Bad Hugh

"I am not so sure of that," returned Mrs. Worthington, smoothing, with

her small, fat hands the bright worsted cloud she was knitting, a

feminine employment for which she had a weakness. "I am not so sure of

that. Suppose Hugh should fancy a person whose fortune was much larger

than the one left him by Uncle John, do you think he would let it pass

just for the sake of holding Spring Bank?"

"Perhaps not," 'Lina replied; "but there's no possible danger of any

one's fancying Hugh."

"And why not?" quickly interrupted the mother. "He has the kindest heart

in the world, and is certainly fine-looking if he would only dress

decently."

"I'm much obliged for your compliment, mother," Hugh said, laughingly,

as he stepped suddenly into the room and laid his hand caressingly on

his mother's head, thus showing that even he was not insensible to

flattery. "Have you heard that sound again?" he continued. "It wasn't

Tommie, for I found him asleep, and I've been all around the house, but

could discover nothing. The storm is beginning to abate, I think, and

the moon is trying to break through the clouds," and, going again to the

window, Hugh looked out into the yard, where the shrubbery and trees

were just discernible in the grayish light of the December moon. "That's

a big drift by the lower gate," he continued; "and queer shaped, too.

Come see, mother. Isn't that a shawl, or an apron, or something blowing

in the wind?"

Mrs. Worthington arose, and, joining her son, looked in the direction

indicated, where a garment of some kind was certainly fluttering in the

gale.

"It's something from the wash, I guess," she said. "I thought all the

time Hannah had better not hang out the clothes, as some of them were

sure to be lost."

This explanation was quite satisfactory to Mrs. Worthington, but that

strange drift by the gate troubled Hugh, and the signal above it seemed

to him like a signal of distress. Why should the snow drift there more

than elsewhere? He never knew it do so before. He had half a mind to

turn out the dogs, and see what that would do.

"Rover," he called, suddenly, as he advanced to the rear room, where,

among his older pets, was a huge Newfoundland, of great sagacity.

"Rover, Rover, I want you."

In an instant the whole pack were upon him, jumping and fawning, and

licking the hands which had never dealt them aught save kindness. It was

only Rover, however, who was this time wanted, and leading him to the

door, Hugh pointed toward the gate, and bade him see what was there.

Snuffing slightly at the storm, which was not over yet, Rover started

down the walk, while Hugh stood waiting in the door. At first Rover's

steps were slow and uncertain, but as he advanced they increased in

rapidity, until, with a sudden bound and cry, such as dogs are wont to

give when they have caught their destined prey, he sprang upon the

mysterious ridge, and commenced digging it down with his paws.