ruefully around the room and enumerating the
different articles he knew were out of place. "Fish worms, fishhooks,
fishlines, bootjack, boot-blacking, and rifle, to say nothing of the
dogs--and me!"

The last was said in a tone as if the "me" were the most objectionable
part of the whole, as, indeed, Hugh thought it was.

"I wonder how I do look to persons wholly unprejudiced!" Hugh said, and
turning to Muggins he asked what she thought of him.

"I thinks you berry nice. I likes you berry much," the child replied,
and Hugh continued:

"Yes; but how do I look, I mean? What do I look like, a dandy or a
scarecrow?"

Muggins regarded him for a moment curiously, and then replied:

"I'se dunno what kind of thing that dandy is, but I 'members dat yer
scarecrow what Claib make out of mas'r's trouse's and coat, an' put up
in de cherry tree. I thinks da look like Mas'r Hugh--yes, very much
like!"

Hugh laughed long and loud, pinching Mug's dusky cheek, and bidding her
run away.

"Pretty good," he exclaimed, when he was left alone, "That's Mug's
opinion. Look like a scarecrow. I mean to see for myself," and going
into the sitting-room, where the largest mirror was hung, he scanned
curiously the figure which met his view, even taking a smaller glass,
and holding it so as to get a sight of his back. "Tall,
broad-shouldered, straight, well-built. My form is well enough," he
said. "It's the clothes that bother. I mean to get some new ones. Then,
as to my face," and Hugh turned himself around, "I never thought of it
before; but my features are certainly regular, teeth can't be beaten,
good brown skin, such as a man should have, eyes to match, and a heap of
curly hair. I'll be hanged if I don't think I'm rather good-looking!"
and with his spirits proportionately raised, Hugh whistled merrily as he
went in quest of Aunt Chloe, to whom he imparted the startling
information that on the next day but one, a young lady was coming to
Spring Bank, and that, in the meantime, the house must be cleaned from
garret to cellar, and everything put in order for the expected guest.

With growing years, Aunt Chloe had become rather cross and less inclined
to work than formerly, frequently sighing for the days when "Mas'r John
didn't want no clarin' up, but kep' things lyin' handy." With her hands
on her fat hips she stood, coolly regarding Hugh, who was evidently too
much in earnest to be opposed. Alice was coming, and the house must be
put