On a bright afternoon of a warm day in October, Jessie Carlton sat in the parlor of Glen Morris Cottage. Her elbows rested on the table, her face was held between her two plump little hands, and her eyes were feasting on some charming pictures which were spread out before her. A pretty little work-basket stood on a chair at her side. It contained several yards of rumpled patchwork, two pieces of broadcloth with figures partially worked on them as if they were intended for a pair of slippers, a watch-pocket half finished, and a small piece of silk composed of very little squares. On the table close to her left elbow was a cambric handkerchief with some embroidery just begun in one of its corners. A needle carelessly stuck into it showed that Jessie had been working on it when her eyes were attracted by the pictures she was now studying with such close attention.

After a few minutes the little girl moved her right arm for the purpose of looking at another picture, when her thimble dropped from her finger to the table with a loud ringing sound. She started to pick it up, and in so doing pushed her scissors to the floor. The noise they made in falling led Jessie to glance towards the sofa, and to say in a very soft whisper—

“Oh dear! I’m afraid those naughty scissors have waked Uncle Morris out of his nap!”

Jessie was right. The noise had started Uncle Morris from a cozy little nap into which he had fallen after dinner. It was not often that the active old gentleman indulged himself in this way; but a long walk in the morning had made him weary, and he had quietly roamed into dreamland as he sat reading. He now opened his eyes, looked round the room, and seeing his niece looking askance at him, said—

“What’s the matter, Jessie? I heard something fall with a great crash, what was it?”

Jessie laughed outright. It was not very polite, but she could not very well keep the fun out of her face. It seemed so queer that her uncle should call the noise made by the fall of a pair of scissors a great crash. At last she said—

“There was no great crash, Uncle. Only my scissors fell from the table.”

“Was that all? Why it sounded to me just like the crash of a tray full of crockery ware. That was because I was half asleep, I suppose. Well, never mind, I’m not the first old gentleman who has magnified a little noise into a great one in his sleep—but what are you so busy about this afternoon, little puss!”

As Uncle Morris put this question he arose, walked up to the table and began to look at Jessie’s work, for by this time she had begun stitching on the cambric handkerchief again. Blushing deeply, she said—

“I am embroidering a pocket-handkerchief, Uncle.”

“Indeed! how fond you little ladies are of finery!” said Uncle Morris, smiling and patting Jessie’s head.

“I’m not doing it for myself, Uncle,” replied the child.

“Not for yourself, eh? Is it for papa, then?”

“No, Sir.”

“For your brother Guy, perhaps?”

“No, Sir. Not for Guy,” and looking slyly at her uncle, she added. “I guess that you are not Yankee enough to guess whom it is for.”

“For your brother Hugh, maybe?”

“You must guess again, Uncle.”

“Well, maybe it is for your hero, Richard Duncan.”

“O Uncle! Do you think I would embroider a handkerchief for a young gentleman!” and Jessie pursed up her lips as though she was going to be very angry.

“Don’t be angry with your old uncle, my little puss,” said Mr. Morris with an air of mock penitence, “I had an idea that young ladies did such things for young gentlemen sometimes. But who is it for? I give it up.”

“You give it up! Why, I thought you belonged to the ‘never give up company.’ Oh, fy! Uncle Morris, I’ll get you turned out of the try company if you don’t mind. So you had better guess again,” and Jessie held up her fat finger and looked so funnily at Mr. Morris that the old gentleman’s heart warmed towards her, and giving her a kiss of fond affection, he said—

“Then I guess it is for your poor old uncle.”

“Beans are hot!” cried Jessie, clapping her hands. “You’ve guessed it at last. But see my work, Uncle! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Very pretty, indeed, my dear,” replied the old man, who now put on a comical look, and added, “but I’m afraid I shall not live until it is finished.”

“Not live——!” Jessie was going to be alarmed, but her uncle’s laughing eyes checked her alarm, and catching his meaning from his expression, she pouted and was silent.

