_The Wide, Wide World_ as seen by _The North American Review_, January1853'…Miss Warner… makes her young girl passionate, thoughamiable, in her temper; fond of admiration, although withheldby innate delicacy from seeking it unduly. She places her incircumstances of peculiar trial to her peculiar traits, andbrings her, by careful gradations, to the state of self-governed and stable virtue which fits woman for her greatoffice in the world; a fitness which would be impaired by thesacrifice of a single grace, or the loss of one sentiment oftenderness. To build such a character on any basis other thana religious one, would have been to fix a palace upon theshifting sands . . . Ellen and Fleda are reared, by theirtruly feminine and natural experiences, into any thing but"strong-minded women, " at least if we accept Mr. Dickens'snotion of that dreadful order. They are both of velvetsoftness; of delicate, downcast beauty; of flitting butabundant smiles, and of even too many and ready tears… Theylive in the affections, as the true woman must; yet theycultivate and prize the understanding, and feel it to be theguardian of goodness, as all wise women should… They areconscious of having a power and place in the world, and theyclaim it without assumption or affectation, and fill it with aquiet self-respect, not inconsistent with modesty and duehumility. Such is the ideal presented, and with such skillthat we seem at times to be reading a biography. There is asweetness in the conception and execution that makes the heartand the temper better as we read. So much for the _charm_ of thebooks. But, on the other hand, we are compelled to say thatsuch magisterial lovers as Mr. Carleton and John Humphreys arenot at all to our taste, nor do we believe they would inactual presence be very fascinating to most young ladies…'

COLLECTION

OF

BRITISH AUTHORS. 

VOL. CCCVIII. 

THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD BY ELIZABETH WETHERELL. 

IN ONE VOLUME

THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 

BY

ELIZABETH WETHERELL. 

_AUTHOR'S EDITION_. 

LEIPZIG

BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ

1854. 

"Here at the portal thou dost stand, And with thy little hand

Thou openest the mysterious gate, —

Into the future's undiscovered land

I see its valves expand, As at the touch of FATE! —

Into those realms of Love and Hate. "

LONGFELLOW. 

THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 

CHAPTER I. 

Breaking the News. 

"Mamma, what was that I heard papa saying to you this morningabout his lawsuit?"

"I cannot tell you just now. Ellen, pick up that shawl andspread it over me. "

"Mamma! — are you cold in this warm room?"

"A little, — there, that will do. Now, my daughter, let me bequiet a while — don't disturb me. "

There was no one else in the room. Driven thus to her ownresources, Ellen betook herself to the window, and soughtamusement there. The prospect without gave little promise ofit. Rain was falling, and made the street and everything in itlook dull and gloomy. The foot-passengers plashed through thewater, and the horses and carriages plashed through the mud;gaiety had forsaken the side-walks, and equipages were few, and the people that were out were plainly there only becausethey could not help it. But yet Ellen, having seriously setherself to study everything that passed, presently becameengaged in her occupation; and her thoughts travellingdreamily from one thing to another, she sat for a long timewith her little face pressed against the window-frame, perfectly regardless of all but the moving world without. 

Daylight gradually faded away, and the street wore a more andmore gloomy aspect. The rain poured, and now only anoccasional carriage or footstep disturbed the sound of itssteady pattering. Yet still Ellen sat with her face glued tothe window as if spell-bound, gazing out at every dusky formthat passed, as though it had some strange interest for her. At length, in the distance, light after light began to appear;presently Ellen could see the dim figure of the lamplightercrossing the street, from side to side, with his ladder; thenhe drew near enough for her to watch him as he hooked hisladder on the lamp-irons, ran up and lit the lamp, thenshouldered the ladder and marched off quick, the lightglancing on his wet oil-skin hat, rough greatcoat, andlantern, and on the pavement and iron railings. The veriestmoth could not have followed the light with more perseverancethan did Ellen's eyes, till the lamplighter graduallydisappeared from view, and the last lamp she could see waslit; and not till then did it occur to her that there was sucha place as indoors. She took her face from the window. Theroom was dark and cheerless, and Ellen felt stiff and chilly. However, she made her way to the fire, and having found thepoker, she applied it gently to the Liverpool coal with suchgood effect, that a bright ruddy blaze sprang up, and lightedthe whole room. Ellen smiled at the result of her experiment. "That is something like, " said she, to herself; "who says Ican't poke the fire? Now, let us see if I can't do somethingelse. Do but see how these chairs are standing — one wouldthink we had had a sewing-circle here — there, go back to yourplaces — that looks a little better; now, these curtains mustcome down, and I may as well shut the shutters too — and nowthis tablecloth must be content to hang straight, and Mamma'sbox and the books must lie in their places, and not allhelter-skelter. Now, I wish Mamma would wake up; I shouldthink she might. I don't believe she is asleep either — shedon't look as if she was. "

Ellen was right in this; her mother's face did not wear thelook of sleep, nor indeed of repose at all; the lips werecompressed, and the brow not calm. To try, however, whethershe was asleep or no, and with the half-acknowledged intent torouse her at all events, Ellen knelt down by her side, andlaid her face close to her mother's on the pillow. But thisfailed to draw either word or sign. After a minute or two, Ellen tried stroking her mother's cheek very gently — and thissucceeded, for Mrs. Montgomery arrested the little hand as itpassed her lips, and kissed it fondly two or three times. 

"I haven't disturbed you, Mamma, have I?" said Ellen. 

Without replying, Mrs. Montgomery raised herself to a sittingposture, and lifting both hands to her face, pushed back thehair from her forehead and temples, with a gesture which Ellenknew meant that she was making up her mind to somedisagreeable or painful effort. Then taking both Ellen'shands, as she still knelt before her, she gazed in her facewith a look even more fond than usual, Ellen thought, but muchsadder too; though Mrs. Montgomery's cheerfulness had alwaysbeen of a serious kind. 

"What question was that you were asking me a while ago, mydaughter?"

"I thought, Mamma, I heard papa telling you this morning, oryesterday, that he had lost that lawsuit. "

"You heard right, Ellen — he has lost it, " said Mrs. Montgomery, sadly. 

"Are you sorry, Mamma? — does it trouble you?"

"You know, my dear, that I am not apt to concern myselfovermuch about the gain or the loss of money. I believe myheavenly Father will give me what is good for me. "

"Then, Mamma, why are you troubled?"

"Because, my child, I cannot carry out this principle in othermatters, and leave quietly my _all_ in His hands. "

"What is the matter, dear mother? What makes you look so?"

"This lawsuit, Ellen, has brought upon us more trouble than Iever thought a lawsuit could — the loss of it, I mean. "

"How, Mamma?"

"It has caused an entire change of all our plans. Your fathersays he is too poor now to stay here any longer; and he hasagreed to go soon on some government or military business toEurope. "

"Well, Mamma, that is bad; but he has been away a great dealbefore, and I am sure we were always very happy. "

"But, Ellen, he thinks now, and the doctor thinks too, that itis very important for my health that I should go with him. "

"Does he, Mamma? — and do you mean to go?"

"I am afraid I must, my dear child. "

"Not, and leave _me_, mother?"

The imploring look of mingled astonishment, terror, and sorrowwith which Ellen uttered these words, took from her mother allpower of replying. It was not necessary; her little daughterunderstood only too well the silent answer of her eye. With awild cry she flung her arms round her mother, and hiding herface in her lap, gave way to a violent burst of grief, thatseemed for a few moments as if it would rend soul and body intwain. For her passions were by nature very strong, and byeducation very imperfectly controlled; and time, "that riderthat breaks youth, " had not as yet tried his hand upon her. And Mrs. Montgomery, in spite of the fortitude and calmness towhich she had steeled herself, bent down over her, and foldingher arms about her, yielded to sorrow deeper still, and for alittle while scarcely less violent in its expression thanEllen's own. 

Alas! she had too good reason. She knew that the chance of herever returning to shield the little creature who was nearesther heart from the future evils and snares of life was very, very small. She had at first absolutely refused to leaveEllen, when her husband proposed it; declaring that she wouldrather stay with her and die than take the chance of recoveryat such a cost. But her physician assured her she could notlive long without a change of climate; Captain Montgomeryurged that it was better to submit to a temporary separation, than to cling obstinately to her child for a few months, andthen leave her for ever; said he must himself go speedily toFrance, and that now was her best opportunity; assuring her, however, that his circumstances would not permit him to takeEllen with them, but that she would be secure of a happy homewith his sister during her mother's absence; and to thepressure of argument Captain Montgomery added the weight ofauthority — insisting on her compliance. Conscience also askedMrs. Montgomery whether she had a _right_ to neglect any chanceof life that was offered her; and at last she yielded to thecombined influence of motives no one of which would have hadpower sufficient to move her, and though with a secretconsciousness it would be in vain, she consented to do as herfriends wished. And it was for Ellen's sake she did it, afterall. 

Nothing but necessity had given her the courage to open thematter to her little daughter. She had foreseen andendeavoured to prepare herself for Ellen's anguish; but naturewas too strong for her, and they clasped each other in aconvulsive embrace, while tears fell like rain. 

It was some minutes before Mrs. Montgomery recollectedherself, and then, though she struggled hard, she could notimmediately regain her composure. But Ellen's deep sobs atlength fairly alarmed her; she saw the necessity, for boththeir sakes, of putting a stop to this state of violentexcitement; self-command was restored at once. 

"Ellen! Ellen! listen to me, " she said. "My child, this is notright. Remember, my darling, who it is that brings this sorrowupon us; — though we _must_ sorrow, we must not rebel. "

Ellen sobbed more gently; but that and the mute pressure ofher arms was her only answer. 

"You will hurt both yourself and me, my daughter, if youcannot command yourself. Remember, dear Ellen, God sends notrouble upon his children but in love; and though we cannotsee how, he will no doubt make all this work for our good. "

"I know it, dear mother, " sobbed Ellen, "but it's just ashard!"

