the temporary unharnessing of the goat, while I should lubricate
the axles. Half an hour of dirty work sufficed, with such
assistance as I gained from juvenile advice, to accomplish the
task properly; then I put the horned steed into the shafts, Budge
cracked the whip, the carriage moved off without noise, and Toddie
began to weep bitterly.

"Cawwidge is all bwoke," said he; "WHEELSH DON'T SING A BITTIE NO
MORE," while Budge remarked:--

"I think the carriage sounds kind o' lonesome now, don't you,
Uncle Harry?"

"Uncle Harry," asked Budge, a little later in the morning, "do you
know what makes the thunder?"

"Yes, Budge--when two clouds go bump into each other they make a
good deal of noise, and they call it thunder."

"That ain't it at all," said Budge. "When it thundered yesterday
it was because the Lord was riding along through the sky and the
wheels of his carriage made an awful noise, an' that was the
thunder."

"Don't like nashty old 'funder," remarked Toddie. "It goesh into
our cellar an' makesh all ze milk sour--Maggie said so. An' so I
can't hazh no nice white tea for my brepspup."

"I should think you'd like the Lord to go a ridin', Toddie, with
all the angels running after him," said Budge, "even if the