"Hugh Allen," said the lad briefly.
"Hugh!" cried Hildegarde, her cheek flushing and her eyes softening. "That was my dear father's name. We must be friends, Hugh, for the name's sake. Come along, laddie!"
The boy came, and walked in silence by her side, occasionally stealing a glance at the kind, bright face so much higher up than his own.
"Well, my puppy," said Hildegarde, as if she were continuing a conversation. "His name was Patsy, and he was such a funny puppy,—all white, with a great big head, and paws almost as big, and a mouth large enough to swallow—oh! I don't know what! a watermelon, perhaps. I loved him very much. He used to gnaw my boots, and nibble the skirt of my dress; but, of course, I didn't mind, for I knew he was cutting his teeth, poor dear, and couldn't help it. But when he gnawed all the corners off the leather chairs in the dining-room, my mother dear didn't like it, and she said Patsy must go. Then my father said he would take him to his office every day, and keep him out of mischief, and then I could take the dear for a good walk in the afternoon, and have a comfortable time with him, and he could sleep in the shed. Well, I thought this was a delightful plan, and the next day Patsy went off with papa, as pleased and happy as possible. Oh, dear! Hugh, what do you think that puppy did?"
"Perhaps he bit his legs," suggested Hugh, with a gleam of delight in his blue eyes.
"Oh, no!" said Hildegarde. "He wouldn't have dared to do that, for he was a sad coward, my poor Patsy. My father left him shut up in the office while he went to lunch; and as the day was mild (though it was winter), he left his new ulster on a chair, where he had laid it when he first came in. Hugh, when he came back, he found the ulster—it was a stout heavy one—he found it all torn into little pieces, and the pieces piled in a heap, and Patsy lying on top of them."
"Oh-ee!" cried the boy. "And then what happened? Did he smite him hip and thigh, even unto the going down of the sun?"
Hildegarde opened her eyes a little at this scriptural phrase, but answered: "Yes, I am afraid papa gave him a pretty severe whipping. He had to, of course. And then he sent him away, and I never saw poor Patsy again. Don't you think that was sad, Hugh?"
"It was sad for you," replied the boy, "but sadder for Patsy. Would you like to be a dog?" he added, looking up suddenly into Hildegarde's face.
"I—think—not!" said that young woman meditatively. "I should have to eat scraps and cold bones, and that I could not endure. Besides, you couldn't read, or play on the piano, or anything of that sort. No, I am quite sure I should not like it, Hugh."