mrs. Mayton’s voice for a moment, but she continued: “Servants, children,”—here she smiled, and I dropped my head—“persons you may chance to meet——” Again the laugh broke forth under the window. “What _can_ those girls be laughing at?” exclaimed Alice, moving toward the window, followed by her mother and me. Seated in a semicircle on the grass were most of the ladies boarding at Mrs. Clarkson’s, and in front of them stood Toddie, in that high state of excitement to which sympathetic applause always raises him. “Say it again,” said one of the ladies. Toddie put on an expression of profound wisdom, made violent gestures with both hands, and repeated the following, with frequent gesticulations:— “Azh wadiant azh ze matchless woze Zat poeck-artuss fanshy; Azh fair azh whituss lily-blowzh; Azh moduss azh a panzhy; Azh pure azh dew zat hides wiffin Awwahwah’s sun-tissed tsallish; Azh tender azh ze pwimwose tweet, All zish, an’ moah, izh Alish.” [Illustration: “AZH WADIANT AZH ZE MATCHLESS WOZE”] I gasped for breath. “Who taught you all that, Toddie?” asked one of the ladies. “Nobody didn’t taught me—I lyned[9] it.” [9] Learned. “When did you learn it?” “Lyned it zish mornin’. Ocken Hawwy said it over, an’ over, an’ over, djust yots of timezh, out in ze garden.” The ladies all exchanged glances—my lady readers will understand just how, and I assure gentlemen that I did not find their glances at all hard to read. Alice looked at me inquiringly, and she now tells me that I blushed sheepishly and guiltily. Poor Mrs. Mayton staggered to a chair, and exclaimed: “Too late! too late!” Considering their recent achievements, Toddie and Budge were a very modest couple as I drove them home that evening. Budge even made some attempt at apologizing for their appearance, saying that they couldn’t find Maggie, and _couldn’t_ wait any longer; but I assured him that no apology was necessary. I was in such excellent spirits that my feeling became contagious; and we sang songs, told stories, and played ridiculous games most of the evening, paying but little attention to the dinner that was set for us. “Uncle Harry,” said Budge, suddenly, “do you know we haven’t ever sung,— ‘Drown old Pharaoh’s Army, Hallelujah,’ since you’ve been here? Let’s do it now.” “All right, old fellow.” I knew the song—such as there was of it—and its chorus, as _every_ one does who ever heard the Jubilee Singers render it; but I scarcely understood the meaning of the preparations which Budge made. He drew a large rocking-chair into the middle of the room, and exclaimed:— “There, Uncle Harry—you sit down. Come along, Tod—you sit on that knee, and I’ll sit on this. Lift up both hands, Tod, like I do. Now we’re all ready, Uncle Harry.”