"Children and fools speak the truth."
I
 
"What's that sigh for, Polly dear?" "I'm tired, mother, tired of working and waiting. If I'm ever going to have any fun, I want it now while I can enjoy it."
 
"You shouldn't wait another hour if I could have my way; but you know how helpless I am;" and poor Mrs. Snow sighed dolefully, as she glanced about the dingy room and pretty Mary turning her faded gown for the second time.
 
"If Aunt Kipp would give us the money she is always talking about, instead of waiting till she dies, we should be so comfortable. She is a dreadful bore, for she lives in such terror of dropping dead with her heart-complaint that she doesn't take any pleasure in life herself or let any one else; so the sooner she goes the better for all of us," said Polly, in a desperate tone; for things looked very black to her just then.
 
"My dear, don't say that," began her mother, mildly shocked; but a bluff little voice broke in with the forcible remark,—
 
"She's everlastingly telling me never to put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day; next time she comes I'll remind her of that, and ask her, if she is going to die, why she doesn't do it?"
 
"Toady! you're a wicked, disrespectful boy; never let me hear you say such a thing again about your dear Aunt Kipp."
 
"She isn't dear! You know we all hate her, and you are more afraid of her than you are of spiders,—so now."
 
The young personage whose proper name had been corrupted into Toady, was a small boy of ten or eleven, apple-cheeked, round-eyed, and curly-headed; arrayed in well-worn, gray knickerbockers, profusely adorned with paint, glue, and shreds of cotton. Perched on a high stool, at an isolated table in a state of chaos, he was absorbed in making a boat, entirely oblivious of the racking tooth-ache which had been his excuse for staying from school. As cool, saucy, hard-handed, and soft-hearted a little specimen of young America was Toady as you would care to see; a tyrant at home, a rebel at school, a sworn foe to law, order, and Aunt Kipp. This young person was regarded as a reprobate by all but his mother, sister, and sister's sweetheart, Van Bahr Lamb. Having been, through much anguish of flesh and spirit, taught that lying was a deadly sin, Toady rushed to the other extreme, and bolted out the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, at all times and places, with a startling abruptness that brought wrath and dismay upon his friends and relatives.
 
"It's wicked to fib; you've whipped that into me and you can't rub it out," he was wont to say, with vivid recollection of the past tingling in the chubby portions of his frame.
 
"Mind your chips, Toady, and take care what you say to Aunt Kipp, or you'll be as poor as a little rat all the days of your life," said Polly, warningly.
 
"I don't want her old money, and I'll tell her so if she bothers me about it. I shall go into business with Van and take care of the whole lot; so don't you preach, Polly," returned Toady, with as much dignity as was compatible with a great dab of glue on the end of his snub nose.
 
"Mother, did aunt say anything about coming this week?" asked Polly, after a pause of intense thought over a breadth with three darns, two spots, and a burn.
 
"Yes; she wrote that she was too feeble to come at present, as she had such dreadful palpitations she didn't dare stir from her room. So we are quite safe for the next week at least, and—bless my soul, there she is now!"
 
Mrs. Snow clasped her hands with a gesture of dismay, and sat as if transfixed by the spectacle of a ponderous lady, in an awe-inspiring bonnet, who came walking slowly down the street. Polly gave a groan, and pulled a bright ribbon from her hair. Toady muttered, "Oh, bother!" and vainly attempted to polish up his countenance with a fragmentary pocket-handkerchief.
 
"Nothing but salt fish for dinner," wailed Mrs. Snow, as the shadow of the coming event fell upon her.
 
"Van will make a fool of himself, and ruin everything," sighed Polly, glancing at the ring on her finger.
 
"I know she'll kiss me; she never will let a fellow alone," growled
Toady, scowling darkly.
 
The garden gate clashed, dust flew from the door-mat, a heavy step echoed in the hall, an imperious voice called "Sophy!" and Aunt Kipp entered with a flourish of trumpets, for Toady blew a blast through his fingers which made the bows totter on her bonnet.
 
"My dear aunt, I'm very glad to see you," murmured Mrs. Snow, advancing with a smile of welcome; for though as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted a little woman as ever lived.
 
"What a fib that was!" said Toady, sotto voce.
 
"We were just saying we were afraid you wouldn't"—began Mary, when a warning, "Mind now, Polly," caused her to stop short and busy herself with the newcomer's bag and umbrella.
 
"I changed my mind. Theodore, come and kiss me," answered Aunt Kipp, briefly.
 
"Yes'm," was the plaintive reply, and, closing his eyes, Toady awaited his fate with fortitude.
 
But the dreaded salute did not come, for Aunt Kipp exclaimed in alarm,—
 
"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 jackknife, 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.