Excerpts from a Filthy Diary

by SR Foxley

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Other, Romance, Slice of Life, Granny Smith, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 20709

Excerpts from Filthy Rich's diary, shedding light on a side of him you probably didn't know.

You'd think life would be all caviar and high society luncheons if you were born into Equestria's wealthy elite. But that might not be the case if you also grew up in Ponyville, if your parents named you "Filthy," and if you had a grandfather who had some very odd notions about how rich ponies are supposed to behave.

This is a story about growing up in the time of Applejack's parents' generation. It's also about the Apple and Rich families, what happened with them, and why Diamond Tiara is such a mean little filly—especially to Apple Bloom. But mostly, this story is about learning to be rich, trying to truly love and be loved, and whether it's really possible to have both in this different take on Ponyville's richest citizen.

Cover art by the illustrious Wolf Gibbson.

Published 2012-04-13 09:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-23 20:43:06 UTC

Chapter 1: Interested Ratings

Excerpts from a Filthy Diary

Chapter 1: Interested Ratings

by SR Foxey

(With thanks to the pre-reading / proofreading abilities ofImpossible Numbers,Ezn andLetedwend)

=============

Dear Diamond Tiara,

I'm writing you a letter today which I hope you will never have to read. At the time of this writing, I've just finished putting together my last will and testament. While I don't intend to leave this Earth any time soon, I've lost enough close loved ones suddenly and unexpectedly that I felt it was prudent for me to plan for your future, if I should die before my time.

As I was putting together the attached document, I realized that there are many things about my life and our family which I haven't had a chance to share with you yet, simply because you have not yet matured enough to understand them. Since I don't know whether I shall live long enough to teach you these things at the appropriate times in your life, I'm writing you this letter now. It's a poor substitute, but it will have to do.

I have not been the best father I could have been, and for this I am truly sorry. I hope you at least know that I love you more than anything or anypony in this world. At this time, you are going through a phase in your life where you seem to be Tartarus-bent on antagonizing every other foal who doesn't meet your idea of what a friend should be. You're trying hard to find your place in this world, and I know that one day you'll find it. I wish I could magically give you the self-confidence you so desperately need, but I don't think that kind of magic exists—so the best I can do is love you and try to guide you down a wiser path. I hope more than anything you will one day realize just how truly special you are.

Attached to this scroll you will find a copy of my diary (at least, the portions I've written up until today). But there's a bit of a hitch here: You see, I've never been very diligent about keeping a diary, and certainly didn't think much about who might eventually read it. I guess I always figured that I would be the only pony reading it, so its entries are written more to spark my own memories rather than explain much to anypony who doesn't already know me or my life in intimate detail. While my diary succeeds at bringing forth many poignant, joyful, painful, and sorrowful memories for me, I can see that you probably won't understand by just reading the terse entries I quilled over the years. So, in order to help you know who I truly was and why I did some of the things I have done, I've gone back and selected certain entries in my diary and written more of the story, trying to be true as possible to what I remember happening, how I felt and thought, and how everything really was.

I know that you’ve occasionally heard my southern accent. It’s mostly gone now, but does crop up again from time to time. When I was a young colt, it was so thick at times that I was nearly unintelligible. This sometimes affected my ability to communicate with my peers, and therefore my ability to fit in and get along. For the sake of realness, I’ve decided to try to reproduce my accent as it was at the time I was speaking.

Further, in the later entries in my diary... you entered my life. There are a lot of emotions attached to what happened during these times, so again, for the sake of trying to reproduce how things were from my perspective, I’ve decided to write about you as if you were just another character in my story. Please forgive me, I don’t mean to be impersonal, but it’s the only way I’m able to get through some of these sections.

Please bear with me. I'm not very good at sharing who I am with anypony, even my own family members. In what follows, sometimes I or other ponies you know may come across as having had... not the best of intentions. Even when we did have the best of intentions, and even when everything worked out OK in the end, for reasons which should become evident it may still not be a good idea to make some of these facts public. My hope is that you'll understand the nature of these entries and know that some ponies continue to be affected today by some of the decisions I or others have made in the past. Please be discrete with how you share what you'll learn below. In any case, I've tried to be as honest as I know how to be.

As a final word before I begin to tell you my story, I want to say once again that I love you, and I hope to be with you so long that you begin to understand just how much. I love you, my little princess.

Filthy Rich

=============

September 29, 962

Grandpa Stinking is making me write this, he says so I don't forget. It's NOT FAIR! Ever since Pa died and I had to come to Ponyville and live with Grandpa and work in his STUPID store, none of the other colts or fillies will be friends with me. They make fun of my accent and today at school Honeycrisp pushed me into the mud. She ruined all the fancy clothes that Pa bought for me back in Neigh Orleans. She said now I looked like my name! I told her my grandpa was so rich he could buy their stupid farm and cut down every apple tree growing there. Stupid Apple family!

It's not true, neither. My grandpa is so stupid! Just because the Apple family helped him get settled here in Ponyville, now he thinks it's the duty of anypony with "Rich" in his name to help out anypony else who comes asking for a few bits. The other stores in town always sell things for less because he's always having to charge more to make up for the ponies who can never pay him back. He's not Stinking Rich, he's Stinking Stupid!

Anyway Grandpa found out what I said and now I have to go over there and say I'm sorry to the whole Apple family. And then I have to sweep the floor every night when the store closes for the next three weeks. It's just not fair!

Grandpa told me my Pa named me Filthy to remind me that even though we might be the Rich family, we're no better than otherponies who work in the dirt all day to make a living. I hate my pa. I hate the stupid name he gave me!

I miss my friends in Neigh Orleans.

I don’t remember much of my father or mother. Ma died of the trotts when I was still a baby, and Pa died when I was still pretty little, in that space between warm blurry impressions of happy scents and happy faces and one’s first real memorable disappointment. I was the age where I had already been going to school for a couple years and had just learned to read and do arithmetic.

About the only thing I do know about my pa, Dusty Garnet, was that he was always trying to move up in the world. I don’t know why he left Ponyville and Grandpa Stinking to go seeking his own fortune in Neigh Orleans. Grandpa never talked about it, and I would have been too young to remember if Pa ever told me. Pa was ambitious and proud. He was determined to go far, and make it there through his own strength and cunning.

The most concrete memory I have of him was of the warm summer night I got to attend a company social event with my pa. I remember him being really excited. He’d recently been promoted to dockyard forepony, and somepony really important was going to be in attendance at the party. Pa went out of his way to make sure I was spruced up for the occasion. I recall he bought me a set of very shiny black hoof-boots, a fancy collar and tie, and even a small, colt-sized top hat (all a little over-sized so that I wouldn’t grow out of them too quickly).

“Filthy, my colt,” he said as we were preparing to go, “Mr. Big Shot is going to be there tonight! He’s the boss—the pony who owns the whole shipyard. If you behave yourself and keep quiet, you might be able to stay close to him. Watch him and listen to him, Filthy. He’s made it—and if you act like he does and do what he does, one day you’ll make it too!”

So that’s exactly what I did at the party. Finding Mr. Big Shot was easy enough. He was the center of activity among the mingling ponies. He stood a head taller than all the ponies around him—a huge earth pony sporting a black tuxedo vest, a large, glittering diamond in the center of his cravat and a top hat that was about three times as large as my own. His cutie mark was three stacks of gold coins.

I ended up following right behind him the whole night, trying to understand the complicated words he was using as he talked about the magic of economics and big deals. At one point I got a little too close and he nearly tripped over me. Turning, he spotted me and smiled, obviously amused.

Lifting my chin with a hoof, he said in his thick southern drawl, “Naw, what have we here? Miss Punctual, have we hiyad any new assistant managahs lately?”

“Ah’m Filthy Rich,” I beamed, doing my best imitation of his accent in my coltish soprano, “Ah’m Dusty Garnet’s colt, and one day Ah’m gonna make it—just like you, Mista Big Shot!”

“Ha!” he guffawed, pushing my top hat down over my ears and eyes. “That’s what Ah like to hear! If you keep that up, someday you’ll be a great businesspony!”

I was elated, and never left his side for the rest of the evening.

I remember this clearly, as it was the very next day that my pa was killed in an accident while unloading one of the air cargo ships from Canterlot.

As Grandpa Stinking and I rode the train from Neigh Orleans to Ponyville two weeks later, I decided that it was better to be like Mr. Big Shot than my pa. With so many ponies busily working around him, Mr. Big Shot didn’t look like he had to work that hard. He got to make the important decisions and have important conversations with important ponies. He had so much money he could buy whatever he wanted and wear fancy clothes all the time—clothes that were tailor-made to fit that you didn’t have to grow into. Mr. Big Shot was always smiling and happy. Life was good and easy for him.

Most importantly, no pony like Mr. Big Shot was ever going to get crushed by a falling gantry crane on the shipyard docks.

I decided that I wanted to be wealthy, so that my foals wouldn’t have to go through the same things I did. That’s when my cutie mark appeared: Three large sacks of money.

The summer months passed that year with me learning to help Grandpa in his little shop. I was too unsure of myself, and too devastated from my father’s sudden passing to even leave the shop to try to make friends with the foals my age. I couldn’t avoid the others forever, though, and soon enough I found myself sitting in a classroom full of other foals at the start of the school year. My pa always said that it was very important to make a good first impression, so I went to school wearing the same shiny black hoof-boots, the fancy collar and tie, and the top hat I’d worn when I met Mr. Big Shot. I had grown a little, but all of these were still a little too big for me.

“Welcome back to school, students!” the dappled-gray pegasus in front of the class said. “I see that we have some new faces this year, so why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves and say a little something about who we are and what makes us special?” She scanned the class and stopped when she saw me, or rather, my top hat sticking up in the third row.

“Oh! I see we have a dapper young gentlecolt from the big city joining our little Ponyville herd. Why don’t you come up front and tell us who you are and where you’re from?”

As I shuffled to the front of the class, she saw my flank and said, “And you already have your cutie mark? You’re the first in our class! Why don’t you tell us about it, too?”

I stood before the class, scanning over the faces of the foals I’d otherwise been avoiding all summer. Most looked bored, a few were curiously amused at my overly formal attire. There was one filly in the front row who seemed to be genuinely smiling at me. She had a brilliantly red coat and creamy-yellow mane and braided tail, both of which were tied back with some string. And freckles. I liked freckles.

“Mah name is Filthy Rich,” I began.

“Filthy!” exclaimed a lavender and white unicorn filly in the second row. “Is that really your name?”

“Prissy Pants,” said our teacher, “we don’t speak out of turn, and we don’t make fun of other ponies’ names, now do we?”

“No, Miss Cirrus,” replied Prissy.

“Very good. Now Filthy, please continue.”

I could feel my cheeks burning, as I looked down at my shiny black hoofboots. “Er... ah... Mah name’s Filthy Rich,” I said, with significantly less bravado, “Ah’m from N’awlins, and...”

“N’awlins!” blurted Prissy.

“Prissy!” said Miss Cirrus.

“Sorry,” said Prissy.

Awkward silence. Concentrating a little harder on my pronunciation, I cleared my throat and said, “Er... that is, Ah’m from Neigh Orleans, and Ah just moved here to live with my grandpa... er... Stinking Rich...” I paused, waiting to see if somepony was going to say anything about my grandfather’s aromatic name.

When I was only greeted with more awkward silence, I continued, “Um... My cutie mark is three sacks all heaped full of bits... er... because...”

How would they all react to what it meant? And, more importantly, what would Mr. Big Shot do in my hooves here? He’d tell them, as bold as Celestia’s noon-day sun, exactly what it meant, I thought.

I screwed up my courage. “Because someday Ah’m gonna be the richest pony in Ponyville, and maybe even Equestria. And y’all will have to come to my shop whenever y’all want to buy some money.”

A long silence followed. Somepony coughed. Then Miss Cirrus said, “Um, Filthy? Do you mean that everypony will have to come to your shop whenever they want to buy things with money?”

I furrowed my brow, trying to remember what Mr. Big Shot had said. Something about the high price of capital (I had been very proud to figure out that capital was businesspony-speak for money before the end of that party), and this had something to do with mounds of paperwork and something called an “interest rate” which was apparently too high right now.

“No,” I said trying to sound sure of myself. “See, it has to do with surveys. When y’all want money ‘cause you don’t have enough, then you’ll come to my shop and fill out a survey. And if... um... you rate your interest really high in getting some money, then Ah’ll charge you more for it. It’s all about that interested rating.”

More silence, then somepony said, “That doesn’t make any sense! How can anypony buy money if they don’t have enough money in the first place?”