“Don’t put on that frightful pout, my little puss, for, really, I should have to live as long a life as an ancient patriarch if I do not die before you are likely to finish the handkerchief. There are the quilt, the slippers, the watch-pocket, the chair-cushion, and the handkerchief all begun for me, but nothing finished. That little wizard—his name is Impulse, you know—which led you to drop the quilt that you might begin the slippers, and the slippers that you might begin the chair-cushion, will soon tempt you to drop the handkerchief for something else. I wish I could catch the jolly little imp. I’d cane him smartly, and then I would lead him to Parson Resolution’s church, and marry him to that sweet little fairy, Miss Perseverance, who is breaking her heart for the love of him. Were he once thus married, I think his bride would teach him to help you finish all the little gifts you have begun for me, and there would be some hope that I should live long enough to sleep under your quilt, sit on your cushion, walk in your slippers, put my watch in your pocket at night, and blow my venerable nose in your embroidered pocket-handkerchief.”

The reproof so pleasantly given in these quaint words found its way to Jessie’s heart. Her face became sober, she bit her lips, a stray tear or two hung, like dew-drops in the web of a gossamer, on her long eyelashes, she sighed and after a few moments of silent thought rose, planted her right foot firmly on the floor, and said—

“Uncle Morris, I will conquer that little wizard! I will finish your quilt right away, and then all the other things in their turn—see if I don’t.”

Jessie had made just such a promise at least ten times, since Glen Morris Cottage had become her home. She had tried to keep it too, but, somehow, her habit of yielding to every new impulse which came over her, had hitherto led her to break it as often as it had been made. The little wizard, as Uncle Morris facetiously called her changeful impulses, was her tyrant. The jolly little rogue did, indeed, sadly stand in need of matrimony with the forlorn Miss Perseverance. For poor Jessie’s sake, Uncle Morris was very anxious to see the wedding come off speedily. Whether his wish was met or not, will appear hereafter.

To prove her sincerity Jessie put the cambric handkerchief in the bottom of her work-basket. The other articles she placed, in the order in which she had begun them, above it, and then sat resolutely down to her patchwork quilt. As her bright little needle began to fly with the swiftness of a weaver’s shuttle, she said to herself—

“Now I will finish Uncle Morris’s quilt right off.”

Uncle Morris had left the parlor, and Jessie had sewed steadily for at least fifteen minutes, when her brother Hugh bounded into the room, holding two letters in his hand, and said—

“Letters for Jessie Carlton and her mother. Postage one dollar, to be paid to the bearer on delivery. Give me your half-dollar, Miss Carlton, and I will give you your letter!”

“A letter for me!” cried Jessie, dropping her work and running to her brother, capsizing her work-basket as she ran. “Give it to me! Give it to me.”

“Pay me the postage first,” said Hugh, holding the letter over her head.

“There is no postage, you know there isn’t, you naughty Hugh! Give me my letter,” and Jessie pulled Hugh’s arm in the vain attempt to bring the letter within her reach.

“No postage, indeed! Do you think Uncle Sam can afford to carry letters for all the Yankee girls who may choose to write to each other, without pay? Not he. Uncle Sam knows how to care for number one too well for that. So hand over your half-dollar, Miss Jessie, and I will give you your letter.”

Jessie coaxed and scolded at her brother for nearly ten minutes, in vain. Hugh loved to tease her, and so he kept on, now offering the letter, and then holding it beyond her reach, until the poor child’s patience being all gone, she sat down and cried with vexation. This was certainly carrying his fun too far. A little pleasant bantering at first, though not amiable, might have been pardonable; but now that her feelings were hurt he was very unkind to carry his nonsense any further. But this was one of Hugh’s faults. He was a great tease. Seeing his sister in tears, he said, in a whining tone—

“Pretty little cry-baby! How beautiful you are, all melted into tears!” Then dropping the whine from his tone, he added, “Here, Jessie, take your letter!”

Jessie stretched out her arm to take the offered letter. Hugh drew it back again and said—

“Bah! Don’t you wish you may get it!”

“You unamiable boy! is that the affection which is due from a brother to his sister? O Hugh! Hugh! I wish you had more love and less selfishness in that idle soul of yours.”

This just rebuke from the lips of Uncle Morris, who had been standing unperceived for the last few minutes behind the half-open door, put an end to all Master Hugh’s idle, not to say wicked, teasing. He dropped the letters into Jessie’s lap, and with an angry scowl on his face left the room.

