Part 6

“And the shot must have gone through and through you,” observed Kitty, quietly. “You remember how you pulled my chair from under me just as I was going to sit upon it yesterday, and made me come down bang on the floor.”

“Yes, and you shook the room so, I thought it would crack the looking-glass; and then you looked round so astonished and silly, I almost died laughing.”

“Oh, Fred!” exclaimed Aunt Fanny; “is it possible you were so rude? If I were an absolute monarch, I would condemn you to be upset once a day for a week in exactly the same manner. I am a great believer in the kind of punishment the boys call ‘tit for tat.’ If a boy should cut the string of your kite, I should cut the strings of _all_ his kites for a whole season, explaining every time—‘That’s for punishment, my fine friend. I don’t think you’ll cut another boy’s kite-string in a hurry.’”

Fred turned very red; but, standing up, he said pleasantly, “Here, Kitty, come and upset me.”

She ran behind his chair, but he did not think she would play this trick before company, and he turned quickly, with such perfect confidence, as she snatched the chair away, that he came down with a most tremendous thump! which made the very windows rattle, amid the shouts and laughter of the rest.

“How do you like it?” asked Aunt Fanny, quietly.

“Not much,” said Fred, grinning in rather a rueful manner. “I’m cured, though. I don’t think I shall upset anybody again; and just let them try it on _me_—that’s all.”

At this they all laughed harder than ever, and declared that Aunt Fanny’s rule for punishment was the very “best they had ever heard of.

“But do you not see, my darlings,” she said, seriously, “that it only proves the glorious wisdom of Our Saviour’s golden rule? Whenever you are tempted to play a trick, or say a sharp thing, just stop one moment, and ask yourself, ‘Would I like to have this done or said to _me_?’ If you ask yourself this question _honestly_, the little monitor which God has placed in all your hearts, will answer you so faithfully and kindly, that you would be very naughty children not to listen to its whisperings.

“And now let me tell you the true definition of politeness. It is ‘_real kindness kindly expressed_.’ Don’t forget this. Put this definition in _your_ pop-guns, and fire it off as often as you can, and, my word for it, everybody you shoot will come to love you dearly. For my part, I should like to dine off such shots, red-hot, every day of my life. And so good night, little Pop-gun youngsters, and pleasant dreams to you all.”

“Ah, dear Aunt Fanny! please stay a little minute longer,” cried all the children, running to kiss her. “It’s so very early.”

“Well, I believe I will stay just long enough to ask your advice about something.”

“Oh dear, yes! Ask away. We love to give advice.” And the six children immediately tried to look as wise as twelve large owls, or as Governor Wise of Virginia, who, they said, kept it all in his name, and nowhere else; while Aunt Fanny, with a very grave face, proceeded to observe—

“This story finishes the first volume of ‘Pop-Guns.’ Do you think it will do to go with ‘Nightcaps’ and the rest? or do you advise me to burn it up?”

“Burn it up!” screamed the children, running again to her and kissing her. “No, no, no; pray, don’t. Have them printed, and we will read them twenty times, and play the ‘Family Coach’ too! Let’s play Family Coach now.”

And so they did; though, as there were only ten of them, Sophie had to be all the four horses, Kitty the coachman, footman, and old lady; while mamma, papa, Aunt Fanny, and the rest, were all sorts of things at once. But they had great fun, and were perfectly wornout with laughing, particularly when little Bob had to twirl round, which he always did in such a desperate hurry, that he tumbled over his own legs, and upset himself every time.

And, after that, the forfeits were enchanting; for Aunt Fanny knew a great many funny ones; and Fred said he _did_ “_wish_ Aunt Fanny was a ‘real true child,’ so they could have her to play with them the whole time;” which speech, she declared, was the very finest compliment she had ever received; and Uncle Fanny (that’s Aunt Fanny’s husband) said—

“Well, Peter, I always said you were about six months younger than either of your children, and now I am surer of it than ever.”