Mrs. Montgomery's own heart answered so readily to the truthof Ellen's words, that for the moment she could not speak. 

"Try, my daughter, " she said, after a pause, — "try to composeyourself. I am afraid you will make me worse, Ellen, if youcannot; I am indeed. "

Ellen had plenty of faults, but amidst them all, love to hermother was the strongest feeling her heart knew. It had powerenough now to move her as nothing else could have done; andexerting all her self-command, of which she had sometimes agood deal, she _did_ calm herself; ceased sobbing; wiped hereyes; arose from her crouching posture, and seating herself onthe sofa by her mother, and laying her head on her bosom, shelistened quietly to all the soothing words and cheeringconsiderations with which Mrs. Montgomery endeavoured to leadher to take a more hopeful view of the subject. All she couldurge, however, had but very partial success, though theconversation was prolonged far into the evening. Ellen saidlittle, and did not weep any more; but in secret her heartrefused consolation. 

Long before this the servant had brought in the tea-things. Nobody regarded it at the time, but the little kettle hissingaway on the fire now by chance attracted Ellen's attention, and she suddenly recollected her mother had had no tea. Tomake her mother's tea was Ellen's regular business. Shetreated it as a very grave affair, and loved it as one of thepleasantest in the course of the day. She used in the firstplace to make sure that the kettle really boiled; then shecarefully poured some water into the teapot and rinsed it, both to make it clean and to make it hot; then she knewexactly how much tea to put into the tiny little teapot, whichwas just big enough to hold two cups of tea; and having poureda very little boiling water to it, she used to set it by theside of the fire while she made half a slice of toast. Howcareful Ellen was about that toast! The bread must not be cuttoo thick, nor too thin; the fire must, if possible, burnclear and bright; and she herself held the bread on a fork, just at the right distance from the coals to get nicelybrowned without burning. When this was done to hersatisfaction (and if the first piece failed, she would takeanother), she filled up the little tea-pot from the boilingkettle, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. She knew, and wasvery careful to put in, just the quantity of milk and sugarthat her mother liked; and then she used to carry the tea andtoast on a little tray to her mother's side, and very oftenheld it there for her while she ate. All this Ellen did withthe zeal that love gives, and though the same thing was to begone over every night of the year, she was never wearied. Itwas a real pleasure; she had the greatest satisfaction inseeing that the little her mother could eat was prepared forher in the nicest possible manner; she knew her hands made ittaste better; her mother often said so. 

But this evening other thoughts had driven this importantbusiness quite out of poor Ellen's mind. Now, however, whenher eyes fell upon the little kettle, she recollected hermother had not had her tea, and must want it very much; andsilently slipping off the sofa, she set about getting it asusual. There was no doubt this time whether the kettle boiledor no; it had been hissing for an hour and more, calling asloud as it could to somebody to come and make the tea. SoEllen made it, and then began the toast. But she began tothink, too, as she watched it, how few more times she would beable to do so — how soon her pleasant tea makings would beover — and the desolate feeling of separation began to comeupon her before the time. These thoughts were too much forpoor Ellen; the thick tears gathered so fast, she could notsee what she was doing; and she had no more than just turnedthe slice of bread on the fork when the sickness of heartquite overcame her; she could not go on. Toast and fork andall dropped from her hand into the ashes; and rushing to hermother's side, who was now lying down again, and throwingherself upon her, she burst into another fit of sorrow — notso violent as the former, but with a touch of hopelessness init which went yet more to her mother's heart. Passion in thefirst said, "I cannot;" despair now seemed to say, "I must. "

But Mrs. Montgomery was too exhausted to either share orsoothe Ellen's agitation. She lay in suffering silence; tillafter some time she said faintly — "Ellen, my love, I cannotbear this much longer. "

Ellen was immediately brought to herself by these words. Shearose, sorry and ashamed that she should have given occasionfor them, and tenderly kissing her mother, assured her, mostsincerely and resolutely, that she would not do so again. In afew minutes she was calm enough to finish making the tea, andhaving toasted another piece of bread, she brought it to hermother. Mrs. Montgomery swallowed a cup of tea, but no toastcould be eaten that night. 

Both remained silent and quiet awhile after this, till theclock struck ten. "You had better go to bed, my daughter, "said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"I will, Mamma. "

"Do you think you can read me a little before you go?"

"Yes, indeed, Mamma;" and Ellen brought the book. "Where shallI read?"

"The twenty-third Psalm. "

Ellen began it, and went through it steadily and slowly, though her voice quivered a little. 

" 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 

" 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth mebeside the still waters. 

" 'He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths ofrighteousness for his name's sake. 

" 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Iwill fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staffthey comfort me. 

" 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mineenemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 

" 'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days ofmy life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. '"

Long before she had finished, Ellen's eyes were full, and herheart too. "If I only could feel these words as Mamma does!"she said to herself. She did not dare look up till the tracesof tears had passed away; then she saw that her mother wasasleep. Those first sweet words had fallen like balm upon thesore heart; and mind and body had instantly found resttogether. 

Ellen breathed the lightest possible kiss upon her forehead, and stole quietly out of the room to her own little bed. 

CHAPTER II. 

Gives sorrow to the winds. 

Sorrow and excitement made Ellen's eyelids heavy, and sheslept late on the following morning. The great dressing-bellwaked her. She started up with a confused notion thatsomething was the matter: there was a weight on her heart thatwas very strange to it. A moment was enough to bring it allback; and she threw herself again on her pillow, yieldinghelplessly to the grief she had twice been obliged to controlthe evening before. Yet love was stronger than grief still, and she was careful to allow no sound to escape her that couldreach the ears of her mother, who slept in the next room. Herresolve was firm to grieve her no more with uselessexpressions of sorrow — to keep it to herself as much aspossible. But this very thought, that she must keep it toherself, gave an edge to poor Ellen's grief, and theconvulsive clasp of her little arms round the pillow plainlyshowed that it needed none. 

The breakfast-bell again startled her, and she remembered shemust not be too late down stairs, or her mother might inquireand find out the reason. "I will _not_ trouble mother — I willnot — I will not!" she resolved to herself as she got out ofbed, though the tears fell faster as she said so. Dressing wassad work to Ellen to-day; it went on very heavily. Tearsdropped into the water as she stooped her head to the basin;and she hid her face in the towel to cry, instead of makingthe ordinary use of it. But the usual duties were draggedthrough at last, and she went to the window. "I'll not go downtill papa is gone, " she thought — "he'll ask me what is thematter with my eyes. "

Ellen opened the window. The rain was over; the lovely lightof a fair September morning was beautifying everything itshone upon. Ellen had been accustomed to amuse herself a gooddeal at this window, though nothing was to be seen from it butan ugly city prospect of back walls of houses, with the yardsbelonging to them, and a bit of narrow street. But she hadwatched the people that showed themselves at the windows, andthe children that played in the yards, and the women that wentto the pumps, till she had become pretty well acquainted withthe neighbourhood; and though they were for the most partdingy, dirty, and disagreeable — women, children, houses, andall — she certainly had taken a good deal of interest in theirproceedings. It was all gone now. She could not bear to lookat them; she felt as if it made her sick; and turning away hereyes, she lifted them to the bright sky above her head, andgazed into its clear depth of blue till she almost forgot thatthere was such a thing as a city in the world. Little whiteclouds were chasing across it, driven by the fresh wind thatwas blowing away Ellen's hair from her face, and cooling herhot cheeks. That wind could not have been long in coming fromthe place of woods and flowers, it was so sweet still. Ellenlooked till, she didn't know why, she felt calmed and soothed— as if somebody was saying to her softly, "Cheer up, mychild, cheer up; things are not so bad as they might be:things will be better. " Her attention was attracted at lengthby voices below; she looked down, and saw there, in one of theyards, a poor deformed child, whom she had often noticedbefore, and always with sorrowful interest. Besides his bodilyinfirmity, he had a further claim on her sympathy, in havinglost his mother within a few months. Ellen's heart was easilytouched this morning; she felt for him very much. "Poor, poorlittle fellow!" she thought; "he's a great deal worse off thanI am. _His_ mother is dead; mine is only going away for a fewmonths — not for ever — oh, what a difference! and then thejoy of coming back again!" — poor Ellen was weeping already atthe thought — "and I will do, oh, how much! while she is gone— I'll do more than she can possibly expect from me — I'llastonish her — I'll delight her — I'll work harder than ever Idid in my life before — I'll mend all my faults, and give herso much pleasure! But oh! if she only needn't go away! oh, Mamma!" Tears of mingled sweet and bitter were poured outfast, but the bitter had the largest share. 

The breakfast-table was still standing, and her father gone, when Ellen went down stairs. Mrs. Montgomery welcomed her withher usual quiet smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried tosmile in answer, but she was glad to hide her face in hermother's bosom; and the long close embrace was too close andtoo long; it told of sorrow as well as love; and tears fellfrom the eyes of each, that the other did not see. 

"Need I go to school to-day, Mamma?" whispered Ellen. 

"No; I spoke to your father about that; you shall not go anymore; we will be together now while we can. "

Ellen wanted to ask how long that would be, but could not makeup her mind to it. 

"Sit down, daughter, and take some breakfast. "

"Have you done, Mamma?"

"No — I waited for you. "

"Thank you, dear Mamma" with another embrace — "how good youare! but I don't think I want any. "

They drew their chairs to the table, but it was plain neitherhad much heart to eat; although Mrs. Montgomery with her ownhands laid on Ellen's plate half of the little bird that hadbeen boiled for her own breakfast. The half was too much foreach of them. 

"What made you so late this morning, daughter?"

