"Jack drowned!"
The words seemed to be forced from Jessie's white lips. Then she turned her back, went gropingly into the room once more, and crouched down in the big arm-chair, with her face hidden. They could see her through the open door.
"Dear me, poor girl! Who ever would have thought she'd mind it like that?"
Mimy flashed out upon the visitor. "Mind it! Who wouldn't mind it that knows our Jack? You don't know him, and Jessie does! And if Jack is dead, it'll kill mother; I know it will. And you to come and tell it in such a way, as if it was just nothing at all! Our Jack to be drowned! I don't believe it, and I won't believe it. If you'd just go away and leave us! Cotton! Oh, I'll see to the cotton. Make haste, please, and don't go near Jessie. You don't know anything about it."
"Really, Mimy!" faltered Miss Sophy. She hardly knew whether to be offended or unhappy. To receive such a rebuke, especially from a young girl, was not what she was accustomed to. Resentment strove with regret; and when she turned her back upon the shop, she was very nearly in tears.
Mimy hurried into the room behind, where Jessie still crouched in a silent heap.
"Jessie!" she whispered.
No answer came. Mimy put her arms round the other girl.
"Poor Jessie! Don't mind. I don't believe it's true. That Tim is a regular story-teller. It isn't likely, you know,—all of them to be drowned."
"I don't see why not," moaned Jessie.