crossed his legs, and asked for a story with the thirsting-for-knowledge air which little boys wear in the moral story-books.

Now Aunt Kipp had one soft place in her heart, though it was partially ossified, as she very truly declared, and Toady was enshrined therein. She thought there never was such a child, and loved him as she had done his father before him, though the rack would n't have forced her to confess it. She scolded, snubbed, and predicted he'd come to a bad end in public; but she forgave his naughtiest pranks, always brought him something when she came, and privately intended to make his future comfortable with half of her fortune. There was a dash and daring, a generosity and integrity, about the little fellow, that charmed her. Sophy was weak and low-spirited, Polly pretty and headstrong, and Aunt Kipp did n't think much of either of them; but Toady defied, distracted, and delighted her, and to Toady she clung, as the one sunshiny thing in her sour, selfish old age.

When he made his demure request, she looked at him, and her eyes began to twinkle, for the child's purpose was plainly seen in the loving glances cast upon the pictorial pocket-handkerchief.

"A story? Yes, I'll tell you one about a little boy who had a kind old-ahem! grandma. She was rich, and had n't made up her mind who she'd leave her money to. She was fond of the boy, a deal fonder

then he deserved,

- for he was as mischievous a monkey as any that ever lived in a tree, with a curly tail. He put pepper in her snuff-box," - here Toady turned scarlet, "he cut up her best frisette to make a mane for

his rocking-horse," - Toady opened his mouth impulsively, but shut it again without betraying himself— "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.

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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."

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'Thankee, dear; I'm in no hurry, myself. But, Toady, the boy did wrong in giving his sister half; she

did n't deserve any; and the grandma left word she was n'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 was n't such a fool as to lose the money. He minded his grandma's wishes, and kept it all."

"No, he did n'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 is n't an interesting story," he cried; "and I won't hear any more; and I won't have your money if I may n't go halves with Polly; and I'll work to earn more than that, and we 'll all be jolly together, and you may give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and SO I tell you, Aunt Kipp."

"Why, Toady, my boy, what's the matter?" cried a mild voice at the door, as young Lamb came trotting up to the rescue.

"Never you mind, Baa-baa; I shan't do it; and it's a mean shame Polly can't have half; then she could

.

marry you and be so happy," blubbered Toady, running to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the coatskirts of his friend.

Mr. Lamb, I suppose you are that misguided young man?" said Aunt Kipp, as if it was a personal insult to herself.

"Van Bahr Lamb, ma'am, if you please. Yes, thank you," murmured Baa-baa, bowing, blushing, and rumpling his curly fleece in bashful trepidation.

"I'm not

I object to

"Don't thank me," cried the old lady. going to give you anything, far from it. far from it. you altogether. What business have you to come courting my niece?"

"Because I love her, ma'am," returned Van, with unexpected spirit.

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"No, you don't; you want her money, or rather my money. She depends on it; but you'll both be disappointed, for she won't have a penny of it," cried Aunt Kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it impossible to be amiable all at once.

"I'm glad of it!" burst out Van, indignant at her accusation. "I did n't want Polly for the money; I always doubted if she got it; and I never wished her to make herself a slave to anybody. I've got enough for all, if we're careful; and when my share of the Van Bahr property comes, we shall live in clover."

"What's that? What property are you talking of?" demanded Aunt Kipp, pricking up her ears.

There has

"The great Van Bahr estate, ma'am. been a long lawsuit about it, but it 's nearly settled, and there is n't much doubt that we shall get it. I am the last of our branch, and my share will be a large one."

“Oh, indeed! I wish you joy," said Aunt Kipp, with sudden affability; for she adored wealth, like a few other persons in the world. "But suppose you don't

get it, how then?"

"Then I shall try to be contented with my salary of two thousand, and make Polly as happy as I can. Money does n't always make people happy or agreeable, I find." And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a way that would have made her hair stand erect if she had possessed any. She stared at him a moment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that made an irascible weathercock of her, she said, abruptly,

"If you had capital should you go into business for yourself, Mr. Lambkin?"

"Yes, ma'am, at once," replied Van, promptly.

"Suppose you lost the Van Bahr money, and some one offered you a tidy little sum to start with, would you take it?"

"It would depend upon who made the offer, ma'am," said Van, looking more like a sheep than ever, as he stood staring in blank surprise.

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Suppose it was me, would n't you take it?" asked Aunt Kipp, blandly, for the new fancy pleased her. "No, thank you, ma'am," said Van, decidedly. "And why not, pray?" cried the old lady, with a shrillness that made him jump, and Toady back to the door precipitately.

"Because, if you'll excuse my speaking plainly, I think you owe anything you may have to spare to your niece, Mrs. Snow;" and, having freed his mind, Van joined Toady, ready to fly if necessary.