h him when he sorrowed, but
now that his drooping head was lifted up, many an honest face regarded him
with humble congratulation, as kindly received as if it had come from the
highest in the land.

CHAPTER XVII.

Alice steadily, though slowly, improved; and Phillis again employed herself
with her children and her work. Things had gone on very well, with one of
her daughter's constant superintendence; but Bacchus had taken advantage of
being less watched than usual, and had indulged a good deal, declaring to
himself that without something to keep up his spirits he should die,
thinking about Miss Alice. Phillis, lynx-eyed as she always was, saw that
such had been the case.

It was about a week after Alice commenced to improve, that Phillis went to
her house in the evening, after having taken charge of her for several
hours, while Mrs. Weston slept. Alice was very restless at night, and Mrs.
Weston generally prepared herself for it, by taking some repose previously;
this prevented the necessity of any one else losing rest, which, now that
Alice was entirely out of danger, she positively refused to permit. As
Phillis went in the door, Lydia was on her knees, just finishing the little
nightly prayer that Miss Janet had taught her. She got up, and as she was
about to go to bed, saw her mother, and bade her good night.

"Good night, and go to bed like a good child. Miss Alice says you may come
to see her again to-morrow," Phillis replied.

Lydia was happy as a queen with this promise. Aunt Phillis took her pipe,
and her old station outside the door, to smoke. Bacchus had his old, crazy,
broken-backed chair out there already, and he was evidently resolving
something in his mind of great importance, for he propped the chair far
back on its one leg, and appeared to be taking the altitude of the
mountains in the moon, an unfailing sign of a convulsion of some kind in
the inner man.

"Phillis," said he, after a long silence, "do you know, it is my opinion
that that old creature," pointing with his thumb to Aunt Peggy's house, "is
so long used to grumblin' and fussin', that she can't, to save her life,
lie still in her grave."

"What makes you think so?" said Phillis.

"Bekase, I believes in my soul she's back thar this minute."

"People that drink, Bacchus, can't expect nothin' else than to be troubled
with notions. I was in hopes Aunt Peggy's death would have made you afeered
to go on sinning. 'Stead of that, wh