Bad Hugh

Three weeks had passed away since that memorable ride. Mr. Liston, after

paying to the proper recipients the money due for Mosside, had returned

to Boston, leaving the neighborhood to gossip of Alice's generosity,

and to wonder how much she was worth. It was a secret yet that Lulu and

Muggins were hers, but the story of Rocket was known, and numerous were

the surmises as to what would be the result of her daily, familiar

intercourse with Hugh. Already was the effect of her presence visible in

his improved appearance, his gentleness of manner, his care to observe

all the little points of etiquette never practiced by him before, and

his attention to his own personal appearance. His trousers were no

longer worn inside his boots, or his soft hat jammed into every

conceivable shape, while Ellen Tiffton, who came often to Spring Bank,

and was supposed to be good authority, pronounced him almost as stylish

looking as any man in Woodford.

To Hugh, Alice was everything, and he did not know himself how much he

loved her, save when he thought of Irving Stanley, and then the keen,

sharp pang of jealous pain which wrung his heart told him how strong was

the love he bore her. And Alice, in her infatuation concerning the

mysterious Golden Hair, did much to feed the flame. He was to her like a

beloved brother; indeed, she had one day playfully entered into a

compact with him that she should be his sister, and never dreaming of

the mischief she was doing, she treated him with all the familiarity of

a pure, loving sister. It was Alice who rode with him almost daily. It

was Alice who sang his favorite songs. It was Alice who brought his

armchair in the evening when his day's work was over; Alice who worked

his slippers; Alice who brushed his coat when he was going to town;

Alice who sometimes tied his cravat, standing on tiptoe, with her fair

face so fearfully near to his that all his powers of self-denial were

needed to keep from touching his lips to the smooth brow gleaming so

white and fair before his eyes.

Sometimes the wild thought crossed his mind that possibly he might win

her for himself, but it was repudiated as soon as formed, and so,

between hope and a kind of blissful despair, blissful so long as Alice

stayed with him as she was now, Hugh lived on, until at last the evening

came when Adah was to leave Spring Bank on the morrow. She had intended

going immediately after the sale at Mosside, but Willie had been ailing

ever since, and that had detained her. Everything which Alice could do

for her had been done. Old Sam, at thoughts of parting with his little

charge, had cried his dim eyes dimmer yet. Mrs. Worthington, too, had

wept herself nearly sick, for now that the parting drew near she began

to feel how dear to her was the young girl who had come to them so

strangely.