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 passed 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!”

Mrs. Carlton drew her closer to her heart, kissed her with great tenderness, and said:

“What has my child done?”

Jessie wept violently, and was silent, for her heart was too full of emotion, to coin its thoughts into words. Mrs. Carlton, like a sensible mother, said nothing until the floods of Jessie’s grief passed away. Then smoothing her head with her hand, she spoke in tones, so soft and lute-like, that they sounded like sweet music in Jessie’s ears, and said:

“Tell me, my dear, what troubles you so much?”

Thus soothed, Jessie raised her head, and said:

“I want Pa and Uncle Morris to hear, too.”

Mr. Carlton laid aside his book, smiled, and said:

“I’m all attention, Jessie.”

Uncle Morris drew his chair close to Jessie, patted her head, and said:

“That’s right, my little puss, make a clean breast of it. Confession is the pipe through which the great Father conducts the guilt of his little ones, when, for his Son’s sake, he buries it in the fountain of forgetfulness.”

Thus encouraged, Jessie gave a full account of how she came to hide in the little cave with Emily. When she had finished her story, Uncle Morris said—

“Ah, I see, the little wizard has been busy again. I’m sure it was he who helped Emily to tempt my little puss. An impulse acted upon you, Jessie, and, without thinking, you hid in the cave, which was not a very grave fault in itself; but, as most little faults will do, it led you to commit a really serious evil; as you say, by pretending not to hear yourself called, you acted a lie, which was a sin against God. You also filled your party with alarm about you, which gave them great pain of mind. That was an offence against them, because it was your duty to do all in your power to afford them pleasure. The hawk did, indeed, catch my chicken on the day that she was pleased. Do you understand my proverb, now, Jessie?”

“Yes, Uncle, but what shall I do?”

“Do, my child? There is only one way by which any of us can escape from the chains of evil. Confess your sin to God, ask his forgiveness for the Great Shepherd’s sake, and apologize to your friends for giving them pain.”

Jessie said she would do both of these things. Then her heart turned to her cousin, and she said—

“But what shall I say to Emily?”

“Just tell her your own thoughts and feelings about the matter, my child. Maybe, she will be led to see the wrong of her own conduct, and you may yet be to her what your brother Guy has been to Richard Duncan.”

After making this remark Uncle Morris took the old Family Bible and read a psalm of penitence. Then he and the family kneeled down to pray. The dear old man seemed to speak right to the Good Father in behalf of his sorrowful little niece. And while he pleaded the love of the great Shepherd for his precious lambs, Jessie felt as if a heavy burden rolled away from her heart, the big black cloud passed from before her eyes, and the sweet springs of joy and gladness once more poured their streams over her happy spirit.

With a light step, Jessie tripped back to her chamber. Emily was still awake. Thoughts such as she had never cherished before were rushing through her brain and burning in her heart. She was strongly inclined to speak to Jessie. But pride set a seal upon her lips, and she kept her eyes closed in simulated sleep. As for Jessie, after whispering a prayer for Emily and a song of praise for herself, she laid down beside her cousin and slept as sweetly as a fairy in a blue-bell, or as a weary angel might slumber in one of the bright bowers of Paradise. You may be sure her dreamland was filled with images of love and beauty.

The next morning Jessie awoke wondering how Emily would feel about the events of the day before. Finding her cousin was also awake, she said—

“Emily!”

“Good morning, Jessie,” replied Emily, sitting up in the bed and looking full in Jessie’s face. “I hope you feel more cheery than you did last night.”

“I am very happy this morning,” replied Jessie, her eyes sparkling with delight as she spoke. “Shall I tell you how I came to be so?”

“As you please!” said Emily, shrinking from Jessie’s proposal as if she feared her story might bring back the guilty feeling of the night previous.

Jessie told her cousin just what she had felt, and how she had confessed her wrong, and how her sorrow had been rolled away. She did this so simply, so sweetly, and so kindly, that Emily blushed, and the big tears stood like dew-drops on her eyelashes. Jessie had found the way to her cousin’s heart.

But when she urged her to confess her faults and to join her in a note of apology to the Sherwoods, the pride of Emily’s heart rose within her, and dashing away her tears, she said—

“Apologize, indeed! I won’t do it!”

