But Aunt Briscoe looked straight at my husband and went on, just as if I had not spoken—
“And how about Cress?”
“Cress certainly seems sharper than poor Jack,” said Robert. “We count him our clever one, Aunt Briscoe. Still, he is not too fond of hard work.”
“Cleverness is no use in the world unless there’s hard work to back it up,” Aunt Briscoe said. “The boys ought to have been made to work when they were young. That’s where the fault lies.”
I knew this to be a fling at me, and I chafed under it, for the fling was really undeserved. I had never been over-indulgent with my boys in that way; and Cress was the only one among them all who had not turned out a fairly steady hand at work. Perhaps I had been a little too easy with him in consequence of his health. But, anyhow, Cress’ faults were always my faults in Aunt Briscoe’s eyes, while the other boys’ virtues were their own virtues. Still, though I felt all this, I said nothing, for Robert’s sake.
“Owen is worth fifty of either of them,” Aunt Briscoe went on. “And Cherry is worth fifty of the whole pack of boys. I thought I had asked for Cherry to come to-day.”
“Cherry is at home taking care of the little ones,” Robert answered. “Marion came with me by my wish, Aunt. The truth is, we are in a perplexity, and we thought you might perhaps be able to help us with a little—a little—”
“Money!” said Aunt Briscoe; and she gave a sniff of disgust.
“No—advice,” Robert said gravely. “I do not think we have ever yet asked you for money.”
“No, you have not, that’s true,” she said. “All the more likely that perhaps some day I may give you some. If you asked, I shouldn’t think of such a thing. I never give where I’m asked, on principle. There’s such an amount of begging in the world. But as for advice, that’s all nonsense. Nobody ever takes advice.”