Jessie Carlton Part 22

"I never fight!" replied Guy. "Besides, we have nothing to fight about. I only wish you to let my little friend, Madge, alone."

"She!" retorted Jem, "that swearing cat your friend, Master Guy Carlton.

Pooh! You don't have swearing gals among your friends, I know. That gal is some beggar's brat, and we only want to have some fun with her."

Jem's tone was much lowered toward the latter part of his speech. His hands, too, fell as if by instinct to his pockets. Peter Mink and Noll Crawford drew back, the latter saying as he did so--

"Come, Jem, let's leave the s.p.u.n.ky little gentleman and his friend, Madge, to themselves. I'd rather pick up hickory nuts than listen to his gab."

"Discretion always is the better part of valor, as Uncle Morris says,"

thought Guy, as he walked away with his sisters, patting the head of old Rover.

It was the coming up of old Rover which had cooled off Idle Jem and his crew. The dog had been strolling about the pasture while Jessie was skating. Having missed his young master and mistress on returning to the pond, the faithful fellow had followed them. He came up just at the right moment. His rows of big white teeth, and his low growl, taught the idlers the discretion which Guy praised and which led them to cease their angry jibes. With Guy alone they might have contended. But Rover was an enemy they had not courage to face.

To the wounded pride and the ill temper of Madge, shame was now added. The kind and gentle Jessie had heard her _swear_, had seen her face flushed with pa.s.sion, had had a glimpse into the dark corner of her evil nature.

Poor Madge! She sullenly refused to speak or to permit either of the party to take her hand; but lagging behind the rest, she silently followed them home.

Jessie bade her friend, Carrie, good-by in front of Mr. Sherwood's cottage. As they kissed each other, Carrie put her mouth to Jessie's ear and whispered--

"Jessie, shall I tell you what I think about Madge?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't trouble my head about her any more, if I were you. She is a terribly wicked creature!"

Jessie sighed, but said nothing. On reaching home finding no one at liberty to talk with her, she went to her chamber and getting her writing materials and her portfolio, went down into the parlor and wrote the following answer to her cousin Emily's letter:

GLEN MORRIS COTTAGE, DUNCANVILLE, NOV. --, 18--.

DEAR COUSIN:

I was glad to receive your letter, and to learn that you were all well at Morristown. I cannot tell you how happy it made me to hear that you are trying to be good. I wish I was good all the time, but, as Uncle Morris says, it is so much easier to do wrong than it is to do right. I can't tell you how much I love our dear uncle, for he is always helping me to be good. He says a good heart is G.o.d's gift, and that we must ask him to give it to us for the sake of his dear Son.

Well, I ask for a good heart three times every day, and if you do so too, G.o.d will hear you and bless you.

What do you think? Yesterday I found a poor girl named Madge in the road near the pump at the four corners. You know the place. Well, I asked Uncle Morris to take her home and he did. Her mother is here too. I thought Madge was so nice, and would learn to be good _so_ easy, that I began to love her dearly. But to-day, she swore dreadfully and wouldn't speak to me. Isn't it fearful? I'm afraid I shan't be able to love her as I want to any more. Oh dear! I'm so sorry. Well, you and I must try to be good. Give my love to uncle and aunt, and to Charlie, and believe me to be

Your affectionate Cousin, JESSIE CARLTON.

P. S. I've almost finished Uncle Morris's slippers. J. C.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Watch-Pocket finished.

"Well, Jessie, how do you like your black-eyed _protege_?" asked Uncle Morris, a few days after the events recorded in the last chapter.

"Pretty--well--but--but--"

"But what?" said Uncle Morris, with an arch glance, for he saw that Jessie was loth to speak the thought that lingered in her mind.

"Well, I like Madge, Uncle, but as ma says, she is not quite an _angel_,"

and Jessie laughed as if there was something funny in her mother's saying.

"I suppose she is not. Did my puss ever hear of angels being found, as we found Madge, dressed in rags, and s.h.i.+vering under a stone wall?"

"No, uncle, but, but--"

"There you are _but_-ing again," said Mr. Morris. "Why not out with it at once, and say that you did not expect to find so many faults in poor Madge, as you have found?"

"Because I don't like to speak evil of her, and yet I do wish she wouldn't have those ugly spells come over her. Sometimes she is so gentle and grateful, that I begin to love her dearly. Then all at once, she will be so cross and ugly, that I begin to repent having asked you to bring her home with us."

Mr. Morris looked at his perplexed niece in silence for nearly a minute.

He was thinking how to impress her mind with the moral taught by her disappointment respecting Madge. At last he very gravely said:

"Jessie!"

"What is it, Uncle?" asked Jessie, surprised at her uncle's manner.

"Shall I tell you plainly, why you _feel_ so much disappointed in poor Madge?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, it is because your kindness to her was mixed with a good deal of _selfishness_."

"O Uncle Morris!" exclaimed Jessie; "how can you say so?"

"Because I really think so;" replied Mr. Morris.

"Well, you are a funny man, if you think so, Uncle! How _could_ I be selfish, in wis.h.i.+ng you to bring that poor child home? I'm sure I didn't expect to gain any thing by it." Here Jessie pouted a little, for she was really piqued by what her uncle had said. Seeing this, Mr. Morris replied:

"I hope my little puss is not going to be angry with her poor old uncle, because he seeks to tell her the truth."

"Well, no; but really, I don't see how you can think me selfish, just for wis.h.i.+ng you to bring a poor, freezing child, to our house," and with this remark, Jessie forced back the smile which usually played round her lips, while she looked earnestly into her uncle's eyes.

"Will my little puss answer me a question or two?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me then, my dear child, did you not expect to derive a great deal of _pleasure_ from Madge's grat.i.tude, and love, and obedience to yourself?

Did you not look upon yourself as her benefactor, her teacher, her superior, and as having a right to claim such conduct from her, as would, in some degree, pay you for your trouble and kindness? You expected her, poor thing, to behave like an angel, for your sake. Instead of that, she has, at times, let her evil nature and her bad habits break out, in a way to give you trouble and pain, and to cause you to feel disappointment. Are not these things so, my sweet little puss?"

"Yes, Sir. But--but _ought_ not poor people to be grateful and obedient to those who help them?" asked Jessie, who, though she began to perceive that a regard for her own pleasure had been mixed with the kindness to Madge, was not quite ready to plead guilty to her good uncle's charge.

"They _ought_ certainly, and when they do, it is very right for those who help them, to take pleasure in their grat.i.tude. But that is a very different thing, from doing good _for the sake of the pleasure or profit we expect to derive from the conduct of those we benefit._"