Jessie Carlton Part 19

"Would you like to see my doll?"

But Madge had other and higher thoughts than of dolls or playthings. She was in a sort of wonder-world. She could not satisfy herself with regard to the meaning of the change brought about in her during the last hour or two. That pleasant kitchen, the neat dress she wore, the bath by which she had been cleansed from the filth of poverty, the pleasant faces she had seen, and the kind voices she had heard, all seemed to her like a gay dream, and she was expecting, ay, and fearing too, that the next minute she should awake and find herself sitting and shivering in the cold wind, under the stone wall, waiting for her ungentle mother. But when Jessie touched her hand and spoke so kindly to her, every thing seemed real, and her heart sent up gushes of grat.i.tude to the little friend who, like some good fairy, had conjured away her rags, and pain, and cold, and hunger.

After gazing silently into Jessie's eyes a few moments, as if she was trying to look into her soul, she said--

"Little girl, will you let me love you?"

"To be sure I will, and I will love _you_ too," replied Jessie, in tones that seemed like angel's music to the little outcast, whose ears had long been unfamiliar with loving words.

Then Jessie threw an arm round Madge and pressing her to her bosom, gave her a kiss. Oh, how warmly did the outcast girl return it! She clung to Jessie as the wild vine does to the supporting branch, and embraced her with an ardor which told more eloquently than words could utter it, how grateful she was for the love which Jessie had offered her.

When Madge withdrew her arms from Jessie, she sat back in her chair and gazed at her long and silently. After a time the tears filled her eyes, and in broken accents she asked--

"Does any one know where my mother is?"

Jessie told her she was probably in the village, and that she would, most likely, see her in the morning. Madge begged hard to be taken to her that night, but was finally persuaded to wait until the morrow.

"That child has a great deal of _heart_," said Uncle Morris, after hearing Jessie's account of her interview with Madge. "We must do what we can to rescue her from the influence of her drunken mother."

CHAPTER XII.

Little Impulse beaten again.

After breakfast the next morning, Jessie sat down to her work with a resolute will. Her _impulse_, was to spend the hours playing with Madge.

But her purpose to act by rule was strong, and it conquered. Guy went out for the brown worsted, which her meeting with Madge, kept her from buying the previous evening. So giving her _protege_ a seat on a cricket by her side, she worked merrily, and with nimble fingers, on her uncle's slippers. The tongues of the two girls, you may be sure, were as nimble as Jessie's fingers.

While they were thus happily employed, Uncle Morris was out, looking after the young outcast's mother.

Jessie had not been seated more than an hour before her brother Hugh, with his friend, Walter Sherwood and his sister Carrie, came in, each armed with a pair of skates, and well wrapped up, as was fitting they should be, on a cold day in November. Carrie bounded into the room like a fawn, and kissing her friend, exclaimed:

"O Jessie! this is a capital morning for skating! Walter has found a nice safe place, and we have come to take you with us."

This was a strong temptation. Perhaps a stronger could not have been offered, to incline her to break her purpose, and drop her work. There had been no day since her skates had been given her, in which there had been ice enough to try them. It was a new amus.e.m.e.nt, too, and her heart was set upon it. Hence, an impulse came over her, to pitch the slipper into the basket, seize her skates, and hurry away to the desired spot. In fact, she half rose from the chair, and words of consent were rising to her lips, when she thought of the little wizard, and reseating herself, replied:

"I would like to go ever so much, Carrie, but I must stay in until dinner-time, and work on uncle's slippers."

"Bother the slippers! Who cares about them! Uncle don't need them, and why should you be fussing over them," said Hugh.

"It's very pleasant to work for your good old uncle, I dare say, Miss Jessie, but you can do that in the afternoon. We very much wish you to join our party this morning," observed Walter.

"I know I _could_," replied Jessie; "but mother wishes me to sew or study every morning until dinner-time, and I have resolved to do it. I have broken my purpose a great many times, but I _must_ keep it now, much as I want to go out skating. Can't you put off your party until the afternoon?"

"Not a bit of it!" said Hugh. "Come Walt, come Carrie, let us be off."

