The Skating-Party.
"Now you can go skating with me, can't you?" inquired Carrie Sherwood, as
she pushed her little round face in at the door after dinner.
"Yes, _now_ I can go," replied Jessie. "I did ever so much on my slipper
this morning, and shall get it done by the last of the week."
"If you stick to it, but I know you _won't_," said Hugh, interrupting his
sister.
Jessie felt a little anger stir in her heart on hearing this fling at a
habit she was trying so so hard to overcome. But saying to herself, "never
mind, I deserve it," she merely gave Hugh a glance of reproof, and was
silent.
"I say, that's ungenerous, Mister Hugh," observed Guy, taking up his
sister's case. "You know Jessie is learning to stick to her purposes, and
that is more than anybody can say of you."
"Don't be too hard upon a fellow just for a joke," replied Hugh, wincing
under his brother's hit.
"Well, don't you throw stones at Jessie; at least, not so long as you live
in a glass house yourself," said Guy. Then turning to the girls, he added:
"Come girls, get ready, and I'll go with you to help Jessie try her new
skates."
"Oh, thank you, you dear good Guy!" replied Jessie, running to her brother
and giving him a sweet sisterly kiss.
"I think I'll go, too, if you'll let me," said Hugh.
"You may if you'll promise not to poke fun at us if we fall down," replied
Jessie.
"If you do poke fun, master Hugh," said Carrie, shaking her head at him,
"we will never consent to let you join our party again!"
"That will be _terrible_!" exclaimed Hugh, with mock gravity. "Why I'd
rather be drummed out of our Archery club than be turned off by the
ladies."
"Well, you may go this time, if you will carry my skates," said Jessie.
"Of course I will; and is there any thing else, in the small way, that
your most humble servant can do for you?" asked Hugh, bowing almost to the
ground.
A laugh greeted this act of mock humility, and then all parties prepared
to face the keen breeze in search of recreation on the ice.
"Where is Madge? is she ready?" shouted Jessie, as she stood at the foot
of the stairs, warmly muffled for her walk.
"Yes, Miss, here she is," replied Madge's mother, as she came to the top
of the stairs, leading her daughter by the hand.
Madge was dressed in an old plaid cloak, which had become too small for
Jessie, and in a scarlet hood which had been laid aside for the same
reason.
"A regular little red riding-hood, isn't she?" whispered Hugh, to his
brother, after taking a survey of the prim, little black-eyed miss before
him. Then looking sour and angry, he added, "But why does Jessie take the
beggar's brat out with her?"
"Hugh! Hugh! Don't talk in that way," replied Guy, putting his hand
playfully over his brother's mouth.
"Get out!" cried Hugh, pushing his brother's hand away and walking off in
high dudgeon, in search of Walter, who, for some reason, had not come with
his sister. His foolish pride had kindled anger in his breast.
Madge, with the usual quickness of girls of her age, had caught enough of
Hugh's words, and of the meaning of his act, to perceive that he was
disposed to treat her with scorn. A cloud flitted across her brow, and her
eyes flashed. It was clear that the proud, thoughtless boy had wounded her
feelings.
"Hugh! Hugh! Don't carry off my skates!" shouted Jessie, as her brother
turned into the main road, from the lawn.
Whirling the skates over the fence, he kept on without a word. The skates,
fortunately, fell on a heap of dry leaves and were picked up uninjured by
Guy, who, with the three girls, soon found the way to some hollows, in the
pasture, near the brook. These hollows, filled with shallow pools of
water, now solidly frozen, were excellent places for young misses to slide
and skate in.
Madge was not cheerful this afternoon. Hugh had wounded her pride, and
stirred her sleeping passions. It was very ungenerous conduct, in a lad of
his age, to treat an unfortunate child with scorn. Madge ought not to have
allowed her temper to be ruffled. But, alas, poor child! she had not been
taught to keep her evil temper under control. So she brooded over Hugh's
conduct. The more she thought of it, the more chafed and angry she felt.
Guy helped Carrie and his sister put on their skates. Jessie had never had
a skate upon her foot before. Carrie had learned to use them a little the
previous winter. Hence, she glided off something like a swan, while Jessie
hobbled and slipped, and tumbled for a long time in vain attempts to keep
upright on the ice.
Carrie was so taken up watching the laughable attempts of her friend, that
she took no notice of poor Madge. Guy and Jessie were so busy, the former
teaching, and the latter learning, that they too forgot her. Poor child!
this neglect stung the wound which Hugh's act had caused, and so, with
many a frown and pout, she quietly stole from the hollow to a deeper one
in which, by seating herself on a low stump, she could remain unseen.
