The Watch-Pocket finished.
"Well, Jessie, how do you like your black-eyed _protege_?" asked Uncle
Morris, a few days after the events recorded in the last chapter.
"Pretty--well--but--but--"
"But what?" said Uncle Morris, with an arch glance, for he saw that Jessie
was loth to speak the thought that lingered in her mind.
"Well, I like Madge, Uncle, but as ma says, she is not quite an _angel_,"
and Jessie laughed as if there was something funny in her mother's
saying.
"I suppose she is not. Did my puss ever hear of angels being found, as we
found Madge, dressed in rags, and shivering under a stone wall?"
"No, uncle, but, but--"
"There you are _but_-ing again," said Mr. Morris. "Why not out with it at
once, and say that you did not expect to find so many faults in poor
Madge, as you have found?"
"Because I don't like to speak evil of her, and yet I do wish she wouldn't
have those ugly spells come over her. Sometimes she is so gentle and
grateful, that I begin to love her dearly. Then all at once, she will be
so cross and ugly, that I begin to repent having asked you to bring her
home with us."
Mr. Morris looked at his perplexed niece in silence for nearly a minute.
He was thinking how to impress her mind with the moral taught by her
disappointment respecting Madge. At last he very gravely said:
"Jessie!"
"What is it, Uncle?" asked Jessie, surprised at her uncle's manner.
"Shall I tell you plainly, why you _feel_ so much disappointed in poor
Madge?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, it is because your kindness to her was mixed with a good deal of
_selfishness_."
"O Uncle Morris!" exclaimed Jessie; "how can you say so?"
"Because I really think so;" replied Mr. Morris.
"Well, you are a funny man, if you think so, Uncle! How _could_ I be
selfish, in wishing you to bring that poor child home? I'm sure I didn't
expect to gain any thing by it." Here Jessie pouted a little, for she was
really piqued by what her uncle had said. Seeing this, Mr. Morris
replied:
"I hope my little puss is not going to be angry with her poor old uncle,
because he seeks to tell her the truth."
"Well, no; but really, I don't see how you can think me selfish, just for
wishing you to bring a poor, freezing child, to our house," and with this
remark, Jessie forced back the smile which usually played round her lips,
while she looked earnestly into her uncle's eyes.
"Will my little puss answer me a question or two?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Tell me then, my dear child, did you not expect to derive a great deal of
_pleasure_ from Madge's gratitude, and love, and obedience to yourself?
Did you not look upon yourself as her benefactor, her teacher, her
superior, and as having a right to claim such conduct from her, as would,
in some degree, pay you for your trouble and kindness? You expected her,
poor thing, to behave like an angel, for your sake. Instead of that, she
has, at times, let her evil nature and her bad habits break out, in a way
to give you trouble and pain, and to cause you to feel disappointment. Are
not these things so, my sweet little puss?"
"Yes, Sir. But--but _ought_ not poor people to be grateful and obedient to
those who help them?" asked Jessie, who, though she began to perceive that
a regard for her own pleasure had been mixed with the kindness to Madge,
was not quite ready to plead guilty to her good uncle's charge.
"They _ought_ certainly, and when they do, it is very right for those who
help them, to take pleasure in their gratitude. But that is a very
different thing, from doing good _for the sake of the pleasure or profit
we expect to derive from the conduct of those we benefit._"
Uncle Morris then went on to show Jessie, that really good people were
kind to the poor and wretched, because it is their duty to be so; that
they seldom found their reward, either in the gratitude of those they
helped, or in the smiles of men; that instead of finding such rewards,
they were often blamed and treated harshly by the public, and ungratefully
by their _proteges_; but that they had a rich reward, nevertheless. They
felt, he said, a very sweet satisfaction in themselves; they were smiled
upon by the Father and Saviour of men; and they would, in the better land,
be more than rewarded with mansions, robes, crowns, and honors, which
selfish people would forever envy but never enjoy.
This talk with her uncle did Jessie good. She afterwards bore Madge's
outbreaks of temper with more patience, and tried to set her such an
example as would make her feel her own faults far more than by scolding or
fretting.
Madge, who was very quick-witted, saw and felt the change in Jessie, and
she, too, tried to overcome herself, that she might not grieve a friend,
who loved her so truly and so well.
