A laugh caused Aunt Sally to glance through the window, where Jessica was an amused spectator of the scene within. She now begged:
“Don’t be hard on the little tackers, auntie, dear. That was Prince, Mr. Hale’s horse, that Pedro has tended on the mesa all these days. I’ll find out how they came by it, and their clothes at the same time. Tell mother, please,” and with a merry nod to the unhappy urchins, so shamfacedly “dreening” at Mrs. Benton’s pleasure, she disappeared.
Disappeared not only from the window, but, apparently, from life, as suddenly and completely as if the earth had opened and engulfed her.
CHAPTER II.
THE HUSH OF ANXIETY
Mrs. Trent and Aunt Sally sat down alone to dinner. The little lads were in their beds, recovering from the sound scrubbing Pasqual had given them. Clothed in fresh nightgowns, and refreshed by generous bowls of bread and milk, they had been left in a darkened room to reflect upon the hard ways of transgressors. But reflection was unusual work for their active brains, and they had promptly fallen asleep; hence the profound peace which rested upon the house.
“I wonder where Jessica is? She was to have written my letters for me, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast,” said the mother, somewhat anxiously.
“Oh! she’s around somewhere. Was at the laundry window while I was tending to the children, and said she’d go find their clothes. In all my born days I never saw two small heads could hatch the mischief Ned’s and Luis’ can. It’s out of one scrape into another, and seems if they must break their necks some day.”