Vainly did Jessie explore her “basket of confusion.” In vain did she upset its contents upon the floor, and replace them by handfuls. The missing skein of brown worsted could not be found. At last, with wearied neck, and aching head, she threw herself back in her chair, and said—
“It’s no use, there is no brown worsted there. But what’s that?”
In leaning back, Jessie’s eyes were arrested by a new book which was on the mantle. Starting from her chair, she took down the book. It was a story-book that Guy had borrowed of his friend Richard Duncan. The pictures were beautiful, and Jessie, charmed by the promise of its opening pages, gave herself up to the leadings of her excited curiosity, and soon forgot all about worsted, slippers, cousins, and uncle. Little Impulse the wizard had baited his trap with a choice book, and Jessie was in his power again.
“Why, Guy! what brought you home so early?” asked Jessie, more than two hours later, when her brother’s entrance broke her attention from the book.
“Early!” exclaimed Guy, looking at his watch; “do you call fifteen minutes past twelve early?”
“Fifteen minutes past twelve!” cried Jessie, in great surprise; “it can’t be so late: your watch must be wrong, Guy.”
“Then the village clock is wrong, for I timed my watch by it as I came past,” said Guy. “I guess you have been asleep, Sis, and didn’t notice how time passed.”
“Asleep, indeed! do you think I go to sleep in the morning? not I. But I’ve been reading your book, and was just finishing it when you came in. It’s real interesting,” said Jessie.
“Yes, it’s a nice book,” replied Guy, as he left the room in response to a call from Hugh, who was in the hall.
Jessie replaced the book, and sighed as she picked up the worsteds from the floor, to think that she had done nothing to the slippers that morning. However, as there was yet over half an hour to spare before dinner, and as she could go on with her work for the present, without the brown worsted, she began plying her needle with right good will.