Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1912-Jan 1913)

TEE UNWELCOME GUEST 75 "I've come!" she cried eagerly. "I'm awful glad to be here !" But the girls drew back from her outstretched hands, while the boy laughed scornfully. "Suppose you are," he drawled; " 'most anybody's glad to get out of a poorhouse, I calc'late. But say, you aint big enough to do much work — I bet ma will be good and mad when she sees you." Jessie's face flushed crimson and the quick tears sprang to her eyes at this reception, so different from the one she had imagined, but, before she could speak, a shadow fell across the walk, and Mrs. Flint appeared upon the scene, scowling angrily. "Well, of all things," she began, looking at Jessie with accusing eyes, "I thought I was getting a girl to help me. You 're nothing but a child. ' ' " I 'm 'most fourteen, ' ' said poor Jessie, "and I want to help you; I know how to do lots of things — wash dishes — make beds — cook— sweep — " "Well, come on and get about it, then," interrupted Mrs. Flint, sharply, "and dont stand there chattering. I did think Bob would have enough sense to get me a girl big enough to amount to something, but now you are here we'll have to keep you a spell, anyhow. Come on in the kitchen and peel the potatoes. Dinner's an hour late now. Bob's father has come to live with us; he just got here this forenoon, and it's put my work back, bothering with his room and getting his old trunk upstairs. He makes one more to wait on — as if I didn't have enough ! You'll have to step lively and earn your keep, or back you go." In the days that followed, Jessie wished fervently that the threat of sending her back would be fulfilled. She ran hither and thither all day long, subject to the whims of the children, the impatience of Robert Flint, and the nagging tyranny of Mrs. Flint, who never failed to remind her daily that she came from the poorhouse and was likely to be returned at any minute. But the child was far too useful to be spared; her nimble, willing fingers and quick intelligence amply atoned for her small figure, and the burdens that were laid upon her grew heavier daily. It was pitiful to see the slender figure droop, the eager radiance fade from the blue eyes, the glad trustfulness of the sensitive face replaced by a look of sad apprehension. There was only one person who sympathized with Jessie, and tried in many kindly ways to lighten her load. Pa Flint, too, was finding life on his son's farm anything but pleasant. The children were openly unkind and disrespectful to him, ignoring his friendly overtures and scorning his suggestions of bedtime stories or whittled playthings. As he showed a pathetic desire to please his daughterin-law, she responded by assigning tasks far too hard for his feeble strength, and his son never appeared to notice his dragging footsteps or weary face. From the first, he had eaten his meals with Jessie, after the family had finished. "I'd have to arrange the dining-room all over again, to make room for an extra place," Mrs. Flint had said, and the old man had meekly acquiesced, feeling really thankful to escape from the children's rudeness. Jessie was always kind, saving some savory bit for him whenever she could escape Mrs. Flint's sharp eyes, and trying, with childish affection, to make his life easier, and it was natural that the two unhappy ones should grow into a feeling of mutual sympathy and understanding. "If I only had thet money ma hid," the old man sighed, as he sat eating a scanty dinner with Jessie, "I wouldn't stav here a day longer, Ikinjellyeh." "Maybe Obed found it," suggested Jessie, who had heard, over and over again, the tale of the lost treasure. "Not much he aint," declared pa, with conviction. "He'd let me know in a minute ; he's a good boy, Obed is — more like a son ter me than my own fiesh an ' blood is ! " A heavy sigh finished the sentence, and Jessie's hand stole out to touch