"They is all proud," mused Madge, half aloud. "I heard that You, or Hugh,
whatever they call him, say 'beggar's brat.' I know he meant me, and I
know he went off cause I was with 'em. And there's them gals; they don't
care for me a bit. Drat 'em! I wish mother would go away from here."
This was very foolish talk for Madge. Had she looked on the kind side of
her new-found friends, and thought of their gifts to her, and of the
pleasant home they had given her and her mother for the time-being, and of
their gentle words, she would have seen so much to be grateful for, that
there would have been no room in her heart for unhappy feelings. But Madge
forgot all these things. She saw nothing but Hugh's scorn and Jessie's
neglect. With these she tortured herself. It was just as foolish as if she
had taken some sharp thorns and scratched her arms and cheeks with them.
While Madge was thus making herself miserable, Jessie was making rare
progress with her skating. After a few awkward falls and a few bumps and
bruises, she learned "_the how_," as Guy called it; and then, though still
awkward, oh! how joyously she sped across the little pond chasing after
Guy and Carrie, and shouting until the welkin rang again.
"Capital fun, isn't it?" said she, gliding ashore, and sitting down on a
stone almost out of breath.
"I call it nice sport for girls," replied Carrie, pausing on the edge of
the bank; "but you aren't tired yet, are you?"
"Yes, a little. Besides, too much of a good thing, as my uncle says,
destroys your relish for it. I guess I've skated enough for once," said
Jessie, stooping and unbuckling the straps of her skates.
"Pooh! Jessie's not half a skater!" rejoined Carrie; "but what has become
of your friend Madge?"
"Sure enough! Where is she? I had forgotten all about her."
But Madge had wandered still farther off, and was nursing her bad feelings
in a small grove which skirted the pasture. She was not visible from where
the girls and Guy were.
"O Guy! Madge is gone. Won't you please come and help me find her?" said
Jessie, putting on a very long and sorrowful face.
"I'll call her. She's not far off, I'll bet," replied Guy.
Then placing his hands to his lips as a sort of speaking trumpet, he
shouted--
"Madge! Ma-adge! Ma-a-adge!"
"Adge! Adge! Adge!" said an echo from the distant grove.
"Where can she be!" cried Jessie, now relieved of her skates and standing
on a hillock, peering eagerly all over the pasture.
"I guess she is only gone home. Never mind her," said Carrie. "She ain't
worth worrying about."
"Yes, she is," replied Jessie. "She is a poor unhappy girl, and I want to
make her good and happy. Uncle Morris says everybody that God made is
worth caring about, and I _do_ care for Madge. Oh dear, I wish I knew
where to find her."
"See there?" cried Guy, pointing to a group of boys near the distant
grove. "I think I see Madge among those fellows. I'll lose my guess if
that isn't Idle Jem and his crew. There's a girl among them for certain,
but how could Madge stroll all up there and none of us see or think of
her?"
"Let us go and see," said Jessie.
Quickly as their nimble fingers could loose the straps, Carrie and Guy
removed their skates. In a minute or two more, the three were hurrying
across the pasture toward the boys and girl, whom they saw.
Madge was, indeed, one of that group. Idle Jem and his crew, while
wandering across the pasture in search of the hickory-nuts which were
hidden under the dead leaves, had found her in the grove. They began to
jibe at her at once. The girl long used to the rough news and beggar boys
of the city, and out of temper, withal, jibed back at them with interest.
They goaded her with harsh words; and when Guy and the girls came within
hearing, she was using language such as the pure-minded Jessie had never
heard before.
"Hush, Madge!" said Guy, putting his hand on Madge's shoulder. "Don't
swear! It's wicked to talk so. You go home with Jessie and Carrie, I'll
take care of these boys."
That last phrase was an unlucky one for Guy. The wicked boys took it up as
a defiance.
"Take care of us, eh? That's the talk is it? How will you do it, old
fellow?" said Jem, sneering and chucking Guy's chin.
"Keep your hands off me, if you please," said Guy; "I want nothing of you
only to let that poor girl alone."
"It's none of your business what we say to that gal," said Noll Crawford.
"Yes, it is my business to see that you let her entirely alone," replied
Guy firmly. "So stand off, and let us take her quietly a way."
"Shan't do nothin' of the kind," said Peter Mink, running toward Madge,
whose eyes flashed fire.
Guy grasped him by the collar and hurled him back from Madge, amidst the
tears and cries of Carrie and Jessie who were both very much frightened.
"Oh! oh! a fight is it you want? Come I'll fight with ye!" said Idle Jem,
slipping up to Guy, and raising his fists as if for a battle.
"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 spunky 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 passion, 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 God'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, God 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.