Jessie Carlton Part 3

"If you was _my_ brother I'd _make_ you tell me," said Emily, her eyes sparkling with rising pa.s.sion as she spoke.

"You _are_ a s.p.u.n.ky little lady, I declare," said Hugh, laughing; "but here, Jessie, suppose you try to _guess_ my secret. It is something you would give ever so much to know."

"_Really_, Hugh, have you a secret, _truly_?"

"Yes, _truly_. Honor bright, I tell you. It is a glorious secret. It will make you ever so happy to know it."

"What is it about? Is somebody coming here? Do tell me, Hugh."

"Catch a weasel asleep and you'll catch me answering questions. But I see you _won't_ buy, and you _can't_ guess my secret, so I'll be off," and in spite of all the entreaties of Jessie and the biting speeches which Emily made, master Hugh left the room, carrying his secret with him.

Jessie, sighed, and turning to her dolls, said, "Hugh is a great tease, isn't he Emily?"

"He's a great ugly monster!" retorted Emily, who was in the habit of using strong words, without much regard to their meaning. "If he was my brother he shouldn't tease me so."

"Oh, Hugh only does it for fun. He is a dear good brother, after all, only," and here Jessie lowered her voice almost to a whisper, "only I wish he was as good as Guy."

"_For fun_, eh? I'd _fun_ him: I'd pull his hair, and hide away his books, and steal his playthings, and call that fun, if he was my brother," cried Emily.

"Oh, fy! cousin Emily. That would be wicked fun, and would make both you and your brother unhappy," said Guy, who had just entered the room.

The girls looked on the speaker, who, before Emily had time to reply, went on to say,--

"Girls, Carrie Sherwood invites you to go nutting with her this afternoon.

Richard Duncan, Norman Butler, Adolphus Harding, Walter, Hugh, Charlie, you two young ladies, Carrie, and a young lady or two of her acquaintance, are to make up the party. Carriages will call for you at one o'clock. You must get ma to give you an early dinner, and be ready in time."

"That is what Hugh meant by his secret. Oh, I'm so glad," said Jessie, clapping her hands. "Won't it be nice, Emily?"

Emily thought it would. The girls thanked Guy for his good news, and, springing from the sofa, started to inform Charlie and Mrs. Carlton of the proposed party. Charlie was delighted. Mrs. Carlton knew all about it, because the whole matter had been quietly arranged a day or two before by her and Mrs. Sherwood. Carried away by the idea of this delightful excursion, Jessie left her six dolls, with their incompleted dresses, on the sofa, on the chairs, and on the floor. Impulse, the merry little wizard, had seized her, and she thought of nothing but the nutting-party the remainder of the morning.

CHAPTER III.

A Nutting-Party.

A few minutes before one o'clock, a long, spring market-wagon, drawn by two n.o.ble horses, stopped before the gate of Glen Morris Cottage. It contained Carrie Sherwood and her party, all but the Carltons and their visitors. Mr. Sherwood sat on the driver's seat. He went with the young folks to drive, and, as he quaintly said, "to see that the hawks did not pounce on his chickens;" by which figure of speech, I suppose, he meant that he went to keep the young folks out of danger.

Jessie and her guests, together with Hugh and Guy, were all waiting when the carriage drove up. Shouts of welcome greeted them from the wagon. They gave back cheer for cheer as they sprang to their places, all but Charlie, who stood near the front wheel pouting, and looking very sulky. Mr.

Sherwood, who had turned half round to watch the seating of his guests, did not notice the boy, but supposing the party to be now complete, faced his team, drew the reins tight, flourished his whip, and shouted--

"All aboard!"

"Charlie is not aboard yet," cried Emily.

"Come, Charlie! Jump up here!" shouted half a dozen voices.

"I don't want to," said Charlie, in a drawling tone.

"Don't you wish to go, my little fellow?" asked Mr. Sherwood.

"I want to sit on the coachman's seat," simpered the boy, as he stuffed his finger into his mouth.

