elf--"he repeated rude things to her,
and called her 'an old aggrewater,'"--here Toady wriggled in his
chair, and gave a little gasp.

"If you are tired I won't go on," observed Aunt Kipp, mildly.

"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.

Toady's eyes kindled, and his red cheeks grew redder still, as he
cried out defiantly,--

"I think she was a selfish pig,--don't you?"

"No, I don't, sir; and I'm sure that little boy wasn't such a fool as
to lose the money. He minded his grandma's wishes, and kept it all."

"No, he didn't," roared Toady, tumbling off his chair in great
excitement. "He just threw it out a winder, and smashed the old
cherakin all to bits."

Aunt Kipp dropped her work with a shrill squeak, for she thought the
boy was dangerous, as he stood before her, sparring away at nothing as
the only vent for his indignation.

"It isn't an interesting story," he cried; "and I won't hear any more;
and I won't have your money if I mayn't go halves with Polly; and I'll
work to earn more than that, and we'll all