“No, a good while longer than that—I can’t tell how long,” replied Willie.
Willie had often heard his parents speak of Marcus, and knew something of his success as a “boy-tamer.” It was a habit with him, whenever he saw a boy who did not come up to the mark of duty, to say he “ought to be sent to Marcus.” One day, while his mother was reproving Henry for some fault, Willie followed up the admonition with the remark, uttered with all soberness:—
“We shall have to send you to Marcus, if you don’t behave better.”
Now although Willie did not mean any harm, Henry thought it was impudent for such a little boy to speak to him in that way; and when Mrs. Allen, instead of reproving her boy, seemed to repress a smile with difficulty, Henry felt angry with both of them. But the matter soon blew over, and Henry never thought of it again until this unexpected taking back of the offensive remark. While he was musing over this gratifying proof that his good resolution had not been wholly in vain, Jessie suddenly made her appearance, to his great joy. She said she could stop only a few minutes, but had run over because she was anxious to hear from him. Through the week she had felt many misgivings about Henry; but now she heard from his lips that he had kept his promise, and saw by his altered appearance the beneficial effect it had exerted upon him; and Willie artlessly confirmed it all by telling what a first-rate time they had had all the afternoon, and repeating the little song Henry had written for him. It was a happy moment to Jessie; and when Henry promised her in the entry, as she was about leaving, that he would keep on in that same way until she saw him again, she went home with a lighter heart than she had before known for several weeks.
When Mrs. Allen got home, she found the tea-kettle boiling, the table ready for supper, and the house in as good order as when she left it—three things which she hardly dared to expect. She was still further surprised, when Willie, at the first opportunity, commenced telling a very long story about what had been going on at home through the afternoon. “Well,” she thought to herself, “Henry can be a good boy, when he pleases to be.”
CHAPTER VIII.
SABBATH LESSONS.
Jessie had a small, old-fashioned miniature in her trunk, at which she often gazed intently and sadly, in her hours of retirement. It was a likeness of a young man of pleasing features and apparent intelligence—one who was evidently on good terms with himself and the world, and who had known little of the rough experiences of life. There were very sad associations connected with this picture, in Jessie’s mind. She never could look at it without recalling the lines of the poet—
“Of all sad words of tongue or of pen,
The saddest are these—it might have been.”