“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 manœuvre 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 key-hole.
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 opedeldoc 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.”
* * * * *