e was almost sorry when the two miles
were over. And yet there was Agnes out upon the steps; and she sat
beside him on the sofa in his cheerful room, and told him that she had
nothing to do but to wait on him, and play with him. She did not tell
him yet that she must learn directly to nurse him, and, with her aunt's
help, fill her mother's place, because her mother was much wanted at
home: but this was in truth one chief reason for her coming.

Though there was now really nothing the matter with Hugh--though he ate,
drank, slept, and gained strength--his mother would not leave him till
she saw him well able to go about.

The carpenter soon came, with some crutches he had borrowed for Hugh to
try; and when they were sure of the right length, Hugh had a new pair.
He found it rather nervous work at first, using them; and he afterwards
laughed at the caution with which he began. First, he had somebody to
lift him from his seat, and hold him till he was firm on his crutches.
Then he carefully moved forwards one crutch at a time, and then the
other; and he put so much strength into it, that he was quite tired when
he had been once across the room and back again. Every stumble made him
shake all over. He made Agnes try; and he was almost provoked to see
how lightly she could hop about; but then, as he said, she could put a
second foot down to save herself, whenever she pleased. Every day,
however, walking became easier to him; and he even discovered, when
accidentally left alone, and wanting something from the opposite end of
the room, that he could rise, and set forth by himself, and be
independent. And in one of these excursions it was that he found the
truth of what Agnes had told him--how much easier it was to move both
crutches together. When he showed his mother this, she said she thought
he would soon learn to do with only one.

Hugh found himself subject to very painful feelings sometimes--such as
no one quite understood, and such as he feared no one was able to pity
as they deserved. A surprise of this sort happened to him the evening
before his father was to come to see him, and to fetch away his mother.

It was the dark hour in the afternoon--the hour when Mrs Proctor and
her children enjoyed every day a quiet talk, before Mr Shaw came to
carry Hugh into his aunt's parlour to tea. Nothing could be merrier
than Hugh had been; and his mother and Agnes were chatting, when they
thought they heard a sob from