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Essentials of Management Information Systems
KENNETH C. LAUDON AND JANE P. LAUDON
Essentials of Management Information Systems
KENNETH C. LAUDON AND JANE P. LAUDON
continued
Systems
Systems
CHAPTER 6 TELECOMMUNICATIONS, THE INTERNET, AND WIRELESS TECHNOLOGY
CASE 2 Virtual Collaboration for Lotus Sametime
VIDEO
CASE
TAGS Unified communications; collaboration; virtual; IBM; Lotus Sametime.
SUMMARY Lotus Sametime is an IBM virtual collaboration environment which is used by firms as a
part of their enterprise systems. The objective of these systems is to increase collaboration
among remote or mobile work teams while not increasing travel costs and meeting costs.
Using video, audio, and interactive software, Lotus Sametime allows groups of people to
meet electronically even though they are geographically separated. L=3:33.
URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJJWx552lFE
continued
CASE Lotus Sametime is IBM’s telepresence and collaboration environment. Sametime is a part of
the IBM/Lotus product offering. It is widely used in large Fortune 500 firms. IBM describes
the main features of Sametime as:
●
● Presence-awareness—when online, your location and contact information,
are available to all your contacts—whether you are at your desk, in your
home office, or in transit using a mobile phone.
●
● Security-rich, enterprise-scale instant messaging

Chapter 6 Case 2 Virtual Collaboration for Lotus Sametime 2
●
● Online meetings with integrated voice (VoIP) and high-quality desktop video
●
● Out-of-the-box integration with IBM Lotus, IBM WebSphere and Microsoft
products
●
● Open application programming interfaces (APIs) and an extensible client.
Benefits
IBM claims the following benefits for Lotus Sametime:
●
● Answer business questions quickly: Spend less time trying to find people who
can answer questions and more time being productive.
●
● Speed business processes: Reduce the time to complete a business process.
●
● Cut travel, conferencing and communication costs: See who is available
right now and let the software find them. Use online meetings, Voice over IP
(VoIP) and more. Organizations can reduce travel expenses, lower audio- and
Web-conferencing service expenses, and dramatically reduce telephony
expenses. These cost savings are large enough that Sametime unified
communications (UC) implementations typically pay for themselves in under
a year.
●
● Enable dispersed teams to collaborate: Speed project completion for teams in
different locations, countries, and time zones. Include mobile employees.
●
● Hire and keep the best talent: Evolve a more collaborative culture across
teams—around the world or in the same building. Provide better employee
work-life balance by extending the ability to work virtually anywhere while
ensuring effective management and working environment.
●
● Make it easy for people to access UC functions from their desktop apps:
See—right within applications—who is available for collaboration and then
communicate in a single click.
●
● Provide people choice and flexibility in collaboration to get the job done:
Move seamlessly—via a unified user interface—among text chats, voice
and video calls, and online meetings—whatever best fits the situation. With
Sametime software, quick text chats can answer simple questions outright
or can be escalated to multiway voice or video chats or an online meeting.
Tightly integrated tools in Sametime software make it easy to switch
communications and collaboration methods as your conversation evolves.
●
● Unify and extend your communications environment: Gain integrated voice,
computer and telephony. Use Sametime software’s integrated voice over IP
(VoIP) and high-quality desktop video capabilities—or use third-party plug-
continued

continued
ins—to integrate with your existing systems. Use optional onenumber phone
service, softphone and intelligent call management capabilities through an
existing telephony infrastructure.
●
● Protect your investments in applications, voice and video: Leverage your
current communications and application environment rather than ripping
and replacing it. Sametime software supports and integrates with multiple
client and server operating systems, e-mail platforms, directories, telephony,
audio conferencing and video conferencing systems. (IBM, Online meetings
with Lotus Sametime software, 2010)
One of the major attractions of Sametime is its use as a collaboration tool. Sametime
online meetings (Web conferencing) allow rich collaboration with team members
around the world—inside or outside the enterprise. There are many potential
benefits from using online meetings to share documents, applications and screens.
Projects can be completed more quickly when teams don’t have to wait for
e-mail exchanges or travel to face-to-face meetings. High-quality audio and video
capabilities can enhance the collaborative experience, providing context through
subtle signals such as body language that would otherwise be missing from a basic
Web conference. Organizations can spend less on travel. Lower telephony and audio
conferencing expenses. And reduce or eliminate expensive recurring fees for hosted
web conferencing services.
Virtual Sametime: Avatar Collaborators
In 2009 IBM introduced its virtual version of Sametime. The original (and still
available) version of Sametime operates in a standard Windows menu environment.
Users can arrange for and plan meetings, invite participants, conduct meetings, take
polls, and product documents. The virtual edition described in the case video adds
an “immersive environment” where users select avatars to play their roles.
Supplementing the basic edition with a virtual environment offers many potential
benefits: more friendly user-interface, ease of use, and the attraction of a
contemporary game-like environment, not to mention the popularity of the James
Cameron movie “Avatar.” Briefly, avatars are popular and fascinating. Whether or not
they contribute to better collaboration in firms is something you will have to decide.
Sources: IBM.com.

1. Based on the video and text of the case, list and briefly describe five areas where either
version of Sametime may increase employee productivity. What do you think will
produce the greatest increase in employee productivity?
2. How does Lotus Sametime support collaboration? What are the additional benefits of
the virtual environment?
3. The case mentions “presence awareness.” What is presence awareness and of what use is
it?
4. What types of communication are integrated within Sametime’s digital environment?
What type of communication is missing? Does it make a difference?
5. Do you think that “virtual collaboration” using avatars is more or less effective than
traditional methods of collaboration (which include face-to-face, traveling to meetings,
telephone conference calls, email, and instant messaging)?
VIDEO CASE
QUESTIONS
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Copyright © 2012, 2013 Kenneth Laudon. Copyright © 2012, 2013 Pearson Education.
This work is protected by United States copyright laws and is provided solely for the use of instructors
in teaching their courses and assessing student learning. Dissemination or sale of any part of this work
(including on the World Wide Web) will destroy the integrity of the work and is not permitted. The work
and materials from this site should never be made available to students except by instructors using the
accompanying text in their classes. All recipients of this work are expected to abide by these restrictions and
to honor the intended pedagogical purposes and the needs of other instructors who rely on these materials.
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for the presentation. My mother found the opportunity. With great
glee she informed me that she had found out uncle Bryan's birthday,
and that the presentation should take the form of a birthday gift. 'It
will be an unexpected surprise to him, my dear,' she said, 'and we
will say nothing about it beforehand.' On a fine morning in August I
rose as usual at half-past five, and made my breakfast in the
kitchen; I slept now in the little back-room on a line with the shop
and parlour. Eight o'clock was the hour for commencing work, and I
generally had a couple of hours' delightful reading in the kitchen
before I started. Sometimes, however, when we were busy, I was
directed to be at the office an hour or so earlier, and on this morning
I was due at seven o'clock. I always wished my mother good-bye
before I went to work. Treading very softly, so as not to disturb
uncle Bryan, and with my dinner and tea under my arm--invariably
prepared the last thing at night, and packed in a handkerchief by my
mother's careful hands--I crept upstairs to her room. She called me
in, and I sat by her bedside, chatting for a few minutes. This was
the anniversary of uncle Bryan's birthday, and our purchases were to
be made in the evening.
'I must be off, mother,' I said, starting up; 'I shall have to run for
it.'
'Good-morning, dear child,' she said; 'I shall come for you exactly
at eight o'clock.'
I kissed her, and ran off to work. My mother was punctual in the
evening, and we set off at once on a pilgrimage to tobacconists'
windows. Any person observing us as we stood at the windows,
debating on the shape of this pipe and the pattern of that tobacco-
jar, would at once have recognised the importance of our
proceedings. At length, after much anxious deliberation, our
purchases were made, and we walked home to Paradise-row. My
mother had suggested that I should present uncle Bryan with the
birthday gifts, and in a vainful moment I had consented, and had
mentally rehearsed a fine little speech, which I prided myself was

perfect in its way. But, as is usual with the amateur, and sometimes
with the over-confident, on such occasions, my fine little speech flew
clean out of my head when the critical moment arrived, and resolved
itself into about a dozen stammering and perfectly incomprehensible
words. Covered with confusion, I pushed the pipe and tobacco-
pouch towards uncle Bryan in a most ungraceful manner. My mother
saw my difficulty.
'We have brought you a little birthday present, Bryan,' she said,
'with our love.'
He made a grimace at the last three words, and I thought at first
that he was about to sweep the things from him; but if he had any
such intention, he relinquished it.
'How did you know it was my birthday?'
'I found it out.'
'How?'
'Oh,' replied my mother, with a coquettish movement of her head,
which delighted me, but did not find favour with uncle Bryan, 'little
birds come down the chimney to tell me things.'
'Psha!' he muttered impatiently.
'Or perhaps I put this and that together, and found it out that
way. You can't hide anything from a woman, you know.'
Her gay manner met with no sympathetic response from uncle
Bryan. On the contrary, he gazed at her for a moment almost
suspiciously, but the look softened in the clear light of my mother's
eyes. Then, in a careless, ungracious manner, he thanked us for the
present. I was hurt and indignant, and I told my mother a few
minutes afterwards, when we were together in the kitchen, that I
was sorry we had taken any notice of uncle Bryan's birthday.

'He would have been much better pleased if we hadn't mentioned
it,' I said.
'No, my dear,' said my mother, 'you are not quite right. Your uncle
will grow very fond of that pipe by and by.'
My mother always won me over to her way of thinking, and I
thought the failure might be due to the bungling manner in which I
had presented the birthday offerings. I walked about the kitchen,
and spoke to myself the speech I had intended to make, with the
most beautiful effect. It was a masterpiece of elegant phrasing, and
every sentence was beautifully rounded, and came trippingly off the
tongue. Of course I was much annoyed that the opportunity of
impressing uncle Bryan with my eloquence was lost. When we
reëntered the room, uncle Bryan's head was resting on his hand,
and there was an expression of weariness in his face, which had
grown pale and sad during our brief absence. My mother's keen eyes
instantly detected the change.
'You are not well, Bryan,' she said, in a concerned tone, stepping
to his side.
'There are two things that disagree with me, Emma,' he replied,
with a grim and unsuccessful attempt at humour; 'my own medicine
is one, memory is another. I've been taking a dose of each. There,
don't bother me. I have a slight headache, that's all.'
But although he tried to turn it off thus lightly, he was certainly
far from well; for he asked my mother to attend to the shop, and
leaning back in his chair, threw a handkerchief over his face, and fell
asleep. My mother and I talked in whispers, so as not to disturb him.
Uncle Bryan was not a supporter of the early-closing movement, for
he kept his shop open until eleven o'clock every night. Very dismal it
must have looked from the outside in the long winter nights, lighted
up by only one tallow candle; but it had always a home appearance
for me, from the first day I entered it. The shop-door which led into

the street was closed, and so was the door of the parlour in which
we were sitting. The upper half of this door was glass, to enable us
to see into the shop. My mother's hearing was generally very acute,
and the slightest tap on the counter was sufficient to arouse her
attention; but the tapping was seldom needed, for the shop-door,
having a complaining creak in its hinges, never failed to announce
the entrance of a customer. On this night, customers were like
angels' visits, few and far between. It was nearly ten o'clock; uncle
Bryan was still sleeping; my mother, whose hands were never idle,
was working as usual; I was reading a volume of Chambers's Traits
for the People, from which many a young mind has received healthy
nourishment. I was deep in the touching story of 'Picciola, or the
Prison Flower,' when an amazing incident occurred--heralded by a
tap at the parlour-door.
Whoever it was that knocked must not only have opened the
street-door, but must have silenced its watch-dog creak (by bribery,
perhaps); or else my mother's hearing must have played her very
false. Again, it was necessary to lift the ledge of the counter and
creep under it, before the parlour-door could be reached.
My mother started to her feet; and opened the door. A young girl,
with bonnet and cloak on, stood before us. I thought immediately of
the fairy in the cotton-print dress; but no, it was not she who had
thus mysteriously appeared. The girl looked at us in silence.
'You should have tapped on the counter, my dear,' said my
mother.
'What for?' was the answer, in the most musical voice I had ever
heard. 'I don't want to buy anything.'
This was a puzzling rejoinder. If she did not want to buy anything,
why was she here?
'This is Mr. Carey's? asked the girl.

