"Oh! it was not me, mamma, but it was a dreadful, dreadful mischief."
"Well, darling, if any of the others have been in mischief, of which I should know, I do not think you will speak of it unless it is necessary!"
"But you ought to know it, mamma, so you can see about it; it was so very unproper. But it was not any of us children; it was big people—it was—it was—Uncle Yuthven and Aunt Bessie; and I'm afraid they won't tell you themselves."
"Well," said Mrs. Bradford, trying to keep a grave face, as she imagined she began to see into the cause of the trouble. She need not have tried to hide her smiles. Her little daughter buried her face on her bosom, as she whispered the, to her, shocking secret, and never once looked up at her mother.
"Mamma,—he—he—kissed her!—he did—and she never scolded him, not a bit."
Still the disturbed little face was hidden, and mamma waited a moment till she could compose her own, and steady her voice.
"My darling," she said, "I have a pleasant secret to tell you. You love dear Aunt Bessie very much; do you not?"
"Yes, mamma, dearly, dearly; and, mamma, she's very much mine,—is she not?—'cause I'm her namesake; and Uncle Yuthven ought not to do it. He had no yight. Mamma, don't you think papa had better ask him to go back to Africa for a little while?"
Bessie's voice was rather angry now. Mamma had once or twice lately seen signs of a little jealous feeling toward Uncle Ruthven. She, Bessie the younger, thought it very strange that Bessie the elder should go out walking or driving so often with Uncle Ruthven, or that they should have so many long talks together. Uncle Ruthven took up quite too much of Aunt Bessie's time, according to little Bessie's thinking. She had borne it pretty well, however, until now; but that Uncle Ruthven should "make so intimate" as to kiss Aunt Bessie, was the last drop in the cup, and she was displeased as well as distressed.