Bad Hugh | Page 6

am glad, too, that Mr. Stanley made it a
condition in his will that if Hugh ever married, he should forfeit the
Spring Bank property, as that provides against the possibility of an
upstart wife coming here some day and turning us, or at least me, into
the street. Say, mother, are you not glad that Hugh can never marry
even if he wishes to do so, which is not very probable."
"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.

"Easy, Rover--be careful," Hugh called from the door, and instantly the
half-savage growl which the wind had brought to his ear was changed
into a piteous cry, as if the faithful creature were answering back that
other help than his was needed there.
Rover had found something in that pile of snow.

CHAPTER II
WHAT ROVER FOUND
Unmindful of the sleet beating upon his uncovered head Hugh hastened
to the spot, where the noble brute was licking a face, a baby face, which
he had ferreted out from beneath the shawl trapped so carefully around
it to shield it from the cold, for instead of one there were two in that rift
of snow--a mother and her child! That stiffened form lying there so still,
hugging that sleeping child so closely to its bosom, was no delusion,
and his mother's voice calling to know what he was doing brought
Hugh back at Last to a consciousness that he must act, and that
immediately.
"Mother," he screamed, "send a servant here, quick! or let Ad come
herself. There's a woman dead, I fear. I can carry her, but the child, Ad
must come for her."
"The what?" gasped Mrs. Worthington, who, terrified beyond measure
at the mention of