"But, Hugh," and Aunt Eunice spoke earnestly, "you cannot afford the
expense. Think twice before you commit yourself."
"I have thought twice, the last time just as I did the first. Adah shall
stay, and I want you to take her. You need some one these winter nights.
There's the room you call mine. Give her that. Will you, Aunt Eunice?"
and Hugh wound his arm around Aunt Eunice's ample waist, while he
pleaded for Adah Hastings.
Aunt Eunice was soon won over, as Hugh knew she would be, and it was
settled that she should come that very day, if possible.
"Look, the sky is clearing," and he pointed to the sunshine streaming
through the window.
"We'll have her room fixed before I go," and with his own hands Hugh
split and prepared the wood which was to kindle Adah's fire, then with
Aunt Eunice's help sundry changes were made in the arrangement of the
rather meager furniture, which never seemed so meager to Hugh as when he
looked at it with Adah's eyes and wondered how she'd like it.
"Oh, I wish I were rich," he sighed mentally, and taking out his
well-worn purse he carefully counted its contents.
Aunt Eunice, who had stepped out for a moment, reappeared, bringing a
counterpane and towel, one of which was spread upon the bed, while the
other covered the old pine stand, marred and stained with ink and
tallow, the result of Hugh's own carelessness.
"What a heap of difference that table cloth and pocket handkerchief do
make," was Hugh's man-like remark, his face brightening with the
improved appearance of things, and his big heart grew warm with the
thought that he might keep his twenty-five dollars and Adah be
comfortable still.
"Ad may pick Adah's eyes out before I get home," was his laughing remark
as he vaulted into his saddle and dashed off across the fields, where,
beneath the warm Kentucky sun, the snow was already beginning to soften.
Breakfast had been rather late at Spring Bank that morning, for the
strangers had required some care, and Miss 'Lina was sipping her coffee
rather ill-naturedly when a note was handed her, and instantly her mood
was changed.
"Splendid, mother!" she exclaimed, glancing at the tiny, three-cornered
thing; "an invitation to Ellen Tiffton's party. I was half afraid she
would leave me out after Hugh's refusal to attend the Ladies' Fair, or
buy a ticket for her lottery. It was only ten dollars either, and Mr.
Harney spent all of forty, I'm sure, in the course of the evening. I
think Harney is splendid."
"Hugh had no ten dollars to spare," Mrs. Worthington said,
apologetically, "though, of course, he might have been more civil than
to tell Ellen it was a regular swindle, and the getters-up ought to be
indicted. I almost wonder at her inviting him, as she said she'd never
speak to him again."