"I got up late, in the first place, Mamma; and then I was along time at the window. "

"At the window? Were you examining into your neighbours'affairs, as usual?" said Mrs. Montgomery, surprised that itshould have been so. 

"Oh, no, Mamma, I didn't look at them at all, except poorlittle Billy. I was looking at the sky. "

"And what did you see there that pleased you so much?"

"I don't know, Mamma; it looked so lovely and peaceful — thatpure blue spread over my head, and the little white cloudsflying across it — I loved to look at it; it seemed to do megood. "

"Could you look at it, Ellen, without thinking of Him who madeit?"

"No, Mamma, " said Ellen, ceasing her breakfast, and nowspeaking with difficulty; "I did think of Him; perhaps thatwas the reason. "

"And what did you think of Him, daughter?"

"I hoped, Mamma — I felt — I thought — he would take care ofme, " said Ellen, bursting into tears, and throwing her armsaround her mother. 

"He will, my dear daughter, — he will, if you will only putyour trust in Him, Ellen. "

Ellen struggled hard to get back her composure, and after afew minutes succeeded. 

"Mamma, will you tell me what you mean exactly by my 'puttingmy trust' in Him?"

"Don't you trust me, Ellen?"

"Certainly, Mamma. "

"How do you trust me? — in what?"

"Why, Mamma, — in the first place I trust every word you say —entirely — I know nothing could be truer; if you were to tellme black is white, Mamma, I should think my eyes had beenmistaken. Then everything you tell or advise me to do, I knowit is right, perfectly. And I always feel safe when you arenear me, because I know you'll take care of me. And I am gladto think I belong to you, and you have the management of meentirely, and I needn't manage myself, because I know I can't;and if I could, I'd rather you would, Mamma. "

"My daughter, it is just so — it is _just_ so — that I wish youto trust in God. He is truer, wiser, stronger, kinder by farthan I am, even if I could always be with you; and what willyou do when I am away from you? And what would you do, mychild, if I were to be parted from you forever?"

"Oh, Mamma!" said Ellen, bursting into tears, and clasping herarms round her mother again — "Oh, dear Mamma, don't talkabout it!"

Her mother fondly returned her caress, and one or two tearsfell on Ellen's head as she did so, but that was all, and shesaid no more. Feeling severely the effects of the excitementand anxiety of the preceding day and night, she now stretchedherself on the sofa, and lay quite still. Ellen placed herselfon a little bench at her side, with her back to the head ofthe sofa, that her mother might not see her face; and, possessing herself of one of her hands, sat with her littlehead resting upon her mother, as quiet as she. They remainedthus for two or three hours without speaking; and Mrs. Montgomery was part of the time slumbering; but now and then atear ran down the side of the sofa, and dropped on the carpetwhere Ellen sat: and now and then her lips were softly pressedto the hand she held, as if they would grow there. 

The doctor's entrance at last disturbed them. Dr. Green foundhis patient decidedly worse than he had reason to expect; andhis sagacious eye had not passed back and forth many timesbetween the mother and daughter before he saw how it was. Hemade no remark upon it, however, but continued for somemoments a pleasant chatty conversation which he had begun withMrs. Montgomery. He then called Ellen to him; he had rathertaken a fancy to her. 

"Well, Miss Ellen, " he said, rubbing one of her hands in his, "what do you think of this fine scheme of mine?"

"What scheme, Sir?"

"Why, this scheme of sending this sick lady over the water toget well; what do you think of it, eh?"

"_Will_ it make her quite well, do you think, Sir?" asked Ellen, earnestly. 

" 'Will it make her well?' — to be sure it will. Do you thinkI don't know better than to send people all the way across theocean for nothing? Who do you think would want Dr. Green if hesent people on wild-goose-chases in that fashion?"

"Will she have to stay long there before she is cured, Sir?"asked Ellen. 

"Oh, that I can't tell; that depends entirely on circumstances— perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. But now, Miss Ellen, I'vegot a word of business to say to you; you know you agreed tobe my little nurse. Mrs. Nurse, this lady whom I put underyour care the other day, isn't quite as well as she ought tobe this morning; I am afraid you haven't taken proper care ofher; she looks to me as if she had been too much excited. I'vea notion she has been secretly taking half a bottle of wine, or reading some furious kind of a novel, or something of thatsort — you understand? Now mind, Mrs. Nurse, " said the doctor, changing his tone — "she _must not_ be excited — you must takecare that she is not — it isn't good for her. You mustn't lether talk too much, or laugh much, or cry at all, on anyaccount; she mustn't be worried in the least — will youremember? Now, you know what I shall expect of you; you mustbe very careful; if that piece of toast of yours should chanceto get burned, one of these fine evenings, I won't answer forthe consequences. Good-bye, " said he, shaking Ellen's hand;"you needn't look sober about it; all you have to do is to letyour Mamma be as much like an oyster as possible; youunderstand? Good-bye. " And Dr. Green took his leave. 

"Poor woman!" said the doctor to himself, as he went downstairs (he was a humane man) — "I wonder if she'll live tillshe gets to the other side! That's a nice little girl, too. Poor child! poor child!"

Both mother and daughter silently acknowledged the justice ofthe doctor's advice, and determined to follow it. By commonconsent, as it seemed, each for several days avoided bringingthe subject of sorrow to the other's mind; though no doubt itwas constantly present to both. It was not spoken of; indeed, little of any kind was spoken of, but that never. Mrs. Montgomery was doubtless employed, during this interval, inpreparing for what she believed was before her; endeavouringto resign herself and her child to Him in whose hands theywere, and struggling to withdraw her affections from a worldwhich she had a secret misgiving she was fast leaving. As forEllen, the doctor's warning had served to strengthen theresolve she had already made, that she would not distress hermother with the sight of her sorrow; and she kept it, as faras she could. She did not let her mother see but very fewtears, and those were quiet ones; though she drooped her headlike a withered flower, and went about the house with an airof submissive sadness, that tried her mother sorely. But whenshe was alone, and knew no one could see, sorrow had its way;and then there were sometimes agonies of grief that wouldalmost have broken Mrs. Montgomery's resolution, had she knownthem. 

This, however, could not last. Ellen was a child, and of mostbuoyant and elastic spirit naturally; it was not for onesorrow, however great, to utterly crush her. It would havetaken years to do that. Moreover, she entertained not theslightest hope of being able by any means to alter herfather's will. She regarded the dreaded evil as an inevitablething. But though she was at first overwhelmed with sorrow, and for some days evidently pined under it sadly, hope atlength _would_ come back to her little heart; and no sooner inagain, hope began to smooth the roughest, and soften thehardest, and touch the dark spots with light, in Ellen'sfuture. The thoughts which had just passed through her headthat first morning, as she stood at her window, now came backagain. Thoughts of wonderful improvement to be made during hermother's absence; of unheard-of efforts to learn and amend, which should all be crowned with success; and, above all, thoughts of that "coming home, " when all these attainments andaccomplishments should be displayed to her mother's delightedeyes, and her exertions receive their long-desired reward; —they made Ellen's heart beat, and her eyes swim, and evenbrought a smile once more upon her lips. Mrs. Montgomery wasrejoiced to see the change; she felt that as much time hadalready been given to sorrow as they could afford to lose, andshe had not known exactly how to proceed. Ellen's amendedlooks and spirits greatly relieved her. 

"What are you thinking about, Ellen?" said she, one morning. 

Ellen was sewing, and while busy at her work her mother hadtwo or three times observed a light smile pass over her face. Ellen looked up, still smiling, and answered, "Oh, Mamma, Iwas thinking of different things — things that I mean to dowhile you are gone. "

"And what are these things?" inquired her mother. 

"Oh, Mamma, it wouldn't do to tell you beforehand; I want tosurprise you with them when you come back. "

A slight shudder passed over Mrs. Montgomery's frame, butEllen did not see it. Mrs. Montgomery was silent. Ellenpresently introduced another subject. 

"Mamma, what kind of a person is my aunt?"

"I do not know — I have never seen her. "

"How has that happened, Mamma?"

"Your aunt has always lived in a remote country town, and Ihave been very much confined to two or three cities, and yourfather's long and repeated absences made travelling impossibleto me. "

Ellen thought, but she didn't say it, that it was very odd herfather should not sometimes, when he _was_ in the country, havegone to see his relations, and taken her mother with him. 

"What is my aunt's name, Mamma?"

"I think you must have heard that already, Ellen — FortuneEmerson. "

"Emerson! I thought she was papa's sister!"

"So she is. "

"Then how comes her name not to be Montgomery?"

"She is only his half-sister — the daughter of his mother, notthe daughter of his father. "

"I am very sorry for that, " said Ellen, gravely. 

"Why, my daughter?"

"I am afraid she will not be so likely to love me. "

"You mustn't think so, my child. Her loving or not loving youwill depend solely and entirely upon yourself, Ellen. Don'tforget that. If you are a good child, and make it your dailycare to do your duty, she cannot help liking you, be she whatshe may; and, on the other hand, if she have all the will inthe world to love you, she cannot do it unless you will lether — it all depends on your behaviour. "

"Oh, Mamma, I can't help wishing dear aunt Bessy was alive, and I was going to her. "

Many a time the same wish had passed through Mrs. Montgomery'smind. But she kept down her rising heart, and went on calmly —

"You must not expect, my child, to find anybody as indulgentas I am, or as ready to overlook and excuse your faults. Itwould be unreasonable to look for it; and you must not thinkhardly of your aunt when you find she is not your mother; butthen it will be your own fault if she does not love you, intime, truly and tenderly. See that you render her all therespect and obedience you could render me; that is yourbounden duty; she will stand in my place while she has thecare of you — remember that, Ellen; and remember, too, thatshe will deserve more gratitude at your hands for showing youkindness than I do, because she cannot have the same feelingof love to make trouble easy. "

"Oh, no, Mamma, " said Ellen, "I don't think so; it's that veryfeeling of love that I am grateful for; I don't care a fig foranything people do for me without that. "

"But you can make her love you, Ellen, if you try. "

"Well, I'll try, Mamma. "

"And don't be discouraged. Perhaps you may be disappointed infirst appearances, but never mind that; have patience; and letyour motto be (if there's any occasion), 'Overcome evil withgood'. Will you put that among the things you mean to do whileI am gone?" said Mrs. Montgomery, with a smile. 

"I'll try, dear Mamma. "

"You will succeed if you try, dear, never fear — if you applyyourself in your trying to the only unfailing source of wisdomand strength — to Him without whom you can do nothing. "

There was silence for a little. 

"What sort of a place is it where my aunt lives?" asked Ellen. 

"Your father says it is a very pleasant place; he says thecountry is beautiful, and very healthy, and full of charmingwalks and rides. You have never lived in the country; I thinkyou will enjoy it very much. "

"Then it is not a town?" said Ellen. 

"No; it is not far from the town of Thirlwall, but your auntlives in the open country. Your father says she is a capitalhousekeeper, and that you will learn more, and be in allrespects a great deal happier and better off, than you wouldbe in a boarding-school here or anywhere. "

Ellen's heart secretly questioned the truth of this lastassertion very much. 

"Is there any school near?" she asked. 

"Your father says there was an excellent one in Thirlwall whenhe was there. "

"Mamma, " said Ellen, "I think the greatest pleasure I shallhave while you are gone will be writing to you. I have beenthinking of it a good deal. I mean to tell you everything —absolutely everything, Mamma. You know there will be nobodyfor me to talk to as I do to you" (Ellen's words came out withdifficulty); "and when I feel badly, I shall just shut myselfup and write to you. " She hid her face in her mother's lap. 

"I count upon it, my dear daughter; it will make quite as muchthe pleasure of my life, Ellen, as of yours. "

"But then, mother, " said Ellen, brushing away the tears fromher eyes, "it will be so long before my letters can get toyou! The things I want you to know right away, you won't know, perhaps, in a month. "

"That's no matter, daughter; they will be just as good whenthey do get to me. Never think of that; write every day, andall manner of things that concern you — just as particularlyas if you were speaking to me. "

"And you'll write to me, too, Mamma?"

"Indeed I will — when I can. But, Ellen, you say that when Iam away, and cannot hear you, there will be nobody to supplymy place. Perhaps it will be so, indeed; but then, mydaughter, let it make you seek that Friend who is never faraway nor out of hearing. Draw nigh to God, and he will drawnigh to you. You know he has said of his children — 'Beforethey call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, Iwill hear. ' "

"But, Mamma, " said Ellen, her eyes filling instantly, "youknow he is not my friend in the same way that he is yours. "And, hiding her face again, she added, "Oh, I wish he was!"

"You know the way to make him so, Ellen. _He_ is willing; itonly rests with you. Oh, my child, my child! if losing yourmother might be the means of finding you that better Friend, Ishould be quite willing and glad to go — for ever. "

There was silence, only broken by Ellen's sobs. Mrs. Montgomery's voice had trembled, and her face was now coveredwith her hands; but she was not weeping; she was seeking abetter relief where it had long been her habit to seek andfind it. Both resumed their usual composure, and theemployments which had been broken off; but neither chose torenew the conversation. Dinner, sleeping, and companyprevented their having another opportunity during the rest ofthe day. 

But when evening came, they were again left to themselves. Captain Montgomery was away, which indeed was the case most ofthe time; friends had taken their departure; the curtains weredown, the lamp lit, the little room looked cozy andcomfortable; the servant had brought the tea-things, andwithdrawn, and the mother and daughter were happily alone. Mrs. Montgomery knew that such occasions were numbered, andfast drawing to an end, and she felt each one to be veryprecious. She now lay on her couch, with her face partiallyshaded, and her eyes fixed upon her little daughter, who wasnow preparing the tea. She watched her, with thoughts andfeelings not to be spoken, as the little figure went back andforward between the table and the fire, and the light shiningfull upon her face, showed that Ellen's whole soul was in herbeloved duty. Tears would fall as she looked, and were notwiped away; but when Ellen, having finished her work, broughtwith a satisfied face the little tray of tea and toast to hermother, there was no longer any sign of them left; Mrs. Montgomery arose with her usual kind smile, to show hergratitude by honouring, as far as possible, what Ellen hadprovided. 

"You have more appetite to-night, Mamma. "

"I am very glad, daughter, " replied her mother, "to see thatyou have made up your mind to bear patiently this evil thathas come upon us. I am glad for your sake, and I am glad formine; and I am glad, too, because we have a great deal to do, and no time to lose in doing it. "

"What, have we so much to do, Mamma?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, many things, " said her mother, "you will see. But now, Ellen, if there is anything you wish to talk to me about, anyquestion you want to ask, anything you would like particularlyto have, or to have done for you — I want you to tell it me assoon as possible, now, while we can attend to it — for by-and-by perhaps we shall be hurried. "

"Mamma, " said Ellen, with brightening eyes, "there is onething I have thought of that I should like to have — shall Itell it you now?"

"Yes. "

"Mamma, you know I shall want to be writing a great deal;wouldn't it be a good thing for me to have a little box withsome pens in it, and an inkstand, and some paper and wafers?Because, Mamma, you know I shall be among strangers at first, and I shan't like asking them for these things as often as Ishall want them, and may be they wouldn't want to let me havethem if I did. "

"I have thought of that already, daughter, " said Mrs. Montgomery, with a smile and a sigh. "I will certainly takecare that you are well provided in that respect before yougo. "

"How am I to go, Mamma?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, who will go with me? You know I can't go alone, Mamma. "

"No, my daughter. I'll not send you alone. But your fathersays it is impossible for _him_ to take the journey at present, and it is yet more impossible for me. There is no help for it, daughter, but we must intrust you to the care of some friendgoing that way; — but He that holds the winds and waters inthe hollow of his hand, can take care of you without any ofour help, and it is to his keeping above all that I shallcommit you. "

Ellen made no remark, and seemed much less surprised andtroubled than her mother had expected. In truth, the greaterevil swallowed up the less. Parting from her mother, and forso long a time, it seemed to her comparatively a matter oflittle importance with whom she went, or how, or where. Exceptfor this, the taking a long journey under a stranger's care?would have been a dreadful thing to her. 

"Do you know yet who it will be that I shall go with, Mamma?"

"Not yet; but it will be necessary to take the first goodopportunity, for I cannot go till I have seen you off. And itis thought very desirable that I should get to sea before thesevere weather comes. "

It was with a pang that these words were spoken and heard, butneither showed it to the other. 

"It has comforted me greatly, my dear child, that you haveshown yourself so submissive and patient under thisaffliction. I should scarcely have been able to endure it ifyou had not exerted self-control. You have behavedbeautifully. "

This was almost too much for poor Ellen. It required herutmost stretch of self-control to keep within any bounds ofcomposure; and for some moments her flushed cheek, quiveringlip, and heaving bosom, told what a tumult her mother's wordshad raised. Mrs. Montgomery saw she had gone too far, and, willing to give both Ellen and herself time to recover, shelaid her head on the pillow again, and closed her eyes. Manythoughts coming thick upon one another presently filled hermind, and half an hour had passed before she again recollectedwhat she had meant to say. She opened her eyes; Ellen wassitting at a little distance, staring into the fire —evidently as deep in meditation as her mother had been. 

"Ellen, " said Mrs. Montgomery, "did you ever fancy what kindof a Bible you would like to have?"

"A Bible, Mamma!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes; "do youmean to give me a Bible?"

Mrs. Montgomery smiled. 

"But, Mamma, " said Ellen, gently, "I thought you couldn'tafford it?"

"I have said so, and truly, " answered her mother; "andhitherto you have been able to use mine, but I will not leaveyou now without one. I will find ways and means, " said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling again. 

"Oh, Mamma, thank you, " said Ellen, delighted; "how glad Ishall be!" And, after a pause of consideration, she added, "Mamma, I never thought much about what sort of a one I shouldlike — couldn't I tell better if I were to see the differentkinds in the store?"

"Perhaps so. Well, the first day that the weather is fineenough, and I am well enough, I will go out with you, and wewill see about it. "

"I am afraid Dr. Green won't let you, Mamma. "

"I shall not ask him. I want to get you a Bible, and someother things that I will not leave you without, and nobody cando it but myself. I shall go, if I possibly can. "

"What other things, Mamma?" asked Ellen, very much interestedin the subject. 

"I don't think it will do to tell you to-night, " said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling. "I foresee that you and I should be keptawake too late if we were to enter upon it just now. We willleave it till to-morrow. Now read to me, love, and then tobed. "

Ellen obeyed; and went to sleep with brighter visions dancingbefore her eyes than had been the case for some time. 

CHAPTER III. 

The worth of a Finger-Ring. 

Ellen had to wait some time for the desired fine day. Theequinoctial storms would have their way, as usual, and Ellenthought they were longer than ever this year. But after manystormy days had tried her patience, there was at length asudden change, both without and within doors. The clouds haddone their work for that time, and fled away before a strongnortherly wind, leaving the sky bright and fair. And Mrs. Montgomery's deceitful disease took a turn, and for a littlespace raised the hopes of her friends. All were rejoicing buttwo persons — Mrs. Montgomery was not deceived, neither wasthe doctor. The shopping project was kept a profound secretfrom him, and from everybody except Ellen. 

