"Sophy, I'm surprised at your want of judgment. Do you really mean
to let your girl marry this Lamb? Why, the man's a fool!" began Aunt
Kipp, after dinner, by way of opening a pleasant conversation with her
relatives.
"Dear me, aunt! how can you know that, when you never saw him?" mildly
returned Mrs. Snow.
"I've heard of him, and that's enough for me. I've a deal of
penetration in judging character, and I tell you Van Bahr Lamb is a
fool."
The amiable old lady thought this would rouse Polly, against whom her
anger still burned hotly. But Polly also possessed penetration;
and, well knowing that contradiction would delight Aunt Kipp, she
completely took the wind out of her sails, by coolly remarking,--
"I like fools."
"Bless my heart! what does the girl mean?" ejaculated Aunt Kipp.
"Just what I say. If Van is a fool, I prefer simpletons to wiseacres.
I know he is shy and awkward, and does absurd things now and then. But
I also know that he has the kindest heart that ever was; is unselfish,
faithful and loving; that he took good care of his old parents till
they died, and never thought of himself while they needed him. He
loves me dearly; will wait for me a dozen years, if I say so, and work
all his days to make me happy. He's a help and comfort to mother, a
good friend to Toady, and I love and respect and am proud of him,
though you do say he is a fool," cried Polly heartily.
"And you insist on marrying him?" demanded Aunt Kipp.
"Yes, I do."
"Then I wish a carriage immediately," was the somewhat irrelevant
reply.
"Why, aunt, you don't mean to go so soon?" cried Mrs. Snow, with a
reproachful glance at the rebellious Polly.
"Far from it. I wish to see Judge Banks about altering my will," was
the awful answer.
Polly's face fell; her mother gave a despairing sigh; Toady, who had
hovered about the door, uttered a suppressed whistle of dismay; and
Mrs. Kipp looked about her with vengeful satisfaction.
"Get the big carryall and old Bob, so the boy can drive, and all of
you come; the trip will do you good."
It was like Aunt Kipp to invite her poor relations to go and "nip
their own noses off," as she elegantly expressed it. It was a party of
pleasure that just suited her, for all the fun was on her side. She
grew affable at once, was quite pressing in her invitation, regretted
that Sophy was too busy to go, praised Polly's hat; and professed
herself quite satisfied with "that dear boy" for a driver. The "dear
boy" distorted his young countenance frightfully behind her back, but
found a balm for every wound in the delight of being commander of the
expedition.
The big carryall appeared, and, with much creaking and swaying Mrs.
Kipp was got into the back seat, where the big bonnet gloomed like a
thunder-cloud. Polly, in a high state of indignation, which only made
her look ten times prettier, sat in front with Toady, who was a sight
to see as he drove off with his short legs planted against the boot,
his elbows squared, and the big whip scientifically cracking now
and then. Away they went, leaving poor Mrs. Snow to bewail herself
dismally after she had smiled and nodded them out of sight.
"Don't go over any bridges or railroad crossings or by any saw-mills,"
said the old lady, as if the town could be suddenly remodelled to suit
her taste.
"Yes'm," returned Toady, with a crack which would have done honor to a
French postilion.
It was a fine day, and the young people would have enjoyed the ride in
spite of the breakers ahead, if Aunt Kipp hadn't entertained the
girl with a glowing account of the splendors of her own wedding, and
aggravated the boy by frequent pokes and directions in the art of
driving, of which she was of course, profoundly ignorant. Polly
couldn't restrain a tear or two, in thinking of her own poor little
prospects, and Toady was goaded to desperation.
"I'll give her a regular shaking up; it'll make her hold her tongue
and do her good," he said to himself, as a stony hill sloped
temptingly before him.
A sly chuck, and some mysterious manoeuvre with the reins, and Bob
started off at a brisk trot, as if he objected to the old lady as much
as her mischievous little nephew.
"Hold him in! Keep a taut rein! Lord 'a mercy, he's running away!"
shrieked Aunt Kipp, or tried to shriek, for the bouncing and bumping
jerked the words out of her mouth with ludicrous incoherency.
"I am holding him, but he _will_ go," said Toady, with a wicked
triumph in his eye as he glanced back at Polly.
The next minute the words were quite true; for, as he spoke, two or
three distracted hens flew squalling over the wall and scattered
about, under, over, and before the horse, as only distracted hens
could do. It was too much for Bob's nerves; and, taking matters into
his own hands, or feet, rather, he broke into a run, and rattled the
old lady over the stones with a velocity which left her speechless.
Polly laughed, and Toady chuckled, as they caught glimpses of the
awful bonnet vibrating wildly in the background, and felt the frantic
clutchings of the old lady's hands. But both grew sober as a shrill
car-whistle sounded not far off; and Bob, as if possessed by an
evil spirit, turned suddenly into the road that led to the railroad
crossing.
"That will do, Toady; now pull up, for we can't get over in time,"
said Polly, glancing anxiously toward the rapidly approaching puffs of
white smoke.
"I can't, Polly,--I really can't," cried the boy, tugging with all his
might, and beginning to look scared.
Polly lent her aid; but Bob scarcely seemed to feel it, for he had
been a racer once, and when his blood was up he was hard to handle.
His own good sense might have checked him, if Aunt Kipp hadn't
unfortunately recovered her voice at this crisis, and uttered a
succession of the shrillest screams that ever saluted mortal ears.
With a snort and a bound Bob dashed straight on toward the crossing,
as the train appeared round the bend.
"Let me out! Let me out! Jump! Jump!" shrieked Aunt Kipp, thrusting
her head out of the window, while she fumbled madly for the
door-handle.
"O Toady, save us! save us!" gasped Polly, losing her presence of
mind, and dropping the reins to cling to her brother, with a woman's
instinctive faith in the stronger sex.
But Toady held on manfully, though his arms were nearly pulled off,
for "Never say die," was his motto, and the plucky little lad wouldn't
show fear before the women.
"Don't howl; we'll do it! Hi, Bob!" and with a savage slash of the
whip, an exciting cry, a terrible reeling and rattling, they _did_ do
it; for Bob cleared the track at a breakneck pace, just in time for
the train to sweep swiftly by behind them.
Aunt Kipp dropped in a heap, Polly looked up at her brother, with a
look which he never forgot; and Toady tried to say, stoutly, "It's all
right!" with lips that were white and dry in spite of himself.
"We shall smash up at the bridge," he muttered, as they tore through
the town, where every one obligingly shouted, waved their hats, and
danced about on the sidewalks, doing nothing but add to Bob's fright
and the party's danger. But Toady was wrong,--they did not smash up at
the bridge; for, before they reached the perilous spot, one man had
the sense to fly straight at the horse's head and hold on till the
momentary check enabled others to lend a hand.
The instant they were safe, Polly, like a regular heroine, threw
herself into the arms of her dishevelled preserver, who of course was
Van, and would have refreshed herself with hysterics if the sight of
Toady hadn't steadied her. The boy sat as stiff and rigid as a wooden
figure till they took the reins from him; then all the strength seemed
to go out of him, and he leaned against his sister, as white and
trembling as she, whispering with an irrepressible sob,--
"O Polly, wasn't it horrid? Tell mother I stood by you like a man. Do
tell her that!"
If any one had had time or heart to laugh, they certainly would have
done it when, after much groping, heaving, and hoisting. Mrs. Kipp
was extricated and restored to consciousness; for a more ludicrously
deplorable spectacle was seldom seen. Quite unhurt, though much
shaken, the old lady insisted on believing herself to be dying, and
kept the town in a ferment till three doctors had pronounced her
perfectly well able to go home. Then the perversity of her nature
induced her to comply, that she might have the satisfaction of dying
on the way, and proving herself in the right.
Unfortunately she did not expire, but, having safely arrived, went to
bed in high dudgeon, and led Polly and her mother a sad life of it for
two weary days. Having heard of Toady's gallant behavior, she solemnly
ordered him up to receive her blessing. But the sight of Aunt Kipp's
rubicund visage, surrounded by the stiff frills of an immense
nightcap, caused the irreverent boy to explode with laughter in his
handkerchief, and to be hustled away by his mother before Aunt Kipp
discovered the true cause of his convulsed appearance.
"Ah! poor dear, his feelings are too much for him. He sees my doom
in my face, and is overcome by what you refuse to believe. I shan't
forget that boy's devotion. Now leave me to the meditations befitting
these solemn hours."
Mrs. Snow retired, and Aunt Kipp tried to sleep; but the murmur of
voices, and the sound of stifled laughter in the next room disturbed
her repose.
"They are rejoicing over my approaching end, knowing that I haven't
changed my will. Mercenary creatures, don't exult too soon! there's
time yet," she muttered; and presently, unable to control her
curiosity, she crept out of bed to listen and peep through the
keyhole.
Van Bahr Lamb did look rather like a sheep. He had a blond curly
head, a long face, pale, mild eyes, a plaintive voice, and a general
expression of innocent timidity strongly suggestive of animated
mutton. But Baa-baa was a "trump," as Toady emphatically declared, and
though every one laughed at him, every one liked him, and that is
more than can be said of many saints and sages. He adored Polly, was
dutifully kind to her mother, and had stood by T. Snow, Jr., in many
an hour of tribulation with fraternal fidelity. Though he had long
blushed, sighed, and cast sheep's eyes at the idol of his affections,
only till lately had he dared to bleat forth his passion. Polly loved
him because she couldn't help it; but she was proud, and wouldn't
marry till Aunt Kipp's money was hers, or at least a sure prospect
of it; and now even the prospect of a prospect was destroyed by
that irrepressible Toady. They were talking of this as the old lady
suspected, and of course the following conversation afforded her
intense satisfaction.
"It's a shame to torment us as she does, knowing how poor we are and
how happy a little of her money would make us. I'm tired of being a
slave to a cruel old woman just because she's rich. If it was not for
mother, I declare I'd wash my hands of her entirely, and do the best I
could for myself."
"Hooray for Polly! I always said let her money go and be jolly without
it," cried Toady, who, in his character of wounded hero, reposed with
a lordly air on the sofa, enjoying the fragrance of the opodeldoc with
which his strained wrists were bandaged.
"It's on your account, children, that I bear with aunt's temper as I
do. I don't want anything for myself, but I really think she owes it
to your dear father, who was devoted to her while he lived, to provide
for his children when he couldn't;" after which remarkably spirited
speech for her, Mrs. Snow dropped a tear, and stitched away on a small
trouser-leg which was suffering from a complicated compound fracture.
"Don't you worry about me, mother; I'll take care of myself and you
too," remarked Toady, with the cheery belief in impossibilities which
makes youth so charming.
"Now, Van, tell us what to do, for things have come to such a pass
that we must either break away altogether or be galley-slaves as long
as Aunt Kipp lives," said Polly, who was a good deal excited about the
matter.
"Well, really, my dear, I don't know," hesitated Van, who did know
what _he_ wanted, but thought it might be selfish to urge it. "Have
you tried to soften your aunt's heart?" he asked, after a moment's
meditation.
"Good gracious, Van, she hasn't got any," cried Polly, who firmly
believed it.
"It's hossified," thoughtfully remarked Toady, quite unconscious of
any approach to a joke till every one giggled.
"You've had hossification enough for one while, my lad," laughed Van.
"Well, Polly, if the old lady has no heart you'd better let her go,
for people without hearts are not worth much."
"That's a beautiful remark, Van, and a wise one. I just wish she could
hear you make it, for she called you a fool," said Polly, irefully.
"Did she? Well, I don't mind, I'm used to it," returned Van, placidly;
and so he was, for Polly called him a goose every day of her life, and
he enjoyed it immensely.
"Then you think, dear, if we stopped worrying about aunt and her
money, and worked instead of waiting, that we shouldn't be any poorer
and might be a great deal happier than we are now?" asked Polly,
making a pretty little tableau as she put her hand through Van's arm
and looked up at him with as much love, respect, and reliance as if he
had been six feet tall, with the face of an Apollo and the manners of
a Chesterfield.
"Yes, my dear, I do, for it has troubled me a good deal to see you so
badgered by that very uncomfortable old lady. Independence is a very
nice thing, and poverty isn't half as bad as this sort of slavery. But
you are not going to be poor, nor worry about anything. We'll just be
married and take mother and Toady home and be as jolly as grigs, and
never think of Mrs. K. again,--unless she loses her fortune, or
gets sick, or comes to grief in any way. We'd lend her a hand then,
wouldn't we, Polly?" and Van's mild face was pleasant to behold as he
made the kindly proposition.
"Well, we'd think of it," said Polly, trying not to relent, but
feeling that she was going very fast.
"Let's do it!" cried Toady, fired with the thought of privy conspiracy
and rebellion. "Mother would be so comfortable with Polly, and
I'd help Van in the store, when I've learned that confounded
multiplication table," he added with a groan; "and if Aunt Kipp comes
a visiting, we'll just say 'Not at home,' and let her trot off again."
"It sounds very nice, but aunt will be dreadfully offended and I don't
wish to be ungrateful," said Mrs. Snow, brightening visibly.
"There's no ingratitude about it," cried Van. "She might have done
everything to make you love, and respect, and admire her, and been a
happy, useful, motherly, old soul; but she didn't choose to, and now
she must take the consequences. No one cares for her, because she
cares for nobody; her money's the plague of her life, and not a single
heart will ache when she dies."
"Poor Aunt Kipp!" said Polly, softly.
Mrs. Snow echoed the words, and for a moment all thought pitifully of
the woman whose life had given so little happiness, whose age had won
so little reverence, and whose death would cause so little regret.
Even Toady had a kind thought for her, as he broke the silence, saying
soberly,--
"You'd better put tails on my jackets, mother; then the next time we
get run away with, Aunt Kipp will have something to hold on by."
It was impossible to help laughing at the recollection of the old lady
clutching at the boy till he had hardly a button left, and at the
paternal air with which he now proposed a much-desired change of
costume, as if intent on Aunt Kipp's future accommodation.
Under cover of the laugh, the old lady stole back to bed, wide awake,
and with subjects enough to meditate upon now. The shaking up had
certainly done her good, for somehow the few virtues she possessed
came to the surface, and the mental shower-bath just received had
produced a salutary change. Polly wouldn't have doubted her aunt's
possession of a heart, if she could have known the pain and loneliness
that made it ache, as the old woman crept away; and Toady wouldn't
have laughed if he had seen the tears on the face, between the big
frills, as Aunt Kipp laid it on the pillow, muttering, drearily,--
"I might have been a happy, useful woman, but I didn't choose to, and
now it's too late."
It _was_ too late to be all she might have been, for the work of
seventy selfish years couldn't be undone in a minute. But with regret,
rose the sincere wish to earn a little love before the end came, and
the old perversity gave a relish to the reformation, for even while
she resolved to do the just and generous thing, she said to herself,--
"They say I've got no heart; I'll show 'em that I have: they don't
want my money; I'll _make_ 'em take it: they turn their backs on me;
I'll just render myself so useful and agreeable that they can't do
without me."