The next morning was mild and clear. A bright sun shone gloriously forth, and aided by light airs from the south, softened the snow and made every thing, but the walking, as pleasant as nature ever is on a December day. It was thanksgiving day, too—thanksgiving was appointed in December that year—and all the inmates of Glen Morris arose in high spirits, expecting to spend that festal day in calm and quiet enjoyment.

At the breakfast-table, Uncle Morris excited some surprise, by putting on a very grave countenance, and saying—

“Some persons must have entered my room, last night!”

“Entered your room!” exclaimed Mrs. Carlton, turning a little pale, and forgetting what she was about, so far as to overflow the cup she was filling with coffee.

“Did they steal any thing, Uncle?” asked Hugh, in a voice made husky by the alarm he felt at the idea of burglars having been in the house.

“Mind, my dear, you are flooding the tea-tray with coffee,” said Mr. Carlton, pointing to the overflow of coffee in front of his lady.

“Did you see them?” inquired Jessie, also pale with alarm.

These questions were put so rapidly one after the other, that Uncle Morris had no chance to explain himself for a few moments. Silence, however, followed Jessie’s question. Then the old gentleman relaxed his muscles, smiled, and said—

“I neither saw nor heard the intruders; yet, I found unquestionable marks of their having been in my room. They even made a hole in one of the walls! Yet, strange as it may appear, they not only took nothing away, but, on the contrary, they left one of the sweetest little chamber ornaments behind them I ever saw. Such burglars are welcome to enter my room every night!”

“O Uncle Morris! I know what you mean,” said Jessie, laughing, and shaking her forefinger at him.

Mr. Morris’s last words and his changed manner, had, of course, relieved all parties of their alarm, though none but Guy and his sister knew precisely what he meant.

“I shouldn’t wonder if you did. Even the bird knows where it finds food, much more should intruders know where they intruded,” replied Uncle Morris.

Jessie then looked at her mother, and said—

“Ma, Uncle means me and Guy, by his intruders. We went into his room last night to hang his watch-pocket over his bedstead.”

“But what about the hole in the wall, Jessie? Did you and Guy dig that?” asked Hugh.

“Ha, ha, ha! That’s only Uncle Morris’s fun. Guy bored a little hole with his gimblet, to screw in the hook which was meant to hang the pocket on; that’s all,” replied Jessie.

“No, that wasn’t all, either,” said Mr. Morris, “for my little puss left the cutest little velvet watch-pocket I ever saw, hanging on the hook. There was some witchery in it, too, for it kept me awake over an hour. It seemed to hop down on to my pillow, and buzz in my ear, saying, ‘I am a love-gift. The little girl who made me, made your quilt, made your slippers, and is going to make you a cushion. A pesky little creature tried hard to hinder her from doing it, but her love for you was so strong, she drove him away. I don’t think there is any other old gentleman in Duncanville, loved by either niece or daughter, half so well as you are loved by the little miss whose nimble fingers made me!’ Talking thus, the pocket kept me from going to sleep, until I began to fancy that my Jessie must have put a fairy into it.”

“O Uncle Morris!” cried Jessie, with a glowing face and a heart dancing to joy-beats, as it perceived the affection for her, which Uncle Morris only partly concealed under his quaint and fanciful way of speaking. She craved no higher reward, than these expressions of his love for her.

After breakfast and family prayers were over, Mr. Morris turned to his niece, and said:

“Jessie!”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I am going to take a little walk, before I go to hear our minister’s Thanksgiving sermon. Will you go?”

“Oh yes, yes. Uncle, I should like it ever so much.”

During this conversation, Mrs. Carlton had been looking out at the window. The snow was dripping from the eaves, and from the trees. It looked soft and soggy in the path, and she feared the walking would be too sloppy for her daughter. So she said:

“It is hardly fit for Jessie to go out walking, Brother. The slosh will be over her sandals, and she will get wet feet.”

“Do you think so, Ma? Well, I’m sorry. But if I only had a pair of rubber-boots, like Carrie Sherwood’s, I could go in spite of the slosh. Never mind,”—here Jessie’s sigh showed how disappointed she felt,—“never mind, uncle will have to take his walk alone.”

Some misses would have fretted over such a disappointment as this. But Jessie seldom fretted. She had too much good sense, and too much good nature to fret. Perhaps this was one reason why she was loved so well.

