A blush tinged Jessie’s cheek. As I have said before, a want of regard for order, was a fault which grew out of her impulsive nature. She did most things in a hurry, and usually with some other object before her mind at the same time. While her uncle had been trying to cure her of the habit of yielding to her impulses, her mother had also been endeavoring to stimulate her to cultivate a love of order. No wonder, then, that she blushed as she went to hang her friend’s hood and cloak on the stand in the hall.
All this time, poor Madge had sat almost unnoticed. So taken up were they all with their skating party, that they had overlooked the quiet maiden, sitting so demurely on her cricket. But now the boys were gone, and the two friends took their seats, Jessie’s thoughts came back to the young outcast, and turning to Carrie, she said:
“Carrie, let me introduce you to Madge Clifton.”
“How do you do, miss?” said Carrie, bowing.
Poor Madge did not know much about introductions, and was unused to company. So she only blushed, hung down her head, and replied:
“Pretty well, thank ye.”
Jessie now took Carrie aside, and in whispers told her poor Madge’s story, after which they resumed their seats. Carrie’s warm heart soon melted away the poor outcast’s fears; and while the two young ladies were merrily prattling away, Madge listened with wonder if not with delight. In fact, her life since last evening seemed more like a dream than a reality to her. She was still in fairy-land.
Presently the postman came to the house bringing a letter addressed to “Miss Jessie Carlton.” The servant took it to Jessie on a small salver.
“Is it for me?” cried Jessie, taking it up and examining the address.
“Whom can it be from?” asked Carrie, leaning over to her friend’s side to see the handwriting.