One morning Jessie awoke, and was surprised to see the lawn, the trees,
and the fences all white with snow. It was a beautiful sight. She had
never seen snow in the country before. Having dressed herself, she ran
down-stairs, and going to the piazza, clapped her hands, and cried:
"Oh, how pretty those evergreens look! That pine-tree is perfectly
beautiful!"
"Ah, Jessie, is that you?" said Guy, as he came round the winding path,
plunging through the soft snow with his thick boots, and dragging his sled
after him.
"Yes, I'm here," replied Jessie. "But where have _you_ been with your sled
before breakfast?"
"Been coasting, to be sure. There's a capital place in the lane that runs
past Carrie Sherwood's cottage. We couldn't do much this morning but tread
down the snow; but after breakfast, it will be fine. Will you go with me
then, Jessie?"
"I should like to, ever so much, but--"
"But what?"
"Well, I must work all the morning. That's my rule, you know. I'll go with
you in the afternoon, Guy."
"I don't want to tempt you to neglect a duty," replied Guy, knocking the
snow off his boots against the step of the piazza, as he spoke, "but
really, I'm afraid the coasting won't be worth the heel of an old shoe, by
the afternoon. You see, the sun is very bright, and the snow isn't apt to
stay long, so early in the season."
"I'm sorry," said Jessie, looking very downcast, "but I must give it up, I
guess. You see, I've finished uncle's slippers, and have almost done his
watch-pocket. I want to finish it ever so much before Thanksgiving, which
is to-morrow, you know."
"That's right, stick to it, Sister Jessie! I won't train in the little
wizard's company, so I advise you to lose this coasting treat, if the snow
does go, and thereby gain a victory for which Corporal Try would promote
you if he knew it."
With these words, Guy kissed his sister, placed his sled in the back-hall,
and went to the breakfast-room, to which he was shortly followed by
Jessie.
At breakfast, the boys discussed the question of the weather, and the snow
very earnestly. They wanted the snow to last, first, that they might enjoy
the sport of coasting, and then, that they might have a sleigh ride.
"How I should like a sleigh-ride," exclaimed Jessie, with brightening
eyes.
"Guess you won't have it just yet," said Hugh. "The sun will melt the snow
from the roads before noon, I guess, and its too light and loose for good
sleighing this morning."
"I'm sorry, for I do want to coast, and to ride in a sleigh, so much--ever
so much," said Jessie, sighing, and looking very sober--for her.
"Can't you _coast_ this morning, with the boys?" inquired Mr. Carlton.
"We don't want her," said Hugh, snappishly. "Girls are always in the way
when coasting is going on."
"Ill-natured as ever, I see, Master Hugh," observed Uncle Morris.
"I want her," said Guy, "and will take her this afternoon, if the snow
don't melt."
Jessie looked at her brother with eyes that seemed to say, "What a dear,
good brother you are!" Mr. Carlton asked:
"But why not take her this _morning_, Guy, before the snow melts?"
"Because she thinks it is not best to go, Sir," replied Guy.
"Ah! ah! Not best to go, eh? What's going on at home this morning,
Jessie?" asked Mr. Carlton, looking at his daughter, whose face was now
red with blushes.
"Because Corporal Try won't let her," replied Guy, laughing and coming to
her help. "He has given her a task which he wishes done before
Thanksgiving, and she means to do it, too, in spite of the little wizard,
who sits perched on my sled, in yonder hall, and saying, 'Come, let's have
a good time together, this morning.'"
"Bravo! If this was the proper place, I would propose three cheers for
Jessie Carlton, and her friend the Corporal," said Uncle Morris. Then
turning to Mrs. Carlton, he added, "By the way, sister, do you know that I
expect to hear of a wedding before long?"
"Indeed! Who are going to be married now?"
"No less a personage than that pesky little dwarf, who has given my little
puss so much trouble. I learn that he has popped the question to Miss
Perseverance, and if nothing happens, they will soon be joined in wedlock,
by Parson Good-Resolution."
