"Mamma won't go without bidding us good-bye!" exclaimed Jessy, starting up from her seat and running to the window with her doll in her arms. She clambered up on the chair beside her brother, and flattening her nose against the pane, glanced down as eagerly as Tom at the departure. "She will go without bidding us good-bye, she's in the carriage, she'll soon be off!" And Tom stamped so violently with his shoeless foot on the chair, that he almost pushed off his sister. The boy was only half-dressed, for he had lately escaped from his bed; he had neither jacket on his back, nor shoes on his feet; his hair was a wild mop round a face which looked as red as scarlet, but quite as much from passion as from fever. "She's cruel, she's very, very unkind!" cried Jessy. "Betsy told us quite true, she doesn't care for us, not one pin, 'cause she is not our own mamma!" The last nursery-maid had done great wrong both to her mistress and the children by trying to make the latter think that their stepmother did not love them as if they were her own. More from folly than from a wish to do mischief, Betsy had been sowing evil in the minds of those committed to her care. "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God." * But oh! How unblessed must they be who help to destroy peace in families, whose tongues, like Satan's own darts, kindle malice, distrust, and jealousy in the hearts of those around them! Well had it been for the little Fairleys that Betsy had been dismissed from her place. * Matthew v. 9. "Mamma is looking up at the window, she is kissing her hand!" cried Tom. "But I won't kiss my hand to her," he sulkily added. "Why does she go and leave us! There—she's driving away—away to the station!" The boy jumped down from the chair, and flung himself on his chest on the carpet, kicking with passion. He could not bear to watch the carriage disappearing behind the trees. "I'll never, never again believe that mamma loves me!" exclaimed Jessy, bursting into tears as she got down more slowly. "Oh I never say that, Miss Jessy!" cried the mild voice of Susan, who had just entered the room. She was a bright, cheerful-looking girl of sixteen, very neatly dressed, with hair smooth as satin beneath her simple little white cap. "I'll say what I choose," sobbed Jessy; "it was very unkind to go without us, and never even to come to bid us good-bye." "Mistress is as much vexed as you are about it," said Susan. "Yes, indeed," she continued, without appearing to notice a volley of angry kicks on the floor, by which Tom expressed his utter disbelief, "mistress dared not come near you after the doctor had told her what was the matter with you both, lest she should carry infection to the baby." "She cares for no one but the baby!" growled Tom. "It's unfair, it's horridly unfair."