Scarcely had Jessie feasted her eyes on her quilt, snugly fixed between the bars of the quilting-frame, before the dinner-bell rang out its pleasant call. The happy girl skipped down-stairs with a light and merry step. In the hall she met her brothers.

“O Guy!” she exclaimed, “I have finished my quilt! Aren’t you glad!”

“To be sure I am,” said Guy, kissing her rosy cheek, “and I expect you will be so well-pleased with my old friend, Never-give-up, who helped you finish it, that you will never give him the mitten again.”

“Pshaw!” cried Hugh with a sneer, “I’ll bet my new knife, that she gives him the mitten before the week is out. Jessie isn’t made of the right stuff for your famous Try Company, any more than I am. She hasn’t got the perseverance of a kitten.”

“And yet she has more of it, than Master Hugh Carlton, for he has never finished any thing but his dinner, and she has finished her quilt,” said Uncle Morris, who as he was crossing the hall to the dining-room, heard Hugh’s unkind remark.

“There, Hugh, you are fairly hit now,” said Guy, laughing.

“They who live in glass-houses shouldn’t throw stones, should they, my little puss?” said Uncle Morris, leading Jessie into the dining-room.

“Hugh is always teasing me,” replied Jessie, “I wish he was more like Guy.”

Dinner was waiting, and taking their seats at the table, they all sat in silence, while Uncle Morris reverently craved a blessing. He had hardly finished, before Charlie and Emily rushed into the room, leaving traces of their feet on the carpet, at every step.

“My dears, where have you been to wet your feet so?” asked Mrs. Carlton, seeing that their boots were soaked with water.

“Oh! it’s been thawing, Aunt, and we got our feet wet, sliding,” said Emily, as she took her seat at the table, panting and pushing the ringlets back from her face.

“You had better put on dry socks and boots, before you eat,” observed Mrs. Carlton. She then touched the bell. The servant entered.

“Mary,” said the lady, “take these children to their rooms, and change their socks and boots!”

“Yes mem,” said Mary, looking daggers at the two cousins.

“Can’t I wait till after dinner, aunt?” asked Emily.

“No, my dear. You must go at once, lest you get cold by sitting still so long with wet feet.”

Emily pouted, but knowing her aunt would firmly enforce her command, she rose, and taking her brother by the wrist, said:

“Come, Charlie, let us go up-stairs!”

“I don’t want to,” growled Charlie, pulling away his arm, and putting it round his plate.

“Charlie!” exclaimed Mrs. Carlton.

“I want my dinner!” was his surly reply.

Mary had now drawn near the ugly little fellow. Placing her heavy hand on his shoulder, she seized him with a grip, which made him feel like a pigmy, in the grasp of a giant. Having had a taste of Mary’s anger, once or twice before, and catching a glance from the kindling eye of Uncle Morris, he yielded, and was led out of the room.

“The worst child of his age I ever knew,” observed the old gentleman with a sigh, as he proceeded to carve the chickens, which were smoking on the hospitable table before him.

Jessie’s face had clouded a little during this scene. The thaw of which Emily had spoken, cut off her hope of trying her new skates. Leaning towards Guy, who sat next to her at the table, she whispered:

“Is the ice all gone, Guy?”

“I expect it is pretty much used up by the fog we’ve had all day.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry!” said Jessie with a sigh.

Judging of her thoughts by her looks, Uncle Morris said, “Never mind, Jessie. There will be plenty of ice to skate on, in a week or two.”

“Skate! How can she skate? She hasn’t got any skates!” said Hugh.

“Yes, I have,” replied Jessie, smiling. “Pa sent me a beautiful pair this morning.”

This statement led to various remarks about skating, and winter weather in the country. Meanwhile, the cousins came back to the table. Jessie soon grew cheerful again, and the dinner passed without any other occurrence worthy of notice.

