Jem’s tone was much lowered toward the latter part of his speech. His hands, too, fell as if by instinct to his pockets. Peter Mink and Noll Crawford drew back, the latter saying as he did so—
“Come, Jem, let’s leave the spunky little gentleman and his friend, Madge, to themselves. I’d rather pick up hickory nuts than listen to his gab.”
“Discretion always is the better part of valor, as Uncle Morris says,” thought Guy, as he walked away with his sisters, patting the head of old Rover.
It was the coming up of old Rover which had cooled off Idle Jem and his crew. The dog had been strolling about the pasture while Jessie was skating. Having missed his young master and mistress on returning to the pond, the faithful fellow had followed them. He came up just at the right moment. His rows of big white teeth, and his low growl, taught the idlers the discretion which Guy praised and which led them to cease their angry jibes. With Guy alone they might have contended. But Rover was an enemy they had not courage to face.
To the wounded pride and the ill temper of Madge, shame was now added. The kind and gentle Jessie had heard her swear, had seen her face flushed with passion, had had a glimpse into the dark corner of her evil nature. Poor Madge! She sullenly refused to speak or to permit either of the party to take her hand; but lagging behind the rest, she silently followed them home.
Jessie bade her friend, Carrie, good-by in front of Mr. Sherwood’s cottage. As they kissed each other, Carrie put her mouth to Jessie’s ear and whispered—
“Jessie, shall I tell you what I think about Madge?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t trouble my head about her any more, if I were you. She is a terribly wicked creature!”
Jessie sighed, but said nothing. On reaching home finding no one at liberty to talk with her, she went to her chamber and getting her writing materials and her portfolio, went down into the parlor and wrote the following answer to her cousin Emily’s letter: