“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?”