Just then the ringing of the first breakfast-bell warned them that it was time to rise. They did so; and Jessie, seeing that her cousin did not wish to talk any more, dressed herself in silence.

After breakfast Jessie went to her writing-desk, and wrote notes to the members of the nutting-party. These notes were all alike except in their different addresses. Here is a copy of the one for Mr. Sherman.

When Jessie read one of her notes to Uncle Morris, the good old man patted her head, and said—

“Nobly and sweetly written, my little puss. Never forget that next to avoiding a fault, the noblest and most honorable thing you can do, is to confess it and apologize for it. Still, I hope you may never have need to write such a note again.”

Having finished and sealed her notes, Jessie placed them carefully in the bottom of her work-basket, intending to ask Hugh to deliver them for her on his way to school in the afternoon.

It was Mrs. Carlton’s wish that during her cousin’s visit, her daughter should spend part of every morning, sewing and reading. Hence, after the notes were nicely put away, Jessie took out her famous piece of patchwork, and began sewing. She laughed heartily as she did so this morning, because she found pieces of paper pinned to the articles intended for Uncle Morris with these words written on them in large letters—

“Beware of the devices of the little wizard!”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed she. “Won’t I beware? I’ll sew, let me see; well, I’ll sew a strip long enough to go once around my quilt before I stir, let the little wizard say what he will.”

Stitch, stitch, stitch, went Jessie’s bright, swift, little needle for the next half-hour. Then her two cousins bounced into the room, shouting—

“O Jessie, come and see! There is one of the funniest little men out here you ever did see. He’s got no neck, and he wears the queerest sort of a hat! He’s playing on the bagpipe. Come, just a minute.”

“Beware of the devices of the little wizard!” said the writing on the patchwork. It caught Jessie’s eye just as she was going to drop her work and run out to see the funny little man. She felt as if something was twinging her heart, but remembering her purpose, she brought her work to her side, and said—

“I thank you, cousins, but you must excuse me until I’ve finished my sewing.”

“What a cross thing she is!” said Charlie, bouncing out of the room.

“Do come, just for a minute, that’s all, cousin Jessie,” said Emily in her most coaxing tones.

Charlie’s words wounded Jessie more than Emily’s soothed her. Unwilling to be thought cross, she dropped her work “just for a minute,” and went out. The queer little man excited her mirth greatly, and she soon forgot all about her patchwork. When the little pipe-player moved off, Emily said—

“Let us follow him up to Carrie Sherwood’s. Won’t she be tickled to see him?”

“Yes, do,” said Charlie, “and I won’t call you cross, Jessie, any more.”

“We mustn’t stay long, then,” replied Jessie reluctantly, for a thought of her sewing flashed across her brain.

“Of course, we won’t,” said Emily, as she took her cousin by the hand and led her away. “We will only stay long enough to see Carrie laugh at the queer little man.”

They went to Carrie Sherwood’s, and there they stayed until Walter’s return from school warned Jessie that it was nearly dinner-time. As she re-entered the parlor she saw Uncle Morris point to her work lying as she left it on the floor, and heard him say—

“The little wizard has been here again, I see, this morning. How fond he is of Glen Morris Cottage.”

Jessie blushed, ran to her Uncle’s side, hid her face in his bosom, and whispered—

“O Uncle, I never shall conquer that little wizard. He is too strong for me.”

“Never despair! my little puss. Try and try again. Make a new resolve, and I’ll warrant you that the wizard will find Glen Morris Cottage too hot to hold him one of these days, and then he’ll be off to the North Pole to keep cool, and perhaps to marry Miss Perseverance!”

Jessie laughed at this conceit of her uncle’s, and said—

“Uncle, I will try again, and I’ll try real hard next time.”

“Nobly spoken, my little lady,” rejoined Mr. Morris. “Perseverance conquers all things. It has won victories for warriors; freedom for oppressed nations; and self-conquest for millions of men, women, and children. Hold on to your purpose then, my Jessie, and you will yet be crowned as the conqueror of your troublesome little enemy!”

Jessie sighed, and looked as if she wished the last battle had been fought, and the crown already placed on her brow.

Poor Jessie! she is not the first miss who has found it hard work to overcome Little Impulse, the wizard.