your embroidered pocket-handkerchief."

The reproof so pleasantly given in these quaint words found its way to
Jessie's heart. Her face became sober, she bit her lips, a stray tear or
two hung, like dew-drops in the web of a gossamer, on her long eyelashes,
she sighed and after a few moments of silent thought rose, planted her
right foot firmly on the floor, and said--

"Uncle Morris, I _will_ conquer that little wizard! I will _finish_ your
quilt right away, and then all the other things in their turn--see if I
don't."

Jessie had made just such a promise at least _ten_ times, since Glen
Morris Cottage had become her home. She had tried to keep it too, but,
somehow, _her habit of yielding to every new impulse which came over her_,
had hitherto led her to break it as often as it had been made. The little
wizard, as Uncle Morris facetiously called her changeful impulses, was her
tyrant. The jolly little rogue did, indeed, sadly stand in need of
matrimony with the forlorn Miss Perseverance. For poor Jessie's sake,
Uncle Morris was very anxious to see the wedding come off speedily.
Whether his wish was met or not, will appear hereafter.

To prove her sincerity Jessie put the cambric handkerchief in the bottom
of her work-basket. The other articles she placed, in the order in which
she had begun them, above it, and then sat resolutely down to her
patchwork quilt. As her bright little needle began to fly with the
swiftness of a weaver's shuttle, she said to herself--

"Now I _will_ finish Uncle Morris's quilt right off."

Uncle Morris had left the parlor, and Jessie had sewed steadily for at
least fifteen minutes, when her brother Hugh bounded into the room,
holding two letters in his hand, and said--

"Letters for Jessie Carlton and her mother. Postage one dollar, to be paid
to the bearer on delivery. Give me your half-dollar, Miss Carlton, and I
will give you your letter!"

"A letter for me!" cried Jessie, dropping her work and running to her
brother, capsizing her work-basket as she ran. "Give it to me! Give it to
me."

"Pay me the postage first," said Hugh, holding the letter over her head.

"There is no postage, you know there isn't, you naughty Hugh! Give me my
letter," and Jessie pulled Hugh's arm in the vain attempt to bring the
letter within her reach.

"No postage, indeed! Do you think Uncle Sam can afford to carry letters
for all the Yankee girls who may choose to write to each other, without
pay? Not