Ellen watched now for a favourable day. Every morning as soonas she rose, she went to the window to see what was the lookof the weather; and about a week after the change abovenoticed, she was greatly pleased one morning, on opening herwindow, as usual, to find the air and sky promising all thatcould be desired. It was one of those beautiful days in theend of September, that sometimes herald October before itarrives — cloudless, brilliant, and breathing balm. "This willdo, " said Ellen to herself, in great satisfaction — "I thinkthis will do — I hope Mamma will think so. "

Hastily dressing herself, and a good deal excited already, sheran down stairs, and, after the morning salutations, examinedher mother's looks with as much anxiety as she had just donethose of the weather. All was satisfactory there also; andEllen ate her breakfast with an excellent appetite; but shesaid not a word of the intended expedition till her fathershould be gone. She contented herself with strengthening herhopes, by making constant fresh inspections of the weather andher mother's countenance alternately; and her eyes returningfrom the window on one of these excursions, and meeting hermother's face, saw a smile there which said all she wanted. Breakfast went on more vigorously than ever. But afterbreakfast it seemed to Ellen that her father never would goaway. He took the newspaper, an uncommon thing for him, andpored over it most perseveringly, while Ellen was in a perfectfidget of impatience. Her mother, seeing the state she was in, and taking pity on her, sent her up stairs to do some littlematters of business in her own room. These Ellen despatchedwith all possible zeal and speed; and coming down again, foundher father gone, and her mother alone. She flew to kiss her inthe first place, and then made the inquiry, "Don't you thinkto-day will do, Mamma?"

"As fine as possible, daughter; we could not have a better;but I must wait till the doctor has been here. "

"Mamma, " said Ellen, after a pause, making a great effort ofself-denial, "I am afraid you oughtn't to go out to get thesethings for me. Pray don't, Mamma, if you think it will do youharm. I would rather go without them; indeed I would. "

"Never mind that, daughter, " said Mrs. Montgomery, kissingher; "I am bent upon it; it would be quite as much of adisappointment to me as to you, not to go. We have a lovelyday for it, and we will take our time and walk slowly, and wehaven't far to go either. But I must let Dr. Green make hisvisit first. "

To fill up the time till he came, Mrs. Montgomery employedEllen in reading to her, as usual. And this morning's readingEllen long after remembered. Her mother directed her toseveral passages in different parts of the Bible that speak ofheaven and its enjoyments; and though, when she began, her ownlittle heart was full of excitement, in view of the day'splans, and beating with hope and pleasure, the sublime beautyof the words and thoughts, as she went on, awed her intoquiet, and her mother's manner at length turned her attentionentirely from herself. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa, and for the most part listened in silence, with her eyesclosed, but sometimes saying a word or two that made Ellenfeel how deep was the interest her mother had in the thingsshe read of, and how pure and strong the pleasure she was evennow taking in them; and sometimes there was a smile on herface that Ellen scarce liked to see; it gave her an indistinctfeeling that her mother would not be long away from thatheaven to which she seemed already to belong. Ellen had a sadconsciousness, too, that she had no part with her mother inthis matter. She could hardly go on. She came to thatbeautiful passage in the seventh of Revelation: —

"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What arethese which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?And I said unto him. Sir thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and havewashed their robes, and made them white in the blood of theLamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and servehim day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on thethrone shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, which is in the midst of thethrone, shall feed them, and shall lead them unto livingfountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears fromtheir eyes. "

With difficulty, and a husky voice, Ellen got through it. Lifting then her eyes to her mother's face, she saw again thesame singular sweet smile. Ellen felt that she could not readanother word; to her great relief the door opened, and Dr. Green came in. His appearance changed the whole course of herthoughts. All that was grave or painful fled quickly away;Ellen's head was immediately full again of what had filled itbefore she began to read. 

As soon as the doctor had retired, and was fairly out ofhearing, "Now, Mamma, shall we go?" said Ellen. "You needn'tstir, Mamma; I'll bring all your things to you, and put themon — may I, Mamma? then you won't be a bit tired before youset out. "

Her mother assented; and with a great deal of tenderness, anda great deal of eagerness, Ellen put on her stockings andshoes, arranged her hair, and did all that she could towardschanging her dress, and putting on her bonnet and shawl; andgreatly delighted she was when the business was accomplished. 

"Now, Mamma, you look like yourself; I haven't seen you lookso well this great while. I'm glad you're going out again, "said Ellen, putting her arms round her; "I do believe it willdo you good. Now, Mamma, I'll go and get ready; I'll be veryquick about it; you shan't have to wait long for me. "

In a few minutes the two set forth from the house. The day wasas fine as could be; there was no wind, there was no dust; thesun was not oppressive; and Mrs. Montgomery did feel refreshedand strengthened during the few steps they had to take totheir first stopping-place. 

It was a jeweller's store. Ellen had never been in one beforein her life, and her first feeling on entering was of dazzledwonderment at the glittering splendours around; this waspresently forgotten in curiosity to know what her mother couldpossibly want there. She soon discovered that she had come tosell, and not to buy. Mrs. Montgomery drew a ring from herfinger, and, after a little chaffering, parted with it to theowner of the store for eighty dollars, being about three-quarters of its real value. The money was counted out, and sheleft the store. 

"Mamma, " said Ellen, in a low voice, "wasn't that grandmamma'sring, which I thought you loved so much?"

"Yes, I did love it, Ellen, but I love you better. "

"Oh, Mamma, I am very sorry!" said Ellen. 

"You need not be sorry, daughter. Jewels in themselves are themerest nothings to me; and as for the rest, it doesn't matter;I can remember my mother without any help from a trinket. "

There were tears, however, in Mrs. Montgomery's eyes, thatshowed the sacrifice had cost her something; and there weretears in Ellen's, that told it was not thrown away upon her. 

"I am sorry you should know of this, " continued Mrs. Montgomery; "you should not if I could have helped it. But setyour heart quite at rest, Ellen; I assure you this use of myring gives me more pleasure on the whole than any other Icould have made of it. "

A grateful squeeze of her hand and glance into her face wasEllen's answer. 

Mrs. Montgomery had applied to her husband for the fundsnecessary to fit Ellen comfortably for the time they should beabsent; and in answer he had given her a sum barely sufficientfor her mere clothing. Mrs. Montgomery knew him better than toask for a further supply, but she resolved to have recourse toother means to do what she had determined upon. Now that shewas about to leave her little daughter, and it might be forever, she had set her heart upon providing her with certainthings which she thought important to her comfort andimprovement, and which Ellen would go very long without if _she_did not give them to her, and _now_. Ellen had had very fewpresents in her life, and those always of the simplest andcheapest kind; her mother resolved that in the midst of thebitterness of this time she would give her one pleasure, ifshe could — it might be the last. 

They stopped next at a book-store. "Oh, what a delicious smellof new books!" said Ellen, as they entered. "Mamma, if itwasn't for one thing, I should say I never was so happy in mylife. "

Children's books, lying in tempting confusion near the door, immediately fastened Ellen's eyes and attention. She openedone, and was already deep in the interest of it, when the word"_Bibles_" struck her ear. Mrs. Montgomery was desiring theshopman to show her various kinds and sizes, that she mightchoose from among them. Down went Ellen's book, and she flewto the place, where a dozen different Bibles were presentlydisplayed. Ellen's wits were ready to forsake her. Suchbeautiful Bibles she had never seen; she pored in ecstasy overtheir varieties of type and binding, and was very evidently inlove with them all. 

"Now, Ellen, " said Mrs. Montgomery, "look and choose; takeyour time, and see which you like best. "

It was not likely that Ellen's "time" would be a short one. Her mother seeing this, took a chair at a little distance, toawait patiently her decision; and while Ellen's eyes wereriveted on the Bibles, her own, very naturally, were fixedupon her. In the excitement and eagerness of the moment, Ellenhad thrown off her little bonnet, and with flushed cheek andsparkling eye, and a brow grave with unusual care, as though anation's fate were deciding, she was weighing the comparativeadvantages of large, small, and middle-sized — black, blue, purple, and red — gilt and not gilt — clasp and no clasp. Everything but the Bibles before her Ellen had forgottenutterly; she was deep in what was to her the most important ofbusiness; she did not see the bystanders smile — she did notknow there were any. To her mother's eye it was a most fairsight. Mrs. Montgomery gazed with rising emotions of pleasureand pain that struggled for the mastery; but pain at last gotthe better, and rose very high. "How can I give thee up!" wasthe one thought of her heart. Unable to command herself, sherose and went to a distant part of the counter, where sheseemed to be examining books; but tears, some of the bitterestshe had ever shed, were falling thick upon the dusty floor, and she felt her heart like to break. Her little daughter, atone end of the counter, had forgotten there ever was such athing as sorrow in the world; and she, at the other, was bowedbeneath a weight of it that was nigh to crush her. But in herextremity she betook herself to that refuge she had neverknown to fail: it did not fail her now. She remembered thewords Ellen had been reading to her but that very morning, andthey came like the breath of heaven upon the fever of her soul— "Not my will, but thine be done. " She strove and prayed tosay it, and not in vain; and after a little while she was ableto return to her seat. She felt that she had been shaken by atempest, but she was calmer now than before. 

Ellen was just as she had left her, and apparently just as farfrom coming to any conclusion. Mrs. Montgomery was resolved tolet her take her way. Presently Ellen came over from thecounter with a large royal octavo Bible, heavy enough to be agood lift for her. "Mamma, " said she, laying it on hermother's lap, and opening it, "what do you think of that?isn't that splendid?"

"A most beautiful page indeed; is this your choice, Ellen?"

"Well, Mamma, I don't know; what do you think?"

"I think it is rather inconveniently large and heavy foreveryday use. It is quite a weight upon my lap. I shouldn'tlike to carry it in my hands long. You would want a littletable on purpose to hold it. "

"Well, that wouldn't do at all, " said Ellen, laughing. "Ibelieve you are right, Mamma; I wonder I didn't think of it. Imight have known that myself. "

She took it back; and there followed another carefulexamination of the whole stock; and then Ellen came to hermother with a beautiful miniature edition, in two volumes, gilt, and clasped, and very perfect in all respects, but ofexceeding small print. 