“Maybe he means he’s going to lend everypony money and they’ll have to pay him back?” somepony else suggested.

“Or maybe he means we’ll buy money by selling him things he can sell in his shop? But I don’t know how the interested rating thing works,” came a third suggestion.

“Filthy?” asked Miss Cirrus. “Do you mean you’re going to be a banker?”

The expression on the face of the red-colored filly in the front row went from amusement, to shock, to anger and then disgust over the course of about two seconds.

I looked at her quizzically as I contemplated what had just been suggested. I was starting to get confused about all this myself. It had all sounded really brilliant when Mr. Big Shot had been talking about it. Was he a banker? I didn’t think so. He owned a shipyard, not a bank. And he didn’t really sell things either. But Grandpa Stinking did, I knew—he certainly didn’t make all the things he sold in his shop himself, so he must have gotten them from somepony else. So that third suggestion might have some merit. Then again, Mr. Big Shot didn’t really have anything to do with buying or selling actual things, yet he was obviously very rich indeed, and from his boasting at the party, getting even richer despite the high interest rates. And there was something else he said, too, wasn’t there? Something about being in a vest and being bonded and the stocks, or something? Mr. Big Shot had been wearing some really fancy clothes. But I’d only ever seen one pony in the stocks in Neigh Orleans, and he didn’t seem like a very nice stallion, unlike Mr. Big Shot. Plus, I wasn’t even sure whether Ponyville had stocks.

“No,” I began. “No, it’s not exactly like being a banker, but Ah think it is pretty close.” I decided to hedge my bet. “It’s partially about buying things to sell in my shop, and partially about lending money. See, if your interested rating is high when Ah buy things from you, then Ah’ll give you more money. And if your interested rating is high when Ah lend you money, then you’ll have to pay back more when you do pay it back.”

The whole class was just staring at me like I had just sprouted a second head. Somepony muttered, “Well, then whenever I have to borrow money, I’m not going to say I’m very interested.”

I knew the answer to this one already. “Oh! But y’all won’t have a choice! See, if you don’t say you’re very interested, then AH’ll sell my money to somepony who is more interested and y'all won’t get any.”

Prissy Pants’ hoof shot into the air and she waved it around frantically.

“Er... yes?” I said.

“But doesn’t that mean you’ll also have to pay more to ponies selling you things if they say they’re really interested?” Prissy beamed.

I felt my cheeks reddening as I felt myself getting caught in some kind of trap, although I wasn’t entirely sure what the trap was.

“Look,” I said, “this is all really complicated, and Ah wouldn’t expect country ponies like yourselves to understand how it all works. But trust me: It does work. Why, Ah know of at least two or three businessponies in N’awlins who’ve gotten really rich this way.”

I could sense the level of skepticism rising. But before I could say anything, Miss Cirrus spoke up.

“Er... Thank you, Filthy, for one of the more... er... sensible discussions of modern economic theory I’ve heard in a while. Why don’t you take a seat now?”

“But Ah haven’t even said anything about demanding supplies, or bondage vests, or the stocks...” I protested.

“Filthy!” Miss Cirrus snapped.

“Yes’m?”

“Sit. Now.”

“Yes’m,” I said, and shuffled back to my desk.

A couple hours later, Miss Cirrus shooed me out onto the school playground after all the other foals had eagerly departed for recess. I wanted to stay inside—after my introduction, I was getting nothing but dirty looks from the rest of the class all morning—but Miss Cirrus would have none of it.

So there I stood on my four hooves, dressed up as formally as a colt my age could get dressed up, watching the other foals playing in the grass, swinging on the swingset, and jumping rope. As is usual for ponyfolk, most weren't even wearing clothes. I spotted Prissy Pants playing with Honeycrisp Apple near a large puddle which hadn't yet dried up after the big storm the pegasus ponies had created two days ago. (Honeycrisp was the name of the red-coated, freckled filly in the front of the class—I had learned her name when she introduced herself along with the rest of the students at the beginning of school.) On a whim, I decided to walk over and see what they were doing.

"Hi Filthy," said Prissy as I approached. Honeycrisp turned away from me, scowling. Prissy was moving mud around into little circular shapes with her hooves. It made a soft splutting sound.

"Mornin' Prissy, Honeycrisp." I tipped my top hat to them.

Prissy looked up at me and smiled, then went back to working on the mud. I could see several other little mud circles in front of Honeycrisp, but she seemed to be ignoring me.

Splut, splut, went Prissy's hooves.

A fly buzzed and landed on Honeycrisp's flank. She flicked it away with a twitch of her tail. I looked down at my oversized shiny black hoofboots and twisted my hooves slightly so the sun caught their glint. I could hear the sounds of other foals playing at their games. The mud smelled slightly fetid, like sandy clay mixed with just a little bit of rotting leaves. Several ponies cheered in the distance as some playground record had just been broken. I felt an itch on my forelock and scratched it with a hind hoof.

Splut, splut.

"So, er..." I tried.

Splut, splut.

"So, what're y'all—"

Honeycrisp interrupted me. "Are ya really goin' to be the richest pony in all of Ponyville, Filthy?" She stared at me sidelong.

"Oh! Er... yes!" I said, suddenly pleased that not only had Honeycrisp remembered my name, but she had remembered what I had said to the class. "Ah'm gonna be so rich that they'll have to invent new numbers just to count all my bits."

"And when ya get rich, what're ya gonna do with all that money?" Honeycrisp asked.

I had put some thought into this. "Ah'm gonna buy a really big house, and wear expensive clothes all the time, and make sure none of my kin has to work one day in a field or in a warehouse or on a shipyard or anywhere else dirty and dangerous. Why, we're also gonna have fancy waitin' staff to cook our meals and clean our clothes," I said.

Honeycrisp considered this, then said, "Have ya thought about maybe sharing some of that money with ponyfolk who need some help, y'know, payin' for stuff?"

I frowned. "Well," I said slowly, "Ah don't know. Ah don't rightly see how Ah can get to be the richest pony in all of Ponyville if Ah'm givin' away my money all the time. Er... unless y'all want to pay it back. With those interested rates, y'know?"

Prissy paused in her splutting. "But Filthy," she said, "doesn't your grandpa already give money away?"

I felt my cheeks start burning. "Er, yes. But it's only because he's so rich he has more money than he knows what to do with," I lied.

Honeycrisp huffed, then got up to go back to the schoolhouse. I watched her start to trot off and turned back to Prissy.

Splut, splut.

"Er... what is it y'all are doing here anyway?" I asked.

"We're making mud pies," Prissy said. "Apple ones, just like Granny Smith bakes up when the apple harvest starts to come in. Want to try a slice?"

I looked at the smelly, dripping, roundish cylinders in the mud in front of Prissy. I turned my nose toward the sky as I'd seen several of the important ponies at Mr. Big Shot's party do when presented with hors d'oeuvres they didn't particularly care for.

"No," I said. "Ah don't think any 'Rich' ought to even pretend to eat something so dirty—"

That's when something barreled into me full-force from behind. Before I knew what was happening, I was first flying through the air, then skidding head-first into the puddle. I blinked my eyes, ejected mud from my mouth and nostrils, and gasped for breath.

"There!" I heard Honeycrisp shouting angrily from somewhere behind me. "Now at least ya look like yer name, Filthy Rich!"

I got to my hooves, both Honeycrisp and Prissy laughing at me. Some of the other foals had heard the commotion and were trotting over to see what was happening. I sullenly wiped some of the mud off my ruined hoofboots, trying to save some shred of dignity. Spotting my top hat lying in the mud nearby, I gripped it between my teeth and tossed it into the air. It landed on my head with a soft splut, covering my face with its dirty, watery contents and stinging my eyes. This brought a fresh peal of laughter from the other foals.

"Oh yeah?" I shouted through the tears, forgetting in my anger to imitate Mr. Big Shot's accent. "Oh YEAH? Well, my Grandpa Stinking Rich is so rich he could buy Sweet Apple Acres and cut down every apple tree growing there, Honeycrisp Apple!"

She turned and galloped away, crying. About that time, I felt something clamp down hard on my ear.

"That'sh enough out of you," Miss Cirrus hissed through her clenched teeth, hovering over me on her dappled-gray wings. "C'mon," she lisped. "Let'sh go talk to your grandpa!"

She practically dragged me through town by my ear, with me dripping mud and repeating "Ow! Ow! Ow!" the whole way.

What I didn't know at the time, and what just about every pony in Ponyville knew except for me, was that the apple crop from Sweet Apple Acres had been devastated by parasprites for the last three years. Things had gotten so bad for the Apples that Honeycrisp's father Big Green Apple had been forced, for the first time in the Apple family's history, to take out a mortgage on the farm in order to pay the bills. They were having a very hard time making ends meet. Big Green had also decided to cut down a third of their beloved apple trees in order to diversify into growing carrots, alfalfa, colorful flowers and other staples, just in case the parasprites came back for the apple harvest again that year. It is no small thing for an Apple to cut down his own trees.

Chapter 2: Spanking the pot

Excerpts from a Filthy Diary

Chapter 2: Spanking the Pot

by SR Foxey

(With thanks to the pre-reading / proofreading abilities ofImpossible Numbers,Ezn andLetedwend)

=============

July 16, 965

We had some strange weather last night that the pegasuses say they didn't make. Grandpa told me that it probably meant the zap apples were coming. I didn't know what a zap apple was, so Grandpa told me they were magical apples from the Everfree Forest that the Apple family makes into a really good jam. I guess it's a tradition for Grandpa to buy the first 100 jars the Apple family makes. Honeycrisp was there helping her mom get ready for the harvest. She looked really pretty.

Grandpa made me wear a bunny costume and sing to the water with the other foals. I felt really silly, but at least Honeycrisp smiled at me.

To be honest, at first I was fuming.

It had all seemed just plain silly when Grandpa was explaining it to me in the shop after school, just how the zap apples appear almost overnight, and how each stage of their growth was accompanied by strange magical weather, and how they would disappear if they weren't harvested quickly enough.

"And that ain't the half of it," he called while rummaging through one of the disused boxes in the stockroom behind the register. "Y'see, Granny Smith takes them zap apples and makes this sweet jam, the likes of which y'ain't never gonna taste nowhere else. It's finer and sweeter than the best dessert ya could ever get in any fine restaurant in Canterlot. Better even than the fancy vittles to be had at one of the Princess's fine soirées."

"Really?" I asked. I was dusting off a few of the figurines in one of the glass display cases toward the middle of our shop.

"Well, I oughtta know," he said.

I stopped and looked at the stockroom door with one eyebrow raised, as if Grandpa could see my skepticism through the wall, and as if he would have even noticed it if he had seen.

"Got a whole... rit'chul round makin' it, too," he said as the sounds of his rummaging continued. "Y'see, bein' a magical fruit and all, it takes a special process to make it inta jam. It ain't a magical process, but it has all kinds of crazy steps so that the jam turns out just right. Like talking to the jars."

"Granny Smith talks to the jars?" A smile quickly spread across my face as I imagined Granny Smith sitting down in her living room with a cup of tea surrounded by all manner of glass jars, cups, beakers and flasks, a tiny ornamented tea cup sitting in front of each of them. Oh Mason, she'd say, you simply are too transparent.

"More like shouts at 'em," Grandpa said.

"Er... oh," I said as my vision shattered.

"Then there's the way she paints pink polka dots all round her kitchen. And puts the water cans for waterin' the zap apple trees in a great big circle and hops all around 'em, a-singing and a-hollerin', all the while dressed up like a march hare."

The smile came back in a flash as I tried to picture this even more incredible scene.

"Next you're gonna say she has the Mad Hatter dance a jig with her while the Dormouse stirs the pot," I said, and I laughed.

"No," came Grandpa's reply, the joke apparently having sailed through his ears without resistance, "there ain't a whole lotta dancin' involved. Leastwise not at that stage. But she does get help singin' to the water. Then there's the bees."

"The bees?" I asked, eager to find out what the next hilarity would be.

"Oh yes," he said. "One year Big Green was a bit too rough coaxin' the honey from the bees for the jam. Managed to break a hive accidentally. He was covered in welts, but that weren't half so bad as the jam that year. Couldn't hardly sell a jar! So now Granny Smith is real genteel when it comes to sussin' the honey from the bees. She fairly acts like a starry-eyed filly on her first hearts and hooves day the way she woos it out of 'em."

"Haha!" I stomped, punctuating my laughter. "Are you serious, Grandpa? She really does that?"

