Jessie Carlton Part 24

Thanksgiving Day.

The next morning was mild and clear. A bright sun shone gloriously forth, and aided by light airs from the south, softened the snow and made every thing, but the walking, as pleasant as nature ever is on a December day.

It was thanksgiving day, too--thanksgiving was appointed in December that year--and all the inmates of Glen Morris arose in high spirits, expecting to spend that festal day in calm and quiet enjoyment.

At the breakfast-table, Uncle Morris excited some surprise, by putting on a very grave countenance, and saying--

"Some persons must have entered my room, last night!"

"Entered your room!" exclaimed Mrs. Carlton, turning a little pale, and forgetting what she was about, so far as to overflow the cup she was filling with coffee.

"Did they steal any thing, Uncle?" asked Hugh, in a voice made husky by the alarm he felt at the idea of burglars having been in the house.

"Mind, my dear, you are flooding the tea-tray with coffee," said Mr.

Carlton, pointing to the overflow of coffee in front of his lady.

"Did you see them?" inquired Jessie, also pale with alarm.

These questions were put so rapidly one after the other, that Uncle Morris had no chance to explain himself for a few moments. Silence, however, followed Jessie's question. Then the old gentleman relaxed his muscles, smiled, and said--

"I neither saw nor heard the intruders; yet, I found unquestionable marks of their having been in my room. They even made a hole in one of the walls! Yet, strange as it may appear, they not only took nothing away, but, on the contrary, they left one of the sweetest little chamber ornaments behind them I ever saw. Such burglars are welcome to enter my room every night!"

"O Uncle Morris! I know what you mean," said Jessie, laughing, and shaking her forefinger at him.

Mr. Morris's last words and his changed manner, had, of course, relieved all parties of their alarm, though none but Guy and his sister knew precisely what he meant.

"I shouldn't wonder if you did. Even the bird knows where it finds food, much more should intruders know where they intruded," replied Uncle Morris.

Jessie then looked at her mother, and said--

"Ma, Uncle means me and Guy, by his intruders. We went into his room last night to hang his watch-pocket over his bedstead."

"But what about the hole in the wall, Jessie? Did you and Guy dig that?"

asked Hugh.

"Ha, ha, ha! That's only Uncle Morris's fun. Guy bored a little hole with his gimblet, to screw in the hook which was meant to hang the pocket on; that's all," replied Jessie.

"No, that wasn't all, either," said Mr. Morris, "for my little puss left the cutest little velvet watch-pocket I ever saw, hanging on the hook.

There was some witchery in it, too, for it kept me awake over an hour. It seemed to hop down on to my pillow, and buzz in my ear, saying, 'I am a love-gift. The little girl who made me, made your quilt, made your slippers, and is going to make you a cushion. A pesky little creature tried hard to hinder her from doing it, but her love for you was so strong, she drove him away. I don't think there is any other old gentleman in Duncanville, loved by either niece or daughter, half so well as you are loved by the little miss whose nimble fingers made me!' Talking thus, the pocket kept me from going to sleep, until I began to fancy that my Jessie must have put a fairy into it."

"O Uncle Morris!" cried Jessie, with a glowing face and a heart dancing to joy-beats, as it perceived the affection for her, which Uncle Morris only partly concealed under his quaint and fanciful way of speaking. She craved no higher reward, than these expressions of his love for her.

After breakfast and family prayers were over, Mr. Morris turned to his niece, and said:

"Jessie!"

"Yes, Uncle."

"I am going to take a little walk, before I go to hear our minister's Thanksgiving sermon. Will you go?"

"Oh yes, yes. Uncle, I should like it ever so much."

During this conversation, Mrs. Carlton had been looking out at the window.

The snow was dripping from the eaves, and from the trees. It looked soft and soggy in the path, and she feared the walking would be too sloppy for her daughter. So she said:

"It is hardly fit for Jessie to go out walking, Brother. The slosh will be over her sandals, and she will get wet feet."

