Polly, warningly.

"I don't want her old money, and I'll tell her so if she bothers me
about it. I shall go into business with Van and take care of the whole
lot; so don't you preach, Polly," returned Toady, with as much dignity
as was compatible with a great dab of glue on the end of his snub
nose.

"Mother, did aunt say anything about coming this week?" asked Polly,
after a pause of intense thought over a breadth with three darns, two
spots, and a burn.

"Yes; she wrote that she was too feeble to come at present, as she had
such dreadful palpitations she didn't dare stir from her room. So we
are quite safe for the next week at least, and--bless my soul, there
she is now!"

Mrs. Snow clasped her hands with a gesture of dismay, and sat as if
transfixed by the spectacle of a ponderous lady, in an awe-inspiring
bonnet, who came walking slowly down the street. Polly gave a groan,
and pulled a bright ribbon from her hair. Toady muttered, "Oh,
bother!" and vainly attempted to polish up his countenance with a
fragmentary pocket-handkerchief.

"Nothing but salt fish for dinner," wailed Mrs. Snow, as the shadow of
the coming event fell upon her.

"Van will make a fool of himself, and ruin everything," sighed Polly,
glancing at the ring on her finger.