The garden gate clashed, dust flew from the door-mat, a heavy step echoed in the hall, an imperious voice called “Sophy!” and Aunt Kipp entered with a flourish of trumpets, for Toady blew a blast through his fingers which made the bows totter on her bonnet. “My dear aunt, I’m very glad to see you,” murmured Mrs. Snow, advancing with a smile of welcome; for though as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted a little woman as ever lived. “What a fib that was!” said Toady, _sotto voce_. “We were just saying we were afraid you wouldn’t”—began Mary, when a warning, “Mind now, Polly,” caused her to stop short and busy herself with the newcomer’s bag and umbrella. “I changed my mind. Theodore, come and kiss me,” answered Aunt Kipp, briefly. “Yes’m,” was the plaintive reply, and, closing his eyes, Toady awaited his fate with fortitude. But the dreaded salute did not come, for Aunt Kipp exclaimed in alarm,— “Mercy on us! has the boy got the plague?” “No’m, it’s paint, and dirt, and glue, and it _won’t_ come off,” said Toady, stroking his variegated countenance with grateful admiration for the stains that saved him. “Go and wash this moment, sir. Thank Heaven, _I’ve_ got no boys,” cried Aunt Kipp, as if boys were some virulent disease which she had narrowly escaped. With a hasty peck at the lips of her two elder relatives, the old lady seated herself, and slowly removed the awful bonnet, which in shape and hue much resembled a hearse hung with black crape. “I’m glad you are better,” said Mary, reverently receiving the funereal head-gear. “I’m _not_ better,” cut in Aunt Kipp. “I’m worse, much worse; my days are numbered; I stand on the brink of the tomb, and may drop at any moment.” Toady’s face was a study, as he glanced up at the old lady’s florid countenance, down at the floor, as if in search of the above-mentioned “brink,” and looked unaffectedly anxious to see her drop. “Why don’t you, then?” was on his lips; but a frown from Polly restrained him, and he sat himself down on the rug to contemplate the corpulent victim. “Have a cup of tea, aunt?” said Mrs. Snow. “I will.” “Lie down and rest a little,” suggested Polly. “I won’t.” “Can we do anything for you?” said both. “Take my things away, and have dinner early.” Both departed to perform these behests, and, leaning back in her chair, Aunt Kipp reposed. “I say, what’s a bore?” asked Toady from the rug, where he sat rocking meditatively to and fro, holding on by his shoe-strings. “It’s a kind of a pig, very fierce, and folks are afraid of ’em,” said Aunt Kipp, whose knowledge of Natural History was limited. “Good for Polly! so you are!” sung out the boy, with the hearty child’s laugh so pleasant to most ears. “What do you mean, sir?” demanded the old lady, irefully poking at him with her umbrella. “Why, Polly said you were a bore,” explained Toady, with artless frankness. “You _are_ fat, you know, and fierce sometimes, and folks are afraid of you. Good, wasn’t it?”