Her father remonstrated gently. But she was immovable. “No. It would be like consenting to his death.”
Then Uncle Philip was sent for.
He set her child on her knee; and gave her a pen. “Come,” said he, sternly, “be a woman, and do your duty to little Christie.”
She kissed the boy, cried, and did her duty meekly. But when the money was brought her, she flew to Uncle Philip, and said, “There! there!” and threw it all before him, and cried as if her heart would break. He waited patiently, and asked her what he was to do with all that: invest it?
“Yes, yes; for my little Christie.”
“And pay you the interest quarterly.”
“Oh, no, no. Dribble us out a little as we want it. That is the way to be truly kind to a simpleton. I hate that word.”
“And suppose I run off with it? Such confiding geese as you corrupt a man.”
“I shall never corrupt you. Crusty people are the soul of honor.”
“Crusty people!” cried Philip, affecting amazement. “What are they?”