ss 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.

"Suppose it was me, wouldn'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.

"You're an idiot, sir," began Aunt Kipp, in a rage again.

"Thank you, ma'am." And Van actually laughed and bowed in return for
the compliment.

"Hold your tongue, sir," snapped the old lady. "You're a fool and
Sophy is another. She's no strength of mind, no sense about anything;
and would make ducks and drakes of my money in less than no time if I
gave it to her, as I've thought of doing."

"Mrs. Kipp, you forget who you are speaking to. Mrs. Snow's sons love
and respect her if you don't, and they won't hear anything untrue
or unkind said of a good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost
friendless widow."

Van wasn't a dignified man at all, but as he said that with a sudden
flash of his mild eyes, there was something in his face and manner
that daunted Aunt Kipp more than the small fist belligerently shaken
at her from behind the sofa. The poor old soul was cross, and worried,
and ashamed of herself, and being as feeble-minded as Sophy in many
respects, she suddenly burst into tears, and, covering her face with
the gay handkerchief, cried as if bent on floating the red ship in a
sea of salt water without delay.

"I'm a poor, lonely, abused old woman," she moaned, with a green
monkey at each eye. "No one loves me, or minds me, or thanks me when
I want to help 'em. My money's only a worryment and a burden, and I
don't know what to do with it, for people I don't want to leave it to
ought to have it, and people I do like won't take it. Oh, deary me,
what _shall_ I do! what shall I do!"

"Shall I tell you, ma'am?" asked Van, gently, for, though she was a
very provoking old lady, he pitied and wished to help her.

A nod an