"I think I'll have this, Mamma, " said she; "isn't it a beauty?I could put it in my pocket, you know, and carry it anywhere, with the greatest ease. "

"It would have one great objection to me, " said Mrs. Montgomery, "inasmuch as I cannot possibly see to read it. "

"Cannot you, Mamma? But I can read it perfectly. "

"Well, my dear, take it — that is, if you will make up yourmind to put on spectacles before your time. "

"Spectacles, Mamma! I hope I shall never have to wearspectacles. "

"What do you propose to do when your sight fails, if you shalllive so long?"

"Well, Mamma, if it comes to that; — but you don't advise me, then, to take this little beauty?"

"Judge for yourself; I think you are old enough. "

"I know what you think, though, Mamma, and I daresay you areright, too; I won't take it, though it's a pity. Well, I mustlook again. "

Mrs. Montgomery came to her help, for it was plain Ellen hadlost the power of judging amidst so many tempting objects. Butshe presently simplified the matter by putting aside all thatwere decidedly too large or too small, or of too fine print. There remained three of moderate size and sufficiently largetype, but different binding. "Either of these, I think, willanswer your purpose nicely, " said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"Then, Mamma, if you please, I will have the red one. I likethat best, because it will put me in mind of yours. "

Mrs. Montgomery could find no fault with this reason. She paidfor the red Bible, and directed it to be sent home. 

"Shan't I carry it, Mamma?" said Ellen. 

"No, you would find it in the way; we have several things todo yet. "

"Have we, Mamma? I thought we only came to get a Bible. "

"That is enough for one day, I confess. I am a little afraidyour head will be turned, but I must run the risk of it. Idare not lose the opportunity of this fine weather; I may nothave such another. I wish to have the comfort of thinking, when I am away, that I have left you with everything necessaryto the keeping up of good habits — everything that will makethem pleasant and easy. I wish you to be always neat, andtidy, and industrious; depending upon others as little aspossible; and careful to improve yourself by every means, andespecially by writing to me. I will leave you no excuse, Ellen, for failing in any of these duties. I trust you willnot disappoint me in a single particular. "

Ellen's heart was too full to speak. She again looked uptearfully, and pressed her mother's hand. 

"I do not expect to be disappointed, love, " returned Mrs. Montgomery. 

They now entered a large fancy store. 

"What are we to get here, Mamma?" said Ellen. 

"A box to put your pens and paper in, " said her mother, smiling. 

"Oh, to be sure, " said Ellen; "I had almost forgotten that. "

She quite forgot it a minute after. It was the first time shehad seen the inside of such a store, and the articlesdisplayed on every side completely bewitched her. From onething to another she went, admiring and wondering; in herwildest dreams she had never imagined such beautiful things. The store was fairyland. 

Mrs. Montgomery meanwhile attended to business. Having chosena neat little japanned dressing-box, perfectly plain, but wellsupplied with everything a child could want in that line, shecalled Ellen from the delightful journey of discovery she wasmaking round the store, and asked her what she thought of it. "I think it's a little beauty, " said Ellen; "but I never sawsuch a place for beautiful things. "

"You think it will do, then?" said her mother. 

"For me, Mamma! You don't mean to give it to me? Oh, mother, how good you are! But I know what is the best way to thankyou, and I'll do it. What a perfect little beauty! Mamma, I'mtoo happy!"

"I hope not, " said her mother; "for you know I haven't got youthe box for your pens and paper yet. "

"Well, Mamma, I'll try and bear it, " said Ellen, laughing. "But do get me the plainest little thing in the world, foryou're giving me too much. "

Mrs. Montgomery asked to look at writing-desks, and was shownto another part of the store for the purpose. 

"Mamma, " said Ellen, in a low tone, as they went, "you're notgoing to get me a writing-desk?"

"Why, that is the best kind of box for holding writingmaterials, " said her mother, smiling; "don't you think so?"

"I don't know what to say!" exclaimed Ellen. "I can't thankyou, Mamma; — I haven't any words to do it. I think I shall gocrazy. "

She was truly overcome with the weight of happiness. Wordsfailed her, and tears came instead. 

From among a great many desks of all descriptions, Mrs. Montgomery with some difficulty succeeded in choosing one toher mind. It was of mahogany, not very large, but thoroughlywell made and finished, and very convenient and perfect in itsinternal arrangements. Ellen was speechless; occasional looksat her mother, and deep sighs, were all she had now to offer. The desk was quite empty. 

"Ellen, " said her mother, "do you remember the furniture ofMiss Allen's desk, that you were so pleased with a while ago?"

"Perfectly, Mamma; I know all that was in it. "

"Well, then, you must prompt me if I forget anything. Yourdesk will be furnished with everything really useful. Merelyshowy matters we can dispense with. Now let us see — here is agreat empty place that I think wants some paper to fill it. Show me some of different sizes, if you please. "

The shopman obeyed, and Mrs. Montgomery stocked the desk wellwith letter-paper, large and small. Ellen looked on in greatsatisfaction. "That will do nicely, " she said; "that largepaper will be beautiful whenever I am writing to you, Mamma, you know; and the other will do for other times, when Ihaven't so much to say; though I am sure I don't know whothere is in the world I should ever send letters to, exceptyou. "

"If there is nobody now, perhaps there will be at some futuretime, " replied her mother. "I hope I shall not always be youronly correspondent. Now, what next?"

"Envelopes, Mamma?"

"To be sure; I had forgotten them. Envelopes of both sizes tomatch. "

"Because, Mamma, you know I might, and I certainly shall, wantto write upon the fourth page of my letter, and I couldn't doit unless I had envelopes. "

A sufficient stock of envelopes was laid in. 

"Mamma, " said Ellen, "what do you think of a little note-paper?"

"Who are the notes to be written to, Ellen?" said Mrs. Montgomery smiling. 

"You needn't smile, Mamma; you know, as you said, if I don'tknow now, perhaps I shall by-and-by. Miss Allen's desk hadnote-paper — that made me think of it. "

"So shall yours, daughter; while we are about it, we will dothe thing well. And your note-paper will keep quite safely inthis nice little place provided for it, even if you should notwant to use a sheet of it in half-a-dozen years. "

"How nice that is!" said Ellen, admiringly. 

"I suppose the note-paper must have envelopes too, " said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"To be sure, Mamma; I suppose so, " said Ellen, smiling; "MissAllen's had. "

"Well, now we have got all the paper we want, I think, " saidMrs. Montgomery; "the next thing is ink — or an inkstand, rather. "

Different kinds were presented for her choice. 

"Oh, Mamma, that one won't do, " said Ellen, anxiously; "youknow the desk will be knocking about in a trunk, and the inkwould run out, and spoil every thing. It should be one ofthose that shut tight. I don't see the right kind here. "

The shopman brought one. 

"There, Mamma — do you see?" said Ellen. "It shuts with aspring, and nothing can possibly come out. Do you see, Mamma. You can turn it topsy-turvy. "

"I see you are quite right, daughter; it seems I should get onvery ill without you to advise me. Fill the inkstand, if youplease. "

"Mamma, what shall I do when my ink is gone? that inkstandwill hold but a little, you know. "

"Your aunt will supply you, of course, my dear, when you areout. "

"I'd rather take some of my own, by half, " said Ellen. 

"You could not carry a bottle of ink in your desk withoutgreat danger to every thing else in it. It would not do toventure. "

"We have excellent ink-powder, " said the shopman, "in smallpackages, which can be very conveniently carried about. Yousee, Ma’am, there is a compartment in the desk for suchthings; and the ink is very easily made at any time. "

"Oh, that will do nicely, " said Ellen, — "that is just thething. "

"Now, what is to go in this other square place, opposite theinkstand?" said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"That is the place for the box of lights, Mamma. "

"What sort of lights?"

"For sealing letters, Mamma, you know. They are not like yourwax taper at all; they are little wax matches, that burn justlong enough to seal one or two letters; Miss Allen showed mehow she used them. Hers were in a nice little box, just likethe inkstand on the outside; and there was a place to lightthe matches, and a place to set them in while they areburning. There, Mamma, that's it, " said Ellen, as the shopmanbrought forth the article which she was describing, — "that'sit exactly; and that will just fit. Now, Mamma, for the wax. "

"You want to seal your letter before you have written it, "said Mrs. Montgomery — "we have not got the pens yet. "

"That's true, Mamma — let us have the pens. And some quillstoo, Mamma?"

"Do you know how to make a pen, Ellen?"

"No, Mamma, not yet; but I want to learn very much. MissPichegru says that every lady ought to know how to make herown pens. "

"Miss Pichegru is very right; but I think you are rather tooyoung to learn. However, we will try. Now, here are steelpoints enough to last you a great while — and as many quillsas it is needful you should cut up for one year at least; — wehaven't a pen-handle yet. "

"Here, Mamma, " said Ellen, holding out a plain ivory one, "don't you like this? I think it is prettier than these thatare all cut and fussed, or those other gay ones either. "

"I think so too, Ellen; the plainer the prettier. Now, whatcomes next?"

"The knife, Mamma, to make the pens, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"True, the knife. Let us see some of your best penknives. Now, Ellen, choose. That one won't do, my dear; it should have twoblades — a large as well as a small one. You know you want tomend a pencil sometimes. "

"So I do, Mamma — to be sure — you're very right; here's anice one. Now, Mamma, the wax. "

"There is a box full — choose your own colours. " Seeing it waslikely to be a work of time, Mrs. Montgomery walked away toanother part of the store. When she returned, Ellen had madeup an assortment of the oddest colours she could find. 

"I won't have any red, Mamma, it is so common, " she said. 

