blush on her cheek.
“How innocent we are, to be sure!” exclaimed Mrs Shingle, tartly. Then, smiling, she continued, “There, I’m not cross, but I don’t quite like it. Of course, Tom don’t know when you go to the warehouse, and won’t be waiting. There, I suppose young folks will be young folks.”
“I can’t help it, mother, if Mr Fraser meets me by accident,” said Jessie, blushing very rosily, and pouting her lips.
“But he mustn’t meet you by accident; and it oughtn’t to be. Uncle Max would be furious if he knew of it, and those two boys will be playing at Cain and Abel about you, and you mustn’t think anything about either of them.”
“Mother!” exclaimed Jessie.
“I can’t help it, my dear; I must speak, and put a stop to it. Your father would be very angry if he knew.”
“Oh, don’t say so, mother!” pleaded Jessie, with a troubled look.
“But I must say it, my dear, before matters get serious; and I’ve been thinking about it all, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it must all be stopped. There! what impudence, to be sure! I believe that’s him come again.”
“May I come in?” said a voice, after a light tap at the door. And a frank, bearded face appeared in the opening.
“Yes, you can come in,” said Mrs Shingle sharply. But, in spite of her knitted brows, she could not keep back a smile of welcome as the owner of the frank face entered the room, kissed her, and then turned and caught Jessie’s hands in his, with the result that the parcel she was making up slipped off the table to the ground.
“There, how clumsy I am!” he exclaimed, picking up the fallen package, and nearly striking his head against Jessie’s, as, flushed and agitated, she stooped too. “Well, aunt dear, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m well enough,” said Mrs Shingle tartly, as she stretched a piece of silk between her fingers and her teeth, and made it twang like a guitar string. “What do you want here?”
“What do I want, aunt? All right, Jessie – I’ll tie the string. Thought I’d come in and carry Jessie’s parcel.”
“Oh, there!” exclaimed the girl.
“Now, look here, Mr Tom Fraser,” said Mrs Shingle, holding up her needle as if it were a weapon of offence: “you two have been planning this.”
“Mother!” cried Jessie.
“Oh no, we did not, aunt,” cried the young man; “it was all my doing. No, no, Jessie – I’ll carry the parcel.”
“No, no, Tom; indeed you must not.”
“I should think not, indeed!” cried Mrs Shingle, who, as she glanced from one to the other, and thought of her own early days, plainly read the love that was growing up between the young people; but could not see that her first visitor, Fred, had come back, and was standing gazing, with a sallow, vicious look upon his face, at what was going on inside, before going off with his teeth set and an ugly glare in his eyes.
“Tom Fraser,” continued the lady of the house, “I mean Mr Tom – Mr Thomas Fraser – you ought to be ashamed of yourself, to behave in this way. You quite the gentleman, and under Government, and coming to poor peopled houses, and wanting to carry parcels, and all like a poor errand-boy!”
“Stuff and nonsense, aunt! – I’m not a gentleman, and I’m only your nephew; and whilst I’m here I’m not going to see Jessie go through the street carrying a parcel, when I can do it for her.”
“But you must not, indeed, Tom – I mean Mr Fraser,” said Jessie, half-tearful, half-laughing. “I’m going to the warehouse, and I must carry it myself.”
“I know you are going to the warehouse,” said Tom, laughing; “but you must not carry the parcel yourself.”
“But, my dear boy,” said Mrs Shingle, who was evidently softening, “think of what your father would say.”
“I can’t help what he would say, aunt,” said the young man, earnestly; “I only know I can’t help coming here, and I don’t think you want to be cruel and drive me away.”
“No – no – no,” said Mrs Shingle, “but – ”
“Do you, Jessie?”
“No, Tom – Mr Fraser,” faltered Jessie. “But – ”
“But – but!” exclaimed the young man impatiently. “Bother Mr Fraser! My dear Jessie, why are you turning so cold here before your mother? Are you ashamed of me?”
“No – no, Tom,” she cried eagerly.
“And you know how dearly I love you?”
“Yes, Tom,” faltered Jessie sadly; “but it must be only as cousins.”
“And why?” said the young man sternly.
“Because,” said Jessie, laying her hand upon his arm, “I’m only a very poor girl, Tom, and half educated.”
“What a wicked story, Jessie!” cried Mrs Shingle, who had her apron to her eyes, but now spoke up indignantly – “why, you write beautiful!”
“And,” continued Jessie, “your father – my father would never consent to it; for I’m not a suitable choice for you to make.”
“Why, Jessie,” cried the young man, “you talk like a persecuted young lady in a book. What nonsense! Uncle Richard, if he felt sure that I should make you a good husband, would consent. And, as to my step-father – ”
“Now, look here, you two,” said Mrs Shingle, “it’s important that Jessie should get to the warehouse with those things, and you’re stopping idling. It’s late as it is.”
“Come along, then,” cried Tom, seizing the parcel.
“No, no,” cried Jessie, who looked pale, and trembled.
“No, indeed; he must not go with you,” said Mrs Shingle.
“Don’t be cruel, aunt,” said Tom appealingly. “I don’t like Jessie to go by herself.”
“There, then, she’s not going by herself; I’m going with her,” exclaimed Mrs Shingle.
“Then let me go instead.”
“No, no,” cried Jessie, getting agitated; “you must not.”
“You have some reason, Jessie,” said Tom, looking at her suspiciously.
“No, no, Tom. Don’t look at me like that,” she cried.
“Then tell me why,” he said, sternly.
“The man at the warehouse made remarks last time you came,” said Jessie, hesitating.
“I’ll make marks and remarks on him, if he does,” cried Tom. “Aunt,” he continued angrily, “I can’t bear it. It’s not right for Jessie to go alone; and I don’t believe you were going. It makes me half mad to think that she may be