The sunshine came back into Jessie’s face in a moment. She looked her thanks to Uncle Morris, while she nervously opened the envelope of her letter. Having unfolded it, she read as follows:

“Oh, won’t it be nice, Uncle Morris!” cried Jessie, after reading this note. “What good times I shall have with my cousins! I’m so glad I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You are a happy little puss generally, and I am glad to see you made happier than usual by this pleasant letter from your cousin. But are you sure, my dear Jessie, that you will enjoy your cousins’ visit?”

“Why, Uncle!” cried Jessie, with an air of surprise. “How can you ask me such a question? I am sure I shall love my cousins very much, and we shall enjoy ourselves very finely together.”

“Well! Well! I hope it may be so,” said Uncle Morris, with a sigh which made Jessie think that the good old man’s hope was not a very strong one. She said nothing, however, and Uncle Morris asked—

“When are your cousins coming?”

Jessie looked at her letter and read, “‘We are to start Thursday,’”—pausing, and looking up, she exclaimed—

“Why, that’s this very day! I declare they will be here this afternoon. Won’t it be nice!”

“Yes, to-day is Thursday. Your letter has been delayed. Perhaps you had better take your mamma’s letter to her room. She may require time to make preparations for her young guests. They will be here—let me see (looking at his watch), in two hours. Run Jessie and tell your mother!”

Jessie hurried to her mother’s apartment with the unopened letter and the news. Mrs. Carlton’s letter was from Emily’s mother and contained the same information.

Jessie was in ecstasies during the next two hours. To be sure, there was that question and that sigh of Uncle Morris to cast a slight shadow on her joy. But shadows never tarried long on Jessie’s spirit, which was so bright and joyous that it seemed as if it was made of sunshine. Happy little Jessie Carlton!

Emily’s letter had put all thought of her work out of Jessie’s head. Her patchwork lay on the floor beside the overturned work-basket, until her mother going to prepare the parlor for company, picked both up and put them away. In fact, Jessie’s little wizard had her in his chains again. She was once more the simple-hearted child of impulse.

Having fixed her hair and changed her dress, Jessie ran out on to the piazza to watch for the coming of her cousins. First she seated herself on the settee, which stood there, and made the air ring again with her joyous song. After a few minutes, she sprang from her seat and seizing old Rover by the head, began to tell him that her cousins were coming, and, therefore, he must be the very best behaved dog in the world.[A] Then seating herself lightly on old Rover’s back, she patted his neck, and said—

“Noble old Rover, won’t you give your mistress a ride?”

Rover was a grand old dog, large and strong enough to carry a much heavier miss than Jessie. He was good-natured too. Still he had no notion of being used for a pony. So, after standing quite still for a moment or two, he suddenly started and sent Jessie sprawling on the piazza, while he trotted down the steps and made a bed for himself in the greensward, on the lawn, as quietly as if nothing had happened. A knowing old dog was Rover.

Jessie picked herself up and began singing again. Scarcely had she trilled out two lines before she saw Guy coming towards the house. With the light spring of a fairy she bounded across the lawn, and meeting him at the gate exclaimed—

“O Guy, cousin Emily and cousin Charlie are coming here to-night. Aren’t you glad?”

“To be sure I am. I’m glad of any thing that pleases my sister.”

Jessie kissed him, and taking his hand, walked with him back to the piazza, where she resumed her watching, beguiling the time by humming her songs and by an occasional frolic with old Rover.

At last, the sound of wheels told her that the carriage was coming up from the railroad station. A few minutes later it rolled along the road which ran through the lawn and in front of the piazza. Four bright eyes peeped over the door, which the coachman speedily opened. Mr. Carlton stepped out first and then came Emily and Charlie. Never did cousins meet with warmer greetings than they received from Jessie and Guy, and Mrs. Carlton, and Uncle Morris. Never was little girl happier than Jessie, when, a few minutes later, she had Emily all to herself, in her own sweet little chamber, showing her the contents of drawer and trunk and doll-house, and whatever else might be included in the term “playthings.” When Emily and Charlie went to bed that night, they were in ecstasies over the pleasant things they had seen and felt on the first evening of their visit to Glen Morris Cottage.