"I think it is the prettiest of all, " said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"Do you, Mamma? then I will have a stick of red on purpose toseal to you with. "

"And who do you intend shall have the benefit of the othercolours?" inquired her mother. 

"I declare, Mamma, " said Ellen, laughing; "I never thought ofthat; I am afraid they will have to go to you. You must notmind, Mamma, if you get green, and blue, and yellow seals oncein a while. "

"I dare say I shall submit myself to it with a good grace, said Mrs. Montgomery. "But come, my dear, have we got all thatwe want? This desk has been very long in furnishing. "

"You haven't given me a seal yet, Mamma. "

"Seals! There are a variety before you; see if you can findone that you like. By the way, you cannot seal a letter, canyou?"

"Not yet, Mamma, " said Ellen, smiling again; "that is anotherof the things I have got to learn. "

"Then I think you had better have some wafers in the meantime. "

While Ellen was picking out her seal, which took not a littletime, Mrs. Montgomery laid in a good supply of wafers of allsorts; and then went on further to furnish the desk with anivory leaf-cutter, a paper-folder, a pounce-box, a ruler, anda neat little silver pencil; also some drawing-pencils, India-rubber, and sheets of drawing-paper. She took a sad pleasurein adding everything she could think of that might be forEllen's future use or advantage; but as with her own hands sheplaced in the desk one thing after another, the thoughtcrossed her mind, how Ellen would make drawings with thosevery pencils, on those very sheets of paper, which her eyeswould never see! She turned away with a sigh, and receivingEllen's seal from her hand, put that also in its place. Ellenhad chosen one with her own name. 

"Will you send these things _at once?_" said Mrs. Montgomery; "Iparticularly wish to have them at home as early in the day aspossible. "

The man promised. Mrs. Montgomery paid the bill, and she andEllen left the store. 

They walked a little way in silence. 

"I cannot thank you, Mamma, " said Ellen. 

"It is not necessary, my dear child, " said Mrs. Montgomery, returning the pressure of her hand; "I know all that you wouldsay. "

There was as much sorrow as joy at that moment in the heart ofthe joyfullest of the two. 

"Where are we going now, Mamma?" said Ellen again, after awhile. 

"I wished and intended to have gone to St. Clair and Fleury's, to get you some merino and other things, but we have beendetained so long already that I think I had better go home. Ifeel somewhat tired. "

"I am very sorry, dear Mamma, " said Ellen; "I am afraid I keptyou too long about that desk. "

"You did not keep me, daughter, any longer than I chose to bekept. But I think I will go home now, and take the chance ofanother fine day for the merino. "

CHAPTER IV. 

The Bitter-sweet of Life. 

When dinner was over and the table cleared away, the motherand daughter were left, as they always loved to be, alone. Itwas late in the afternoon, and already somewhat dark, forclouds had gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, andthe wind, rising now and then, made its voice heard. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa, as usual, seemingly at ease;and Ellen was sitting on a little bench before the fire, verymuch at _her_ ease, indeed, without any seeming about it. Shesmiled as she met her mother's eyes. 

"You have made me very happy to-day, Mamma. "

"I am glad of it, my dear child. I hoped I should. I believethe whole affair has given me as much pleasure, Ellen, as ithas you. "

There was a pause. 

"Mamma, I will take the greatest possible care of my newtreasures. "

"I know you will. If I had doubted it, Ellen, most assuredly Ishould not have given them to you, sorry as I should have beento leave you without them. So you see you have not establisheda character for carefulness in vain. "

"And, Mamma, I hope you have not given them to me in vain, either. I will try to use them in the way that I know you wishme to; that will be the best way I can thank you. "

"Well, I have left you no excuse, Ellen. You know fully what Iwish you to do and to be; and when I am away I shall pleasemyself with thinking that my little daughter _is_ following hermother's wishes; I shall believe so, Ellen. You will not letme be disappointed?"

"Oh no, Mamma, " said Ellen, who was now in her mother's arms. 

"Well, my child, " said Mrs. Montgomery, in a lighter tone, "mygifts will serve as reminders for you if you are ever temptedto forget my lessons. If you fail to send me letters, or ifthose you send are not what they ought to be, I think the deskwill cry shame upon you. And if you ever go an hour with ahole in your stocking, or a tear in your dress, or a stringoff your petticoat, I hope the sight of your workbox will makeyou blush. "

"Workbox, Mamma!"

"Yes. Oh, I forgot — you've not seen that. "

"No, Mamma — what do you mean?"

"Why, my dear, that was one of the things you most wanted, butI thought it best not to overwhelm you quite this morning; sowhile you were on an exploring expedition round the store, Ichose and furnished one for you. "

"Oh Mamma, Mamma!" said Ellen, getting up and clasping herhands, "what shall I do? I don't know what to say; I can't sayanything. Mamma, it's too much. "

So it seemed, for Ellen sat down and began to cry. Her mothersilently reached out a hand to her, which she squeezed andkissed with all the energy of gratitude, love, and sorrow;till, gently drawn by the same hand, she was placed again inher mother's arms and upon her bosom. And in that triedresting-place she lay, calmed and quieted, till the shades ofafternoon deepened into evening, and evening into night, andthe light of the fire was all that was left to them. 

Though not a word had been spoken for a long time, Ellen wasnot asleep; her eyes were fixed on the red glow of the coalsin the grate, and she was busily thinking, but not of them. Many sober thoughts were passing through her little head, andstirring her heart; a few were of her new possessions andbright projects — more of her mother. She was thinking howvery, very precious was the heart she could feel beating whereher cheek lay — she thought it was greater happiness to liethere than anything else in life could be — she thought shehad rather even die so, on her mother's breast, than live longwithout her in the world — she felt that in earth or in heaventhere was nothing so dear. Suddenly she broke the silence. 

"Mamma, what does that mean, 'He that loveth father or mothermore than me, is not worthy of me?' "

"It means just what it says. If you love anybody or anythingbetter than Jesus Christ, you cannot be one of his children. "

"But then, Mamma, " said Ellen, raising her head, "how _can_ I beone of his children? I do love you a great deal better: howcan I help it, Mamma?"

"You cannot help it, I know, my dear, " said Mrs. Montgomery, with a sigh, "except by His grace, who has promised to changethe hearts of his people — to take away the heart of stone, and give them a heart of flesh. "

"But is mine a heart of stone, then, Mamma, because I cannothelp loving you best?"

"Not to me, dear Ellen, " replied Mrs. Montgomery, pressingcloser the little form that lay in her arms; "I have neverfound it so. But yet I know that the Lord Jesus is far, farmore worthy of your affection than I am; and if your heartwere not hardened by sin, you would see him so; it is onlybecause you do not know him that you love me better. Pray, pray, my dear child, that he would take away the power of sin, and show you himself; that is all that is wanting. "

"I will, Mamma, " said Ellen, tearfully. "Oh, Mamma, what shallI do without you?"

Alas! Mrs. Montgomery's heart echoed the question — she had noanswer. 

"Mamma, " said Ellen, after a few minutes, "can I have no truelove to Him at all unless I love him _best?_"

"I dare not say that you can, " answered her mother, seriously. 

"Mamma, " said Ellen, after a little, again raising her head, and looking her mother full in the face, as if willing toapply the severest test to this hard doctrine, and speakingwith an indescribable expression, "do _you_ love him _better thanyou do me?_"

She knew her mother loved the Saviour, but she thought itscarcely possible that herself could have but the second placein her heart; she ventured a bold question, to prove whetherher mother's practice would not contradict her theory. 

But Mrs. Montgomery answered steadily, "I do, my daughter;"and, with a gush of tears, Ellen sank her head again upon herbosom. She had no more to say; her mouth was stopped for everas to the _right_ of the matter, though she still thought it animpossible duty in her own particular case. 

"I do, indeed, my daughter, " repeated Mrs. Montgomery; "thatdoes not make my love to you the less, but the more, Ellen. "

"Oh, Mamma, Mamma!" said Ellen, clinging to her, "I wish youwould teach me! I have only you, and I am going to lose you. What shall I do, Mamma?"

With a voice that strove to be calm, Mrs. Montgomery answered, " 'I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shallfind me. ' " And after a minute or two, she added, "He who saysthis has promised, too, that he will 'gather the lambs withhis arm, and carry them in his bosom. ' "

The words fell soothingly on Ellen's ear, and the slighttremor in the voice reminded her also that her mother must notbe agitated. She checked herself instantly, and soon lay asbefore, quiet and still, on her mother's bosom, with her eyesfixed on the fire; and Mrs. Montgomery did not know that whenshe now and then pressed a kiss upon the forehead that lay sonear her lips, it every time brought the water to Ellen'seyes, and a throb to her heart. But after some half or three-quarters of an hour had passed away, a sudden knock at thedoor found both mother and daughter asleep; it had to berepeated once or twice before the knocker could gainattention. 

"What is that, Mamma?" said Ellen, starting up. 

"Somebody at the door. Open it quickly, love. "

Ellen did so, and found a man standing there, with his armsrather full of sundry packages. 

"Oh, Mamma, my things!" cried Ellen, clapping her hands; "herethey are!"

The man placed his burden on the table and withdrew. 

"Oh, Mamma, I am so glad they are come! Now, if I only had alight — this is my desk, I know, for it's the largest; and Ithink this is my dressing-box, as well as I can tell byfeeling — yes, it is, here's the handle on top; and this is mydear workbox — not so big as the desk, nor so little as thedressing-box. Oh, Mamma, mayn't I ring for a light?"

There was no need, for a servant just then entered, bringingthe wished-for candles, and the not-wished-for _tea_. Ellen wascapering about in the most fantastic style, but suddenlystopped short at sight of the tea things, and looked verygrave. "Well, Mamma, I'll tell you what I'll do, " she said, after a pause of consideration; "I'll make the tea the firstthing, before I untie a single knot; won't that be best, Mamma? Because I know if I once begin to look, I shan't wantto stop. Don't you think that is wise, Mamma?

