Part 29 (1/2)

”My face, my hands, and my tongue are all in demand, it seems,” said Hugh, laughing. ”We never know how much we are valued until it is too late to fix our price, as the Irishman said, when he lost both arms and could no longer saw wood for his family. I cannot subdivide myself, so I had better subdivide the time.”

”Well then, Hugh, I spoke first. Walk right upstairs,” said Bessie, leading the way.

”Will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” sang Hugh, as he followed her. ”I go, Bessie, from sheer compa.s.sion for my nose; you have made it Grecian, and I am sure it is Roman!”

”How gay they seem,” said Sibyl, as they disappeared, ”and yet Bessie will miss Hugh sadly. They have been devoted companions since childhood, and through our school-days Bessie was always looking forward to vacation, and spending her spare time in writing letters to Hugh. They have, of course, been parted for months together, but this parting is different. Hugh will be back again soon, and he may make us many visits, but still his home will now be in New York, and, absorbed in his new duties, and in the new interests and attractions of a great city, he will no longer be the same.”

”Yes; I too feel this, Sibyl,” said Aunt Faith; ”I feel it very deeply. My child, my little boy, will go from me forever, when I say good-bye to Hugh to-night. The young man, the kind nephew, the successful merchant may all come back at different times, but the little boy, never! Hugh is very dear to me. It is hard to let him go.

G.o.d grant that in the dangers of his new life, he may be preserved. We can only pray for him, Sibyl.”

Two tears rolled down Aunt Faith's cheeks, but she hastily wiped them away as Sibyl kissed her affectionately. ”Dear Aunt Faith,” she said, ”do not be down-hearted. Hugh has the seeds in his heart planted by your faithful hand, and although they have not blossomed yet, I feel sure they are growing.”

”Yes, dear; I cannot help feeling as you do,” replied Aunt Faith, trying to smile. But her heart was heavy.

Upstairs in the studio Bessie was painting rapidly, while Hugh in the old arm-chair sat gazing out through the open window, much as he had done on that bright June morning three months before, when Bessie had confessed the secret of the unpaid bill.

”How does the picture progress, Queen Bess?” he asked.

”Very well, excepting the eyes; I cannot get the right expression, I have tried over and over again. They are never the same two minutes at a time; I almost wish they were made of gla.s.s,” said Bessie impatiently.

”Then I would be the bully boy with a gla.s.s eye,” said Hugh, laughing.

”And a wax nose,” said Bessie.

”And a tin ear,” continued Hugh.

”And a cork leg,” added Bessie.

”And a bra.s.s arm, finis,” said Hugh; ”the weather is too warm for further studies in anatomy.”

”What does it all mean, anyway, Hugh? I have heard Tom and his friends say the whole string over and over again with the greatest apparent satisfaction; but to me they convey not a shadow of an idea.”

”Nor to any one else, I imagine,” said Hugh. ”If the phrases ever had any meaning, it has long ago vanished into obscurity. I have seen explanations given of many popular terms but never of these. After I am gone, though, Bessie, you had better give up slang. It is all very well with me, and to tell the truth, _I_ have taught you all you know, but it would not do with any one else.”

”Just as though I should ever speak a word of it to any one else,”

said Bessie indignantly. ”With you, it is different; you are like another myself.”

”_Alter_ ego,” said Hugh.

”I don't know anything about alter ego, but I know I shall miss you dreadfully,” said Bessie, throwing down her brush as the thought of Hugh's departure came into her mind with vivid distinctness.

”I shall be back again in November, Bessie.”

”Yes; but only for a day or two.”

”Perhaps I shall come home in the spring, also.”

”But it won't be the same. You will change,--I know you will,”

murmured Bessie, with a half sob.