essly on to the
floor. The cloak-stand was pretty well filled up, and she was in too much
haste, to take the pains needed to find a place on the hooks for her
garments. This was one of her faults. A new impulse had seized her, and
she thought of nothing else. Bounding into her mother's room, she said:

"Mother, will you let me make two shirts for poor Jack Moneypenny?"

Mrs. Carlton looked up from her work, and after a moment's glance at the
eager face of her daughter, asked:

"Who is Jack Moneypenny, my dear?"

Jessie, in her eagerness to carry her point, had forgotten to ask if her
mother knew any thing of the widow, or her son, Jack. This question
checked her ardor a little, and she told the story of the widow's
misfortune. Just as she was finishing her tale, however, she thought of
Guy's wish to keep his part in the affair a secret. So blushing deeply,
she added:

"Oh dear! what will Guy say? I promised to keep it all secret, and now I
have told all about it. He said girls couldn't keep a secret, and I
believe he is right. What shall I do, Mother?"

"Why tell him that you have told me, to be sure. Guy has no secrets with
his mother, and I am sure he does not wish his sister to have any."

"Has Guy told you about it, then?"

"Yes, he told me all his plans from the first. Guy never conceals any
thing from his mother."

"What made you ask me who Jack Moneypenny was, then, Ma, if you knew
before?"

"Only to teach my Jessie, that she ought to be less abrupt in her manners.
You should have stated your case first, and then have asked me your
question."

"So I should, Ma," said Jessie, musing a few moments, and gazing on her
foot, as she traced the outline of the carpet-pattern with it. Then
smiling, she looked up, and added, "but you know, Mamma, it is my way, to
speak first, and think afterwards."

"Not a very wise way, either," said Mrs. Carlton; "but about those shirts,
why do you wish to make them?"

Jessie told her mother about Jack's letter, and what the widow had said.

"Well," replied Mrs. Carlton; "I will give you the cloth, and cut out the
shirts, if you really wish to make them."

"I do, Mother, very much wish to do it. Only think how glad the widow will
be, and how comfortable the shirts will make the poor sick boy, in that
horrid hospital."

"Very true, my dear, but how about your uncle's slippers, and cushion, and
watch-pocket?"

A blush tinged Jessie's cheek again. The little wizard had