Molly shakes her head.
"I don't know," she says.
"She told me she considered that you had had quite as much to do with influencing me for good as she had. I told her of some of your lectures too, and she says you are a right-minded, good girl, and she admires you for what she calls your 'spirit' in taking me to task as you did."
Molly blushes up to the roots of her chestnut curls at this praise from one whose opinion is to be valued.
"Did you tell her about the dust?" she inquires.
"Of course I did!" replies Hugh, laughing, "and she enjoyed the story immensely. And now, Molly, you will write to me while I'm away, won't you? You can lecture and blow me up as much as you like, only let me go away thinking that my little mentor will still take the same interest in scapegrace Hugh that she has hitherto."
"Yes, I will, Hugh; here's my hand upon it. Of course it is all nonsense," she adds suddenly; "but if—if I have really been of any use in—in urging you on, you know, I am very glad. And now, would you like me to tell you a secret? Well, the slippers are more than half done already! Good-bye; be a good boy!" and without waiting for another word she runs back to the house, never stopping till she has reached the steps, when she turns round and waves her hand with rather a feeble smile.
She is not quite sure whether it is Hugh still standing where she left him, or whether it is only the gate-post, for there are two large tears trickling down the now saddened and softened face of plain-speaking little Molly, which seriously obstruct her vision.
There is quite a feeling of desolation all through the house after this second departure, for although not actually one of themselves, Hugh and his brothers have so often been down to see them that he is missed as much as if he were almost.
In a few days Doris's first letter arrives, and they are all relieved to find that she is less home-sick than might have been expected. Their own spirits rise in proportion therefore.