Jessie Carlton Part 5

"I left him making sand-cakes down on the beach a few minutes ago," said old Joe.

All eyes were now turned to the beach, but no Charlie was to be seen. Old Joe looked uneasy as his eye swept the sh.o.r.e. Very soon he gave his waistband an unusual hitch, brought down his wooden leg with great force, and said:--

"As sure as my name's Joe Bunker, the little fellow is gone on a cruise in the Little Susan!"

"Gone on a cruise? What, alone?" asked Mr. Sherwood, looking a little pale.

"Yes, alone, or I'm no sailor."

Down to the sh.o.r.e of the pond they hurried. Sure enough, the Little Susan was gone. Charlie, in opposition to Mr. Bunker's command, had gone aboard and, sitting amidships, had rocked her to and fro until her painter had got loose, and the wind, which blew off sh.o.r.e, had drifted the boat out on to the pond, where she was now visible, with Charlie's head just above the bulwarks, steadily setting down towards a a point about a mile distant.

"To the Point! Make for 'Long Point!'" shouted old Joe.

Away ran the boys, with old Joe hobbling after them, Guy only remaining behind with the girls and Mr. Sherwood. Charlie's danger had for the moment driven all thought of Jessie and Emily from their minds. Now, however, they began to consider what was to be done to recover the lost cousins.

"I see them!" shouted Guy, pointing to the hill-top in the distance, and starting to meet them. They were just visible in the distance. He soon reached them, very much to Jessie's relief. Tenderly kissing her he said--

"Where have you been, Jessie?"

"We missed our way, and got lost in the woods behind that horrid quarry!"

said Emily. "It's a wonder we ever found the way back again."

"Oh, fy--" cried Jessie. She would have said more, and have contradicted this wretched lie, but Emily put her hand before her mouth while she poured a long story of pretended adventures into Guy's ears. Jessie was shocked. She thought of her uncle's sigh, and of his quaint proverb, and was silent.

It was fairly dark when the Little Susan, steered by Joe Bunker, with Charlie and the other boys on board, touched her dock. The horses being by this time harnessed to the wagon, the party with their freight of nuts, were soon rolling homewards. Very little was said, after Emily, interrupted by frequent "ohs!" from Jessie, had repeated her lie about losing their way. All felt that the pleasure of the occasion had been greatly marred by Charlie's conduct; and in spite of Emily's lie and Jessie's silence, they also felt that if Jessie should speak she would make it appear that Emily's story was not exactly true. But the reader _knows_ that all the shadows which fell upon that excursion came from the selfishness of the two visitors from Morristown.

CHAPTER IV.

Jessie's Great Sorrow.

At the tea-table Emily told a long story about herself and Jessie wandering away into the woods, and getting sadly frightened. She was very animated, and, but for Jessie's sad face, and her occasional look of surprise, might have made herself believed. But that grave face, so unusual to his darling Jessie, told Uncle Morris that Emily was palming off a falsehood upon them. Guy also was sure she was telling a lie. When she had finished her story, he said,

"But did you not hear us shout and halloo?"

"No, indeed. If we had, we could have easily answered back," said the lying child.

"O Emily!" groaned Jessie.

"We shouted like one o'clock!" said Hugh.

"Pray tell us, Master Hugh, what shouting like one o'clock means?" asked Uncle Morris, who had a very great dislike to unmeaning phrases.

"Well, very loud, then," replied Hugh, blushing.

"But you didn't shout loud enough for us to hear," said Emily, secretly pinching Jessie, by way of imposing silence upon her.

"It's very strange," said Guy. "It was certainly not more than ten minutes from the time we left the quarry, before we saw you coming over the top of the hill in the pasture, so that you could not have been very far in the woods when we were shouting like--like--"

"Like boys in search of two young ladies supposed to be lost or _hidden_,"

said Uncle Morris, helping Guy to a comparison, and at the same time hinting his suspicions of the truth in the case.