"Well, a'course I'm serious, Filthybilly!" Grandpa said. But I could hear the mirth in his voice too. "In fact this one year—ah! There it is!—This one year there was this one bee that seemed to take a hankerin' to Granny's nose. Sat right down in the middle and wouldn't budge for hours. She wouldn't let nopony shoo it away for her, neither. Granny was sore afraid of upsettin' the thing and what that might do to the zap apple jam, so she did all the rest of her shoppin' that day walkin' around like this."

Grandpa Stinking emerged from the stockroom door carrying an enormous pair of cream colored bunny ears in his teeth. He was staring cross-eyed at the end of his nose, eyes wide, with a rictus of terror on his face. He was taking exaggerated, slow steps, kicking his legs wide and standing on his hoof tips.

I lost it. I fell backward laughing and kicking my hooves in the air. I wasn't sure what was funnier: The idea of seeing Granny Smith walk around all of Ponyville like a cross-eyed tightrope walker, or seeing my normally stern Grandpa actually imitating the act.

Grandpa smiled, dropping the ears. "Well, she's gotten better about lettin' the bees land all over her. And the zap apple jam really was extra special that year."

I got to my hooves. That's about when I actually noticed the pair of bunny ears Grandpa had brought. I smiled and wiped a tear from my eye.

"So, what are those for?" I asked.

That's how I found myself walking down the dusty road toward Sweet Apple Acres wearing an enormous pair of cream colored bunny ears, followed in tow by Grandpa Stinking. We were both silently fuming at each other.

It actually wasn't that strange of an occurrence… well except for the obvious. In those days Grandpa was usually upset with me over one thing or another. This time it was because my laughter had turned into angry shouting the moment I realized the bunny ears were for me. Grandpa started shouting back about how the zap apple jammin' held a special meaning for our family, and about how it was really an honor to be able to take part in it, and how he'd been waiting for years for the chance to share it with me, and how he hoped I'd be grateful, and… blah, blah, blah.

I was nearly old enough to start going to junior high, and now I was going to have to go and humiliate myself in front of all the other foals by taking part in this ridiculous "tradition?" As if it weren't already hard enough for me at school!

Things had not been going well since my now infamous introduction a couple years back. Oh, I did just fine in all the subjects. Very well, in fact, but that was actually part of the problem. I apparently had a talent for numbers, and reading, and science, and Equestrian studies, and just about everything else except crafts and physical education; so much so that I was constantly scoring at the top of the class in most of these subjects. They hated me because I had arrogantly told them all I was going to be richer than them. They hated me because I was smart and making their grades look worse. They hated me because it looked like I really was going to be richer than all of them. And with a name like "Filthy" they had all the fodder they needed to pull practical jokes, make even ruder names and demeaning little rhymes about me, and otherwise make me the laughing stock of the whole school.

I absolutely did not need to give them anything else about which they could laugh at me. But there wasn't anything I could do about it: Grandpa Stinking had put his hoof down, and when he did that, there was no going back.

Presently, we were approaching the main gate at Sweet Apple Acres. I could hear the voices of foals singing gleefully, punctuated with laughter. The zap apple trees themselves were covered in big, dark leaves, and Big Green was out among them spreading around baskets, barrels and whole carts under the largest trees. I stopped and sighed, reluctant to take that first step through the gate. My anger had turned into the familiar miasma of sadness and impending doom I would get when one of my craft projects was about to be shown to the class, or when Prissy Pants' older brother Shot Put got that glint in his eye just before recess, or when I'd scored a full ten points higher than the next highest pony on the latest math test, or when I'd woken up in the morning to remember it was a school day, or…

Grandpa startled me by placing his hoof on my wither. I looked up at him and saw that his expression had softened. He almost looked sympathetic.

"It'll be OK, Filthy," he said. "You jest need to get outer the shop and play with some other ponies yer own age fer once. Make some friends and have fun! Now, c'mon!" He slapped my flank with his hoof.

I started up but quickly slowed to a plodding walk as we made our way toward the farmhouse. As we neared, I could see the ring of watering cans spaced out just enough so that there was space for a foal to jump between them. Several foals dressed in bunny costumes who I recognized from school were actually doing so now, and singing… the alphabet song? I could feel my stomach twist again. Granny Smith was there too, struggling with a huge iron cauldron she was pulling from a storage shed toward the main house.

When she spotted us, she stopped what she was doing and called out, "Well, howdy-do, Filthy and Stinking Rich! How're y'all doin'?"

Grandpa called back, just as loud, his voice veritably dripping with sweetness, "Well, thank you for asking, Mrs. Smith! We're just fine. Just as fine as this be-youtiful summer day which is, might I take the liberty of saying, not even half so fine as you."

"Oh ponyfeathers, Mr. Rich," she said, blushing. "Y'all always did have a silver tongue hidden behind those perfect teeth. But don't y'all go lettin' Big Green hear you sassin' me like that. He's lival to take a few of them teeth a'fore he'd be through witcha."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear," my grandpa said, grinning. "Not if it had to replace the dream standin' a'fore me right now."

Granny Smith worked her jaw wordlessly for a moment.

"Ahem! Well!" Granny said, blushing a brighter shade of pink, "I er... I s-s'pose y'all came down to help out with the zap apple jammin'? That's er… jest fine."

"Indeed it is," Grandpa said, leering.

"Ahem! Well! Why don't you go down and help Big Green set out the baskets? The zap apple blooms oughtta be showin' up any time this evenin' and we're runnin' a smidgen behind. Little Filthy here can help the other foals sing to the water."

"Why thank you Maria Ann!" Grandpa leaned down to pick up Granny's hoof. He smiled and planted a delicate kiss there. "I jest want to make sure you know jest how much of a sheer pleasure it has been, and will always be, to be of service to you." He winked and trotted off in the direction of the northern fields.

For a few moments the only sounds were the clip-clop of Grandpa's receding hooves, the songbirds in the trees, and the distant, woody thump of Big Green tossing another basket at the foot of a zap apple tree. Granny Smith plopped back on her haunches, mouth slightly agape as she watched Grandpa Stinking's rear end trotting away. All of us foals stood stock still, staring at her, also with mouths slightly agape. Slowly, a smile spread itself across her face. She shook her head, chuckling.

"Land sakes!" she said to nopony in particular. "I swear I could live to be a hundred and never get used to that old fox."

Granny seemed to suddenly notice the rest of us staring at her.

"Oh, ponyfeathers," she cursed. "Don't y'all go thinkin' nothin' of that. Nor sayin' nothin' neither. He's jest always… er… ah… he jest… ah…"

"Always what?" came a voice from behind her.

Granny jumped into the air and nearly did a backflip. She landed, breathing hard.

"Oh! Honeycrisp! It's jest you."

Honeycrisp raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

"Er… never you mind, Honey." Granny swallowed. "Here, why don't you show Filthy how we sing to the water?"

Honeycrisp shook her head and rolled her eyes. She smiled at me and picked up the battered watering can she'd been bringing from the well and trotted in my direction.

Freckles…

Of course, I'd seen her nearly every school day. But we'd never really had much to say to each other after the… incident. She'd grown up a little since then, as had I, and had only just gotten her cutie mark. It was, of course, a beautiful red and green honeycrisp apple.

In defense of my dumbfounded state, staring at the back of her head from three rows back is quite a bit different from seeing her beautiful, freckled face approaching from the front, braided mane bouncing with each step. And she was actually smiling at me.

She set the water can down a few feet in front of me and looked up again, smiling. "Howdy Filthy," she said.

"Er…" I phrased eloquently.

Her smiled drooped a little. "So, ah… have y'all watched how the other foals have been singin' and hoppin'? Ah see ya brought yer floppy ears."

"Oh! Er…" I glanced upward at the pink liners of the huge cream colored bunny ears protruding above my head and all of the embarrassment of the trek from our store to Sweet Apple Acres came rushing back. I could feel my cheeks start burning and I felt weak in the knees.

"No… Ah mean! Er… yes, Ah've er… yes. Ah saw how they were doin' it earlier," I said.

I'd been living in Ponyville long enough and at a young enough age at this point that my southern accent was all but gone; but it did come back again to a certain degree when I was flustered or deliberately trying to put on airs. The latter was not the case just now.

Honeycrisp smiled again at me and said, "Well, all right then. Jest get in line and do what the others are doin' and you'll be jest fine. 'Tain't hard." She turned and trotted back toward Granny Smith. "Ah'm gonna help Ma with this pot. Then I'll go get mah suit and come'n join ya," she called over her shoulder.

I shuffled forward and filled the gap between Prissy Pants and Morning Glory as the foal lined up outside the ring of watering cans.

"Ready everypony?" Prissy called out loudly.

No, I'm not, I thought.

"Then, let's go!" she shouted and started hopping.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G!" we all sang.

I can't believe I'm doing this, I thought.

"H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P!"

I can NOT. BELIEVE. I'm doing this.

"Q, R, S!"

I glanced up at Honeycrisp. She had just finished helping Granny Smith get the cauldron lifted over the top of her head, the latter's rear quarters with apple pie cutie mark and four legs visible, teetering precariously as she managed the weight. Honeycrisp was steadying her as they began to make their trek up to the house.

"T, U, V!"

Honeycrisp glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me.

"Double-U, X!"

I felt something tug my head to the left, hard, as I tried to make that last hop.

"Y, and…"

My whole world turned upside down. There was sky, then there was the earth, then there was sky again. And there were ponies, and watering cans, and limbs, and surprised faces, and then I was on my back, with the wind knocked out of me, and there were two pink lined, cream colored bunny ears hanging in front of me, the left one with a suspiciously familiar hoof print on it. Between the ears I saw a watering can arcing slowly upward, spilling its contents into the air weightlessly.

"Z!" someone shouted.

I followed the path of the watering can. The water coming from its top and spout was forming little roundish droplets and amorphous tendrils of glittery, rainbow colored light as it diffracted the late afternoon sunlight. The whole mass seemed to be slowly pulling itself outward, as if to free itself from its metal prison. It looked like an airborne jellyfish.

No! I thought. Not that way!

The can and rainbow jellyfish had nearly completed a half revolution. The jellyfish had almost freed itself from the can now, reaching its beady tendrils slowly downward.

To the left! I shouted in my head. More to the...

SPLOOSH! CLANG-ANG-ANG-ang-ang...

Granny Smith took two steps to the right, then two steps to the left as she steadied herself under the weight of the resonating cauldron. A yard to her left, Honeycrisp was splayed out in the middle of a spreading puddle, a watering can lodged firmly over her entire head. As the sound of the resonating cauldron ebbed, the only other sound was a steady drip, drip, drip.

I covered my face with my hooves.

Dear Princess Celestia, I prayed, I know that Nightmare Moon only comes around on Nightmare Night each year, but could you please see to it that you send her a few months early this year? In fact, if you could send her over in the next three or four seconds, I would be very grateful if she could gobble me up so that I don't have to go through whatever is about to happen next. Thank you ever so much! Your loyal subject, Filthy Rich.

That's about when I started hearing laughter. It was a kind of eerie, hollow, resonating laughter.

Oh wait! I thought, I didn't really mean it!

And then all the other foals around me started laughing.

Then someone was pulling on my right hoof, and I saw Honeycrisp standing over me. She was holding the watering can up over her head like a hat with her right hoof and pulling me up with her left. Her mane was wet and matted down against the side of her neck awkwardly and on her face was the biggest smile I think I've ever seen.

"Ah-har, you OK-hay?" she laughed, "That was so-ho! So-ho! Oop!" She fell over backward, a riot of giggles.

Slowly, a smile materialized on my face. I started snickering. Then snickering turned into giggling. And then giggling turned into laughing. Before long we were both rolling around in the dirt, kicking our hooves in the air and gasping for breath.

A few moments later, the other foals helped us to our hooves and we were leaning against each other to keep from falling down again.

Honeycrisp was still giggling at me. "That was so funny, Filthy!" she said. "Ah didn't know you could do a cartwheel!"

"Ah didn't either," I said. I couldn't stop grinning.

"Ah bet ya didn't!" she exclaimed. "The look on your face! It was just…! And the way ya got that watering can tangled up on your hoof, and how ya tackled Prissy, and then th' watering can was up in th' air, and then…"

"Sploosh!" I beamed.

"Sploosh!" she agreed, and we both stomped our hooves in mirth.

"Ah do say," she went on, wiping a tear from her eye. "My ma said Ah ought to expect the unexpected 'round zap apple tahm, but Ah never would have figured on somethin' like this happenin'!"

"Hello-oh?" It was Granny Smith's voice, somewhat muted and echoey. "Can one of y'all please tell me what jest happened?"