"Do you think so, Ma? Well, I'm sorry. But if I only had a pair of rubber-boots, like Carrie Sherwood's, I could go in spite of the slosh.

Never mind,"--here Jessie's sigh showed how disappointed she felt,--"never mind, uncle will have to take his walk alone."

Some misses would have fretted over such a disappointment as this. But Jessie seldom fretted. She had too much good sense, and too much good nature to fret. Perhaps this was one reason why she was loved so well.

When Mrs. Carlton had expressed her view of the bad walking, Uncle Morris left the room, so that he did not hear all that Jessie said in reply. He now returned, bearing in his hands a good-sized parcel, neatly tied and addressed in his own handwriting, to "Miss Jessie Carlton." Giving it to his niece, he said:

"Open Sesame! Perhaps you may find a talisman within this parcel, which will incline your mamma to change her opinion about the fitness of your walking out with me this morning."

Jessie untied the string, and on opening her parcel, looked up with eyes full of pleasure, and exclaimed:

"A pair of rubber-boots!"

Then dropping the parcel, she ran to her uncle, and gave him, I don't know how many warm kisses. After this, she took up the boots, and looking at them admiringly, said:

"Oh, how nice! Now I can go out in sloppy weather, can't I, Ma! What a dear, good uncle you are! What made you think of buying me these boots?"

"What made my little puss think of making me a watch-pocket, eh?" replied Mr. Morris: "but come, try on your boots, and let us be going!"

Mrs. Carlton having no fears about the slosh now that Jessie's feet were "_booted_," instead of being "_sandalled_," gave her consent, and a few minutes later, Jessie was trotting along at the side of her uncle, in the road which led toward the village. A hired man followed them at a little distance, bearing a large basket well filled with mince-pies, and other Thanksgiving luxuries for the table. Mr. Morris was going to distribute them among certain poor families, to whom he had sent turkeys the day before. It was part of his religion to do what he could to enable the virtuous poor to share in the pleasures proper to Thanksgiving day.

The first cottage at which they called, was a very small one, occupied by Mrs. Clifton and her daughter Madge. Having received proofs in letters from her early friends that her story was true, Uncle Morris had hired this cottage for her, and aided by Mr. Carlton, and a few other kind-hearted men and women in Duncanville, had furnished it, and put her in possession. Mrs. Carlton had interested the village ladies in her case, and they had agreed to keep her supplied with sewing. The poor woman, cheered by voices of kindness, and by the warm sympathies of her generous patrons, had pledged herself to abstain from the drinks which had well nigh ruined her. She had been in her new home for over a week, and was getting along quite cheerily.

When Jessie and her uncle entered, Madge shrunk behind her mother. Ever since the day on which Jessie heard her swear, she had acted as though conscious that there was something between herself and Jessie which kept them apart. I suppose that something was shame on her own part, and a dread of being made wicked by being too intimate with her, on Jessie's part. But whatever it was, Madge had felt uneasy in Jessie's presence from that time to the present.

"Well, Mrs. Clifton, how are you getting on?" asked Mr. Morris, after giving her a portion of the contents of the basket, carried by the hired man.

"Pretty well, Sir, I thank you: indeed, Sir, I owe every thing to you, Sir."

"No, not to me, my good woman, but to G.o.d and this child," said Mr.

Morris, pointing to Jessie; "but for her, your Madge would have gone to the alms-house, and you, perhaps, would have been kept in prison. It was to please my niece, here, that I took Madge to our house."

"A thousand blessings upon the dear child, and upon yourself, too, Sir,"

replied the woman with tears in her eyes.

Jessie's heart sent up gushes of sweet feeling at the sight of Mrs.

Clifton's grat.i.tude. With some trouble she coaxed poor Madge to kiss her; after which she and her uncle left the house.

"It is more blessed to _give_ than to _receive_," said Uncle Morris, as they walked through the soft snow to the next cottage.

Jessie dwelt upon that remark, saying to herself, as she silently trudged by her uncle's side--