The Story of Jessie

The Story of Jessie, by Mabel
Quiller-Couch

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Jessie, by Mabel
Quiller-Couch This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost
and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it
away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Story of Jessie
Author: Mabel Quiller-Couch
Release Date: July 12, 2005 [EBook #16268]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
STORY OF JESSIE ***

Produced by Lionel Sear

THE STORY OF JESSIE.
BY MABEL QUILLER-COUCH.
CONTENTS

Chap.
I A LETTER FOR SUNNYSIDE COTTAGE.
II JESSIE ARRIVES.
III SHOPPING AND TEAING.
IV A GARDEN SUNDAY-SCHOOL.
V HAPPY DAYS.
VI TAKEN BY SURPRISE.
VII THE JOURNEY AND THE ARRIVAL.
VIII THE NEW HOME.
IX MISS PATCH.
X CHARLIE REACHES HOME.
XI TOO LATE.
XII SPRINGBROOK AGAIN.

THE STORY OF JESSIE.
CHAPTER I.
A LETTER FOR SUNNYSIDE COTTAGE.
Thomas Dawson was busy in the kitchen trying to make the kettle boil,
and to get the fire clear that he might do a piece of toast. He had
already tidied up the grate and swept the floor, and as he stood by the
table with the loaf in his hand, about to cut a slice, his eye wandered

down through the dewy, sunny garden, where every tree and bush was
beginning to show a little film of green over its brown branches.
But before he could notice anything in the garden, his attention was
attracted by the sight of Daniel Magor, the postman, standing at the
gate and fumbling with the latch. Thomas dropped the loaf and the
knife, and went out to meet him, leaving the house-door wide open to
the beautiful morning sunshine, which poured in in a wide stream right
across the kitchen, lighting up with golden radiance the flowers in the
window, the old-fashioned photographs on the wall, the china on the
dressers, and the cat lying asleep on the scarlet cushion in the arm-chair
by the fire.
When he saw Thomas coming the postman ceased fumbling with the
latch and waited, holding two letters in his hand.
"Lovely weather, Mr. Dawson. You ain't to work this morning!" he
remarked in a tone of surprise.
Thomas shook his head slowly. "No, my wife is bad, she've been bad
all night with a sick headache. She's better this morning, but I stayed
home to get her some breakfast, and tidy up a bit. When anybody's sick
they don't feel they want to do much."
"You'm right," agreed the postman feelingly. "I gets sick headaches
very bad myself, and when I wakes with one it seems to me I don't care
whether folk gets their letters or not. I am glad I didn't feel like that this
morning, Mr. Dawson, for it's good to be alive on such a day, and I've
got two letters for you."
"Both of 'em for me!" said Thomas in surprise, and holding out his
hand to take them. "I don't think I've had two to once in my life
before."
The postman laughed. "If folks didn't get more than you do we postmen
would soon be out of a job, I reckon!" But Thomas was gazing at his
letters with such a perplexed, preoccupied air, that he did not reply, and
Daniel, with a long, inquiring look at him, said "Good-morning," and

went on his way.
"One is the seed-list," muttered Thomas to himself, as he retraced his
steps through the garden under the budding May-trees, "but it passes
my understanding to know who can have sent the other. It--it can't be
from--from her," he added, with sudden thought, speaking as though it
pained him even to put such a thought into words.
The old cat, hearing his footsteps on the path, roused herself and went
out to meet him, but for once he paid no heed to her, and passing into
the house sat himself down in the chair by the window, while he still
gazed with troubled eyes at the outside of the envelope, and the blurred
post-mark which told him nothing. Moments passed before he could
summon up courage to open it, for in his heart he felt almost certain
who the writer was, and he dreaded to read what might be written; and
when at last he did make up his mind, his hand trembled so as he tore
open the envelope, that his misty eyes could scarcely make out what
was written, or take in the meaning.
"Dear Father and Mother "--for seconds he was unable to read beyond
that beginning, so strange yet familiar it seemed after all these years of
silence--"I hope you will not refuse