Aunt Kipp sat bolt upright in the parlor, hemming a small
handkerchief, adorned with a red ship, surrounded by a border of
green monkeys. Toady suspected that this elegant article of dress was
intended for him, and yearned to possess it; so, taking advantage of
his mother's and Polly's absence, he strolled into the room, and,
seating himself on a high, hard chair, folded his hands, crossed his
legs, and asked for a story with the thirsting-for-knowledge air which
little boys wear in the moral story-books.
Now Aunt Kipp had one soft place in her heart, though it _was_
partially ossified, as she very truly declared, and Toady was
enshrined therein. She thought there never was such a child, and loved
him as she had done his father before him, though the rack wouldn't
have forced her to confess it. She scolded, snubbed, and predicted
he'd come to a bad end in public; but she forgave his naughtiest
pranks, always brought him something when she came, and privately
intended to make his future comfortable with half of her fortune.
There was a dash and daring, a generosity and integrity, about the
little fellow, that charmed her. Sophy was weak and low-spirited,
Polly pretty and headstrong, and Aunt Kipp didn't think much of either
of them; but Toady defied, distracted, and delighted her, and to Toady
she clung, as the one sunshiny thing in her sour, selfish old age.
When he made his demure request, she looked at him, and her eyes began
to twinkle, for the child's purpose was plainly seen in the loving
glances cast upon the pictorial pocket-handkerchief.
"A story? Yes, I'll tell you one about a little boy who had a kind
old--ahem!--grandma. She was rich, and hadn't made up her mind who she'd
leave her money to. She was fond of the boy,--a deal fonder than he
deserved,--for he was as mischievous a monkey as any that ever lived
in a tree, with a curly tail. He put pepper in her snuff-box,"--here
Toady turned scarlett,--"he cut up her bestt frisette to make a mane
for his rocking-horse,"--Toady opened his mouth impulsively, but shut
it again without betraying himself--"he repeated rude things to her,
and called her 'an old aggrewater,'"--here Toady wriggled in his
chair, and gave a little gasp.
"If you are tired I won't go on," observed Aunt Kipp, mildly.
"I'm not tired, 'm; it's a very interesting story," replied Toady,
with a gravity that nearly upset the old lady.
"Well, in spite of all this, that kind, good, forgiving grandma left
that bad boy twenty thousand dollars when she died. What do you think
of that?" asked Aunt Kipp, pausing suddenly with her sharp eye on him.
"I--I think she was a regular dear," cried Toady, holding on to the
chair with both hands, as if that climax rather took him off his legs.
"And what did the boy do about it?" continued Aunt Kipp, curiously.
"He bought a velocipede, and gave his sister half, and paid his
mother's rent, and put a splendid marble cherakin over the old lady,
and had a jolly good time, and--"
"What in the world is a cherakin?" laughed Aunt Kipp, as Toady paused
for breath.
"Why, don't you know? It's a angel crying, or pointing up, or flapping
his wings. They have them over graves; and I'll give you the biggest
one I can find when you die. But I'm not in a _very_ great hurry to
have you."
"Thankee, dear; I'm in no hurry, myself. But, Toady, the boy did wrong
in giving his sister half; she didn't deserve _any_; and the grandma
left word she wasn't to have a penny of it."
"Really?" cried the boy, with a troubled face.
"Yes, really. If he gave her any he lost it all; the old lady said so.
Now what do you think?" asked Aunt Kipp, who found it impossible to
pardon Polly,--perhaps because she was young, and pretty, and much
beloved.
Toady's eyes kindled, and his red cheeks grew redder still, as he
cried out defiantly,--
"I think she was a selfish pig,--don't you?"
"No, I don't, sir; and I'm sure that little boy wasn't such a fool as
to lose the money. He minded his grandma's wishes, and kept it all."
"No, he didn't," roared Toady, tumbling off his chair in great
excitement. "He just threw it out a winder, and smashed the old
cherakin all to bits."
Aunt Kipp dropped her work with a shrill squeak, for she thought the
boy was dangerous, as he stood before her, sparring away at nothing as
the only vent for his indignation.
"It isn't an interesting story," he cried; "and I won't hear any more;
and I won't have your money if I mayn't go halves with Polly; and I'll
work to earn more than that, and we'll all be jolly together, and you
may give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and so I tell you,
Aunt Kipp."
"Why, Toady, my boy, what's the matter?" cried a mild voice at the
door, as young Lamb came trotting up to the rescue.
"Never you mind, Baa-baa; I shan't do it; and it's a mean shame Polly
can't have half; then she could marry you and be so happy," blubbered
Toady, running to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the
coat-skirts of his friend.
"Mr. Lamb, I suppose you _are_ that misguided young man?" said Aunt
Kipp, as if it was a personal insult to herself.
"Van Bahr Lamb, ma'am, if you please. Yes, thank you," murmured
Baa-Baa, bowing, blushing, and rumpling his curly fleece in bashful
trepidation.
"Don't thank me," cried the old lady. "I'm not going to give you
anything,--far from it. I object to you altogether. What business have
you to come courting my niece?"
"Because I love her, ma'am," returned Van, with unexpected spirit.
"No, you don't; you want her money, or rather my money. She depends
on it; but you'll both be disappointed, for she won't have a penny of
it," cried Aunt Kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it
impossible to be amiable all at once.
"I'm glad of it!" burst out Van, indignant at her accusation. "I
didn't want Polly for the money; I always doubted if she got it; and I
never wished her to make herself a slave to anybody. I've got enough
for all, if we're careful; and when my share of the Van Bahr property
comes, we shall live in clover."
"What's that? What property are you talking of?" demanded Aunt Kipp,
pricking up her ears.
"The great Van Bahr estate, ma'am. There has been a long lawsuit about
it, but it's nearly settled, and there isn't much doubt that we shall
get it. I am the last of our branch, and my share will be a large
one."
"Oh, indeed! I wish you joy," said Aunt Kipp, with sudden affability;
for she adored wealth, like a few other persons in the world. "But
suppose you don't get it, how then?"
"Then I shall try to be contented with my salary of two thousand, and
make Polly as happy as I can. Money doesn't _always_ make people happy
or agreeable, I find." And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a way that would
have made her hair stand erect if she had possessed any. She stared
at him a moment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that made an
irascible weathercock of her, she said, abruptly,--
"If you had capital should you go into business for yourself, Mr.
Lambkin?"
"Yes, ma'am, at once," replied Van, promptly.
"Suppose you lost the Van Bahr money, and some one offered you a tidy
little sum to start with, would you take it?"
"It would depend upon who made the offer, ma'am," said Van, looking
more like a sheep than ever, as he stood staring in blank surprise.
"Suppose it was me, wouldn't you take it?" asked Aunt Kipp, blandly,
for the new fancy pleased her.
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Van, decidedly.
"And why not, pray?" cried the old lady, with a shrillness that made
him jump, and Toady back to the door precipitately.
"Because, if you'll excuse my speaking plainly, I think you owe
anything you may have to spare to your niece, Mrs. Snow;" and, having
freed his mind, Van joined Toady, ready to fly if necessary.
"You're an idiot, sir," began Aunt Kipp, in a rage again.
"Thank you, ma'am." And Van actually laughed and bowed in return for
the compliment.
"Hold your tongue, sir," snapped the old lady. "You're a fool and
Sophy is another. She's no strength of mind, no sense about anything;
and would make ducks and drakes of my money in less than no time if I
gave it to her, as I've thought of doing."
"Mrs. Kipp, you forget who you are speaking to. Mrs. Snow's sons love
and respect her if you don't, and they won't hear anything untrue
or unkind said of a good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost
friendless widow."
Van wasn't a dignified man at all, but as he said that with a sudden
flash of his mild eyes, there was something in his face and manner
that daunted Aunt Kipp more than the small fist belligerently shaken
at her from behind the sofa. The poor old soul was cross, and worried,
and ashamed of herself, and being as feeble-minded as Sophy in many
respects, she suddenly burst into tears, and, covering her face with
the gay handkerchief, cried as if bent on floating the red ship in a
sea of salt water without delay.
"I'm a poor, lonely, abused old woman," she moaned, with a green
monkey at each eye. "No one loves me, or minds me, or thanks me when
I want to help 'em. My money's only a worryment and a burden, and I
don't know what to do with it, for people I don't want to leave it to
ought to have it, and people I do like won't take it. Oh, deary me,
what _shall_ I do! what shall I do!"
"Shall I tell you, ma'am?" asked Van, gently, for, though she was a
very provoking old lady, he pitied and wished to help her.
A nod and a gurgle seemed to give consent, and, boldly advancing, Van
said, with blush and a stammer, but a very hearty voice,--
"I think, ma'am, if you'd do the right thing with your money you'd be
at ease and find it saved a deal of worry all round. Give it to Mrs.
Snow; she deserves it, poor lady, for she's had a hard time, and done
her duty faithfully. Don't wait till you are--that is, till you--well,
till you in point of fact die, ma'am. Give it now, and enjoy the
happiness it will make. Give it kindly, let them see you're glad to
do it, and I am sure you'll find them grateful; I'm sure you won't be
lonely any more, or feel that you are not loved and thanked. Try it,
ma'am, just try it," cried Van, getting excited by the picture he
drew. "And I give you my word I'll do my best to respect and love you
like a son, ma'am."
He knew that he was promising a great deal, but for Polly's sake he
felt that he could make even that Herculean effort. Aunt Kipp was
surprised and touched; but the contrary old lady couldn't make up her
mind to yield so soon, and wouldn't have done it if Toady hadn't taken
her by storm. Having a truly masculine horror of tears, a very tender
heart under his tailless jacket, and being much "tumbled up and down
in his own mind" by the events of the week, the poor little lad felt
nerved to attempt any novel enterprise, even that of voluntarily
embracing Aunt Kipp. First a grimy little hand came on her shoulder,
as she sat sniffing behind the handkerchief; then, peeping out, she
saw an apple-cheeked face very near her own, with eyes full of pity,
penitence, and affection; and then she heard a choky little voice say
earnestly,--
"Don't cry, aunty; I'm sorry I was rude. Please be good to Mother and
Polly, and I'll love and take care of you, and stand by you all my
life. Yes, I'll--I'll _kiss_ you, I will, by George!" And with one
promiscuous plunge the Spartan boy cast himself into her arms.
That finished Aunt Kipp; she hugged him dose, and cried out with a
salute that went off like a pistol-shot,--
"Oh, my dear, my dear! this is better than a dozen cherakins!"
When Toady emerged, somewhat flushed and tumbled, Mrs. Snow, Polly,
and Van were looking on with faces full of wonder, doubt, and
satisfaction. To be an object of interest was agreeable to Aunt
Kipp; and, as her old heart was really softened, she met them with a
gracious smile, and extended the olive-branch generally.
"Sophy, I shall give my money to _you_ at once and entirely, only
asking that you'll let me stay with you when Polly's gone. I'll do my
best to be agreeable, and you'll bear with me because I'm a cranky,
solitary old woman, and I loved your husband."
Mrs. Snow hugged her on the spot, and gushed, of course, murmuring
thanks, welcomes, and promises in one grateful burst.
"Polly, I forgive you; I consent to your marriage, and will provide
your wedding finery. Mr. Lamb, you are not a fool, but a very
excellent young man. I thank you for saving my life, and I wish you
well with all my heart. You needn't say anything. I'm far from strong,
and all this agitation is shortening my life."
Polly and Van shook her hand heartily, and beamed upon each other like
a pair of infatuated turtle-doves with good prospects.
"Toady, you are as near an angel as a boy can be. Put a name to
whatever you most wish for in the world, and it's yours," said Aunt
Kipp, dramatically waving the rest away.
With his short legs wide apart, his hands behind him, and his rosy
face as round and radiant as a rising sun, Toady stood before the fire
surveying the scene with the air of a man who has successfully carried
through a difficult and dangerous undertaking, and wasn't proud. His
face brightened, then fell, as he heaved a sigh, and answered, with a
shake of his curly head,--
"You can't give me what I want most. There are three things, and I've
got to wait for them all."
"Gracious me, what are they?" cried the old lady, good-naturedly, for
she felt better already.
"A mustache, a beaver, _and_ a sweetheart," answered Toady, with his
eyes fixed wistfully on Baa-baa, who possessed all these blessings,
and was particularly enjoying the latter at that moment.
How Aunt Kipp did laugh at this early budding of romance in her
pet! And all the rest joined her, for Toady's sentimental air was
irresistible.
"You precocious chick! I dare say you will have them all before we
know where we are. Never mind, deary; you shall have my little watch,
and the silver-headed cane with a _boar's_ head on it," answered the
old lady, in high good-humor. "You needn't blush, dear; I don't bear
malice; so let's forget and forgive. I shall settle things to-morrow,
and have a free mind. You are welcome to my money, and I hope I shall
live to see you all enjoy it."
So she did; for she lived to see Sophy plump, cheery, and care-free;
Polly surrounded by a flock of Lambkins; Van in possession of a
generous slice of the Van Bahr fortune; Toady revelling in the objects
of his desire; and, best of all, she lived to find that it is never
too late to make oneself useful, happy, and beloved.