“What makes Uncle Fanny call her ‘Peter?’” whispered Kitty to Lou. “He always does it. He did it in one of the ‘Mitten’ books.”

“Because he thinks it teases me,” said Aunt Fanny, whose ears are very sharp, and heard the whisper.

“Why, Peteretta! _does_ it tease you?” said Uncle Fanny.

“There! he is at it, worse than ever: let’s all go and shake him,” cried Aunt Fanny.

The six children rushed at him pell-mell—and he got a splendid shaking—little Bob squeezing one knee and tickling him almost to death; Peter the other, while the rest of the children shook him just where they could get at him.

“Ah! he’s sorry,” cried Kitty, in a sweet, coaxing voice; “hear how he sighs!”

Sure enough, Uncle Fanny was sighing, because he could not laugh any more, he had got so weak; but he caught at dear little Kitty’s comforting word, and gasped out, “Oh yes, I’m sorry, dreadful sorry—I’ll never call Peter Aunt Fanny again—I mean, Aunt Peter, Fannyretta—I mean—oh, Peter!! I will be good!”

Aunt Fanny had given his ear a good pinch, and the children laughed harder than ever, to see him holding up his hands, and pretending to be afraid of a little woman about half his size, and they were just going to shake him again, when he ran for his life, and, getting out on the front stoop, declared he would not come into the house again.

So they had to let Aunt Fanny go to him, after she had promised not to be long before she fired off another pop-gun at them.

And they promised her to be always kind and good to their little companions, and make the very best use of their time—as Philip Wiseman did at last—and to “practise true politeness” everywhere, and towards everybody, like Beppo and his friends.

* * * * *

After Aunt Fanny went away, the children were so anxious to impress upon her mind the serious importance of having the first volume of Pop-guns printed immediately, that they called a mass meeting in the corner, before they bid their parents good-night.

“I say,” said Fred, “let’s write one of those things papa reads out of the paper, when any great man dies, beginning with, ‘Whereas,’ and going on with a whole lot of ‘resolves’ full of compliments.”

“But I don’t want Aunt Fanny to die,” cried little Bob, beginning to rub his eyes.

“Oh no! She isn’t going to die. But we don’t want her to burn up our Pop-guns,” explained Lou, kindly.

“Oh!” said Bob, and looked quite comforted.

So Fred got a sheet of paper, and filling a pen very full of ink, for fear it might dry up before he got it to the paper, he began to write; and by dint of breathing very hard, and bouncing up and down in his chair after finishing every sentence, he soon completed this elegant set of resolutions:—

“_Whereas_, As we are afraid Aunt Fanny may burn up Pop-guns, which, would be awful; and

“_Whereas_, Ever so many children would be so sorry, they would not know what to do; therefore,

“_Resolved_, That the stories are perfectly delightful, and would do the children more good than forty whippings, or a hundred doses of medicine; and

“_Resolved_, That after being told in the famous story of the “Dinner Party,” that the

Dogs and cats were so polite, They quite forgot to bark and bite,

it would never do to let all the rest of the children in the world lose a chance of growing as polite, as we mean to be after this, or as amiable and unselfish as Philip Badboy became; and so, dear Aunt Fanny, you will please to send your stories to Mr. Sheldon immediately, and ask him to get them printed in the very greatest hurry—real head-over-heels hurry, too.”

“There!” cried Fred, reading the manifesto over with admiration, but with a vague idea that they did not sound quite right, particularly the last one. “There! Now we must sign our names—ladies first.”

So Sophie and the rest signed; and Aunt Fanny got the resolutions before breakfast the next morning, and had a good laugh over them.

But she sent the stories to Mr. Sheldon, and here they are for her darlings out in the world.

The children to whom they were read have promised to make her happy by trying to profit by the good examples given, and avoid what is unlovely and sinful. Will _you_ try too? Ah! tell Aunt Fanny that you will,—and that our Father in Heaven may help you, shall be her daily prayer.