“Mercy on us! has the boy got the plague?”
“No’m, it’s paint, and dirt, and glue, and it _won’t_ come off,” said
Toady, stroking his variegated countenance with grateful admiration for
the stains that saved him.
“Go and wash this moment, sir. Thank Heaven, _I’ve_ got no boys,” cried
Aunt Kipp, as if boys were some virulent disease which she had narrowly
escaped.
With a hasty peck at the lips of her two elder relatives, the old lady
seated herself, and slowly removed the awful bonnet, which in shape and
hue much resembled a hearse hung with black crape.
“I’m glad you are better,” said Mary, reverently receiving the funereal
head-gear.
“I’m _not_ better,” cut in Aunt Kipp. “I’m worse, much worse; my days
are numbered; I stand on the brink of the tomb, and may drop at any
moment.”
Toady’s face was a study, as he glanced up at the old lady’s florid
countenance, down at the floor, as if in search of the above-mentioned
“brink,” and looked unaffectedly anxious to see her drop. “Why don’t
you, then?” was on his lips; but a frown from Polly restrained him, and
he sat himself down on the rug to contemplate the corpulent victim.
“Have a cup of tea, aunt?” said Mrs. Snow.
“I will.”
“Lie down and rest a little,” suggested Polly.
“I won’t.”
“Can we do anything for you?” said both.
“Take my things away, and have dinner early.”
Both departed to perform these behests, and, leaning back in her chair,
Aunt Kipp reposed.
“I say, what’s a bore?” asked Toady from the rug, where he sat rocking
meditatively to and fro, holding on by his shoe-strings.
“It’s a kind of a pig, very fierce, and folks are afraid of ’em,” said
Aunt Kipp, whose knowledge of Natural History was limited.
“Good for Polly! so you are!” sung out the boy, with the hearty child’s
laugh so pleasant to most ears.
“What do you mean, sir?” demanded the old lady, irefully poking at him
with her umbrella.
“Why, Polly said you were a bore,” explained Toady, with artless
frankness. “You _are_ fat, you know, and fierce sometimes, and folks are
afraid of you. Good, wasn’t it?”
“Very! Mary is a nice, grateful, respectful, loving niece, and I shan’t
forget her, she may depend on that,” and Aunt Kipp laughed grimly.
“May she? well, that’s jolly now. She was afraid you wouldn’t give her
the money; so I’ll tell her it’s all right;” and innocent Toady nodded
approvingly.
“Oh, she expects some of my money, does she?”
“Course she does; ain’t you always saying you’ll remember us in your
will, because father was your favorite nephew, and all that? I’ll tell
you a secret, if you won’t let Polly know I spoke first. You’ll find it
out to-night, for you’d see Van and she were sweethearts in a minute.”
“Sweethearts?” cried Aunt Kipp, turning red in the face.
“Yes’m. Van settled it last week, and Polly’s been so happy ever since.
Mother likes it, and _I_ like it, for I’m fond of Van, though I do call
him Baa-baa, because he looks like a sheep. We all like it, and we’d all
say so, if we were not afraid of you. Mother and Polly, I mean; of
course we men don’t mind, but we don’t want a fuss. You won’t make one,
will you, now?”
Anything more expressive of brotherly good-will, persuasive frankness,
and a placid consciousness of having “fixed it,” than Toady’s dirty
little face, it would be hard to find. Aunt Kipp eyed him so fiercely
that even before she spoke a dim suspicion that something was wrong
began to dawn on his too-confiding soul.
“_I_ don’t like it, and I’ll put a stop to it. I won’t have any
ridiculous baa-baas in my family. If Mary counts on my money to begin
housekeeping with, she’ll find herself mistaken; for not one penny shall
she have, married or single, and you may tell her so.”
Toady was so taken aback by this explosion that he let go his
shoe-strings, fell over with a crash, and lay flat, with shovel and
tongs spread upon him like a pall. In rushed Mrs. Snow and Polly, to
find the boy’s spirits quite quenched, for once, and Aunt Kipp in a
towering passion. It all came out in one overwhelming flood of words,
and Toady fled from the storm to wander round the house, a prey to the
deepest remorse. The meekness of that boy at dinner-time was so angelic
that Mrs. Snow would have feared speedy translation for him, if she had
not been very angry. Polly’s red eyes, and Aunt Kipp’s griffinesque
expression of countenance, weighed upon his soul so heavily, that even
roly-poly pudding failed to assuage his trouble, and, taking his mother
into the china-closet, he anxiously inquired “if it was all up with
Polly?”
“I’m afraid so, for aunt vows she will make a new will to-morrow, and
leave every penny to the Charitable Rag-bag Society,” sighed Mrs. Snow.
“I didn’t mean to do it, I truly didn’t! I thought I’d just ‘give her a
hint,’ as you say. She looked all right, and laughed when I told her
about being a bore, and I thought she liked it. If she was a man, I’d
thrash her for making Polly cry;” and Toady shook his fist at Aunt
Kipp’s umbrella, which was an immense relief to his perturbed spirit.
“Bless the boy! I do believe he would!” cried Mrs. Snow, watching the
little turkey-cock with maternal pride. “You can’t do that: so just be
careful and not make any more mischief, dear.”
“I’ll try, mother; but I’m always getting into scrapes with Aunt Kipp.
She’s worse than measles, any day,—such an old aggrawater! Van’s coming
this afternoon, won’t he make her pleasant again?”
“Oh, dear, no! He will probably make things ten times worse, he’s so
bashful and queer. I’m afraid our last chance is gone, deary, and we
must rub along as we have done.”
One sniff of emotion burst from Toady, and for a moment he laid his head
in the knife-tray, overcome with disappointment and regret. But scorning
to yield to unmanly tears, he was soon himself again. Thrusting his
beloved jack-knife, with three blades and a file, into Polly’s hand, he
whispered, brokenly,—
“Keep it forever’n’ever; I’m awful sorry!” Then, feeling that the
magnitude of this sacrifice atoned for everything, he went to watch for
Van,—the forlorn hope to which he now clung.
* * * * *