Bad Hugh

Among Snowdon's poor that day, as well as among the wealthier class,

there was many an aching heart, and many a prayer was breathed for the

stricken Alice, not less beloved than the mother had been. At Terrace

Hill mansion too, much sorrow was expressed. On the whole it was very

unfortunate that Mrs. Johnson should have died so unexpectedly, and they

did wish John was there to comfort the young girl who, they heard,

refused to see any one except the clergyman and Mr. Liston.

"Suppose we telegraph for John," Eudora said, and in less than two hours

thereafter, Dr. Richards in New York read that Alice was an orphan.

There was a pang as he thought of her distress, a wish that he were with

her, and then in his selfish heart the thought arose, "What if she does

not prove as wealthy as I have supposed? Will that make any

difference?"

"I must do something," he soliloquized, "or how can I ever pay those

debts in New York, of which mother knows nothing? I wish that widow--"

He did not finish his wishes, for a turn in the path brought him

suddenly face to face with Mr. Liston, whom he had seen at a distance,

and whom he recognized at once.

"I'll quiz the old codger," he thought. "He don't, of course, know me,

and will never suspect my object."

Mistaken, doctor! The old codger was fully prepared. He did know Dr.

Richards by sight, and was rather glad than otherwise when the elegant

dandy, taking a seat upon the gnarled roots of the tree under which he

was sitting, made some trivial remark about the weather, which was very

propitious for the crowd who were sure to attend Mrs. Johnson's funeral.

Yes, Mr. Liston presumed there would be a crowd. It was very natural

there should be, particularly as the deceased was greatly beloved and

was also reputed wealthy, "It beats all what a difference it makes, even

after death, whether one is supposed to be rich or poor," and the codger

worked away industriously at the pine stick he was whittling.

"But in this case the supposition of riches must be correct, though I

know people are oftener overvalued than otherwise," and with his

gold-headed cane the doctor thrust at a dandelion growing near.

"Nothing truer than that," returned the whittler, brushing the litter

from his lap. "Now I've no doubt that prig of a doctor, who they say is

shining up to Alice, will be disappointed when he finds just how much

she's worth. Let me see. What is his name? Lives up there," and with his

jackknife Mr. Liston pointed toward Terrace Hill.

"The Richards family live there, sir. You mean their son, I presume."