When Mrs. Carlton had expressed her view of the bad walking, Uncle Morris left the room, so that he did not hear all that Jessie said in reply. He now returned, bearing in his hands a good-sized parcel, neatly tied and addressed in his own handwriting, to “Miss Jessie Carlton.” Giving it to his niece, he said:

“Open Sesame! Perhaps you may find a talisman within this parcel, which will incline your mamma to change her opinion about the fitness of your walking out with me this morning.”

Jessie untied the string, and on opening her parcel, looked up with eyes full of pleasure, and exclaimed:

“A pair of rubber-boots!”

Then dropping the parcel, she ran to her uncle, and gave him, I don’t know how many warm kisses. After this, she took up the boots, and looking at them admiringly, said:

“Oh, how nice! Now I can go out in sloppy weather, can’t I, Ma! What a dear, good uncle you are! What made you think of buying me these boots?”

“What made my little puss think of making me a watch-pocket, eh?” replied Mr. Morris: “but come, try on your boots, and let us be going!”

Mrs. Carlton having no fears about the slosh now that Jessie’s feet were “booted,” instead of being “sandalled,” gave her consent, and a few minutes later, Jessie was trotting along at the side of her uncle, in the road which led toward the village. A hired man followed them at a little distance, bearing a large basket well filled with mince-pies, and other Thanksgiving luxuries for the table. Mr. Morris was going to distribute them among certain poor families, to whom he had sent turkeys the day before. It was part of his religion to do what he could to enable the virtuous poor to share in the pleasures proper to Thanksgiving day.

The first cottage at which they called, was a very small one, occupied by Mrs. Clifton and her daughter Madge. Having received proofs in letters from her early friends that her story was true, Uncle Morris had hired this cottage for her, and aided by Mr. Carlton, and a few other kind-hearted men and women in Duncanville, had furnished it, and put her in possession. Mrs. Carlton had interested the village ladies in her case, and they had agreed to keep her supplied with sewing. The poor woman, cheered by voices of kindness, and by the warm sympathies of her generous patrons, had pledged herself to abstain from the drinks which had well nigh ruined her. She had been in her new home for over a week, and was getting along quite cheerily.

When Jessie and her uncle entered, Madge shrunk behind her mother. Ever since the day on which Jessie heard her swear, she had acted as though conscious that there was something between herself and Jessie which kept them apart. I suppose that something was shame on her own part, and a dread of being made wicked by being too intimate with her, on Jessie’s part. But whatever it was, Madge had felt uneasy in Jessie’s presence from that time to the present.

“Well, Mrs. Clifton, how are you getting on?” asked Mr. Morris, after giving her a portion of the contents of the basket, carried by the hired man.

“Pretty well, Sir, I thank you: indeed, Sir, I owe every thing to you, Sir.”

“No, not to me, my good woman, but to God and this child,” said Mr. Morris, pointing to Jessie; “but for her, your Madge would have gone to the alms-house, and you, perhaps, would have been kept in prison. It was to please my niece, here, that I took Madge to our house.”

“A thousand blessings upon the dear child, and upon yourself, too, Sir,” replied the woman with tears in her eyes.

Jessie’s heart sent up gushes of sweet feeling at the sight of Mrs. Clifton’s gratitude. With some trouble she coaxed poor Madge to kiss her; after which she and her uncle left the house.

“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” said Uncle Morris, as they walked through the soft snow to the next cottage.

Jessie dwelt upon that remark, saying to herself, as she silently trudged by her uncle’s side—

“That is so, I really do believe. I always did like to receive, to have those I love give me something. But I really think I felt happier in giving Uncle Morris his watch-pocket, and in taking poor Madge home, than I did in receiving my skates, or rubber boots, or any thing else I ever had given to me. It’s queer it should be so, but so it is. Yes, it is more blessed to give than to receive. I’ll remember that as long as I live.”

These musings were broken by their arrival at Mrs. Moneypenny’s. Here they found poor Jack, Guy’s protÉgÉ. He had arrived from the hospital the day before. His leg, though still sore and stiff, was healed. Long confinement had made his face thin and pale. But he was very glad to find himself at home again, and was very busy helping his mother get the turkey, sent the day before by Uncle Morris, ready for the oven.

Here again Jessie found grateful hearts. After some other remarks, the old lady said—

“That nephew of yours is a wonderful boy, Sir. There ain’t another such boy in all Duncanville. Only think, Sir, how he, a gentleman’s son, has milked and fed my cow, twice a day, ever since my Jack, there, was hurt! Why, Sir, we should all have been in the alms-house if it hadn’t been for him. May the dear lad never know what trouble means!”