"I think I will stay with Jessie this morning," replied Carrie; "and I invite you, young gentlemen, to beau us to the skating-ground, this afternoon!"

"If you won't go now, you may beau yourselves for all we," retorted Hugh in his usual ungracious way, when treating with his sister.

"Don't say _so_, Hugh," responded Walter. "It's hardly polite. 'Spose you and I go without the girls this morning, and _with_ them this afternoon?

Eh?"

"As you please!" growled Hugh, swinging his skates; "only let us be off quick."

The boys now left, promising to go with the girls at half-past two in the afternoon. Carrie laid aside her hood and cloak, which Jessie took, and laid in a heap upon the table.

"My dear!" observed Mrs. Carlton, who looked into the room just at that moment; "is _that_ the place for Carrie's things?"

A blush tinged Jessie's cheek. As I have said before, a want of regard for order, was a fault which grew out of her impulsive nature. She did most things in a hurry, and usually with some other object before her mind at the same time. While her uncle had been trying to cure her of the habit of yielding to her impulses, her mother had also been endeavoring to stimulate her to cultivate a love of order. No wonder, then, that she blushed as she went to hang her friend's hood and cloak on the stand in the hall.

All this time, poor Madge had sat almost unnoticed. So taken up were they all with their skating party, that they had overlooked the quiet maiden, sitting so demurely on her cricket. But now the boys were gone, and the two friends took their seats, Jessie's thoughts came back to the young outcast, and turning to Carrie, she said:

"Carrie, let me introduce you to Madge Clifton."

"How do you do, miss?" said Carrie, bowing.

Poor Madge did not know much about introductions, and was unused to company. So she only blushed, hung down her head, and replied:

"Pretty well, thank ye."

Jessie now took Carrie aside, and in whispers told her poor Madge's story, after which they resumed their seats. Carrie's warm heart soon melted away the poor outcast's fears; and while the two young ladies were merrily prattling away, Madge listened with wonder if not with delight. In fact, her life since last evening seemed more like a dream than a reality to her. She was still in fairy-land.

Presently the postman came to the house bringing a letter addressed to "Miss Jessie Carlton." The servant took it to Jessie on a small salver.

"Is it for me?" cried Jessie, taking it up and examining the address.

"Whom can it be from?" asked Carrie, leaning over to her friend's side to see the handwriting.

"Oh, I know!" exclaimed Jessie. "It's from cousin Emily."

The letter was opened, and Jessie read aloud as follows:

MORRISTOWN, N. J., November 18, 18--.

MY DEAR JESSIE:

I got home nicely from your house. Ma was very glad to see us, and so was pa. Charlie said he was glad to get home. I was some glad and some sorry. It was pleasant to see pa and ma again, but I missed you, oh! ever so much! When I went up to my room that night, I sat down and cried. I thought over all the naughty things I had said and done to you while I was at Glen Morris, until it seemed to me I was the most wicked girl in the world. I thought of you and of dear Uncle Morris and his good advice, until my heart seemed broken. Then I kneeled down and asked G.o.d to make me a good girl like you. I begin to believe he will, for I have been trying hard to be good ever since. Mother says I am a very good girl already; but she don't know what pa.s.ses in my thoughts, nor how hard I have to strive to keep down my ugly, wicked temper. Charlie is not quite so wicked as he was, either, and I am trying to make him a good boy. I wish you would come to Morristown and make me a good long visit. With much love to yourself, and your good Ma, Pa, and Uncle Morris, I am

Your affectionate cousin, EMILY MORRIS.

TO MISS JESSIE CARLTON.

"What a beautiful letter!" said Carrie. Jessie was silent. She was thinking. She was secretly rejoicing, too. Such a joy was in her young heart as had never welled up in it before. She had done Emily good. As Guy had led Richard Duncan into right paths, so she had led Emily. Happy, happy Jessie!

Just then she heard Uncle Morris's night-key lifting the latch of the hall door. Away she bounded from her seat, almost overturning poor Madge in her hurry. Rushing to her uncle as he was closing the door, she seized his arm with one hand while she held up Emily's letter in the other, and in a loud, earnest whisper, said:

"O Uncle! Cousin Emily is trying to be good. She says so in her letter."