the old perversity gave a relish to the reformation, for even while
she resolved to do the just and generous thing, she said to herself,--

"They say I've got no heart; I'll show 'em that I have: they don't
want my money; I'll _make_ 'em take it: they turn their backs on me;
I'll just render myself so useful and agreeable that they can't do
without me."


III


Aunt Kipp sat bolt upright in the parlor, hemming a small
handkerchief, adorned with a red ship, surrounded by a border of
green monkeys. Toady suspected that this elegant article of dress was
intended for him, and yearned to possess it; so, taking advantage of
his mother's and Polly's absence, he strolled into the room, and,
seating himself on a high, hard chair, folded his hands, 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 wouldn'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