ALLIE MUNSON was the daughter of a man who had sailed as Captain of a schooner, bound for the West Indies, more than five years before the date of our story. He left a wife and seven children, of whom Sallie was the youngest, and the only daughter. At the time he left home she was just past six, and was therefore now eleven.
Five long, weary, waiting years of watching, suspense and anxiety, had left Mrs. Munson careworn and old before her time. Her eldest son was married and settled at a distance; the second had gone with his father as a sailor; the sixth boy, her darling, blue-eyed Jamie, was buried at the end of her little garden; leaving four children dependant on her labor for their support. To be sure, Abner, the oldest at home, was nearly seventeen; but though steady and honest, he lacked energy and thrift. When away from home he was the butt and laughing-stock of his more shrewd companions; and so his patient mother obtained what employment she could for him, under her own eye, and sent his brother Joseph, a stout, fun-loving lad of fifteen, to work in a neighboring tan yard.
Edward and Sallie went to school during the short sessions both in summer and winter, though the care and pains it cost their mother to fit them out in clothes and books, I can hardly describe.
Once a year Mrs. Barnes, the Captain's sister, came to the sea-shore to spend a few days, and always brought with her a bundle of half-worn clothes, out of which the widow made useful, if not fashionable, garments for her family.
It was shortly after one of these visits, that Sallie wore to school a dress, made from one given her by her aunt. It was a bright plaid, and with great pains had been made to fit her neatly. Whether the boddice and sleeves were in the prevailing mode, she was ignorant, until informed by her school-mate, Matilda.
This young girl had some good traits of character. She was diligent in her studies, and prompt in obliging a friend. But she had one terrible failing; a love of gossip or mischief-making, which rendered her dangerous to the peace of those with whom she associated.
This habit often led her much farther than she anticipated, and betrayed her into sundry exaggerations which she sometimes keenly regretted.
At recess, Cynthia Manning refused to lend a new book to Matilda; and to show her spite, she determined to make a quarrel between the cousins. The two girls lived not far apart, and usually walked home together in company with Hatty.
This time Matilda hurried her friend along, and began at once to say: