eep from Jem's eyes to Tom; and she slapped Jenny's
head. The moment she had done it she was sorry for it; she could have
beaten herself now with the greatest pleasure for having given way to
passion; for she loved little Jenny dearly, and she saw that she really
had hurt her. But Jem, with his loud, deep, "For shame, Bessy!" and Tom,
with his excess of sympathy with his little sister's wrongs, checked
back any expression which Bessy might have uttered of sorrow and regret.
She sat there ten times more unhappy than she had been before the
accident, hardening her heart to the reproaches of her conscience, yet
feeling most keenly that she had been acting wrongly. No one seemed to
notice her; this was the evening she had planned and arranged for so
busily; and the others, who never thought about it at all, were all
quiet and happy, at least in outward appearance, while she was so
wretched. By-and-by, she felt the touch of a little soft hand stealing
into her own. She looked to see who it was; it was Mary, who till now
had been busy learning her lessons, but uncomfortably conscious of the
discordant spirit prevailing in the room; and who had at last ventured
up to Bessy, as the one who looked the most unhappy, to express, in her
own little gentle way, her sympathy in sorrow. Mary was not a quick
child; she was plain and awkward in her ways, and did not seem to have
many words in which to tell her feelings, but she was very tender and
loving, and submitted meekly and humbly to the little slights and
rebuffs she often met with for her stupidity.

"Dear Bessy! good night!" said she, kissing her sister; and, at the soft
kiss, Bessy's eyes filled with tears, and her heart began to melt.

"Jenny," continued Mary, going to the little spoilt, wilful girl, "will
you come to bed with me, and I'll tell you stories about school, and
sing you my songs as I undress? Come, little one!" said she, holding out
her arms. Jenny was tempted by this speech, and went off to bed in a
more reasonable frame of mind than any one had dared to hope.

And now all seemed clear and open for the reading, but each was too
proud to propose it. Jem, indeed, seemed to have forgotten the book
altogether, he was so busy whittling away at a piece of wood. At last
Tom, by a strong effort, said, "Bessy, mayn't we have the book now?"

"No!" said Jem, "don't begin reading, for I must go out and try and make
Ned Bates give me a piece of ash-wood--deal is just good f