Jessie blushed deeply and was about to speak, when Emily, growing fiery red with anger, said:

"_Well_, if you don't choose to believe me, you needn't, but I don't think it's very polite to talk to me as if you thought I was telling you a lie."

Seeing that her young guest was fast losing her temper, and that Master Charlie was nodding over his empty plate and tea-cup, Mrs. Carlton rose from the tea-table, and addressing the two girls, said:

"Perhaps, as you are wearied with your excursion, my dears, you had better retire now, and finish your talk about it to-morrow, when you are rested.

Come, Charlie, open your eyes and go to bed!"

"Let me alone!" growled the drowsy boy, as his aunt took his hand to lift him from his chair, and lead him from the room.

Jessie sighed, and looked as if she too had a story to tell when she kissed her Uncle Morris good-night. The old gentleman returned her kiss very affectionately, and whispered,

"Jessie, you make me think of the proverb which says, _The day that the little chicken is pleased, is the very day that the hawk takes hold of him._ Good night, dear!"

Jessie was puzzled, and all the way up-stairs kept saying to herself, "What can Uncle Morris mean? what can Uncle Morris mean?" And while undressing she said still to herself, "I can't be the chicken, because I'm not pleased--but stop--Yes, I was pleased this morning. Perhaps, then, I'm the chicken. And the hawk--must--be--well--it must be Emily! Ah! I see now. He thinks Emily has made me do some wrong to-day. And he is right too. It was wrong to hide away in the quarry. It was worse to pretend not to hear when the boys called us. That was _acting_ a lie. And it was wrong for me to keep still when Emily made up that wicked story about our getting lost. Oh dear! Oh dear! How sorry I am! I wish I hadn't hid away in the quarry!"

"What makes you look so glum, Miss Solemn Face?" asked Emily, who, without kneeling down to say her evening prayer, was getting ready for bed as fast as her nimble fingers could move.

"I am thinking that I did wrong to-day," replied Jessie, sighing deeply and standing motionless in the middle of the chamber.

"Fig's end! I never knew such a girl as you are. _Wrong_ indeed! Just as if it was wrong to have a little fun," replied Emily, sneering.

"Fun is not wrong; but it was wrong to alarm Mr. Sherwood and the boys, about our safety. I know they felt very bad when they thought we were lost. It was wrong, too, for us to pretend not to hear when they called us. That was _acting a lie_. And oh, Emily! how _could_ you make up that wicked story, about our getting lost in the woods!"

Jessie spoke with such deep and solemn feeling, that Emily's conscience was touched. A slight shudder pa.s.sed over her as she buried her head in the pillow, and drew the bed-cover close to her face. Her voice was a little husky, too, when she replied:

"You are too fussy, by half, Jessie. Good-night!"

"Good-night!" said Jessie; and then dropping to her knees, beside the big arm-chair, the well-taught child began to think over the events of the afternoon. The longer she thought, the more guilty she felt. She could not say her prayers, because her sin rose before her mind like a great, black cloud. At last, she began to weep and sob, saying in half-audible whispers:

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I wish I hadn't made believe I didn't hear!

Oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do?"

Emily got up a mock snore, by way of saying, "I'm asleep, and don't know but that you are asleep too." But she was not asleep, nor did she feel like sleeping in the least. In fact, she kept peeping over her pillow at Jessie, and wondering why she felt so bad, until a voice within her, whispered:

"If Jessie feels bad for yielding to your wishes, how ought _you_ to feel, who led her astray, and who told such a shocking lie to hide your fault?

Emily Morris! Emily Morris! You are a wicked girl!"

Jessie now rose from her knees, bathed in tears. Wrapping herself in a dressing-gown, she took the lamp in her hand, left the room, and went, with slow and heavy steps, down-stairs. Leaving her lamp on the hall-table, she went into the parlor. Every eye was lifted towards her, with inquiring glances. She went directly to that sweetest of all earthly nestling-places for a child in sorrow, her mother's arms, and whispered:

"O mother! I've been a naughty girl to-day!"