“Guess not! Guess she got drunk somewhere,” said the girl, in a manner so cold and dogged that Mr. Morris shuddered.
Here, Jessie, whose eyes were swimming with tears, pulled her uncle’s hand. Taking him a little aside, she said—
“Please, Uncle, take her home, and let me give her something to eat.”
“Better take her to the alms-house, I’m thinking,” replied her uncle. “She may be a wicked girl.”
“Then we can teach her to be good,” said Jessie.
This was a home thrust that went right to the good old man’s heart. “The alms-house,” he thought, “is not a very likely place to grow goodness in. It is too chilly and heartless. There will be little sympathy there with the struggles and sorrows of a child like this; Jessie shall have her way this time. She shall go with us.”
After forming this purpose, he looked at his niece, and said—
“Perhaps you are right, Jessie. The poor creature shall go home with us, at least, for to-night.”
“Oh, I am so glad, I’m so glad,” cried Jessie, clapping her hands, then running to the shivering child, who had been watching them during this conversation with a puzzled air, she said—
“Come, little girl, you are to go home with me. Uncle says so.”