'Yes, my dear.'
'Who are you?'
Now this was so manifestly a question which should have come
from us, and not from her, that I gazed at her in some wonder, and
at the same time in admiration, for her manner was very winning.
She returned my gaze frankly, and seemed to be pleased with my
look of admiration. Certainly a perfectly self-possessed little creature
in every respect. Uncle Bryan still slept.
'Who are you?' repeated our visitor, to my mother.
'My name is Carey,' said my mother.
'Oh, indeed!' exclaimed the girl. 'That is nice. And who is he?'
indicating uncle Bryan.
'That is my brother-in-law, Bryan.'
'Mr. Bryan Carey. I've come to see him.' And she made a
movement towards him. My mother's hand restrained her.
'Hush, my dear! You must not disturb him.'
'Oh, I am not in a hurry. But I think you ought to help me in with
my box.' This to me. 'If I was a man, I wouldn't ask you.'
Her box! Deeper and deeper the mystery grew. When the girl
thus directly addressed me, my heart beat with a feeling of intense
pleasure. Hitherto I had been mortified that she had evinced no
interest in me.
'Come along!' she exclaimed imperiously.
I followed her to the door, like a slave, and there was her box,
almost similar in appearance to the box we had brought with us. It
was altogether such an astounding experience, and so entirely an

innovation upon the regular routine of our days, that I rubbed my
eyes to be sure that I was awake. My mother had closed the door of
the room in which uncle Bryan was sleeping, and now stood by my
side. I stooped to lift the box, and found it heavy.
'What is in it?' I asked.
'Books and things,' our visitor replied. 'I'll help you. Oh, I'm
strong, though I am a girl! I wish I was you.'
'Why?'
'Then I should be a boy. There! You see I am almost as strong as
you are.'
The box was in the shop by this time. My mother was perfectly
bewildered, as I myself was; but mine was a delightful bewilderment
The adventure was so new, so novel, so like an adventure, that I
was filled with excitement.
'How did the box come here?' I asked.
'Walked here, of course,' she said somewhat scornfully.
'Nonsense!' I exclaimed; although if she had persisted in her
statement, I was quite ready to believe it, as I would have believed
anything from her lips.
'Oh, you don't believe in things!'
'Yes, I do; but I don't believe that thing. How did it come?'
'A boy carried it. A strong boy--not like you. Isn't that candied
lemon-peel in the glass bottle?'
'Yes.'
'I should like some. I'm very fond of sweet things.'

Quite as though the little girl were mistress of the establishment,
my mother went behind the counter, and cut a slice of the lemon-
peel.
'What a small piece!' exclaimed the girl, sitting on the box, and
biting it. 'I could put it all in my mouth at once; but I like to linger
over nice things.'
And she did linger over it, while we looked on. When she had
finished, she said:
'I suppose I am to sit here till he wakes.'
'No, my dear,' said my mother, who had been regarding her
childlike ways with tenderness; 'you had better come inside. It will
be more comfortable. But, indeed, indeed, you have bewildered me!'
The girl laughed, soft and low, and my mother's heart went out to
her. The next minute we were in the parlour again. My mother
motioned that she would have to be very quiet, and pointed to a
seat. Before our visitor sat down, she took off her bonnet and
mantle, and laid them aside. The presence of this slight graceful
creature was like a new revelation to me; the common room became
idealised by a subtle charm. But how was it all to end? An hour ago
she was not here; and I wondered how we could have been happy
and contented without her. She was exceedingly pretty, and her face
was full of expression. That, indeed, was one of her strongest
charms. When she spoke, it was not only her tongue that spoke. Her
eyes, her hands, the movements of her head, put life and soul into
her words, and made them sparkle. Her hair was cut short, and just
touched her shoulders; its colour was a light auburn. Her hands
were small and white; I noticed them particularly as she took from
the table the book I had been reading.
Are you fond of reading?' she asked, in a low tone.

'Yes,' I answered. It really seemed to me as if I had known her for
years. 'Are you?'
'I love it. I like to read in bed. Then I don't care for anything.'
Soon she was skimming through 'Picciola;' but looking up she
noticed that my mother's eyes were fixed admiringly upon her. She
laid the book aside and approached my mother, so that her words
might not be lost.
'It makes it strong to cut it, does it not?' was the first question.
'Makes what strong?' My mother did not know to what it was our
visitor referred. I made a shrewd guess, mentally, and discovered
that I was right.
'The hair. To cut it when one is young, as mine is cut, makes it
strong?'
'Yes, my dear. It will be all the better for being cut.'
'Why do you call me your dear?'
My mother replied gently, with a slight hesitancy: 'I won't, if you
don't like me to.'
'Oh, but I like it! And it sounds nice from you. It will be all the
better for being cut! That's what I think. It was nearly down to my
waist. Do you like it?'
'It is very pretty.'
'And soft, is it not? Feel it. When I was a little child, it was much
lighter--almost like gold. I used to be glad to hear people say, "What
beautiful hair that child has got!"'
'It will get darker as you grow older.'

'I don't want it to. I'll sit in the sun as much as ever I can, so that
it sha'n't grow darker.'
'Why, my----'
'Dear. Say it, please!'
'My dear, have you been told that that is the way to keep hair
light?'
'No, but I think it is. It must be the best way.' This with a positive
air, as if contradiction were out of the question.
'If you are so fond of your hair, what made you say just now that
you wished you were a boy?'
'Because I do wish it. I think it is a shame. Persons ought to have
their choice before they're born, whether they would be boys or
girls.'
'My dear!'
'Yes, they ought to have, and you can't help agreeing with me.
Then I should have been a boy, and things would have been
different. All that I should have wanted would have been to grow tall
and strong. Men have no business to be little. But as I am a girl, I
must grow as pretty as I can.'
And she smoothed her hair from her forehead with her small
white hands, and looked at us and smiled with her eyes and her lips.
All this was done with such an utter absence of conscious vanity that
it deepened my admiration of her, and I was ready to take sides with
her against the world in any proposition she might choose to lay
down. That she saw this expressed in my face, and that she, in an
easy graceful way, received the homage I paid her, as being
naturally her due, and did her best--again without conscious artifice-
-to strengthen it, were as plainly conveyed by her demeanour

towards me as though she had expressed it in so many words. It
struck me as strange that my mother did not ask her any questions
concerning herself, not even her name, nor where she lived, nor
what was her errand; and although all of these questions, and
especially the first, were on the tip of my tongue a dozen times, I
did not have the courage to shape them in words. My mother not
saying anything more to her, she turned towards me.
'Are you generally rude to girls--I mean to young ladies?'
'No,' I protested warmly, ransacking my mind for the clue.
'You were to me just now. You said that I spoke nonsense.'
'I am very sorry,' I stammered; I beg your pardon; but when you
said your box walked here----'
'You shouldn't have asked foolish questions. Never mind; we are
friends again.' She gave me her hand, quite as though we had had a
serious quarrel, which was now made up. Then she nestled a little
closer to me, and proceeded with 'Picciola.'
Nothing further was said until the scene assumed another aspect.
I was looking over the pages of the story with her, when, raising my
eyes, I saw that uncle Bryan was awake. His eyes were fixed on the
girl, with a sort of bewilderment on his face as to whether he was
asleep or awake. He looked neither at my mother nor me, but only
at the girl. Her head was bent over the book, and he could not see
her face. I plucked her dress furtively under the table, and she
looked up, and met my uncle's gaze. Then I noticed his usual sign of
agitation, the twitching of his lips.
'What is this, Emma? he demanded, presently, of my mother.
My mother had been waiting for him to speak. 'This young----'

'Lady,' added the girl quickly, as my mother slightly hesitated, and
rising with great composure. 'Say it. I like to hear it. This young
lady----'
Completely dominated by the girl's gentle imperiousness, my
mother said, 'This young lady has come to see you.'
He glanced at her uncovered head; then at her bonnet and
mantle. A flush came into her cheeks, and she exclaimed,
'Oh, I don't want to stop, if you're not agreeable. I only like
agreeable people. But if you turn me out to-night I don't exactly
know where to go to; and there's my box----'
'Your box!'
'Yes, with all my things in. It's in the shop. You can go and see if
you don't believe me. But if you do go, I sha'n't like you. You have
no right to doubt my word.'
Her eyes filled with tears, and these and the words of
helplessness she had spoken were sufficient for my mother. She
drew the girl to her side with a protecting motion.
'Are you a stranger about here, my dear?'
'I don't know anything of the place,' replied the girl, in a more
childlike tone than she had yet used. 'I have no idea where I am--
except that this is Paradise-row. I shouldn't like to wander about the
streets at this time of night.'
'There is no need, my dear, there is no need. There, there! don't
cry.'
'But of course,' continued the girl, striving to restrain the
quivering of her lips, 'I would sooner do that than stop where I am
not wanted.' She would have said more, but I saw that she was

fearful of breaking down, and thus showing signs of weakness. I
looked somewhat angrily towards uncle Bryan; my mother's arm was
still around the girl's waist. With a quick comprehension he seized all
the points of sentiment in the picture.
'Ah,' he growled, this is more like a leaf out of a story-book than
anything else. You'--to the girl--'are injured innocence; you'--to my
mother--'are the good genius of the oppressed; and I am the dragon
whom St. George here'--meaning me--'would like to spit on his
lance.'
'I am sure, Bryan--' commenced my mother, in a tone of mild
remonstrance; but uncle Bryan interrupted her.
'Don't be sure of anything, Emma. Let me understand matters
first. How long have I been asleep--days, weeks, or years?'
'Nearly two hours, Bryan.'
'So long! There was a man once who, at the bidding of a
magician, but dipped his head into a bucket of water----' he paused
moodily.
'Yes, yes!' exclaimed the girl eagerly, advancing a step towards
him, with a desire to propitiate him. 'Go on. Tell me about him. I'm
fond of stories about magicians.'
He stared at her. 'Injured innocence,' he said, 'speak when you're
spoken to.' She tossed her head, and retreated, and uncle Bryan
again questioned my mother. 'How long has this little----'
'Young lady,' interposed the girl, with rather a comical assertion of
independence.
--'This little girl--how long has she been here?'
'About an hour, Bryan.'

'Long enough, I see, to make herself quite at home.' He seemed
to be at a loss for words, and sat drumming his fingers on the table,
moving his lips as if he were holding converse with them, and with
his eyes turned from us.
In the silence that ensued, the girl stole towards him. My
mother's footstool was near his chair, and she sat upon it, and
resting her hand timidly on his knee, said, in a sweet pleading voice,
'I wish you would be kind to me.'
Her face was upturned to his. He looked down upon it, and
placing his hands on her shoulders, said in a tone which was both
low and bitter, which was harsh from passion and tender from a
softer emotion which he could not control,
'For God's sake, child, tell me who you are! What is your name?'
'My name is Jessie Trim.'
CHAPTER XIII.
A SUDDEN SHOCK.
'Emma,' said my uncle, 'can you find something to do for a few
minutes? Chris can shut up the shop.'
We went out of the parlour together, and I put up the shutters,
and bolted them. Then my mother and I went downstairs to the
kitchen, and my mother set light to the fire, and warmed up what

remained of the day's dinner. Our usual supper was bread-and-
cheese.
'She must be hungry,' said my mother, and I think it will please
your uncle.'
'I am glad she is going to stay, mother. Do you think she will stop
altogether with us?'
'I have no idea, child.'
'Jessie Trim! It's a pretty name, isn't it? Jessie, Jessie! Mother,
why didn't you ask her her name when she came in?'
'She came to see your uncle, Chris. We must never forget one
thing, my dear. This is his house, and he has been very kind to us.'
'He would be angry if he heard you say so.'
'That is his nature, and I should not say it to him. The least we
can do in return for all his goodness is to study him in every possible
way in our power. To have asked her all about herself might have
been like stealing into his confidence. He may have secrets which he
would not wish us to know.'
'Secrets! Do you think she is one of them?'
'How can she be? But let you and me make up our minds, my
dear--I made up mine a long time ago, Chris--not to be too curious
concerning anything your uncle does. If he wished us to know
anything, he would tell us of his own free will.'
'I don't suppose he has anything to tell,' I said, with not the
slightest belief in my own words.
'Perhaps not. Anyhow, we'll not say anything--eh, Chris?'
'Very well, mother. She is very pretty, isn't she?'

'Very, very pretty.'
'Such beautiful hair--and such white hands!'
I was proceeding with my raptures, when my mother tapped my
cheek merrily, which brought the blood into my face strangely
enough. 'At all events,' I said, I hope she will stay with us always.'
'You stupid Chris! What has got into your head? I really don't
suppose she will stay very long.'
'But she has brought her box--and--and--'
My mother suddenly assumed a look of perplexity. 'Really, really
now,' she said, sitting down, and holding me in front of her, 'I know
every mark upon you. You have got a brown mole on your left side,
and a little red spot like a currant on the back of your neck, and
another one just here----' and then she paused.
'Well, mother?'
'Well, Chris, I really cannot remember that I have ever seen a
note of interrogation anywhere about you. Have you got one, my
dear? And where is it?'
'But, mother,' I said, laughing, and kissing her, 'I must be
inquisitive and I must ask questions.'
'Only of me, dear child.'
'Well, then, only of you. Now wouldn't you grow quite fond of
her?'
'I am sure I should, dear.'
'Well, wouldn't it be too bad, directly you got fond of her, for her
to go away? Now wouldn't it?'

'But life is full of changes, my dear!'
'That's not an answer, mother. You're fond of me;'--an endearing
caress answered me--'very, very fond, I know, and I am of you.
Now, supposing I was to go away!'
'Child, child!' cried my mother, kneeling suddenly before me and
clasping me in her arms. If I were to lose you, my heart would
break!'
I was frightened at the vehement passion of her words, and at
the white face upon which my eyes rested; but she grew more
composed presently. Then the voice of uncle Bryan was heard at the
top of the stairs, calling to us to come up.
'What can we do with our visitor to-night, Emma?' he said, thus
indicating that matters had been arranged during our absence.
'She can sleep with me. You won't mind, my dear?'
'I shall like to,' replied Jessie. He's ever so much nicer than he
was, although I can't say that he's at all polite.' This referred to
uncle Bryan, who made a grimace. 'I couldn't help coming.'
'The least said,' observed uncle Bryan, with all his usual manner
upon him, 'the soonest mended, young lady.'
She pursed up her lips: Young lady! That was all very well when
we were distant. You may call me something else now, if you like.'
'Indeed! Well, then, Miss Trim.'
She laughed saucily. How funny it sounds as you say it! Miss Trim!
I think we are quite intimate enough for you to call me Jessie.'
'You think!' retorted uncle Bryan, with some sense of enjoyment.
'You are given to thinking, I have no doubt.'

'Oh, yes; I think a good deal.'
'Upon my word What about?'
'All sorts of things that wouldn't interest you.'
I quite believe you, young lady.'
'Oh, if you like to call me that,' she said, with a shrug of her
shoulders, you can. 'But I think it's a pity when people try to make
themselves more disagreeable than they naturally are.'
For the life of him, uncle Bryan could not help laughing. This little
play of words was to him what the world is always looking out for
nowadays--a new sensation.
'Then I am naturally disagreeable, you think?'
She did not reply.
'What else do you think about me?'
'I think it must be uncomfortable for the others for you to go to
sleep every night, with a handkerchief over your face.'
'If I had known you were coming----' he said, with mock
politeness; but she interrupted him with wonderful quickness.
'Don't say unkind things. I feel when they are coming; my flesh
begins to creep.'
'Do you think anything else about me?'
'Yes; I think you might give me some supper. You can't know how
hungry I am; and I have always a good appetite.'
My mother was so intent upon this unusual dialogue, and was
probably so lost in wonder (as I myself was) at the appearance of

uncle Bryan in a new character, that she had entirely forgotten the
supper; but at Jessie Trim's mention of it she ran downstairs, and it
was soon on the table.
'Ah,' exclaimed Jessie, with approving nods; 'that smells nice.'
Uncle Bryan stared at the unexpected fare.
'You see what it is to be a young lady,' he said; hitherto we have
always been contented with bread-and-cheese.'
'This is much nicer,' said Jessie, beginning to eat; 'are you not
going to have some?'
'No. Give me some bread-and-cheese, Emma.'
The girl was too much occupied with her supper to bandy words
with him; she ate heartily, and when she had finished, asked uncle
Bryan if he did not feel in a better humour.
'I always do,' she remarked, 'after meals. There is only one thing I
want now to make me feel quite amiable.'
'Then,' said uncle Bryan sententiously, 'all the trouble in the world
would come to an end.'
She nodded acquiescently.
'And that one thing is----' he questioned.
'Something I sha'n't get. I see it in your face; it is really too much
to ask for.'
'To put an end to all the trouble in the world, I would make a
sacrifice.'
'No,' she said, shaking her head, I really haven't courage to ask.'

'What is it?' demanded uncle Bryan impatiently.
Then ensued a perfect piece of comedy-acting on the part of
Jessie Trim; who, when she had worked uncle Bryan almost into a
passion, made the prettiest of curtseys, and said that the only thing
she wanted to make her feel quite amiable was a piece of candied
lemon-peel.
'I always,' she added, with the oddest little twinkle in her eyes,
'like something sweet to finish my meals with.'
The expression on uncle Bryan's face was so singular that I did
not know if he was going to laugh or storm. But Jessie got her piece
of candied lemon-peel, and chewed it with great contentment, and
with many sly looks at uncle Bryan.
'Now, then,' he cried, 'it is time to go to bed.'
'It isn't healthy,' observed Jessie, who seemed determined to
upset all the rules of the house, 'to go to bed the moment after one
has eaten a heavy supper.' She spoke with perfect gravity, and with
the serious authority of a grown-up woman.
'Then we are to sit up after our time because you have over-eaten
yourself.'
'I have not over-eaten myself: I have had just enough. I wish you
wouldn't say disagreeable things; you would find it much nicer not
to. If you think I am not right in what I say about going to bed
immediately after supper, of course I will go. You are much older
than I, and ought to be much wiser.'
'But I think you are right,' he growled.
'Why do you make yourself disagreeable then?' she asked, sitting
down on the stool at his feet.

Not a word was spoken for half an hour; at the end of which time
our visitor rose, just as if she were the mistress of the house, and
remarked that now she did think it time we were all in bed.
'Good-night,' she said, giving him her hand; 'I hope I haven't
vexed you.' She held up her face to him to be kissed, but he did not
avail himself of the invitation, and retired to his room.
'He is a very strange man,' she said to us, and I don't quite know
whether I like him or whether I don't. Good-night, Chris.'
'Good-night, Jessie.'
My mind was full of her and her quaint ways as I undressed
myself, and I found myself unconsciously repeating, 'Good-night,
Jessie! Jessie! Jessie!' Her name was to me the sweetest of morsels.
'I am glad she has come,' I thought; 'I hope she will stop.' I had not
been in my room two minutes before I heard her knocking at the
door of the room in which uncle Bryan slept. I crept to the wall to
listen.
'Do you hear me?' she said. 'You can't be asleep already.'
But no response came from uncle Bryan.
'Do answer me!' she continued. 'If you think I have been rude to
you, I am very sorry. I shall catch my death of cold if I stand here
long. Say, good-night, Jessie!'
'Good-night.'
'Jessie!' she called out archly.
'Good-night, Jessie. Now go to bed, like a good--little girl.'
And then the house was quiet, and I fell asleep, and dreamt the
strangest and sweetest dreams about our new friend.

The following morning when I rose I moved about very quietly,
and I debated with myself whether I ought to bid my mother good-
morning as usual. I stole softly upstairs, and put my ear to the door.
'Good-morning, mother.'
I almost whispered the words, but the reply came instantly, in
clear sweet tones,
'Good-morning, dear child.'
She must have been listening for my step.
Is that you, Chris?' inquired a voice which, if I had not known the
speaker, I should have imagined had proceeded from a little child.
'Yes, Jessie,' I answered, with a thrill of delight.
'Where are you going?'
'I am going to work.'
'Good-morning.'
'Good-morning.'
I had never been so happy in my work as I was during this day,
and yet I wanted the hours to fly so that I might be home again.
When eight o'clock struck, I whipped off my apron eagerly, and ran
out of the office. My mother was at the gate.
'I didn't expect you, mother.'
'No, dear child. I wished to leave your uncle and Jessie together
for a little while. She wanted to come with me, but I thought it best
to leave her at home. Shall we take a walk, my dear?'
'Yes, but not a long one. Mother, who is she?'

'I do not know, my dear; and your uncle hasn't said a word--
neither has she.'
'Not a word! Why, mother, she couldn't keep quiet!'
'I don't think she could, dear,' said my mother, with a smile. 'I
mean not a word as to who she is. I think she gave your uncle a
letter, for he has been writing to-day with one before him; but I am
not sure.'
'I have been thinking about her all day, and I can't make her out.
Anyhow, I hope she will stop with us. The house is quite different
with her in it. Don't you think so? She is as light-hearted and as
sparkling as a--a sunbeam.' I thought it a very happy simile. 'She
couldn't be anything else.'
'My dear,' said my mother gravely, she was sobbing in her sleep
last night as if her heart would break.' I looked so grieved at this
that my mother quickly added, But she has been talking to your
uncle to-day just as she did last night. She is like an April day; but
then she is quite a child.'
'A child! Why, mother, she must be--how old should you think?'
'About fifteen, I should say, Chris.'
'So how can she be quite a child? And she doesn't talk like a
child.'
'She does and she doesn't, my dear. I shouldn't wonder,' she said,
with her sweet laugh, that because you are nearly eighteen, you
think yourself quite a man.'
'I am growing, mother, am I not?' And I straightened myself stiffly
up. Why, I am taller than you!'
'You will be as tall as your father was, my dear.'

'I am glad of that. She said men had no business to be little.'
'She said!' repeated my mother, laughing; and she tapped my
cheek merrily, as she had done on the previous night, and again I
blushed. Jessie ran into the shop to welcome us when we arrived
home.
The evening passed very happily with me, Jessie entertaining us
with her light talk. Her marvellous ingenuity, in twisting a few simple
words so as to make them bear sparkling meanings, afforded me
endless enjoyment. Uncle Bryan said very little, and notwithstanding
the many challenges she slyly threw out to him, declined to be
drawn into battle; but now and then she provoked him to answer
her. He needed all his skill to hold his own against her, and he spoke
rather roughly to her once or twice. On those occasions she became
grave, and edged closer to my mother, having already learned that
nothing but what was gentle could emanate from her tender nature.
When Jessie went to bed with my mother, she did not hold up her
face to be kissed, as she had done on the previous night. I do not
think she debated the point with herself, whether she should do so;
she gave him a rapid look when she wished him good-night, and
decided on the instant--as she would have decided the other way
had she seen anything in his face to encourage her. A week passed,
and no word of explanation fell from uncle Bryan's lips as to the
connection that existed between these two opposite beings; but I
could not help observing that he grew more and more reserved,
more and more thoughtful. In after days I recognised how strange a
household ours really was during this period, but it did not strike me
at the time, so entirely was I wrapped up in the new sense of
happiness which Jessie Trim had brought into my life. Of the four
persons who composed the household only Jessie and I were really
happy. My mother was distressed because of uncle Bryan's growing
moroseness; with unobtrusive gentleness she strove, in a hundred
little ways, to break through the wall of silence and reserve which he
built around himself, as it were, but she could scarcely win a word
from his lips. It did not trouble me; my mind, was occupied only with

Jessie. What Jessie did, what Jessie said, how Jessie looked and felt
and thought--that was the world in which I moved now. A second
week passed, and there was still no change. One night my mother
said that she would come for me on the following evening.
'And bring Jessie,' I suggested, taking advantage of the
opportunity which I had been waiting for all the week; 'a walk will do
her good.'
Jessie's eyes sparkled at the suggestion.
'I should like to come,' she said, with a grateful look; 'I haven't
had a walk since I came here. What are you thinking about?' to my
mother.
'I am thinking,' replied my mother, 'whether there will be any
objection to it.'
'On whose part?' I asked. 'Uncle Bryan's? Why, what objection can
he have?'
'I am sure,' said Jessie, he won't care, one way or another; he
doesn't care about anything, and especially about me. Why, how
many words do you think he has spoken to me all this day, Chris?'
'I can't guess, Jessie.'
She counted on her fingers. One, two, three--sixteen. "I don't
know anything about it! Be quiet! You're a magpie--nothing but
chatter, chatter, chatter!" and he didn't speak them--he growled
them. So he can't care. I shall come, Chris,'--pressing close to my
mother coaxingly--'and we'll take a nice long walk.'
'Very well, my dear,' said my mother, with a smile; 'but I must ask
your uncle, Chris.'

I mapped out in my mind the pleasantest walk I knew, and on the
following night, when work was over, I hastened into the street; but
neither my mother nor Jessie was there. I looked about for them,
and waited for a quarter of an hour, and then raced home. Only my
mother was in the house.
'Why didn't you come, mother?' I asked. 'I've been waiting ever
so long. And where's Jessie?'
'My dear,' replied my mother, with her arm around my waist,
'Jessie has gone.'
'Gone! Oh, for a walk with uncle Bryan, I suppose?'
'No, my dear; she has gone away altogether.'
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WORLD BECOMES BRIGHT AGAIN.
'Gone away altogether!'
I echoed the words, but the news was so sudden and unexpected
that for a few moments I did not quite understand their meaning. I
had never, until the last fortnight, had a friend so nearly of my own
age as Jessie; and the companionship had been to me so sweet and
delightful, and so altogether new, that to lose it now seemed like
losing the best part of my life. I released myself from my mother's
embrace, and ran upstairs to her bedroom, to look for Jessie's box.
It was gone, and the room was in all respects the same as it had
been before Jessie's arrival. Until that time it had always worn a

cheerful aspect in my eyes, but now it looked cold and desolate; the
happy experiences of the last two weeks seemed to me like a
dream--but a dream which, now that it had passed away, filled my
heart with pain.
'Her box is gone,' I said, with quivering lips, when I rejoined my
mother.
'It was taken away this morning, my dear.'
'That shows that she is not coming back; and I shall never, never
see her again!'
My mother did not reply. The feeling that now stole upon me was
one of resentment towards uncle Bryan. Who was to blame but he?
From the first he had behaved harshly towards her. He saw that we
were fond of her, and he was jealous of her. He was always cold and
unsympathetic and unkind. Every unreasonable suggestion that
presented itself to me with reference to him, I welcomed and
accepted as an argument against him; and to this effect I spoke
hotly and intemperately.
'Chris, Chris, my dear!' remonstrated my mother; 'you should not
have hard thoughts towards your uncle.'
'I can't help it; he almost asks for them. He won't let us like him--
he won't! I don't care if he hears me say so.'
'He can't hear you, my dear; he went away with Jessie this
morning.'
'Where to?'
'I have no idea, Chris; he did not tell me.'
'And wouldn't, if you had asked,' I said bitterly.

My mother sighed, but said, with gentle firmness, 'I had no right
to ask, my dear.'
'Then we are alone in the house, mother.'
'Yes, my dear, for a little while. Sit down, and I will tell you all
about it.'
I sat down, and my mother sat beside me, and took my hand in
hers.
'It came upon me as suddenly as it has come upon you, my dear,
and I am almost as sorry as you are. But life is full of such changes,
my dear child.'
'Go on, mother.' In my rebellious mood her gentle words brought
no comfort to me.
'When I said last night that I would come for you this evening, I
had no idea that anything would have prevented me. I intended to
bring Jessie, and I looked forward with pleasure to the walk we
intended to take. I did not tell your uncle that Jessie would come
with me; I thought I would wait till teatime. Lately I have considered
it more than ever my duty to study him, because of the change that
has taken place in him--you have noticed it yourself, my dear--since
Jessie came so strangely among us. For it was strange, was it not,
my dear?--almost as strange as her going away so suddenly, and as
unexpected too; for I am certain your uncle did not expect her, and
that he was as much surprised as we were. He is not to blame,
therefore, for what has occurred now. It is not for us, dear child, to
find fault with him because he is silent and reserved with us; the
only feeling we ought to have towards him is one of deep gratitude
for his great kindness to us. You don't forget our sad condition, my
darling, on the morning we received your uncle's letter.'
'No, mother, I don't forget,' I said, somewhat softened towards
uncle Bryan.

'He did not deceive us; he spoke plainly and honestly, and the
brightest expectations we could have entertained from his offer, and
the manner in which it was made, have been more than realised. Is
it not so, dear child?'
In common honesty I was compelled to admit that it was so.
'I shudder when I think what might have become of my dear boy
if it had not been for this one friend--this one only friend, my
darling, in all the wide, wide world!--who stepped forward so
unselfishly to save us. And we have been so happy here, my darling,
so very, very happy, all these years! If a cloud has come, have we
not still a little sunshine left? There, there, my dear!' returning my
kisses, and wiping her eyes; 'as I was saying'--(although she had
said nothing of the kind; but she was flurried and nervous)--'and as I
told you once before, I think Jessie gave your uncle a letter, and that
I saw him, the day after she came, writing, with this letter before
him. Every morning since then I have observed him watch for the
arrival of the postman in the neighbourhood, and every time the
postman passed without giving him the letter which I saw he
expected, he grew more anxious. This morning he reminded me that
I had some errands to make; I was away for nearly two hours, and
when I came home he and Jessie were in the shop, dressed for
walking. What passed after that was so quick and rapid that I was
quite bewildered. Your uncle, beckoning me into the parlour, said
that he and Jessie were going away, and that I was to take care of
the shop while he was absent. "I want you not to ask any
questions," he said, seeing, I suppose, that I was about to ask
some. "I shall be away for two or three days, perhaps longer. Do the
best you can. You had better wish Jessie good-bye now." I could not
help asking, "Is she coming back with you?" And he said, "No." I
was so grieved, Chris, that when I went into the shop, where Jessie
was waiting, I was crying. "You are sorry I am going, then," she
said. "Indeed, indeed, I am, my dear," I replied, as I kissed her. She
kissed me quite affectionately, and said she was glad I was sorry,
and that I was to give her love to you----'

'Did she say that, mother? Did she?'
'Yes, my dear. "Give my love to Chris," she said, "and say how
sorry I am to go away without seeing him." And the next minute she
was gone. I thought of her box then, and I ran upstairs, as you did
just now, and found that it had been taken away while I was out.
And that is all I know, my dear.'
'It is very strange,' I said, after a long pause. Mother, what do you
think of it, eh?'
'My dear, I don't know what to think. The more I think, the more I
am confused. And now, my dear----'
'Yes, mother.'
'We must make ourselves happy in our old way, and we must
attend to the business properly until your uncle returns.'
Make ourselves happy in our old way! How was that possible? The
light had gone out of the house. The very room in which we three--
uncle Bryan, my mother, and I--had spent so many pleasant days
before Jessie came, looked cold and comfortless now. Even the
figure of my dear mother, bustling cheerfully about, and the sweet
considerate manner in which she strove, in many tender ways, to
soften my sorrow, were not a recompense for the loss of Jessie. I
opened my book and pretended to be occupied with it, and my
mother, with that rare wisdom which springs from perfect unselfish
love, did not disturb my musings. The evening passed very quietly,
and directly the shop was shut, I went to bed. I was in a very
unhappy mood, and it was past midnight before I fell asleep. I did
not think of my mother, or of the pain she was suffering through me.
My grief was intensely selfish; I had not the strength which often
comes from suffering, nor was I blessed with such a nature as my
mother's--a nature which does not colour surrounding circumstances
with the melancholy hue of its own sorrows. Unhappily, it falls to the
lot of few to be brought within the sweet influence of one whose

mission on earth seems to be to shed the light of peace and love
upon those among whom her lot is cast, and to whom, unless we
are ungratefully forgetful, as I was on this night, we look instinctively
for comfort and consolation when trouble comes to us. In the middle
of the night, I awoke suddenly, and found my mother sitting by my
bed; she was in her nightdress, and there was a light in the room.
'Why, mother!' I exclaimed, confused for a moment.
'Don't be alarmed, dear child,' she said; 'there's nothing the
matter; but I could not sleep, knowing that you were unhappy. You
too, my dear, were a long time before you went to sleep.'
Then I knew that she must have watched and waited at my
bedroom door until I had blown out my candle.
'What time is it, mother?'
'It must be three o'clock, my dear.'
'O, mother! And you awake at this time of the night for me!'
She smiled softly. Something of worship for that pure nature stole
into my heart as I looked into her dear eyes. But there was grief in
them, too, and I asked her the reason.
'Do you know, my darling,' she said, with a wistful yearning look,
and with a sigh which she vainly strove to check, that you went to
bed to-night without kissing me? For the first time in your life, dear
child; for the first time in your life!'
In a passion of remorse I threw my arms around her neck, and
kissed her again and again, and asked her forgiveness, and said,
'How could I--how could I be so unloving and unkind?' But she
stopped my self-reproaches with her lips on my lips, and with broken
words of joy and thankfulness. She folded me in her arms, and there
was silence between us for many minutes--silence made sacred by

love as pure and faithful as ever dwelt in woman's breast. Then I
drew the clothes around her, and she lay by my side, saying that she
would wait until I was asleep.
'This is like the old time, mother,' I whispered, 'when there was no
one else but you and me. But I love you more than I did then,
mother.'
'My darling child!' she whispered, in return; 'how you comfort me!
But I won't have my dear boy speak another word, except good-
night.'
We looked out on the following day for a letter from uncle Bryan,
but none came, nor any news of him. It was the same on the second
day, and the third. My mother began to grow uneasy.
'If he had only left word where he was going to!' she said. 'I am
afraid he must be ill.'
The business went on very well without him, thanks to my
mother's care and attention, except that on Saturday night the
supply of 'uncle Bryan's pills,' as they had got to be called in the
neighbourhood, ran short, which occasioned my mother much
concern. Sunday and Monday passed, and still no tidings of him. On
the Tuesday--I remember the day well: we were very busy where I
was employed, and I did not come home until past ten o'clock--the
shop was shut--a most unusual thing. I knocked at the door
hurriedly, and my mother, with happiness in her face, opened it for
me.
'Uncle Bryan has come home!' I cried, in a hearty tone.
She nodded gladly, and I ran in, and threw my arms about him. I
think he was pleased with this spontaneous mark of affection; but
he looked at me curiously too, I thought. We sat down--the three of
us--and a dead silence ensued. We all looked at each other, and
spoke not a word.

'What's the matter, mother?' I asked, for certainly so strange a
silence needed explanation.
A sweet laugh answered me, and my heart almost leaped into my
throat. I darted behind the door, and there stood Jessie Trim,
bending forward, with eager face, and sparkling eyes, and hand
uplifted to her ear. But when she saw that she was discovered, her
manner changed instantly. She came forward, quite demurely.
'Are you glad?' she asked gravely, with her hand in mine.
My looks were a sufficient answer.
'And now,' she said, sitting down on the stool, and resting her
hands on her lap, we are going to live happily together for ever
afterwards.'
CHAPTER XV.
JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY.
Her voice was like music to my heart. With Jessie on one side of
me, and my mother on the other, there was not a cloud on my life,
nor room for one. I sat between them, now patting my mother's
hand, now turning restlessly to Jessie, and looking at her in delight.
But the change in the aspect of things was so sudden and
unexpected, that it would not have much amazed me to see Jessie
melt into thin air. This must have been expressed in my face, for
Jessie, who was a skilful interpreter of expression, whispered,

'It is true; I have really come back.'
'I was doubting,' I said, in a similar low tone, 'whether I was
asleep or awake.'
'Don't speak loud,' she said mockingly, 'don't look at me too hard,
and don't blow on me, or you will find that you're only dreaming.
Shall I pinch you?'
'No; I am awake, I know. This is the most famous thing that ever
happened.'
'You were sorry when I went away, then?'
'I can't tell you how sorry; but you are not going away again?'
'I suppose not; I have no place to go to.'
There was a change in her manner; she was more thoughtful and
sedate than usual, and her face was pale; but I noted these signs
only in a casual way. To be certain that everything was right, I went
out of the room to see if her box had been brought back. It was in
its old place in my mother's bedroom. My mother had followed me.
'So you are happy again, my dear,' she said, as we stood, like
lovers, with our arms around each other's waist.
'I am glad, mother,' I replied, pressing her fondly to me; 'and so
are you too, I know. But tell me how it all happened.'
'There is very little to tell, dear child. I was as surprised as you
were. I was having tea when your uncle and Jessie came in
suddenly; it gave me quite a turn, for Jessie, as you see, is in
mourning.' (I had not noticed it, and I wondered at my blindness.)
'Your uncle looked worn and anxious, and they were both very tired,
as if they had come a long distance. "I have not quite deserted you,
you see," your uncle said. I told him how glad I was he had

returned, and how anxious we had been about him. "And Jessie,
too," I said. "I was afraid I was not to see her again." "You will see a
great deal of her for the future," said your uncle; "she will live with
us now. She must sleep with you, as there is no other room in the
house for her." And that is positively all I have to tell, Chris, except
that Jessie has been very quiet all the evening, and only showed her
old spirits when your knock was heard at the street-door.'
'And Jessie has told you nothing, mother?'
'Nothing, dear child; and I have not asked.'
'You don't even know whom she is in mourning for?'
'No, my dear.'
Jessie was displaying more of her old spirits when my mother and
I went downstairs; as we entered the room she was saying to uncle
Bryan,
'I wish you would tell me what I am to call you. I can't call you
Bryan, and I don't like Mr. Carey. I could invent a name certainly, if I
wanted to be spiteful.'
'What name?' he asked, in his rough manner.
'Never mind. You'd like to know, so that you could bark and fight.
What shall I call you?'
'Call me what you please,' he answered.
'Well, then, I shall call you uncle Bryan, as Chris does; I daresay I
shall get used to it in time.'
Soon after this point was settled I found an opportunity to touch
Jessie's black dress, and to press her hand sympathisingly. She
understood the meaning of the action, and her lips quivered; she did

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