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 head-strong, 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 scarlet,—“he cut up her best 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 aggrawater,’”—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 tail-less 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 close, 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.
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