The driver's seat was not meant for two persons, and Mr. Sherwood was in doubt whether to crowd Charlie into it or not. But seeing from the boy's manner that he would spoil the pleasure of the party if he did not, and being a very indulgent man, he at last consented. So pulling him up to the footboard, he stowed him away by his side, and cracking his long whip, drove off amidst a volley of cheers from the boys, the laughter of the girls, and the waving of handkerchiefs by Mrs. Carlton and Uncle Morris, from the piazza.

"I want to drive!" muttered Charlie, as soon as they were fairly started.

"You must eat a little more beefsteak, and grow a little taller, my boy, before you undertake to drive such a span as this," replied Mr. Sherwood, smiling at the boy's presumption.

"I _will_ drive!" growled Charlie, grasping the reins, and giving them a jerk, which startled the spirited creatures into an uneasy gallop.

"Whoa there, steady Kate, steady!" said Mr. Sherwood, removing the boy's hands and reining up his team.

After soothing his horses, and bringing them to a gentle trot again, Mr.

Sherwood took his reins in his right hand, and, grasping Charlie with his left, suddenly jerked him over the driver's seat, into the bed of the wagon, saying,

"Boys! take care of this little coachman!"

This was not so easily done. Charlie's ugly temper was up. He tried to scramble back to Mr. Sherwood's side, but the larger boys held him firmly in spite of kicks and blows which he dispensed without ceremony, until, fairly tired out, he sat down on the floor of the wagon, biting his thumbs and looking like a lump of ill-nature. This display of ugliness spoiled the pleasure of the drive. It was worse than a shower of rain, for it threw a black cloud over the spirits of the party, and made them all unhappy.

They had not fully recovered their cheerfulness, when they came to Duncan's pond, and in sight of old Joe Bunker's flagstaff, from the top of which the stars and stripes proudly floated in the fine breeze of that October afternoon.

"There's the bunting you gave old Mr. Bunker!" observed Guy to his friend Richard.

"Yes, there it is, sure enough, and old Timbertoe is as proud of it as a little boy is of his first pair of pantaloons," said Richard, laughing at the oddity of his own comparison.

"Or, as Richard Duncan _was_, of that famous shot from his pea-shooter, which hit Professor Nailer's long nose," said Norman Butler, chuckling and rubbing his hands, at the recollection of that exciting scene at the Academy, a few months before.

"Or, as my sister Jessie is of her Uncle Morris," said Guy.

Mr. Sherwood's loud whoa! whoa! and the stopping of the horses in front of Joe Bunker's barn, put an end to this series of comparisons. This was the place where they were to leave the horses; for b.u.t.ternut--trees were quite numerous in some extensive pastures which were situated round the sh.o.r.es of Duncan's pond. "Old Joe" welcomed the party, and put up the horses, while the boys pulled out the baskets from beneath the wagon-seats, and made ready for the nutting.

But Master Charlie was not yet rid of his sulks, and would not stir from the wagon. He wanted to go home, he said; he didn't care for nuts, and would not go with his companions. In vain did his sister entreat, Mr.

Sherwood command, and Jessie try her coaxing powers. Little Will, the celebrated child-conqueror, was playing the tyrant over him; and the unhappy boy gave himself up, hand and foot, to his enemy. He would not quit the wagon.

"Never mind! leave him where he is, until his good-nature comes back, if he has any," said Mr. Sherwood.

"I am afraid he will get into mischief after we are gone, if we do that,"

said Guy. "Perhaps I had better stay here and mind him."

"You shall do no such thing with my consent, Guy. Go with the rest, and I'll put this cross urchin in charge of Mr. Bunker," replied Mr. Sherwood.

Then turning to the old sailor, he added:

"Look here, Mr. Bunker! We have a little bear in our wagon, that don't seem to like nuts. Will you keep your eye on him while we go into the pastures?"

"Ay, ay, Sir," said Old Joe, giving his waistband a hitch. "I'll keep a bright lookout for him."