We glanced over to where she was standing next to the puddle, the cauldron still atop her head and her four hooves splayed to take the weight. Honeycrisp and I looked back at each other and erupted into a fresh round of laughter.

When this had subsided, Honeycrisp turned to me and said, "C'mon. Let's go help my ma, then we should go fill up these cans again. There're a lot of zap apple trees that need waterin' a'fore supper time."

Just before supper a huge flock of crows sprang up as if it out of nowhere and flew above the zap apple orchard in an apple shaped formation. Dark clouds from the Everfree Forest rolled in and the wind picked up. Moments later there was a sizzling sound as an electric arc zapped from tree to tree. The zap apple blooms appeared as the lightning arc started and were in full bloom by the time it ended. I'd never seen anything like it in my life.

Later that night Grandpa Stinking and I were back on the dusty road from Sweet Apple Acres. We were walking just as slowly as before, but this time it was because we were laboring under the burden of a humongous Apple family supper. Grandpa looked tired from the day's work in the orchard, trying to keep up with Big Green. I was there, plodding along without really seeing the road in front of me in the moonlight, the enormous bunny ears still on my head. I couldn't stop grinning stupidly.

Grandpa turned to me as we slowly clip-clopped along.

"So," he said, "it looks like you enjoyed y'self."

"Yeah," I replied.

"I guess it weren't as silly as y'all thought, then?" He smiled.

"Oh, it was plenty silly," I said. "But it was really fun, too."

"Oh? What was your favorite part?"

"Honeycrisp smiled at me."

That year's zap apple jam was the best batch to date. Grandpa managed to buy an extra twenty jars before they were all sold out. We saved them for ourselves and as special gifts to friends, slowly rationing them over the whole next year. Later, I found out that Granny Smith decided to add "Spanking the Pot" to her list of zap apple jammin' rituals.

Chapter 3: Chimicherrychanga

Chapter 3: Chimicherrychanga

Excerpts from a Filthy Diary

Chapter 3: Chimicherrychanga

by SR Foxey

(With thanks to the pre-reading / proofreading abilities ofImpossible Numbers,Ezn andLetedwend)

=============

February 8, 967

I'm so lucky! Honeycrisp said "yes" when I asked her if she would be my very special somepony for Hearts and Hooves Day next week!

Stinking Rich was alternately nibbling on his hooftip and tapping it against his teeth. For all his swagger around the senior mares, he still had a tendency to absentmindedly do this when he was thinking about something hard, or considering the best way to deliver some news somepony else was unlikely to take well. He flipped over the battered pocket watch in his left hoof to scrutinize it a bit more, shifting his weight from one hind hoof to the other. His eyes went from the watch to the pony standing on the other side of the counter. Grandpa Stinking looked him up and down briefly before returning to the pocket watch in his left hoof, turning it over once again. He resumed his nibbling.

I was about ten yards away, ostensibly straightening a couple of the puzzle toy sets on a shelf at the side of our shop. I reached up to adjust one for the twentieth time again, sticking my tongue out of the side of my mouth and furrowing my brow as if I were trying to get it to look just right on the shelf. It wouldn't do to interrupt them during a negotiation.

"So," said Grandpa, not looking up from the watch, "how's yer neice doin', Weezer? All packed up and ready to skedaddle out of this two-pony town?"

Weezer Wheatwagon closed his lips over his prominent buckteeth briefly before opening his mouth and licking his lips. He'd been nervously prancing in place with his hind hooves since he’d walked into the shop forty-five minutes ago. It was only in the last ten minutes that he had worked up the courage to approach the counter where my grandpa usually sat.

"No," he said, licking his lips again. "The fall semester don't start until late August, so it'll be a few months before she ships out." He cleared his throat. "She's real excited to get going now, of course."

Grandpa nodded without looking up. "Oh, I expect so. It ain't every day a pony from Ponyville gets into the Canterlot Academy, after all."

I straightened the puzzle box again. Besides the clop-clop-clop of Mr. Wheatwagon's hind hooves still beating a quiet rhythm on the wooden floorboards, I could hear the quiet tick-tock of several cuckoo clocks on the wall on the opposite side of the shop. There were a few dust motes making their way lazily across a shaft of mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in the window next to the clocks.

"Has she picked out a subject, yet?" Grandpa asked, looking up at Mr. Wheatwagon again.

"Law," he replied, quickly. "She's going to study law to become, um, a lawyer, I think."

"Really?" Grandpa feigned surprise. "That'll make her the first lawyer in yer family, won't it, then?"

"Yep!" replied Mr. Wheatwagon, smiling proudly. "First pony in the whole Truck family to go to college, too."

"You don't say!" said Grandpa, nodding appreciatively.

They both returned their attention to the pocket watch in Grandpa's left hoof. Mr. Wheatwagon resumed his nervous prancing. Grandpa tapped his teeth with his hooftip.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, tick-tock, tick-tock, tap, tap, tap.

Grandpa seemed to come to a decision. He set the watch down on the glass countertop between himself and Mr. Wheatwagon and straightened up a little.

"Two hundred fifty," he said.

Oh, I thought, it's going to be one of these.

"Two hundred fifty!" Mr. Wheatwagon shouted, stomping his hoof. "I'm sorry Mr. Rich, but there ain't no way that's what it's worth!"

Grandpa narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw momentarily, frowning.

"'Course it is," he said. "You asked me to make you a fair offer on this here pocket watch, and that's my offer. You accusin' me of tryin' to cheat ya?" He slammed a hoof down on the countertop, making the watch jump.

"No, er… I…" Mr. Wheatwagon stuttered. He looked mortified. "What I meant was, there ain't no way that it's worth that much."

Grandpa's expression softened a bit and he stood up a little straighter.

"Oh! Well, then it really is good thing ya came to me with this," he said. "Elsewise y'all might have been cheated. Here, let me show ya somethin'." He picked up the pocket watch and turned it over. "Ya see these here scratches on the back? Like this really deep one that goes right through the engraving?"

Mr. Wheatwagon scrutinized the back of his pocket watch, squinting his eyes and moving his head to get a better angle.

"Mmm-hmmm," he mumbled.

"Ya see how the color of the brass outside the scratch is different than the color in the middle of the scratch?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Wheatwagon. "It's all bright and shiny in the middle of the scratch."

"Well," Grandpa continued, "that dull color on the outside—that's called a patina. Collectors go nuts for a good patina. It means the watch is pretty old. Makes it more valuable."

"R-really?" Mr. Wheatwagon seemed to visibly brighten.

"That's what I said!"

"But, um," Mr. Wheatwagon said sheepishly, "but it doesn't even work anymore."

"Oh, pish posh!" said Grandpa, waving a hoof dismissively. "That's easy enough to fix. Jest where did ya get this fine time keeper anyway?"

"It's been… Well, I've just sort of had it. Er... around. For years. I think it might have belonged to my granddad." Mr. Wheatwagon scratched at his neck absentmindedly.

Grandpa's eyes went wide and he slowly looked back down at the battered old pocket watch in his left hoof. He gingerly set it back on the countertop before looking back up to stare intently at Mr. Wheatwagon.

"Er… what?" Mr. Wheatwagon was smiling nervously under my grandpa's serious gaze.

"Do you mean to tell me," Grandpa began quietly, his intensity and volume rising with each word, "that ya waltzed right into my store this afternoon to try and sell me the pocket watch of Albus 'All Aboard' Coalcar?"

"Um, yes?" Mr. Wheatwagon said.

"And ya almost let me buy it for two and hundred fifty bits?"

"Um, yes?" Mr. Wheatwagon squeaked.

Grandpa closed his eyes and put his hooves to his temples as if to squelch the sudden onset of a headache.

"Land sakes," he muttered. "If ya worked in my shop, I'd have to fire ya in a week! You young whippersnappers have no idea about the worth of anythin' nowadays."

Mr. Wheatwagon's cheeks reddened and he looked at the ground, shuffling his hooves.

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I'll just go," he said, and reached for the watch on the countertop.

"No!" Grandpa shouted, slamming his hoof down again hard and making Mr. Wheatwagon jump. "Do ya know who yer grandpappy was?" he asked.

Mr. Wheatwagon hesitated. "He, ah… he worked on the railway, right?"

"Not jest any railway! He shoveled coal on the Ponyville Express! And not jest that: Why, yer grandpappy was shovelin' coal on the Canterlot-Las Pegasus Line a'fore there was a Ponyville Express. A'fore there was a Ponyville, even! If I do recall correctly, he was even on the first train to come into Ponyville station jest one day after they laid the track. And nearly every train thereafter. He worked the Ponyville Express for twenty years a'fore he retired."

Weezer Wheatwagon looked from Grandpa Stinking back at the watch, his eyes going wide.

Grandpa said, "Do ya know why they used to call him 'All Aboard'? He used to play this game where he'd try to beat the conductor to calling 'All Aboard' for the passengers. Got real good at it too. The conductor would be lookin' at his watch real close, waitin' for the last few seconds to tick away. He'd take a deep breath, but a'fore he got to hollerin', everyone would hear yer grandpappy shout 'All Aboard!' clear as a bell, comin' from the coal car."

Grandpa walked around the counter to stand next to Mr. Wheatwagon, who was admiring his pocket watch on the countertop.

"This one time, the conductor was in the outhouse, see. Only yer grandpappy didn't know that, so when the time came, he hollered 'All Aboard.' And the engineer, bein' accustomed to hearin' your grandpappy call it, assumed everything was ready to go and started the train. It went all the way to Canterlot a'fore anypony realized the conductor was still back in Ponyville!" Grandpa cackled and slapped Mr. Wheatwagon on the back.

Mr. Wheatwagon tittered nervously. "Is that so?" he said.

Grandpa looked at him in mock offense and said, "Weezer, have ya ever known me to be a liar? 'Course it's so!" Grandpa nodded toward the watch and said, "What ya got there ain't jest some old pocket watch. It's a piece of Ponyville history."

Mr. Wheatwagon cleared his throat. "Does, er… Does that make it more valuable then?"

"Five hundred," Grandpa said.

Weezer Wheatwagon gasped and took a step backward.

"M-Mr. Rich!" he stuttered.

"Six hundred!"

"I-I, really, I…"

"Seven hundred! Don't make me beg, Weezer! I must have that watch!"

It suddenly occurred to Mr. Wheatwagon that he was supposed to be negotiating. He coughed and straightened up, trying to regain some composure.

"Eight," he squeaked and cleared his throat again. "Er… eight hundred?" he suggested, timidly.

Grandpa smiled and turned away to resume his position behind the counter.

"Now Mr. Weezer," he said, "we are runnin' a business here. And as such, we can't be payin' exactly what everything is worth. Elsewise we'd never turn a profit."

"Oh, that's fine," Mr. Wheatwagon said brightly. "I'll happily take…"

"Seven hundred ninety-five!" Grandpa exclaimed, cutting him off. "I'm afraid that's my final offer. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it!" Mr. Wheatwagon shouted, then immediately looked embarrassed. "Er… I mean, that sounds good to me," he said.

"Sounds like we have a deal then," Grandpa said, beaming and picking up Mr. Wheatwagon's hoof to shake it vigorously.

"Oh thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. Rich!" Mr. Wheatwagon said. "You have no idea what this means to me!" His eyes were watering, and I'm pretty sure he would have hugged my grandpa had there not been a counter separating them.

Grandpa chuckled and said, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Weezer. Now don't go spendin’ it all in one place."

Grandpa turned to look at me.

"Filthy!" he called. "Pay this gentlecolt."

"Okay, Grandpa,” I said. “But you're gonna have to open the safe. We don't keep that kind of cash in the till."

The bell on the door jingled as Weezer Wheatwagon fairly danced out of our store. In the street I could see him jump into the air, clicking his hooves together before prancing away. Grandpa laughed and picked the watch up off the countertop, bringing it into the storeroom to squirrel it away. He was humming to himself happily as he opened one of the chests there.

"You know," I called, "we're not a pawn shop. You do know that, right?"

"Well, it's a good thing he sold the watch to me instead of trying to pawn it then, ain't it?" Grandpa's response was just slightly acidic, but I could tell my question had dampened his mood a bit.

I sighed and found a rag to wipe up some of the coal dust that had fallen out of the watch and smudged on the countertop. After buffing the glass for a bit, I opened up the display case to straighten one of the price tags that had fallen over next to the bright and shiny pocket watches showcased there. It read "35 bits."

The trunk in the back slammed closed and Grandpa Stinking came trotting back to the entrance. He wiped his hooves on his apron, frowning at me.

