At supper-time there was quite an explosion, the brother declaring she had put a black-beetle in his pocket, in spite of knowing how much he dreaded them; he had drawn it out with his handkerchief at a choir-practice, right in front of all the boys.
"I never did!" protested Bessie.
"You had something to do with it, I'm sure; else why did you so carefully hang my jacket up, without a word of fault-finding?"
"I saw it walk into your pocket; that's a very different thing from putting it in," the girl frankly explained.
Instead of the mother seeing any fun in the situation, and quietly pointing out where fun ends and unkindness begins, and forgetting the many practical jokes Bessie herself had good-naturedly endured at the hands of her brother, she literally stormed at Bessie, declaring she should leave home at once and be put to some business.
Phebe hearing of all this, offered to take Bessie, to which the mother readily agreed. So it was a very short journey indeed Bessie took from home.
Deep down in her heart the girl was very grieved at the way she had left home, but outwardly kept her usual brightness, and was indeed truly delighted at now really being "one of the company."
"If ever I get rich," she exclaimed, "and have a coat-of-arms, I shall have a black-beetle on my quarterings, for it was a black-beetle which carried me here; a fine old ebony coachman! Oh, Mrs. Waring," and a sad note came into the girl's voice just then, "life often seems to me such a tangle and jingle!"
"Does it, dear? It has often seemed the same to me." Just then she caught sight of the star—she must not lose an opportunity—"but we must do our best to turn it into a song. We'll try together, won't we?"
A squeeze of the hand was all the answer Bessie was able to give.