“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.”