"But since yer in an observant mood this afternoon, I'm curious about what else ya mighta noticed about heretofore transaction," he said.

I made a show of taking a great sigh and rolling my eyes exaggeratedly. I positively hated this game.

"Well," I said, "the scratch on the back ruined the patina, which would have ruined its value. Except it was worthless to begin with anyway. Nopony is gonna pay for an old pocket watch that doesn't work anymore. Plus, they've made about a million of those watches, and are still making them." I gestured toward the watch display case where a brand new copy of the same watch was reflecting the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Grandpa was nodding and saying, "Mmmm-hmmm," with each point, as if putting marks on an invisible checklist. When I didn't continue, he frowned down at me.

"And…?" he said.

"And, we just got fleeced paying for a piece of junk?" I guessed.

Grandpa shook his head and placed his left hoof on his forehead, closing his eyes.

"Don't ever let it be said that ya thought too much, Filthybilly," he said. "Try again."

"Well, I don't know!" I protested. "I think it's really silly the way you talked him up like that. It doesn't make any sense, if you ask me. I don't know why you wanted that watch so badly. It was almost like you were trying to throw money at him."

"Land sakes!" said Grandpa. "Maybe there's a brain inside that thick skull o' yers after all! But ya don't get credit for stumbling on the answer."

"You… were trying to throw money at him?"

"Now why would I ever do that? Goes against the principles of capitalism, don't it?" Grandpa smirked.

"Well, er…" I started, not sure how to proceed.

"What do you know about Weezer Wheatwagon and his family?" Grandpa asked.

"Well, um…" I said. "Mr. Wheatwagon hauls grain and other things in his wagon for a living…"

"Not much money in that," Grandpa muttered.

"…and, um, he's not married, even though he's a little bit older than most ponies who are married and have foals. Um, he's got a brother and sister-in-law in town, the Turniptrucks, I think, right?"

Grandpa nodded.

"And they also haul things for a living. I guess most of the ponies in his family do. And, um, the Turniptrucks have a daughter. She's about to graduate from high school. Her name's Sugarbeet, right?"

"Fancy that!" Grandpa exclaimed. "We were jest talkin' about her!"

"She's, um, going to go to college in Canterlot, right?"

All at once it clicked, and I blinked at Grandpa.

"You overpaid for the pocket watch so that Mr. Wheatwagon would have some money to give to Sugarbeet Turniptruck for law school?"

Grandpa smiled at me.

"And to think Miss Cirrus told me ya couldn't be taught," he said.

I flushed angrily. "But if you wanted to help pay for Sugarbeet's college, why didn't you just go give her some money? Why put on a big act and take Mr. Wheatwagon's worthless old watch?"

Grandpa frowned and deflated a bit.

"Maybe Miss Cirrus was right after all," he said.

I stomped a hoof and snorted.

"Oh come on, Grandpa! I got the answer, so now you have to tell me! That's the rule!"

Grandpa sighed.

"Okay, Filthybilly. Fair's fair. Weezer Wheatwagon ain't married, but he always wanted a foal. So when his brother married and his brother's wife had a filly, Weezer absolutely, positively doted on 'er. She's the daughter he ain't never had nor is likely ever gonna have. So when she got her letter from the Canterlot Academy two weeks ago… well, clearly he wanted to do something special for her. That old broken pocket watch may look like a piece of junk to you and me, but to Weezer it's an heirloom. Ya might have noticed how the chain left a mark in the hair at the nape of his neck, or, I dunno, how every time ya'd see him round town prior to the time he walked into our shop today, it was with that pocket watch round his neck."

I flushed again, looking down at my hooves.

Grandpa said, "Ain't nopony gonna give up his family's special treasures unless he's got a good enough reason." He beamed in mock pride. "So, seein' as how I am a clever and observant pony who saw all of this the moment he trotted into our shop…"—Grandpa actually paused to buff his left hoof on his chest before stretching it out before him admiringly—"I figured 'What the hay, why not?' and made him a very happy pony today.”

"You still haven't told me…"

"Pride, Filthy," Grandpa interrupted. "Sure, I coulda gave Sugarbeet money for school. But then that woulda come from me. And I coulda gave Weezer some money to give to Sugarbeet. But then it still woulda come from me. But since he was willin' to part with a precious family heirloom to make a heart-felt gift to his niece—Ah! That was my chance. And now, when Weezer gives Sugarbeet that money, it'll come from him."

"Oh," I said.

Grandpa paused, looking at me expectantly. I just stood there, passively looking at my hooves.

"Oh?" he said. "That's it? Jest 'Oh?' No 'Yer so stupid, Grandpa'? No 'Quit spending my inheritance, Grandpa'?"

I ground my teeth together.

"No," I said. "It was a good lesson."

"Huh," Grandpa said.

I forced a smile and walked into the stockroom to retrieve a broom. Bringing it back out onto the store floor, I began to sweep. Grandpa was watching me with narrow eyes. He began to tap his teeth with a hoof absentmindedly.

"Ya feelin' all right, Filthy?" he asked.

I smiled at him and said, "I'm fine, thanks."

"Hmmm," he said. "You know I was just pullin' yer leg about Miss Cirrus, right? She actually says yer a humdinger of a student."

"Yeah, I know." I smiled at him again, somewhat sheepishly. "What're you gonna do with Mr. Wheatwagon's pocket watch now?"

He waved a hoof dismissively. "Hadn't thought that far yet. But I suppose it'd make a good graduation gift for Sugarbeet if I get it fixed and polished up real nice. Hmmm…" He was still watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I continued to sweep, and Grandpa eventually turned to walk into the stockroom.

"Actually…" I began.

Grandpa stopped and walked backward, looking at me sidelong and smiling smugly.

"Yes, Filthy?"

"Um, I was wondering if I could leave the shop a few hours early today."

Grandpa frowned. "Well, o'course, Filthy. Ya spend so much time here anyways. It'll do ya good to get outta the shop. Ain't no customers here right now anyways."

"Thanks, Grandpa."

My sweeping eventually led me around one of the taller shelves. I could hear Grandpa tapping his teeth again.

"But, ah… Bein' the parental figure in our happy relationship, some might say I'm obligated—duty bound even—to ask you where you're gonna go."

I poked my head around the shelf.

"Oh, you know, out," I said.

"Out?"

"With friends."

"With… friends? Ah-huh."

Tap, tap, tap.

I sighed. Might as well get it over with, I thought. There's no getting around this part.

"There was one other thing I wanted to ask you," I said.

"Well then, ask," Grandpa said. He was frowning and peering at me, one elbow on the countertop and one hoof tapping his teeth.

"I was… I was wondering if I could make you an offer on the diamond tiara."

Grandpa seemed to freeze. His eyes darted to the display case containing the jewelry we had for sale. Among the sparkling and glittering items there was a bejeweled tiara, sized right for a filly. Grandpa's eyes darted to me again, then back to the tiara, then back to me. His face went slack and his eyes widened.

"Oh, Filthy, I didn't know. I mean, I guess I've never seen ya walkin' or talkin' with any of the fillies in town, so I guess I shoulda known..."

"Grandpa—"

"And it ain't all that unusual in this modern age, though I hear it's more common in big cities like Manehattan and Las Pegasus…"

"Grandpa—"

"But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I mean, y'ain't never been able to fit in with the other foals in school…"

"Grandpa!" I shouted.

"Er… yes, Filthy?"

"It ain't fer me!"

"Oh! O'course it ain't, thank god! Er… not that it woulda been a problem if it were fer ya, o'course." Grandpa tittered.

We both stood there in awkward silence, the only sound being the tick-tock of the cuckoo clocks. I hadn't expected that kind of reaction, so it mostly destroyed the series of arguments I had been piecing together all morning. I tried to pull my thoughts together again.

"Um, so," I began. I cleared my throat. "Ah know the list price on it is four hundred bits. And Ah know Ah've only got one hundred and seventy-eight bits saved up. But that tiara's been there for years, and Ah don't think y'all will ever sell it. So, um, if ya sell it to me for one hundred and seventy-eight bits, ya could at least realize some income from it, and ya'd free up valuable display space for inventory that'll sell quicker."

As I laid out my perfectly reasonable arguments to Grandpa, he watched me in silence, his embarrassment giving way to a look of concern. He let my talking die down to the relative silence of the ticking cuckoo clocks before he spoke.

"I dunno, Filthy. One hundred seventy-eight bits is a lot of money. It took ya over a year to save up that much," he said.

"Ah know it is," I said. "And Ah've done a lot of thinking about it. And Ah think it's worth it." I swallowed nervously.

Grandpa was looking at me now with brow furrowed, ears drooped, and lips turned down in a sad frown.

"It's fer that Apple filly, ain't it?"

How did you know? I thought, shocked. I hadn't said a word about this to anypony. It was so frustrating that Grandpa was so good at reading me!

I swallowed again. "Um, her name is Honeycrisp. Ah'm s'posed to meet her at the gazebo at four-thirty."

Grandpa nodded.

"I'm sorry Filthy, but no deal."

I had been somewhat prepared for this. After all, paying one hundred seventy-eight bits for a four hundred bit item was a pretty raw deal for Grandpa.

"Ah know it ain't enough. But, Ah dunno, maybe you could lend me the difference and Ah can pay ya back? Or Ah could work the late shift for the next three months? C'mon, Grandpa, ya gotta cut me a deal!"

Grandpa was just shaking his head.

I didn't want to have to do this, but I did have a plan B.

"Well, how 'bout the ruby anklet then? List on that is one hundred seventy-five."

"Sorry, Filthy," Grandpa said, "But the price on that just went up."

I was beginning to panic.

"Well, how much then? Surely we can make a deal here!"

"You cain't afford it, Filthy."

I stood there for a few moments with my mouth agape. When I tried to say anything, I ended up just stuttering.

Eventually, I was able to form words again. "But… but, how can ya say that?" I exclaimed. I was starting to get angry now, "You jest… you jest gave some stallion seven hundred ninety-five bits for a worthless piece of junk! And now ya won't cut a deal with me, yer own kin? How can ya be so heartless?"

Grandpa, predictably, was starting to react in kind.

"What I do with my money is my own business," he said angrily. "And in my shop I get to decide who I'm gonna do business with, too. And today, that ain't you."

"Well, fine then!" I shouted. "Give me my money and Ah'll go get something from somepony else's shop!"

"No."

"But… it's my money!"

"My shop, my rules. I said no."

"But that's… that's jest not fair!"

"No it ain't," Grandpa agreed.

I was starting to cry now. "But that's jest… horseapples! Yer such a hypocrite, Grandpa! You jest…"

Grandpa's eyes flashed. "Ye'll watch yer language in my shop, Filthy!"

"Yer jest… yer jest a mean old goat, Grandpa! A mean old goat who never wants me to be happy! Ain't ya ever been in love?"

"Confound it, Filthy!" Grandpa slammed a hoof down on the countertop. "Land sakes, I'm tryin' to do ya a favor! Ya want to win the heart of Honeycrisp Apple? Believe me she is not gonna be impressed by how rich ya are!"

"But… but what am Ah s'posed to do with no money?" I could taste salt and snot as the tears ran down my face.

"Bake her a cake. Take her on a picnic. Take a walk with her. Tell her how beautiful her eyes are. Write her a confounded sonnet! You know, do anything that any normal colt would do!"

"But... Ah… Ah..."

"Fine!" Grandpa shouted, throwing open the register and taking out a couple coins. "Ya want to buy yer way into Honeycrisp's heart? Here's two bits. Buy her with that!" He slammed the bits onto the countertop.

"But Ah… Ah jest don't know what to do!"

"Well, " he said, looking pointedly at one of the cuckoo clocks, "ya got two hours and twenty-three minutes. Better think of something quick."

The winter sun was a hoof-span over the western horizon, and in the crisp wintery air, the evening sunlight was glittering pink and blue and yellow in the crystalline crust of the snow drifts and branches around the gazebo. In the far distance I could see several pegasus ponies pushing gray clouds about, gathering them into one corner of the sky in preparation for tomorrow's snow shower. I had heard it was going to be a wet mix of snow and rain which would turn this picturesque landscape into slush. But today things looked just perfect.

"If Ah could offer a suggestion," Honeycrisp began.

I turned to look at her, laying down next to me on top of the checkered blanket I had placed under the gazebo. I gingerly spat a cherry stone into my hoof before surreptitiously placing it in the small heap of cherry stones in the snow beside me.

"Mmmm-hmmm?" I said, my tongue searching around in my mouth for more stones.

"Cherries are fine and sweet all on their own, but when ya cook 'em like this, it wouldn't hurt to add a little bit of sugar to the mix to sweeten things up a bit," she said.

