“I’m not tired, ’m; it’s a very interesting story,” replied Toady, with a gravity that nearly upset the old lady.
“Well, in spite of all this, that kind, good, forgiving grandma left that bad boy twenty thousand dollars when she died. What do you think of that?” asked Aunt Kipp, pausing suddenly with her sharp eye on him.
“I—I think she was a regular dear,” cried Toady, holding on to the chair with both hands, as if that climax rather took him off his legs.
“And what did the boy do about it?” continued Aunt Kipp, curiously.
“He bought a velocipede, and gave his sister half, and paid his mother’s rent, and put a splendid marble cherakin over the old lady, and had a jolly good time, and—”
“What in the world is a cherakin?” laughed Aunt Kipp, as Toady paused for breath.
“Why, don’t you know? It’s a angel crying, or pointing up, or flapping his wings. They have them over graves; and I’ll give you the biggest one I can find when you die. But I’m not in a very great hurry to have you.”
“Thankee, dear; I’m in no hurry, myself. But, Toady, the boy did wrong in giving his sister half; she didn’t deserve any; and the grandma left word she wasn’t to have a penny of it.”
“Really?” cried the boy, with a troubled face.
“Yes, really. If he gave her any he lost it all; the old lady said so. Now what do you think?” asked Aunt Kipp, who found it impossible to pardon Polly,—perhaps because she was young, and pretty, and much beloved.