The World's Greatest Books - Volume 5 Part 3

John Habberton, the author of "Helen's Babies," was born in Brooklyn, New York, on February 24, 1842. He enlisted in the army in 1862, and served through the Civil War, at the close of which he adopted journalism as a profession, becoming, in due course, literary editor of the "Christian Union." His first and most popular story, "Helen's Babies," after being declined by various publishers, appeared in 1876, and more than a quarter of a million copies have been sold in America alone. According to Mr. Habberton himself, the story "grew out of an attempt to keep for a single day the record of the doings of a brace of boys of whom the author is half-owner."

Apart from a number of novels, Mr. Habberton has also written a "Life of George Washington," and a play, "Deacon Cranket,"

performed more than five hundred times.

_I.--The Imps_

The first cause of the existence of this book may be found in a letter, written by my sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, just as I was trying to decide where I should spend a fortnight's vacation. She suggested, as I was always complaining of never having time to read, I should stay at her place, while she and her husband went on a fortnight's visit. She owned she would feel easier if she knew there was a man in the house.

"Just the thing!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. Five minutes later I had telegraphed my acceptance, and had mentally selected books enough for a dozen vacations. I knew enough of Helen's boys to be sure they would give one no annoyance. Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had generally, during my flying visits, worn a shy, serious, meditative, n.o.ble face, and Toddie was a happy little know-nothing of three summers, with tangled yellow hair.

Three days later I hired a hackman to drive me from Hillcrest Station.

Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence the horses shied violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, remarked, "That was one of the Imps!"

As he spoke the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in a very dirty sailor-suit I recognised my nephew Budge. Then a smaller boy emerged from the bushes at the side of the road, and I beheld the unmistakable lineaments of Toddie.

"They're my nephews!" I gasped.

"Budge," I said, with all the sternness I could command; "do you know me?"

"Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?"

"I wish I could have brought you some big whippings for behaving so badly. Get into this carriage."

As they clambered up, I noticed that each one carried a very dirty towel, knotted tightly in the centre. After some moments' disgusted contemplation of these rags, I asked Budge what these towels were for.

"They're not towels, they're dollies," promptly answered my nephew.

"Goodness!" I exclaimed. "I should think your mother might buy you respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with these loathsome rags."

"We don't like buyed dollies," said Budge. "These dollies is lovely.

Mine's got blue eyes and Toddie's has got brown eyes."

"I want to shee your watch," remarked Toddie, s.n.a.t.c.hing the chain and rolling into my lap.

"Oh-oo-ee! So do I!" shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee, and in transit wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat.

A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approaching; I dropped my head to avoid meeting their glance, for my few minutes of contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel inexpressibly un-neat.

The carriage stopped. I heard my own name spoken. There, erect, fresh, neat, bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling, and observant, sat Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who for about a year I had been adoring from afar.

"When did you arrive, Mr. Burton?" she asked. "You're certainly a happy-looking trio--so unconventional! You look as if you had been having _such_ a good time."

"I--I a.s.sure you, Miss Mayton, that my experience has been the reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive I'd volunteer as an executioner."

"You dreadful wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "Mother, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Burton, Helen Lawrence's brother. How is your sister, Mr. Burton?"

"I don't know," I replied; "she's gone with her husband on a visit, and I've been silly enough to promise to give an eye to the place while they're away."

"Why, how delightful!" said Miss Mayton. "Such horses! Such flowers!

Such a cook!"

"And such children!" said I, glaring at the Imps, and rescuing my handkerchief from Toddie.

"Why, they're the best children in the world! Helen told me so. Children will be children, you know. I don't wish to give any hints, but at Mrs.

Clarkson's, where we're boarding, there's not a flower in the whole garden. I break the Tenth Commandment every time I pa.s.s Colonel Lawrence's. Good-bye."

"Of course you'll call," said Miss Mayton, as the carriage started; "it's dreadfully stupid here. No men, except on Sundays."

I bowed a.s.sent. In the contemplation of all the shy possibilities my short chat with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the two little living causes thereof.

_II.--The Fate of a Bouquet_

Next morning at breakfast Toddie remarked, "Ocken Hawwy, darsh an awfoo funny chunt upstairs. I show it to you after brepspup."

"Toddie's a silly little boy," said Budge, "he always says brepspup for brekbux."

"Oh, what does he mean by chunt, Budge?"

"I guess he means trunk," replied my elder nephew.

Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk caused me to smile sympathetically at Toddie, to his great delight.

A direful thought struck me. I dashed upstairs. Yes, he did mean my trunk. While a campaigner, I had learned to reduce packing to an exact science. Now, if I had an atom of pride in me, I might have glorified myself, for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon the floor could never have come out of one single trunk.

In the lid of my dressing-case lay my dress-coat, tightly rolled up.

s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, with a violent exclamation, there dropped from it--one of these infernal dolls. A howl resounded from the doorway.

"You tookted my dolly out of her k'adle--want to wock my dolly oo-ee- ee!"

I called the girl, and asked where the key was that locked the door between my room and the children's.

"Please sir, Toddie threw it down the well."

I removed the lock and told the coachman to get ready at once to drive to Paterson, where the nearest locksmith lived, by the hill road, one of the most beautiful roads in America.

Away went the horses, and up rose a piercing shriek and a terrible roar.

I looked out hastily, only to see Budge and Toddie running after the carriage and crying pitifully. The driver stopped of his own accord--he seemed to know the children's ways and their results--and I helped them in, meekly hoping the eye of Providence was upon me.

That afternoon I devoted myself to making a bouquet for Miss Mayton, and a most delightful occupation I found it.

Not that I was in love with Miss Mayton. A man may honestly and strongly admire a handsome, brilliant woman, and delight himself in trying to give her pleasure without feeling it necessary she shall give him herself in return.

My delight suddenly became clouded. What would folks say? Everybody knew where Mike was employed--everybody knew I was the only gentleman at present residing at Colonel Lawrence's. Ah, I had it.

I had seen in one of the library drawers a pasteboard box--just the size. I dropped my card into the bottom, neatly fitted in the bouquet, and went in search of Mike.