There was the parish school to
visit, and a class of children to hear--children who were no longer
ragged, for Lucy's money had been poured out like water, till even
Arthur had remonstrated with her and read her a long lecture on the
subject of misplaced charity. Then, there was Widow Hobbs, waiting for
the jelly Lucy had promised, and for the chapter which Lucy read to
her, sitting where she could watch the road and see just who turned
the corner, her voice always sounding a little more serious and good
when the footsteps belonged to Arthur Leighton, and her eyes, always
glancing at the bit of cracked mirror on the wall, to see that her
dress and hair and ribbons were right before Arthur came in.
It was a very pretty sight to see her there and hear her as she read
to the poor woman, whose surroundings she had so greatly improved, and
Arthur always smiled gratefully upon her, and then walked back with
her to Prospect Hill, where he sometimes lingered while she played or
talked to him, or brought the luscious fruits with which the garden
abounded.
This was Lucy's life, the one she preferred to Saratoga, and they
left her to enjoy it, somewhat to Arthur's discomfiture, for much as
he valued her society, he would a little rather she had gone when the
Hethertons went, for he could not be insensible to the remarks which
were being made by the curious villagers, who watched this new
flirtation, as they called it, and wondered if their minister had
forgotten Anna Ruthven.
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