"I dare say you will," said Harriet, "for when any thing troubles me I want to tell Aunt Kitty directly, and your grandmother is just the same to you. I would tell her all, Jessie, for I am sure she would a great deal rather go away anywhere than to have had you tell a story."
"That I am sure of too," said Jessie.
"Well," said Mary, coloring up, "I did not mean to tell a story, but I do not see what harm it would have been to let Mr. Dickinson think it was I that broke his plant, just from seeing the branch in my hand."
"Oh, Mary!" said Jessie, "I know you would not tell a story, and it was very kind in you to want to take the blame from me,—but indeed, Mary, it would not have been right, I'm sure it would not; and badly as I do feel now, I should have felt a great deal worse if I had not told Mr. Dickinson all the truth,—but good-by, girls," for they had walked on while talking, and both Harriet and Mary had gone with her beyond the gate, "I'll go and tell father, and beg him to let me tell grandmother all about it. He said last night he wished she knew, only he could not bear to tell her."
Jessie's tears had ceased as soon as she determined to go home and tell her troubles there, and Harriet and Mary parted from her with smiles, promising to beg me to go back early, and to let them go directly to her house.
CHAPTER XI.
TRUTH REWARDED.
I do not know exactly how long it was before Mr. Dickinson and I returned to the house, but the children were there before us, and were already telling the story of Jessie's griefs to William, who was quite as much distressed for her, and as angry with his uncle as even Mary could desire. As we entered the piazza where the children stood, I asked for Jessie.
"She has gone home," said Harriet.