I nodded.

"Or maybe ya could make a sweet glaze to pour over these, er… what do ya call 'em?"

"I hadn't really thought of a name yet," I said.

"Well, these deep-fried, cherry… burrito thingies." She took another bite of hers. "Pretty good idea, anyway," she said, smacking her lips.

The truth was that by the time I had cleaned myself up a little and made it to the market with my two bits, all but two of the vendors had already packed up and left for the day. One of them was selling the early crop of Dodge Junction cherries. The other had a stack of tortillas. This close to the end of the market, it wasn't hard to talk them down a bit on price.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm afraid I don't know much about baking. This was just sort of an idea I came up with, last minute and all."

"Well, Ah'd be happy to show ya a thing or two," Honeycrisp said, smiling. "My ma makes the best apple pie you'll ever taste this side of the Maresouri. She's been teaching me how to make apple fritters, and apple cobbler, and all manner of dee-licious apple desserts."

"If you don't mind, I think I'd like that," I said.

"Of course, Filthy! It'd be my pleasure. Why don't ya come home with me tomorrow after school, and I can show ya how to make cupcakes? If, er… yer grandpa is okay with that."

"Oh, I think he'll be just fine running the store by himself for a while," I said with just a hint of bitterness.

"Well, all right, then." Honeycrisp smiled.

We fell silent then, quietly chewing as we watched the sun slowly descend in the sky. Several pegasus ponies were pushing a huge heap of a cloud together in the distance. As it came together with the other mass of clouds, it blocked the sun from our view, dulling the landscape in muted gray. I heard a soft crunch as Honeycrisp bit down on a cherry stone.

"Erm," she said. "Might wanna take the pits out next time, too."

I must have looked crestfallen.

Honeycrisp looked at me sympathetically and quickly added, "Of course, if ya had, then I wouldn'ta been able to show ya this."

She stood up and fixed her gaze on a snow-laden branch about twenty yards away. Then she reared back slightly before throwing her head forward and spitting a cherry stone with a great "ptooie."

The stone shot through the air and hit the branch with a loud crack. A moment later all the snow on the branch plopped softly to the ground.

I laughed. "That's pretty good, Honeycrisp!"

"My pa holds the record for long-distance precision apple seed spittin' in the county fair," she said, beaming. "He's been teachin' me how to do that."

All at once the sun descended into the gap between the horizon and the cloud bank the pegasi were constructing. The underside of the clouds lit up in streaks of red, pink and orange while the crusty snow drifts once again burst with glittering color all around us.

"Ah gotta give it to ya," Honeycrisp whispered, gazing at the brilliant sunset. "Ya sure did pick a nice spot for this picnic."

Now would have been the perfect moment to unveil the diamond tiara. The twilight rays of the sun would have been caught in the gemstones' facets just right. But since I'd been robbed of that option…

I cleared my throat and said, "Your eyes are like the blue, blue sky. Your voice as sweet as an apple pie."

"Why thank ya kindly," Honeycrisp interrupted, turning to look at me. "That's a real nice thing for ya to say, Filthy! Ah like yer eyes, too. And the way ya groom yer mane."

I blushed, releasing the breath I had taken to say the next line. I was actually somewhat glad for the interruption. I'd only been able to think of three lines for the sonnet so far, and one of them didn't even rhyme.

"Yer jest," I said, "um, really, really pretty Honeycrisp."

"Shucks, Filthy."

Now she was blushing, rubbing one hoof with another absentmindedly. I tried to think of something else to say, but was coming up blank. So we simply stood there for a while, both of us blushing at each other as the twilight began to fade.

"Listen, Filthy," Honeycrisp said, breaking the silence. "It's startin' to get late, and my ma's gonna be all kinds of upset if Ah don't get back home soon."

"Wait, Honeycrisp!" I hoped I didn't sound too desperate. "Before ya go. There's, er... there's something Ah wanted to ask ya."

"Yes." It was a statement, not a question.

"Er, pardon?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "You wanna know whether Ah'll be yer very special somepony for Hearts and Hooves Day, right?"

"Ah, yes. Yes! Er… really? Y'all will be my very special somepony?" My smile must have been a mile wide.

"Jest fer Hearts and Hooves day," she said, blushing again. "Then Ah guess we'll see what happens after that."

"But how did ya know?" I asked.

Honeycrisp made a sweeping gesture at the blanket, the gazebo and the sun just as the last sliver of light peeked over the horizon.

"Well, ya ain't exactly been subtle about it," she said, grinning.

As we crunched our way back up through the snow on the road toward Sweet Apple Acres, Honeycrisp bumped her flank into mine conspiratorially.

"Ya know," she said, "for a while there Ah was afraid ya'd do something silly, like tryin' to give me a gold necklace or something."

"Haha!" I tittered, my cheeks burning. "Imagine that!"

"But Ah really liked those deep-fried cherry burrito thingies ya made."

"Really?"

"Yer all right, Filthy Rich."

Chapter 4: The Rich Debt

Excerpts from a Filthy Diary

Chapter 4: The Rich Debt

by SR Foxey

(With thanks to the pre-reading / proofreading abilities ofLetedwend)

=============

December 24, 968

It's Hearth's Warming Eve! A couple weeks ago Honeycrisp got picked to play Smart Cookie in the pageant tonight, and I'm helping out backstage. I can hardly wait, I'm so excited!

Also, the old goat, a.k.a. Grandpa Stinking, is finally letting me go and buy something expensive for Honeycrisp for the holiday. I'm gonna knock her shoes off!

And that's not even the best part. I got my acceptance letter from Manehattan U today! College, here I come!

Could this day be any more awesome?

I was standing behind the curtain, stage right, doing my best not to slip or let go of the rope I was holding in my mouth as the cast of the Hearth's Warming Eve pageant finished singing the closing hymn with the audience. It had been a good show. Nearly three hundred Ponyville residents had shown up and judging by the enthusiastic way the audience was singing along, most of them had been moved by the performance.

I had managed to weasel my way into the production as the "prop pony"—a role for which I was totally unqualified, but one they'd reluctantly agreed to give me after my insistent begging, and after nopony else volunteered. Of course many of the town residents were enthusiastic enough about putting on the production, but as small a town as Ponyville was back then, it could sometimes be difficult to pull together enough ponies to put on the show properly. Also, being a town founded by earth ponies, we non-magical and flightless folk still made up the majority of the population. In the past the show organizers have had to use earth ponies in roles which should have been filled by unicorns or pegasi.

In a big Canterlot production of the pageant, the talented unicorn they were able to get to play the role of Clover the Clever would reproduce the Windigo banishment spell during the final climactic scene. This would light up a beacon over the whole city that could be seen all night as far away as Ponyville. Here in Ponyville, however, we were lucky enough this year that Prissy Pants had just enough magical levitation ability to lift a big, wooden heart while making it glow with her pinkish magical aura—with help, anyway.

The problem was that in the excitement of the closing hymn and final curtain call, Prissy had forgotten to continue assisting me in keeping the prop aloft. It also didn't help that I had forgotten to tie off the rope securing the prop. Weeks before, I had constructed it with the help of Big Green Apple out of some old wooden beams left over from a recent minor remodel of the Apples' old barn. It was a simple thing for him to carry it to the Ponyville amphitheater on his back, but it actually weighed almost as much as I did.

I could feel myself starting to slide forward as the applause of the audience finally began to die down, which was my cue to lower the curtain. I kicked at the knot holding the curtain in place, and in the blink of an eye, the rope securing the curtain wrapped itself around my right hind hoof. I had just enough time to think, Oh, ponyfeathers! before I was thrown off my hooves and into the air.

The curtain came down and I went up, striking the massive heart-shaped prop halfway. This knocked the rope out of my mouth and the curtain rope off my hind hoof, and suddenly I was heading downward again. The curtain had just closed when the prop struck the stage with a loud crash and splintering of wood. A split second later I landed in a heap on top of the prop. I gasped for breath as the world seemed to spin around me.

"Are y'all okay, sugar cube?" It was Honeycrisp's voice, though I was having trouble focusing on her at present.

I shook my head and tried blinking my eyes a few times to clear the double vision. I could vaguely see Honeycrisp standing before me dressed up to look like Smart Cookie, whose part she had just finished performing in the play.

"Yeah, I think so," I said.

"Gosh Filthy!" said Prissy. "What happened?"

I blinked once more and was able to finally focus. Judging from where I was lying on top of the broken prop, I had missed the row of actresses by mere hoof-spans. I could also see Prissy's father—who also happened to to be the caretaker of this amphitheater—glaring at me from offstage.

"I... just don't know what went wrong!" I lied.

"Hey!" Mr. Pants quietly insisted. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Daddy!" exclaimed Prissy, a harsh tone in her voice.

"Sorry, sir," I said.

"Don't worry, Mr. Pants," said Honeycrisp. "My pa'll get it fixed up right proper this time next week."

"See that he does," he muttered before pushing his way through the curtain. I could hear him tell the audience that the noise they had heard was nothing to be concerned about.

Honeycrisp and Prissy helped me to my hooves.

"Are ya sure yer okay?" asked Honeycrisp.

I was giggling, suddenly giddy that I had narrowly avoided causing serious injury to myself or anypony else this evening. It wasn't that I was especially clumsy, per se—after all, I routinely cleaned and restocked the delicate items for sale at Grandpa's shop—it was more that I was especially clumsy around her.

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "Better to break the stage than a leg, I guess. Didn't Mr. Pants say the stage could really use a trap door? I guess it'll have to be heart-shaped, but I'm sure we'll figure it out."

Honeycrisp snorted, smiling.

Prissy huffed. "I don't think that was very funny, Filthy Rich," she said before turning to stalk off the stage.

Honeycrisp slapped me with her tail. "That tongue of yers is gonna get ya into some serious hot water someday," she said, still smiling.

Of course, she was the only reason I had had any interest in participating in the production in the first place. Constructing props and following cues during a performance required a level of skill, coordination, physical strength and resourcefulness that seemed to be incompatible with my very essence—as I had proved on numerous occasions at Sweet Apple Acres over the last year.

Things had gone well after Hearts and Hooves Day between Honeycrisp and me, at least on the level of very special someponies. We were as different as two ponies could be, but maybe that's why we were so attracted to each other. Or at least that's what I told myself. In truth, I was so enamored with Honeycrisp that I wanted to be a part of her life in any way I could, and she seemed to enjoy the attention in her own cutely demure way.

In my efforts to ingratiate myself with the Apple family, I had tried learning baking from Granny Smith, but except for one successful batch of cinnamon apple toast, I could tell all the fritters, pies, and even caramel apples I had made were eaten slowly and graciously in my presence and then thrown away discreetly after I left. I had tried helping Big Green harvest apples, but when I ended up in the river after trying to pull one particularly laden cart, nearly drowning and losing both apples and cart in the process, I felt it was best for me to just stay out of his way. However, I persisted, and eventually I arrived at a mutual, unspoken understanding with Honeycrisp's parents: I would be allowed to sweep and clean and perform other smaller tasks unlikely to result in a bigger mess than I had started with, and they would tolerate me being around and occasionally going on walks with and spouting horribly hackneyed poetry at their daughter. After several months of this, they almost seemed to enjoy my presence and clumsy attempts at being useful.

I never did admit to Grandpa that he'd been right to prevent me from spending all my money in a vain attempt to impress Honeycrisp. It took me weeks to realize this myself, even, so by the time I did understand that showing off my wealth was probably the one certain way to attract the ire of a filly and her family who did struggle with money and valued honest hard work and perseverance above all, I was so invested in the idea that Grandpa was a miserly old goat that I couldn't bring myself to admit my mistake to him, let alone thank him for looking out for my best interests in spite of myself. But tensions between us had relaxed over the last several months and we were once again as agreeable around each other as we ever were. More so than before, even—having a love interest in my life probably made me a lot more tolerable to be around.

He was still wary about how I spent money, though. When things weren't going well between Honeycrisp and me, I was sorely tempted to try to make up for it with an expensive gift. Grandpa was frustratingly often the voice of reason, in his cantankerous way.

That holiday season though, a gamble Grandpa had made in funding a clock-maker friend of his to develop his new toy train idea and bring it to market had paid off in spades when he got the exclusive right to sell them in his store that year, and the clockwork toy trains ended up being so popular that we could hardly keep them on the shelves. We even had rich ponies coming from as far as Canterlot to pick up a set! We made so much money in so little time that, in my begging and pleading, I was finally able to convince Grandpa to let me splurge a little.

After all, I had argued. It's Hearth's Warming, and we've made so much this year—it'd be selfish not to share some of our good fortune!

I could see Grandpa hesitate, about to tell me "no" once again. But instead he stopped and looked at me with a strange expression I didn't recognize.

He chuckled and said, Well I'll be, Filthy. It ain't every day ya say something that shows ya can use yer brain fer something other than stopping the wind whistlin' between yer ears. Yer right. Why don't ya go buy Honeycrisp something nice? He frowned and added quickly, But not too nice. No jewelry.

Presently the cast and I were just finishing cleaning up the stage, putting away the props and stowing the costumes. The cracked floorboards were a mess, and I wasn't relishing the idea of asking Big Green to come and help me fix the stage. Though he had been rather antsy since the harvest had ended, and there was little to do but wait for Winter Wrap Up at the start of spring.

Looking around, I spotted Honeycrisp standing with the rest of her family as she and some of the other cast members prepared to head over to Sugar Cube Corner for the after-show party. I could see her scanning the dwindling audience as I trotted up with my saddle bag.

"Where's yer grandpa, Filthy?" she asked. "Is he plannin' on comin' to the party tonight, too?"

"He stayed home sick," I said. Then when she looked at me worriedly, I added, "Oh, but he didn't look that sick. I think it must have been those fermented oats he sometimes has for lunch. He was fine all day until a few minutes before we were going to leave, then he told me last minute he'd have to miss the show."

"Aw, shucks! Ain't that a shame! Ya think we oughtta stop by and see how he's doing?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," I said. "It'd probably be better to let him get some bed rest anyway. Besides, we wouldn't want to be late for the party, right?"

"If ya say so."

I smiled at her and said, "But before we head over there, I have a little surprise for you." I set my saddle bag down and pulled out the fresh bouquet of flowers I'd purchased earlier that afternoon.

"Oh, Filthy!" Honeycrisp said. "Hibiscus, this time of year? Where on earth did ya find them?"

I set the flowers down, beaming. "You know Sweet Blossom?"

Honeycrisp nodded.

"Well," I said. "You know how she's been experimenting growing flowers out of season in glass houses using unicorn magic?"

She looked shocked. "Ya didn't just go and take 'em, did ya?"

"Yes! Er… No!" I frowned. "Of course not, Honey! She sold some to me." I was a little offended at the assumption and was starting to worry about how this could be going sideways. Wasn't she supposed to swoon or something?

She looked back at the flowers, brow furrowed. "They musta been expensive," she said.

I sighed. "Well, yes they were a little expensive, but you did so well in the pageant, and it is Hearth's Warming Eve, after all. And… I mean, this is an okay gift, right?" I scratched at the back of my neck with one hoof.

Honeycrisp looked up at me, smiling gently. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.

"Ah think it's a real nice present, Filthy," she said.

I blushed and nearly swooned.

"Girls!" Honeycrisp practically shouted in my ear, snapping me out of it. "Look what Silly Filthybilly brought us!" She picked up the bouquet and trotted over to where the other cast members were standing.

I rolled my eyes, smiling.

As we walked toward Sugar Cube Corner, I stopped to look at the heart-shaped magical beacon that had appeared over Canterlot. Honeycrisp stopped next to me. We stood there for a while, letting the others go on ahead while we gazed at the pink and purple twinkling glow over that city in the distance.

"You know," I said.

"Hmmm?" Honeycrisp mumbled. Her breath still smelled like the sweet hibiscus bloom she'd shared with me.

"There was one other surprise I had for you tonight," I said.

"What's that?"

"Well," I said, looking down and shuffling my hooves, trying to make the moment last longer, "I got a letter today."

Honeycrisp waited for me to say something else. When I didn't, she turned away from the distant twinkling beacon to look at me.

"And?" she said.

"And it was from Manehattan," I said, smiling at her.

A brief hesitation and look of confusion, then her eyes went wide.

"From the University? Ya got in?" Honeycrisp said.

I grinned. "Uh-huh."

She looked ecstatic. Rearing, she shouted, "Yee-haw, Filthy! That's jest, er…" Her expression darkened for a moment as her forehooves came back down to the earth. She looked up at me, smiling again as if nothing had changed. "That's jest wonderful, Filthy! Ah'm so happy for you!"

Of course I barreled on. I was too excited not to.

"Isn't it just awesome? I mean, I sent in the papers by the early admission deadline, but I hadn't expected to hear back until after the new year. I'm in, Honey! Next fall I'll be a brand new undergraduate student at Manehatten U! There was even a note in there from the dean of the school of business saying how he’s looking forward to my arrival on campus. Can you imagine that? The dean! And I'm not even a student there yet! And Manehattan—just wow! It's the business center of all of Equestria! It's where all the big players are and where all the big deals happen!"

"Sounds like yer gonna fit right in there," Honeycrisp said.

I began to pace back and forth in front of Honeycrisp. "I just can't wait! Don't you see? This is my chance to finally prove myself! And maybe even start over. I mean,"—I stopped, shuddering at the thought—"I mean, if I introduced myself as 'Rich' to them, that's what they'd call me, right? I could be 'Mr. Rich' or just 'Rich.' Lots of ponies go by just their last name, right?"

"Ah… er," Honeycrisp said. "Ah didn't know callin' ya 'Filthy' bothered ya so much. Ah could call ya 'Rich' if ya want, too."

I could hear a tremor in her voice. Looking up, I finally saw the expression on her face. She was trying so hard to look happy.

Oops, I thought, Filthy, you're such an idiot.

"N-no," I stammered. "No, I don't mind when you call me 'Filthy,' Honey. I mean, with you, I know you don't mean anything bad with it." I smiled sheepishly.

"Yer jest sayin' that to be nice," she said. "O'course ya don't like a name like 'Filthy'—"

"No!" I interrupted. I sat and picked up her hoof in mine. "I mean, I really like it when you call me ‘Filthy.’ Or ‘Silly Filthybilly.’" I smiled, scrunching up my lips. "Or ‘Filthybilly-Wiggle-Bottom.’"

She looked up at me, smiling tentatively. "Ya really mean that?"

"Of course I do, Honeycrispy-Biscuits-And-Gravy-Lips,"

Honeycrispy-Biscuits-And-Gravy-Lips laughed and playfully slapped me with her tail.

"Stop it, Filthy! My ma might hear ya!" Honeycrisp was genuinely smiling again.

I raised my eyebrows. "'Stop it'…?"

She blushed. "Silly Filthybilly-McLong-Willy," she whispered.

I smiled and gave her a peck on the nose. Mmmm… hibiscus.

"Look," I said. "I'm really going to miss Ponyville."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not Ponyville. But I'm really going to miss you, Honey. It's… well, it's really the only downside to this whole deal."

"Yeah, Ah know," she said. "Ah'm really gonna miss ya too. So will my folks."

I chuckled. "Well, maybe they'll miss cleaning up after me," I said.

"Ah jest... Well, Ah almost hoped ya wouldn't get in, jest so ya'd still be here," she admitted.

I smiled sheepishly. "It's not gonna be so bad," I said. "Manehattan is only a day's train ride away, and I'll come home as often as I can. And it's just four years. Maybe I can do it in three if I work real hard. Then I promise I'll come back."

She sighed, looking down at her hooves, still trying to maintain a smile of sorts.

"Besides," I said, "we've still got about eight months of seeing each other almost every day before I head out. I'm sure that'll be enough time for us to get sick of each other and never want to see each other again."

She smiled at me, a little more genuine this time. "Ah could always push ya into a mud puddle again, if that'd help."

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "I'll promise to send you a letter every week I'm away, if you'll promise to send me one every week as well."

"Ya sure about that? I ain't that keen on writin', and it ain't like much changes here on the farm anyhow. Ya'd be readin' about feedin' the hogs, fixin' the barn, and apple buckin' nearly every week."

I made a mock frown and tapped my teeth with a hoof. "Hmmm… ya drive a hard bargain, sillyfilly," I said in my best 'Grandpa.' "How's about I throw in a telegram every other Tuesday to sweeten the deal a bit, hmmm? What do ya say to that, ya young whippersnapper?"

Honeycrisp laughed. "All right then, deal!" She spat in her hoof and held it out to me.

I gave her a big hug.

"You know I really love you, right Honeycrisp?"

"Ah love ya too, Silly Filthybilly."

We stayed that way for nearly a minute. I could see the heart-shaped beacon over Canterlot still twinkling. Honeycrisp’s neck felt warm against mine and I could feel her trembling slightly in the winter chill. It felt so good to be this close to her.

"Er… we'd better catch up with the others," Honeycrisp said, "or else they might think we're makin' out."

"What, again?" I looked in the direction the others had headed. "We've probably only got about five minutes before they notice we're gone. But since you insist, I guess we'd better get started if we really want to give them something to talk about."

Honeycrisp laughed. "C'mon, Filthy!" she called as she trotted out in front of me.

I was happily humming the tune of the Heart Carol to myself as I made my way home from the after-show party. I wasn't exactly traveling in a straight line—not that I was completely drunk, but I certainly had a nice warm buzz going on and didn't really feel the need to rush, despite my breath making little clouds in the wintry air. Big Green had brought a pony keg of his Apple Family Special Reserve Aged Cider along to share with the cast members and their families. While most of the ponies there were adults, it couldn't be helped if somepony accidentally spilled three and a half mugs plus the last bit of sputtering foam from the keg into the community punch bowl. I have no idea who had done that anyway. Besides, it was irresponsible of them to have put both beverage dispensers so close to each other; and most ponies know I can be a little accident-prone at times.

As I approached our store, I was surprised to see light coming from Grandpa's bedroom window upstairs. The old codger usually went to be early on most nights and tonight he was supposed to have been sick. When I entered our upstairs apartment, I was even more surprised to hear him singing. Grandpa had never sounded this happy!

"…We are a circle of pony friends, A circle of friends we'll be to the very end," I sang in unison with Grandpa as I entered his room. I laughed and Grandpa smiled.

"Well, you sure seem to be feeling better," I said.

"Yeah," he replied. "Musta been a one hour flu."

"Or maybe you should stop eating those horrid fermented oats for lunch."

I watched him for a few moments as he straightened the vest he'd just taken off and practically bounced into his closet to hang it up.

"So, you went out then?" I asked.

"Jest fer a… er… quick stroll 'round town."

"And you didn't stop by the party? Granny Smith was asking after you."

"No, I had some things I needed to take care of," he said.

I thought about saying goodnight and leaving. But given that he was in such a good mood, and I was feeling adventurous anyway…

"Ok, Grandpa," I said, "I'll bite. What in Equestria has gotten into you this evening? And what was so important that you had to miss the pageant and the party afterward?"

Grandpa stopped fiddling with one of the buttons on his spats to look up at me. Was he… blushing?

"Oh, it's… er… nothin'," he said, avoiding eye-contact.

Despite the buzz I was feeling, my mind raced through the options. Then it occurred to me.

"All right," I said. "Who is she?"

Momentary confusion passed across Grandpa's features.

"What? Er… no, Filthy. It ain’t a mare."

"Well, then what's got you acting like a school filly on her first Hearts and Hooves Day?"

"Well," he said, "I guess ya could say I went out to go pay a debt."

I laughed. "Don't be silly, Grandpa. Everypony knows you don't owe any money to anypony. It's the other way around! And even if you were paying a debt, why would that make you so happy?"

He sighed. "Well, I guess I was gonna have to tell ya sometime soon anyhow," he said.

I looked sidelong at Grandpa, cocking my head to one side. He looked at me with a sheepish half smile, coming down from his boisterousness a bit.

"Filthybilly," he said. "I jest gave away most of our profits from the sales of Tinker’s new toy trains."

I froze for a moment and then started smiling.

"Good one, Grandpa!" I said, laughing. "You almost got me with that one!"

He continued to stand there, now staring at me soberly.

"Wait, you aren't kidding, are you?" I said.

"Well, we didn't need it,” he said. “We've always gotten along jest fine with our normal sales this time of year. And this year we ended up making a lot more than ever."

This couldn't be happening. Ever since coming to Ponyville, I'd only ever had one really big desire—to go to a prestigious college so that I could get out of this two-pony town and start living my life as it was meant to be. When the sales started rolling in early this holiday season, I'd dared to hope that we might have enough to put me through one of the best universities in all of Equestria. I'd discussed it with Grandpa and he agreed that I ought to apply. I'd just gotten the acceptance letter that afternoon… and now Grandpa had thrown it all away. There was just no way we'd be able to pay the tuition now, let alone room and board! Manehattan was a very expensive city to live in. I'd have to write them back and decline the admission offer. I'd have to go back to the drawing board and see if there was another school we could actually afford to send me to. But nothing was going to compare to Manehattan U! Nothing! I’d had my dream and now I was watching it splinter and break in front of me. And it was all Grandpa's fault! Everything had been going my way until he just had to pull one of his idiotic shenanigans again. I was going to be stuck here forever! I was forever going to be known as—

"Filthy!" Grandpa was standing over me with a hoof on my head. "Ya got to breathe, son!"

