A few minutes before one o’clock, a long, spring market-wagon, drawn by two noble 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 butternut—trees were quite numerous in some extensive pastures which were situated round the shores 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.”

Leaving Charlie under the old sailor’s care, the party now set out in search of nuts. Laughter and pleasant words beguiled both time and distance, and for the next two hours they wandered over the pastures, and picked up an abundance of butternuts, which several pretty hard frosts, followed by strong breezes, had scattered plentifully on the ground, or prepared to fall quite readily from the trees.

In the course of the afternoon, the party separated into little groups, and when it was nearly time to return to the wagon, it happened that Jessie and her cousin, lured by the sight of a large butternut-tree in the distance, found themselves apart from all the rest. Near the tree was an old stone-quarry, with numerous lakelets in the hollows from which the stone had been removed. Emily stepped into the quarry, and looked all around. The lakelets, swept by the light breeze, charmed her eye, and turning to her cousin, she cried:

“Jessie, come here! Here are some tiny ponds. Come look at them!”

Jessie joined Emily, and together the little girls stepped over the uneven rocks until they reached one of the lakelets. There they launched small pieces of wood, called them ships, and stood watching their mimic fleet in great glee.

After spending some time in this way, they heard the voice of Guy calling:

“Halloo! Halloo! Jessie! Emily! Halloo! Halloo!”

“We must go,” said Jessie, “I guess they are going back to the wagon.”

“No, don’t go,” replied Emily. “Let us frighten them a little—just a little, by making them think we are lost.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny!” said Jessie, clapping her hands, and feeling charmed with the idea of getting up an excitement among her companions. Impulse, the little wizard, had followed her, even into that old quarry!

“It will be first-rate fun,” said Emily. “How they will search for us! It will be as good as a game of hide and seek.”

“Halloo! Halloo! Jessie! Emily! It’s time to go home! Halloo-o!” shouted Guy again from the pasture. The wind being fair, his words were heard quite distinctly by the two girls.

“There is a little cave just big enough to hide in,” said Emily pointing to an excavation in the highest wall of the quarry. “Let us go into it!”

Still yielding to the voice of the little wizard, and thinking only of the excitement which was to follow the supposition she was lost, Jessie followed her cousin into what she called “a cave.” There was water at the bottom, but a flat piece of rock rising above the water enabled them to get to the back part of their “cave,” where they were pretty well concealed from view.

Again the voice of Guy shouted Jessie’s name. This was now followed by a chorus of voices, all calling—

“Halloo!—halloo!—halloo-oo-oo!”

The voices drew nearer and nearer, until the callers stood on the edge of the quarry.

“Where can they be! I’m afraid they are lost! Oh, dear, what will mother say, if we have to go home without them!” said Guy, distinctly enough for Jessie to hear.

“Perhaps they have fallen into some old well,” suggested Norman.

“I think not,” said Mr. Sherwood. “I doubt if there is an old well in all these pastures. They have most likely wandered back towards the pond.”

“I don’t see how that can be,” rejoined Guy, “for I saw them running in this direction half an hour ago. Besides, we found their basket under that tree, and they would not have gone to the pond without telling some of us to bring their basket.”

“There’s no telling what silly things girls will do. I guess they are gone to the pond. Suppose we go and see.”

This was Hugh’s voice, and as no one proposed any thing else, the party left the quarry, and, hallooing as they went, directed their steps towards the pond.

“Let us run after them!” said Jessie, who now began to feel as if she had carried the joke far enough.

“Hush! you little coward,” said Emily, placing her hand over Jessie’s mouth. “They aren’t half frightened enough about us yet.”

Jessie tried to get her mouth away from her cousin’s hand. In doing so she stepped backwards, and, losing her balance, fell with a splash into the water.

“Oh!” cried she, in a great fright. But the water was not deep, and the side of the “cave” kept her from falling entirely down. Hence, a thorough fright and wet feet and dress were the only evil results of her misstep.

“Pooh! what a silly little goose you are,” said Emily, in a taunting tone of voice. “If you had done as I told you, you wouldn’t have got that wetting.”

“I’m afraid I have done too much as you told me already,” replied Jessie, crying, “and now I’m going right after our party, as fast as I can.”

With these words Jessie stepped out of the cave, tripped across the quarry, and ran out into the open pasture; Emily, not liking to play “lost child” all alone, followed her. But their party was no longer either in sight or within hearing, for an elevation in the ground rose between them and the two girls.

“Guy! Hugh! Richard! here we are!” screamed Jessie, at the top of her voice.

Vainly did she scream, however. The wind blew the sounds back upon herself, and she began to run in the direction of the pond.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” said Emily, hanging back.

“We must hurry,” replied Jessie, “or we shall be really lost. See, it’s almost sundown! And it is so damp and chilly that I am shivering with cold. Come, Emily, do make haste, there’s a dear, good cousin.”

“If I am your dear, good cousin, you won’t drive off and leave me,” retorted Emily, still lingering and moving only at a snail’s pace.

“Oh dear! what shall I do!” exclaimed Jessie, looking very wretched, and she certainly felt as unhappy as she looked.

“Wait for me!” said Emily, “that’s what you ought to do!”

Thus urging her stubborn cousin, Jessie pressed forward as fast as she could get her companion along.

Meanwhile the rest of the party had hastened towards Joe Bunker’s stand. On their arrival they found the old sailor at tea in his little cottage. Rushing somewhat wildly into the room, Guy said,—

“Mr. Bunker, have you seen my sister since we left?”

“Your sister, skipper?” said the old salt. “Shiver my topsails if I’ve seen any thing in the shape of a gal, except this old craft of mine here, since you all left your wagon early this afternoon.”

“Then she and her cousin are lost,” said Guy, driving his hands deep down into his pockets, casting his eyes to the ground, knitting his brows, and walking out into the open air again.

“Are they there?” “Has the old cove seen them?” “What does old Timbertoe say?” with half a dozen other questions, greeted Guy as he crossed the threshold.

“Hasn’t seen their shadow. They must be lost,” replied Guy, doggedly.

“Is that spunky little Canada thistle you call Charlie in the house?” inquired Mr. Sherwood.

“I didn’t see him. Isn’t he in the wagon?”

“No sign of him that I can see,” replied Mr. Sherwood; “but here’s Mr. Bunker—Mr. Bunker, where is the little boy we left in your care?”

“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 shore. 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 shore 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 shore, 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.