“I’d die for Guy Carlton, any day!” said Jack, his eyes glistening with grateful tears as he spoke.

“Rather strong language that, my lad!” observed Mr. Morris.

“Well, I would, Sir. He’s been so good to my poor mother, I’d do any thing for him. I never knew such a boy as Guy Carlton,” rejoined Jack, with a warmth that defied contradiction, if it did not carry conviction.

Having again drawn on the contents of the basket for the supply of Mrs. Moneypenny’s table, they withdrew followed by a cloud of good wishes from the hearts and lips of Jack and his mother.

Thus from cottage to cottage they passed, like angels of mercy, making glad the hearts of the poor.

Returning from these visits to Glen Morris, they prepared for church, where they heard a most excellent sermon, on the duty of gratitude to God. Divine service over, they returned home, sat down at the plentiful table, and feasted on the good things which usually make up a thanksgiving dinner, in homes of wealth and comfort.

When the dessert was brought on, a little paper box was placed, by the servant, beside Guy’s plate. His name was written upon it in the well-known handwriting of his uncle.

“What have you there, Guy?” inquired Hugh, who sat next to his brother.

“Perhaps it’s a jack in the box!” suggested Mr. Carlton.

“A watch! A gold hunting-watch! Oh, what a beauty! Just what I’ve been wanting,” exclaimed Guy, opening the box; “but what’s this writing?”

On the inside of the case was this inscription: “Presented to Guy Carlton in token of my admiration for his kindness to a poor widow in the time of her distress.—Mr. Morris.”

Guy blushed deeply as his brother read this inscription. He was not aware that his uncle knew about his kindness to the widow. But the old gentleman had heard all about it from the grateful woman’s own lips. He now told the story to the family. Mr. Carlton was delighted, and spoke words of approbation that sank deep into Guy’s heart, where they were treasured up with more care than he would have kept ingots of gold.

But there was a frown on Hugh’s face. He had no watch, and Guy now had two. Hence, he felt envious. But before he had time to express himself, as he was about to do, Guy took his old watch from his pocket and placing it in Hugh’s hand, said:

“There Hugh, I’ll give you my old watch. It’s a capital time-keeper!”

“Thank you,” replied Hugh, repressing his frown, and trying to look pleased.

“He don’t deserve it,” said Uncle Morris.

During this last act of Guy’s, the servant placed a letter and another box—a very small one—beside Jessie’s plate. Opening the letter, she read thus:

“Ah, Uncle Morris, you wrote that, I know you did!” said Jessie, laughing, and looking very archly at her uncle.

“Well, maybe it is an old man’s folly that did it. But Jessie, I trust you have now so far conquered yourself that henceforth your impulses will no longer be like little wizards tempting you astray, but that they will be guided by right resolutions, and carried out with perseverance. You will thus become a true member of the Try Company, and live both a good and a useful life.”

Jessie now opened her box. Taking a bright little object from its velvet lining, she placed it on her finger, and holding it up, exclaimed:

“What a dear little thimble! Oh! isn’t it pretty?”

It was a golden thimble with her name inscribed upon it. It came from her uncle, as a token of his approval of her many efforts to bring her impulses under the control of the law of duty.

“I hope,” he said to her after receiving her caresses, “that your hardest struggles with your old enemy are over. But no doubt the little fellow will sometimes try to separate himself from his good resolutions and from his bride Perseverance. When he does so, you will be in danger again. But be brave! Be thoughtful! Be prayerful! Trust in the Great Teacher! Try, and try again, and Uncle Morris will never have need to blush for his niece, Jessie Carlton.”

After dinner our young folks got up a grand romp in the parlor. Their father and uncle joined them, and the jocund hours passed so swiftly, that the dusk stole upon them unawares.

“Dear me! How early it is dark to-night,” said Jessie, as panting with excitement, she sat down in her own little chair.

“Hours fly on eagle’s wings, when people are pleased and busy, as we have been this afternoon,” observed Uncle Morris in reply; “but hark! our door-bell rings! Somebody is coming in. Boys, put the chairs to rights!”

Before the disordered room could be made fit for a reception, the servant opened the door, and said:

“Mr. Carlton, will you please step to the door?”