After dinner, the fog having grown into a fine, drizzling rain, the children found it impossible to go out of doors in search of amusement. It was therefore agreed to invite Miss Carrie Sherwood to tea. Guy promised to go after her. To add to the pleasure of the occasion, Jessie had her mother’s permission to use a sweet little tea-set of her own, and to have tea with her cousins and Carrie by themselves in the parlor.

Carrie arrived in due time, snugly wrapped in hood and shawl. Her feet were protected by rubbers. She declared that Guy was a capital beau. Guy laughed at her compliment, and repaid it by saying that she was a nice little belle, and then he ran off to school.

The afternoon passed rapidly, because, on the whole, it was pleasantly spent. Emily, knowing it was the last day of her visit, seemed anxious to do away with the bad impression she had previously made upon the mind of her cousin and her friend. Charlie, too, was in his best mood most of the time. Once, indeed, he came very near breaking up the harmony of the party. Seeing a strap of Jessie’s new skates peeping from beneath the what-not where she had hidden them, he seized it, pulled out the skates, and began to put them on.

“Please, Charlie, don’t do that,” said Jessie. “You can’t skate on the carpet, you know; please give them to me?”

“I won’t!” retorted the wilful boy.

“Please do give them to me?” implored Jessie.

“I want to skate on the carpet, first,” said Charlie, still trying to buckle on the skates.

“Do ask him to give them to me?” said Jessie, addressing Emily.

“There, take your old skates!” cried the boy, throwing them violently across the room.

The fact was, he did not understand the mystery of straps and buckles in which the skates were involved. Hence his desire to try the skates was borne away upon the current of his impatience, and thereby the little party escaped a scene for the time being.

But it was only for a time. Charlie had been so used to have his own way and to oppose the wishes of others, that he seemed to find his pleasure in spoiling the delights of others. Hence, when the hour for tea arrived, and Jessie’s sweet little china tea-set, with its ornaments of gold and flowers, was spread out upon a little round table, he drew near to it and taking Jessie’s seat, said:

“I’m going to play lady and pour out the tea.”

“Nonsense, Charlie!” said his sister. “Take the next seat and let Jessie have hers.”

“I won’t,” muttered Charlie.

“Come, Charlie, do get out of your cousin’s chair! Young gentlemen don’t pour out tea for ladies, you know,” said Carrie in her most coaxing tones.

“I don’t care! I’m going to play lady and pour out the tea,” replied the boy in his most dogged manner.

“I never did see such a boy in all my life,” whispered Jessie to her friend.

“Nor I,” rejoined Carrie; “my father says he’s a young hornet.”

“Oh dear! what shall I do?” sighed Jessie.

“Why don’t you sit down?” said Charlie, as he began to handle the little teapot.

“Charlie, get up!” exclaimed his sister, as she snatched the teapot from his hand.

“Don’t touch him. I’ll call my uncle; he’ll make him move,” said Jessie, moving towards the door.

She was too late; Emily’s act had roused the fiery temper of the boy. Placing his hands on each side of his chair, he leaned back, and lifting up his feet to the edge of the table, kicked it over and sent the tea-set crashing to the floor.

“Oh dear! Oh dear! He has broken my nice tea-set all to pieces!” cried Jessie, pausing, gazing on the wreck, and bursting into tears.

The crash of the falling tea-things was heard by Uncle Morris. He entered the room with a grave face. Charlie still sat on the chair, looking surly and wicked at the ruin he had wrought.

“See what Charlie has done, Uncle!” exclaimed Jessie, sobbing. “I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t poor Aunt Lucy’s present that he has broken.”

Aunt Lucy was dead. She had given this charming little tea-set to Jessie only a few weeks before her death.

“How did he do it?” asked Mr. Morris.

“He kicked the table over, Sir, because we wanted him to let Jessie sit in her place, and pour out the tea,” said Carrie.

Just then Mrs. Carlton, and Mary the waiting-maid, both of whom had heard the noise, entered the parlor. Turning to the latter, Mr. Morris said:

“Mary, put that ugly boy to bed!”

Charlie, frightened at Mr. Morris’s manner, yielded to this command without a word, and was led out of the room.

