Aunt Betsey gave way to her feelings in tears, for this was indeed a little more than she could bear.
“There, now,” said she, “that is enough. Get your caps and boots this minute, for I mean to take you straight home. I don’t know what will be done with you for this, but you can’t expect much mercy.”
The boys obeyed in silence. They dreaded to go home, but they dared not say a word against it. As they went along, accompanied by aunt Betsey, Fred looked up to the hills and woods beyond, longing for a chance to slip away and hide; for, as aunt Betsey said, he didn’t know what would be done with them, but she held their hands tightly and walked very fast, for she was much excited.
“There!” she exclaimed, as she threw open the door and made her appearance before Hesper, “I have brought them back. I would have kept them longer, but”—and she burst into tears—“they pulled down my cage and killed my bird, and broke my flower-stand all in pieces. I will sew for you—I will wash or bake, or do anything else to help you, but as to keeping these boys I can’t. If I were in your place I would send them to the House of Correction directly.” She waited for Hesper to reply, but she did not. The poor girl sat with her hands folded and her eyes fixed upon the floor. Her silent look of sorrow was more touching than words. Aunt Betsey could not bear it.
“I will come again,” said she, “when I feel better,” and she went away. Tick, tick, tick, went the old clock in the corner, and that was the only sound to be heard. Fred wished that she would scold, or beat him, or do anything but sit and look so sorrowful. Simple Johnny, who had come in to get his basket of playthings to take to aunt Nyna’s, knew that something unusual had happened. He looked from one to the other, and when he saw the tears rolling down Hesper’s cheeks, he stole softly up to her. He put his arm around her neck and laid his head on her bosom.
“Dear Johnny,” said Hesper, as she clasped him closely to her—“though you are a poor, simple child, yet you never make your sister’s heart ache.” That was enough. The silence was broken, and moved as by one impulse, both boys rushed towards her and hid their faces in her lap.
“Don’t cry, Hesper,” sobbed Fred, “don’t cry! and we will do all we can to help you. We do want to be good boys, but we don’t know how.” Hesper took their hands in her own, and looked steadily in their faces. She was very earnest, and her voice trembled, but she talked to them as only a loving and gentle hearted sister could. She told them, in simple words, of their father’s and mother’s sickness—of the weariness and hard labor of Mose, of the helplessness of little Johnny, of her own heavy trials, and then she told them very kindly, but so plainly they could not misunderstand, that now they were old enough to think of these things, and if they could not be of any assistance, they might, at least, try not to add to the trouble. Her words were fitly spoken, and they went down to the deep places of the children’s hearts. She had appealed to reason and affection, when they expected nothing but punishment and reproof.
“I wish we could do something,” said Charlie. His little childish face was the picture of anxious care, and his eyes were swollen with weeping. Poor children! for them it had been a day of hard, but salutary experience.
“I’ll tell you!” exclaimed Fred, who was quick for a thought—“let’s take the great basket and go down where Capt. Clark’s ship is building, and ask him to give us some chips.” Both boys made a rush for the basket at once.
“Hush! hush!” whispered Hesper. That was enough; they checked themselves in an instant, and stole softly out of the house. That night, if aunt Betsey could have looked into the old shed, and seen the great pile of chips there, she would have been astonished. The ship-yard was a far better place than the House of Correction.