LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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