“I didn’t know that so much ugliness could be got into so small a parcel before that boy came here. He goes home to-morrow morning, however, and we shall all witness his departure, I guess, with very dry eyes,” said Mr. Morris.

“He needs somebody to weep over him, though, brother,” interposed Mrs. Carlton, “for otherwise he will grow up into a very wicked and dangerous manhood.”

“Very true, sister. He is a spoiled child. I must write to sister Hannah about him. If rigid training, and the rod of correction, be not soon applied to him, he will become a spoiled man.”

After telling Mrs. Carlton the cause of this disaster, the girls with her aid began to repair the ruin wrought by ugly Charlie. Having replaced the table, they picked up the pieces, and were relieved to find that, with the exception of the knob of the teapot lid, and the handles of two cups, which were off, nothing was broken. Uncle Morris said he had a cement with which he could fasten on the knob and the handles. This relieved Jessie very much. She smiled, and said:

“Oh, I am so glad! I want to keep that tea-set, for dear Aunt Lucy’s sake.”

Of course the tea was all spilled, and the food scattered over the carpet. These, however, were soon replaced from the well-supplied closets of the kitchen and dining-room. In half an hour, the table was reset, and the three girls were seated, quietly eating their supper.

Did they enjoy their feast? A little, perhaps, but the upsetting of the table could not be forgotten. It chilled their spirits, and checked the flow of their joy. Thus, as always, did the evil conduct of one wrong-doer, act, like a cloud in the path of the sun, on the joy of others.

Carrie Sherwood left early in the evening, and Jessie went to her chamber with Emily to assist her in packing her trunk, so that she might be ready for an early start in the morning. When the last stray article was nicely packed, Emily threw herself back in the big arm-chair, and with a long-drawn sigh, exclaimed:

“Oh dear!”

“What’s the matter?” inquired Jessie.

“Oh! nothing. Only I’m glad I’m going home.”

“So am I,” was the thought that leaped to Jessie’s lips. She was, however, too polite to utter it, and too sincere to say she was sorry, so she sat still and said nothing.

Several minutes were passed in silence, a very unusual thing, I believe, where the company is composed of young ladies. But Jessie did not know what to say, and Emily was thinking, and did not wish to say any thing. At last she looked up and said:

“Jessie, I’m afraid I haven’t behaved well since I came to Glen Morris.”

Jessie again thought with Emily, and again her politeness and sincerity kept her silent. Emily went on.

“You have been very kind to me and Charlie. I’m sorry we haven’t made ourselves more agreeable to you.”

“Oh! never mind that,” said Jessie. “I hope you will come and see me again, one of these days.”

Emily then went on to tell Jessie about her thoughts and feelings. She had not forgotten the advice of Uncle Morris, nor had Jessie’s example been without its influence over her. True, her old habits of self-will and falsehood, had acted the part of tyrants over her. Yet she had been secretly wishing to be like Jessie. These wishes, frail as they had proved themselves to be, showed that good seed from Jessie’s example had been sown in her heart. Now that she was about to return home, all her better feelings were awake, and she begged forgiveness of her cousin, promising to do her best, hereafter, to be a good, truthful, affectionate girl.

All this and much more, she said to Jessie, before they slept that night. These confessions and purposes did Emily good. They also cheered Jessie, by causing her to hope that after all, she might be to her cousin, what Guy had been to Richard Duncan.

The next morning, directly after breakfast, the hack drove up to the door, and the cousins were borne away to the depot in care of Mr. Carlton. As the carriage left the lawn, Uncle Morris patted his niece on the head, and said:

“As vinegar to the teeth, and smoke to the eyes, so are self-willed guests to those who entertain them.”

“O Uncle Morris!” exclaimed Jessie, with an air of mock gravity, which showed that, harsh as her uncle’s remark sounded, she felt its justice. In fact, the departure of the ungracious cousins was to the inmates of Glen Morris, like the flight of the angry storm-cloud to a company of mariners, after weary weeks of squalls and tempests.