“Now I will finish Uncle Morris’s quilt right off.”
Uncle Morris had left the parlor, and Jessie had sewed steadily for at least fifteen minutes, when her brother Hugh bounded into the room, holding two letters in his hand, and said—
“Letters for Jessie Carlton and her mother. Postage one dollar, to be paid to the bearer on delivery. Give me your half-dollar, Miss Carlton, and I will give you your letter!”
“A letter for me!” cried Jessie, dropping her work and running to her brother, capsizing her work-basket as she ran. “Give it to me! Give it to me.”
“Pay me the postage first,” said Hugh, holding the letter over her head.
“There is no postage, you know there isn’t, you naughty Hugh! Give me my letter,” and Jessie pulled Hugh’s arm in the vain attempt to bring the letter within her reach.
“No postage, indeed! Do you think Uncle Sam can afford to carry letters for all the Yankee girls who may choose to write to each other, without pay? Not he. Uncle Sam knows how to care for number one too well for that. So hand over your half-dollar, Miss Jessie, and I will give you your letter.”
Jessie coaxed and scolded at her brother for nearly ten minutes, in vain. Hugh loved to tease her, and so he kept on, now offering the letter, and then holding it beyond her reach, until the poor child’s patience being all gone, she sat down and cried with vexation. This was certainly carrying his fun too far. A little pleasant bantering at first, though not amiable, might have been pardonable; but now that her feelings were hurt he was very unkind to carry his nonsense any further. But this was one of Hugh’s faults. He was a great tease. Seeing his sister in tears, he said, in a whining tone—
“Pretty little cry-baby! How beautiful you are, all melted into tears!” Then dropping the whine from his tone, he added, “Here, Jessie, take your letter!”
Jessie stretched out her arm to take the offered letter. Hugh drew it back again and said—