I gasped and looked up at him. I could feel the anger rising in my belly. I slapped his hoof away.

"Of all the hare brained, completely moronic, idiotic… Augh! Grandpa, what were ya thinkin'? Ya've done some really stupid things, but nothing, and Ah mean nothing compares to this!"

"Ya might be surprised," he muttered.

"Ah... Ah needed that money, Grandpa!" I shouted. "Ah mean, how'm Ah gonna pay for college now?"

"Part time job, maybe?" Grandpa said.

"Part time…? Is this a joke to ya? Y'all think this is funny? Ah jest… how could… who did…"

"It's all right," Grandpa said. "Get it out of yer system."

"It's all horseapples, Grandpa!" I shouted. "The way ya always give money to ponies ya think need it, and then don't let me spend my own how Ah want to. A pony ought to be able to enjoy his hard earned bits however he pleases! And y'all should be lookin' out for yer kin! How could ya not know that Ah'd need that money for school? Ah cain't wait until Ah'm out of this house and livin' far, far away from horseapples Ponyville and horseapples you!"

Grandpa winced, but said nothing. After a few moments of this, I huffed and turned to leave his room.

"Would it help..." Grandpa began.

I stopped.

"Would it help if I told ya that ya still get to go to college, to Manehattan Univerisity?" he said.

I turned to look at him.

"We cain't afford it, Grandpa. Not now, anyway," I said.

"Well, what if I told ya we can?"

"Then Ah'd say yer a liar," I said, and started to turn toward the door again.

"I'll make a solemn promise to ya," said Grandpa, rubbing one eye with a hoof, "that I will pay for yer college education, and the room and board, too."

I sighed and turned around to face him again. "Yer serious? Ya'd really make that promise to me?" I said.

Grandpa smiled, and spread his arms wide. "Come on, Filthy! Ya know me! Ya know I'd sooner have my heart cut out or be flung from the tallest tower in Canterlot a’fore I'd break that kind of promise to ya!"

I was beginning to feel a hint of guilt at the back of my mind. But still... "Look, wantin' to do somethin' ain't the same as bein' able to do it. Y'all just gave away most of our money. How can ya afford it, now?"

"Ya think that money is the same thing as wealth," he said sadly. "I've got friends, Filthy. And nearly everypony this side of the Maresouri—not to mention a fair number on the other side—owes me a favor. If I had to, I could get enough money to buy all of Ponyville."

I could feel my cheeks burning as I sat down and stared at my hooves. I wanted to crawl under a rock.

"B'sides," he continued. "I said I gave away most of the profits. Not all of them."

"Oh," I said.

We sat there for a few moments in silence, then something else occurred to me.

"But wait, if ya knew ya could afford it, why did ya let me go on thinkin' Ah wasn't going to college anymore?" I said. Then, as I remembered some of the things I had shouted, I winced. "And… er… why ain't ya yellin' at me right now?"

Grandpa sighed and looked out the window. "Well, I ain't rightly clear on that myself," he said. "I guess, what with yer acceptance letter coming in today, I started thinking and realized that real soon I ain't gonna be a part of yer life no more. Not the way it's been since yer pa died, anyhow. And I needed to see something." He sighed and glanced in my direction, frowning. "Not about you, per se… but more about me."

As I watched Grandpa, I could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Filthy. There's so much ya don't know, and I ain't taught ya yet. I jest…” He turned away from me to wipe his eyes. “Well, I guess it always felt like there'd be more time. A'fore today, anyhow. And as fer not yellin' at ya…" He frowned at me and sniffed. "Not that ya don't deserve it, but I guess I figured that I never seemed to get through to ya by yellin' at ya, so I thought I'd try listenin' for a change."

I didn't know what to say to that. This was a side of Grandpa that I'd never seen before. So I just kept my mouth shut and continued to watch and listen.

He sighed and continued, "That's a lesson I was reminded of today, actually. Y'see, there's this little filly at the Ponyville Hospital. She's real sick, though ya'd not guess it by lookin' at her. She's five years old, and might not live long enough to see her sixth birthday. But what really got me—she knows it! Nopony has told her, o'course. But she said to me, 'You can learn a lot if you listen real good.' No five year old pony ought to think she's gonna die."

I cleared my throat. "That's where ya went, then? To go visit this little filly?"

"It's one of the places I went. The other two…" He looked out the window again. "Well, those families have probably found the buckets of bits I left them by now."

I blinked. "You… left them literal buckets filled with bits?"

"On their doorsteps."

I shook my head, confused. "But why go to the trouble to wait until they're away? Why not just give them money like Ah've seen ya do for other folks?"

Grandpa turned to look at me, eyebrow raised. I could almost hear him say, Gee, Filthy, what is it ya keep inside yer head where the rest of us have our brains? But apparently he wasn't in the mood for snide comments. It was good to see a little of the old Grandpa again, though.

"Well, ya've got to at least try to do it anonymously," he said, "or they might try to give it back. And if ya want to talk about the second most uncomfortable conversation ya can ever have, try giving charity to some proud pony who don't think he needs it."

"They're gonna know who done it," I said.

"Maybe so," Grandpa conceded smiling. "But at least this way I can deny it up and down if they do try to give it back. Plus, they don't usually guess who done it, or at least have the good graces to act like they don't."

It made sense, in the inescapable and unabashed way my grandpa felt justified in manipulating ponies. He’d do them good whether or not they wanted him to. I wasn’t sure whether Grandpa enjoyed did this sort of thing so he could be smug about it when nopony was watching, or whether there was something else there I just didn’t understand. In any case, whenever he did anything like this he always seemed very happy. Speaking of which...

"Ya seemed awfully chipper when Ah got home, for having spent the evening with a dying little filly," I said.

Grandpa actually chuckled a little. "That's jest it, Filthy. She might not die!"

I cocked my head to one side. "But y'all said…"

"I know what I said," said Grandpa. "But ya ain't rightly listenin'. She's in the hospital because she's real sick. But there's a treatment for her disease. There're unicorns in Fillydelphia at the Foals' Medical Center there that have been doin' some amazing work, things that jest weren't possible when I was a colt. It's risky, and might not work, but there's a chance. It's just that… the treatment takes months, and her ma and pa would need to be there with her the whole time. They wouldn't rightly be able to work, and bein' in a new city like that, they'd just not be able to afford it."

"…until now," I said.

Grandpa smiled, pleased that I now understood and that he’d been able to teach me yet another lesson. "It was so easy, Filthy! There's hope now. Real, honest and true hope. And all it took was a little money."

I looked down at my hooves again. "Well, not a little money," I said.

Grandpa just shook his head and rolled his eyes, smiling.

It was a lot to take in. My concerns seemed so petty in comparison to what I'd just been told. Get out of Ponyville? Go to college? I'd have found a way even if we hadn't made all that money this holiday season, and even if Grandpa wasn't willing to pay for it. I'd been so caught up in my own manufactured misery, my own frustrations that I'd forgotten there are ponies right in our own neighborhood with real problems. Grandpa may have helped save a life today, and there I had been, shouting at him.

"Listen, Grandpa, Ah... Ah'm sorry—" I began, my voice quavering.

"It's all right," interrupted Grandpa. "Ya didn't know. Ya couldn't've known. And although I know I just said giving money like that was so easy… well, it ain't. Not at first, anyway. I wasn't always the pony ya've known for the last few years, and it ain't fair of me to expect ya to understand all of this, especially at yer age."

I looked down at my hooves again, not sure what to say.

"But that don't excuse the fact that I've been remiss in my duties," he said. "Ya don't know enough, Filthy, and yer about to go and face a big world with lots of ideas about right and wrong and who ya ought to be. So… I need to start makin' up for that. And I'm gonna start by teachin' ya another lesson tonight. It's the one I've been tryin' to show ya for years. It's one of the greatest and hardest lessons ya might ever learn. And although I can teach it to ya, ya won't really understand it tonight."

I sniffed. "What's that?"

Grandpa walked up next to me and pointed a hoof at my flank.

"Ya see this here?" he said.

"My cutie mark?"

"We don't get these jest because we want 'em. And we don't always understand their true meaning at first. Yer cutie mark says somethin' about ya, Filthy—about who ya are and what ya can be. I don't rightly know exactly what yers means, and I don't think ya do neither. But I think I could wager a guess or two.

"Yer gonna be rich, Filthy. Way, way richer than I've ever been. But wealth comes with a price.

"Ya see,” he said, “our family owes a debt. It ain't a debt to anypony. It's a debt to everypony. And it ain't because we borrowed money, or hurt anypony. It's because we were lucky enough to be who we are, to live where we live, and to get given what we got.

"We live in Ponyville. But Ponyville ain't just a town, it's a community. And community means we care about each other and help each other, and do our darndest to make sure nopony gets left behind. We're Rich, Filthy. Not because we deserved it or because we worked harder or smarter than anypony else. It's because we're lucky, plain and simple. And that means our job in this community is to give a few bits to whoever needs it whenever we can.

"It ain't easy. And sometimes someponies will see just how much money we've got and become envious and hate us for it. They might even try to steal from us or hurt us. But ya've got to learn to look past all that and keep paying our family debt.

"Now, when ya start to get rich, yer gonna have a choice. Ya can either choose to pay this debt, in which case ye'll start to understand what true wealth is and what true friendship is. Or ya can choose not to, and in the end, ye'll learn that money… is jest money.

"I'm proud of ya, Filthy. I know I don't always show it. But I can see ya got a good heart in ya. And that's why I believe ye'll do jest fine."

I was silent for a long time, thinking about what Grandpa had just said. I sank to the floor. It was all so overwhelming.

"Ah... Ah don't know if Ah can do this," I said.

Grandpa smiled and put his hoof back on my head, ruffling my mane. "Well, of course ya cain't!" he said. "Not right now, anyway. I just put the yoke of the world around yer neck, Filthy. It's gonna take time before ya learn how to pull. Jest remember this: Yer jest one little earth pony, and no one pony can pull the whole world. Nopony is expectin' ya to do more than yer able."

He smiled and stepped over to his dresser, fiddling with one of the buttons on his spats again. "And there’s somethin’ else I ain’t told ya: Sometimes I cain’t do it neither. This ain’t easy, but it is always worth it.” He paused and sighed, looking at me sidelong. “Anyway, if ya want to choose to pay our family debt," he said, "then the first step is to learn to love ponies more than money."

I was still reeling on the floor. There was something about the elderly pony standing before me. He was something... different than what he appeared to be. I saw simultaneously my grandpa and some stranger, wearing my grandpa’s skin, looking back at me.

And what he had said... He was right: I didn’t understand. A family debt? And just because we were rich? It didn’t make much sense to me, but I could tell these were his most precious words of wisdom, so I was reluctant to question him. But there was something missing, wasn’t there? I could feel it but not quite put my hoof on it; something he wasn’t telling me about all this.

"Now," he said, returning to the dresser. "I think that's jest about enough of that kind of talk for this evening, don't ya? How did Honeycrisp like the flowers ya bought her?"

I looked at him from where I lay on the floor—that silly old goat that was my grandpa and the stranger. I cleared my throat. "She liked them fine," I said. They were actually her favorite, and I knew it. "We ended up sharing them with the whole cast."

"That's good. I'm sure she was right pretty in the play, too?"

I murmured in agreement. The only sound was the slight whisper of cloth as he finished taking off his spats.

He said, "There's a pot of cider on the stove. Should still be warm. Why don't ya go and pour me a mug?"

I got up and walked slowly to the door.

"Grandpa, does this change things?” I said. “Between y'all and me, Ah mean."

"Well, I hope it does," he said.

"Oh."

There was a pause, then Grandpa said, "But if ya think this means I'm gonna let ya off easy, now that yer all high and mighty and full of respectable ideals, or not point out each and every time yer using yer head like a big bowl of pudding, ya got another thing comin'!"

There was the Grandpa I knew! A wave of relief washed over me.

I smiled and said, "Ah'll go get that cider now."

As I opened the door he said, "Filthy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Happy Hearth's Warming Eve."

"Happy Hearth's Warming Eve to you, too, Grandpa."