Of course this quaint way of praising Jessie for her self-denial and
self-conquest caused a good hearty laugh all round the table. Jessie's
cheeks bloomed like roses, and her heart went pit-a-pat with joy-beats. A
happier breakfast party could scarcely have been found that morning in or
out of Duncanville.
To increase the flow of Jessie's delight, shortly after she had taken her
seat in her own pretty little chair, her uncle entered the parlor with
merriment in his eyes, and said:
"Sew away, my little puss. The north wind is on your side, and in spite of
the bright sun will keep the snow from melting, so that you may coast
after dinner with Guy and your friend Carrie, and take a sleigh-ride, too,
at three o'clock with a funny old gentleman named Morris. What do you say
to that my puss, eh?"
"I'm _so_ glad, I don't know what to say, Uncle. But, see here! (and
Jessie held up a purple velvet watch-bag, ornamented with steel beads.) I
shall have it all done by twelve o'clock!"
"If the little wizard don't hinder," suggested her uncle, laughing and
looking roguishly at her.
"Well, he won't," said Jessie, shaking her head. "He is too busy courting
Miss Perseverance to trouble his head about me. Ha! ha!"
Mr. Morris laughed heartily at Jessie's ready use of his quaint fancy
about the little wizard. He had no doubt about her firmness. But shaking
his finger at her he said, "Take care! the little wizard is a cunning
fellow, and knows how to ensnare little misses who have tasks to perform,"
and left the room.
Strong in purpose, and cheered by the hope of the afternoon's pleasure,
Jessie worked with such vigor on her watch-pocket, that she had put on the
last bead, sewed the last stitch, and trimmed off the last loose thread
before the clock struck twelve. Then she felt happier far than any child
ever did in the enjoyment of pleasures gained by the neglect of duty. She
had conquered a difficulty, had won a victory, had done a duty--had she
not a right to be happy?
I could almost wish myself a child again for the sake of tasting that
fresh, perfect, unmixed delight which welled up from Jessie's heart on the
afternoon of that clear December day. First came the play of coasting.
Taking her on his sled--"The Never-say-die"--Guy drew her to the lane near
Mr. Sherwood's cottage and amused her until the merry sleigh-bells caused
her to turn round. Then she saw a splendid sleigh drawn by two noble
horses, and driven by a man who, from the way he handled the whip and
reins, seemed born to be a coachman. Her mother and Uncle Morris were in
the sleigh. She stepped in. Carrie and Guy followed. Having wrapped
themselves up well in the buffalo robes, word was given to the driver, and
away they dashed down the road.
[Illustration: Walter Sliding With Carrie and Jessie. Page 227.]
Merrily jingled the dancing bells, swiftly trotted the lively horses,
smoothly glided the steel-shod sleigh over the snowy pathway, passing
houses, barns, and fields, as Guy said, with the speed almost of a
steam-engine. On they went, mile after mile, drinking in health and
spirits from the pure winter air and tasting that real enjoyment which is
found in innocent pleasures only. No wicked amusement ever did or ever can
yield such delight as Jessie and her friends tasted on that sleigh ride.
It was quite dark when they reached home again. They were a little chilled
with their ride, but the glowing fire which burned so cheerfully in the
parlor grate, soon restored them to warmth and comfort. The tea-table was
made cheerful by Jessie's account of the sports and pleasures of the
afternoon.
After tea Jessie took Guy into the kitchen, and taking the watch-pocket
from beneath her apron, said--
"Guy, I want you to go with me into Uncle Morris's chamber, and help me
fix a hook to hang this watch-pocket on. I want to give uncle a
surprise."
Guy gave his consent. Going to the nail-box he selected a small brass
hook, with a screw at the end, and a gimlet. Then taking a light, he went
up-stairs with his sister. Jessie pointed to the spot, over his bed, which
she thought the best place for the hook. Guy bored the hole, screwed in
the hook, and hung the pocket by its loop of braid upon it. Jessie clapped
her hands, and said--
"Isn't it pretty! Won't Uncle Morris be pleased! My _quilt_ covers his
bed. The _slippers_ I made him are under his chair, and now my
_watch-pocket_ hangs over his bedstead. I'll get his chair-cushion done
next, and then I guess he will allow that I'm fit to be an officer in your
Try Company. Ha! Ha! Ha!"