Going to the door, Mr. Carlton found a man standing on the door-step with a letter in his hand. A carriage stood in front of the piazza. Bowing to Mr. Carlton, the man handed him the letter, and said:

“I have brought Miss Kate Carlton from New York, to stay with you, Sir. She is in the carriage. This letter will explain the reasons of her coming.”

Though greatly surprised at the sudden appearance of his niece, Mr. Carlton did not stop, either to read the letter or ask questions, but went at once to the carriage, and offering his hand to his niece, said:

“I am happy to see you, my dear, at Glen Morris. Come into the house. John will see to your baggage.”

Kate put her fingers into her uncle’s hand, and with a mincing step, walked into the hall. Mr. Carlton asked the man who accompanied her, if he would remain all night.

“No, Sir. I thank you. I must return by the last train, which will be here, as soon as I can get to the station. Good night, Sir!”

“Good night,” replied Mr. Carlton.

When Kate was conducted to the parlor, she was of course, greeted with looks and expressions of great surprise. Jessie sprang to her cousin, embracing her, and exclaiming:

“Why Kate Carlton, is that you?”

Guy took her hand kindly, and said, “I am glad to see you, Kate.”

Hugh also gave her his hand, but his words were not gracious. He said:

“What, you come here again, Kate Carlton!”

Uncle Morris kissed her, and spoke very kindly to her. Somehow, his instincts told him that her sudden coming to Glen Morris, was caused by some unexpected evil.

Kate returned these greetings very stiffly. She had a cold nature, which did not readily respond to the emotions of others. She was tired, she said, and would like to be shown to her room as soon as possible. Jessie accordingly conducted her to Mrs. Carlton’s room, who was as much surprised to see her, as the others had been.

As soon as she left the parlor, Mr. Carlton, who had been reading the letter which came with her, placed his hand upon his forehead, looked very gravely at Mr. Morris, and said:

“Bad news! Bad news! My brother is a defaulter in the —— Bank, of which he was president. He left the city last night, for parts unknown. His wife is half distracted, and has gone home to her father. She has sent Kate here.”

“A sad case!” remarked Mr. Morris, soothingly. “But are you sure it is true?”

“Too true, I doubt not. This letter is from my friend, Mr. Estal, a leading director in the bank. There can be no mistake. It is terrible. Had my brother lost all his property by honorable misfortune, or had he died as a good man dies, it would have been nothing to this. Now he is ruined and disgraced. Terrible! Terrible!”

Mr. Carlton groaned as he uttered these words. His anguish was painful to witness. His brother’s crime pierced his heart. Happily he was able to weep, and thus relieve the violence of his feelings.

“It is terrible indeed,” replied Uncle Morris. “But while we deplore his fall, let us be thankful that our honor is unstained by his crime. Let us also strive not to give way to useless grief, but let us spend our energies in efforts to break the fall of his unfortunate wife and child, whom he has dragged down with himself to poverty, if not to shame. If you will give Kate a home, I will see to her education, and will provide her with clothing.”

“Spoken like your noble self!” rejoined Mr. Carlton. “Of course, she shall have a home, so long as I have one.”

A free conversation, between all present, followed this remark, during which Mr. Carlton tried to make his sons feel, that the most absolute poverty if combined with integrity, is preferable to wealth allied with dishonesty, and that it is better to die a pauper’s death, than to be guilty of a dishonorable act.

As for Jessie, her heart was swelling with generous impulses, towards poor Kate. “I will be a sister to her,” said she, in reply to a reference made by Guy, to Kate’s bad behavior during her visit, the previous summer, “and will do my best to make her both happy and good!”

“Take care, Jessie!” said Guy, laughing. “Perhaps she will tempt the wizard to forsake his bride, and to take to his old pranks again. What will you do then?”

“I will try to keep on such good terms with Perseverance, his wife, as to prevent that,” replied Jessie. “See if I don’t?”

“Good! I’ll request Corporal Try to place your name in his roll of honor,” said Guy; “but the tea-bell rings, let us go to tea!”

Jessie Carlton will appear again in future volumes of the Glen Morris Stories, in which it will be seen whether her victory over the little wizard was temporary or lasting; and whether she fulfilled her purpose, to do her best to make Kate Carlton both happy and good.

May be had separately, or in neat boxes.

The above series of EIGHT BOOKS contain numerous Illustrations, are printed on very fine paper, uniformly bound in neat scarlet cloth, gilt side and back, and are recommended as a choice little

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Twelve beautiful books for small children, comprising—