But alas! the fire had got very low; there was no making thetea quickly; and the toast was a work of time. And when allwas over at length, it was then too late for Ellen to begin toundo packages. She struggled with impatience a minute or two, and then gave up the point very gracefully, and went to bed. 

She had a fine opportunity the next day to make up for theevening's disappointment. It was cloudy and stormy; going outwas not to be thought of, and it was very unlikely thatanybody would come in. Ellen joyfully allotted the wholemorning to the examination and trial of her new possessions;and as soon as breakfast was over and the room clear, she setabout it. She first went through the desk and everything init, making a running commentary on the excellence, fitness, and beauty of all it contained; then the dressing-box receiveda share, but a much smaller share, of attention; and lastly, with fingers trembling with eagerness, she untied the pack-thread that was wound round the workbox, and slowly took offcover after cover; she almost screamed when the last wasremoved. The box was of satinwood, beautifully finished, andlined with crimson silk; and Mrs. Montgomery had taken goodcare it should want nothing that Ellen might need to keep herclothes in perfect order. 

"Oh, Mamma, how beautiful! Oh, Mamma, how good you are! Mamma, I promise you I'll never be a slattern. Here is more cottonthan I can use up in a great while — every number, I do think;and needles, oh, the needles! what a parcel of them! and, Mamma, what a lovely scissors! Did you choose it, Mamma, ordid it belong to the box?"

"I chose it. "

"I might have guessed it, Mamma, it's just like you. Andhere's a thimble — fits me exactly! and an emery-bag! howpretty! — and a bodkin! this is a great nicer than yours, Mamma — yours is decidedly the worse for wear; — and what'sthis? — oh, to make eyelet-holes with, I know. And oh, Mamma!here is almost everything, I think — here are tapes, andbuttons, and hooks and eyes, and darning-cotton, and silk-winders, and pins, and all sorts of things. What's this for, Mamma?"

"That's a scissors to cut button-holes with. Try it on thatpiece of paper that lies by you, and you will see how itworks. "

"Oh, I see!" said Ellen, "how very nice that is! Well, I shalltake great pains now to make my button-holes very handsomely. "

One survey of her riches could by no means satisfy Ellen. Forsome time she pleased herself with going over and over thecontents of the box, finding each time something new to like. At length she closed it, and keeping it still in her lap, satawhile looking thoughtfully into the fire; till, turningtowards her mother, she met her gaze, fixed mournfully, almosttearfully, on herself. The box was instantly shoved aside, andgetting up and bursting into tears, Ellen went to her. 

"Oh, dear mother, " she said, "I wish they were all back in thestore, if I could only keep you!"

Mrs. Montgomery answered only by folding her to her heart. 

"Is there no help for it, Mamma?"

"There is none. We know that all things shall work togetherfor good to them that love God. "

"Then it will be all good for you, Mamma — but what will it befor me?" And Ellen sobbed bitterly. 

"It will be all well, my precious child, I doubt not. I do notdoubt it, Ellen. Do _you_ not doubt it either, love; but fromthe hand that wounds, seek the healing. He wounds that he _may_heal. He does not afflict willingly. Perhaps he sees, Ellen, that you never would seek him while you had me to cling to. "

Ellen clung to her at that moment — yet not more than hermother clung to her. 

"How happy we were, Mamma, only a year ago — even a month. "

"We have no continuing city here, " answered her mother, with asigh. "But there is a home, Ellen, where changes do not come;and they that are once gathered there are parted no more forever; and all tears are wiped from their eyes. I believe I amgoing fast to that home; and now my greatest concern is, thatmy little Ellen — my precious baby — may follow me, and comethere too. "

No more was said, nor could be said, till the sound of thedoctor's steps upon the stair obliged each of them to assumean appearance of composure as speedily as possible. But theycould not succeed perfectly enough to blind him. He did notseem very well satisfied, and told Ellen he believed he shouldhave to get another nurse — he was afraid she didn't obeyorders. 

While the doctor was there, Ellen's Bible was brought in; andno sooner was he gone than it underwent as thorough anexamination as the boxes had received. Ellen went over everypart of it with the same great care and satisfaction — butmixed with a different feeling. The words that caught her eyeas she turned over the leaves seemed to echo what her motherhad been saying to her. It began to grow dear already. After alittle she rose and brought it to the sofa. 

"Are you satisfied with it, Ellen?"

"Oh, yes, Mamma; it is perfectly beautiful, outside andinside. Now, Mamma, will you please write my name in thisprecious book — my name, and anything else you please, mother?I'll bring you my new pen to write it with, and I've got inkhere — shall I?"

She brought it; and Mrs. Montgomery wrote Ellen's name and thedate of the gift. The pen played a moment in her fingers, andthen she wrote below the date —

"I love them that love me; and they that seek me early shallfind me. "

This was for Ellen; but the next words were not for her; whatmade her write them?

"I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee. "

They were written almost unconsciously; and as, if bowed by anunseen force, Mrs. Montgomery's head sank upon the open page, and her whole soul went up with her petition: —

"Let these words be my memorial that I have trusted in thee. And oh! when these miserable lips are silent for ever, remember the word unto thy servant, upon which thou hastcaused me to hope; and be unto my little one all thou hastbeen to me! Unto thee I lift up mine eyes, O thou thatdwellest in the heavens!"

She raised her face from the book, closed it, and gave itsilently to Ellen. Ellen had noticed her action, but had nosuspicion of the cause; she supposed that one of her mother'sfrequent feelings of weakness or sickness had made her leanher head upon the Bible, and she thought no more about it. However, Ellen felt that she wanted no more of her boxes thatday. She took her old place by the side of her mother's sofa, with her head upon her mother's hand, and an expression ofquiet sorrow in her face that it had not worn for severaldays. 

CHAPTER V. 

A peep into the Wide World. 

The next day would not do for the intended shopping, nor thenext. The third day was fine, though cool and windy. 

"Do you think you can venture out to-day, Mamma?" said Ellen. 

"I am afraid not. I do not feel quite equal to it, and thewind is a great deal too high for me, besides. "

"Well, " said Ellen, in the tone of one who is making up hermind to do something, "we shall have a fine day by-and-by, Isuppose, if we wait long enough; we had to wait a great dealwhile for our first shopping-day. I wish such another wouldcome round. "

"But the misfortune is, " said her mother, "that we cannotafford to wait. November will soon be here, and your clothesmay be suddenly wanted before they are ready, if we do notbestir ourselves. And Miss Rice is coming in a few days — Iought to have the merino ready for her. "

"What will you do, Mamma?"

"I do not know, indeed, Ellen; I am greatly at a loss. "

"Couldn't papa get the stuffs for you, Mamma?"

"No, he's too busy; and besides, he doesn't know aboutshopping for me. "

"Well, what will you do, Mamma? Is there nobody else you couldask to get the things for you? Mrs. Foster would do it, Mamma. "

"I know she would, and I should ask her without anydifficulty, but she is confined to her room with a cold. I seenothing for it but to be patient and let things take theircourse — though, if a favourable opportunity should offer, youwould have to go, clothes or no clothes; it would not do tolose the chance of a good escort. "

And Mrs. Montgomery's face showed that this possibility ofEllen's going unprovided gave her some uneasiness. Ellenobserved it. 

"Never mind me, dearest mother; don't be in the least worriedabout my clothes. You don't know how little I think of them orcare for them. It's no matter at all whether I have them ornot. "

Mrs. Montgomery smiled, and passed her hand fondly over herlittle daughter's head, but presently resumed her anxious lookout of the window. 

"Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting up, "a brightthought has just come into my head! _I'll_ do it for you, Mamma!"

"Do what?"

"I'll get the merino and things for you, Mamma. You needn'tsmile — I will, indeed, if you let me. "

"My dear Ellen, " said her mother, "I don't doubt you would, ifgoodwill only were wanting; but a great deal of skill andexperience is necessary for a shopper, and what would you dowithout either?"

"But see, Mamma, " pursued Ellen, eagerly, "I'll tell you howI'll manage, and I know I can manage very well. You tell meexactly what colour of merino you want, and give me a littlepiece to show me how fine it should be, and tell me what priceyou wish to give, and then I'll go to the store and ask themto show me different pieces, you know, and if I see any Ithink you would like, I'll ask them to give me a little bit ofit to show you; and then I'll bring it home, and if you likeit, you can give me the money, and tell me how many yards youwant, and I can go back to the store and get it. Why can't I, Mamma?"

"Perhaps you could; but my dear child, I am afraid youwouldn't like the business. "

"Yes, I should; indeed, Mamma, I should like it dearly, if Icould help you so. Will you let me try, Mamma?"

"I don't like, my child, to venture you alone on such anerrand, among crowds of people; I should be uneasy about you. "

"Dear Mamma, what would the crowds of people do to me? I amnot a bit afraid. You know, Mamma, I have often taken walksalone — that's nothing new; and what harm should come to mewhile I am in the store? You needn't be the least uneasy aboutme; — may I go?"

Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but was silent. 

"May I go, Mamma?" repeated Ellen. "Let me go at least and trywhat I can do. What do you say, Mamma?"

"I don't know what to say, my daughter, but I am in difficultyon either hand. I will let you go and see what you can do. Itwould be a great relief to me to get this merino by anymeans. "

"Then shall I go right away, Mamma?"

"As well now as ever. _You_ are not afraid of the wind?"

"I should think not, " said Ellen; and away she scamperedupstairs to get ready. With eager haste she dressed herself;then with great care and particularity took her mother'sinstructions as to the article wanted; and finally set out, sensible that a great trust was reposed in her, and feelingbusy and important accordingly. But at the very bottom ofEllen's heart there was a little secret doubtfulnessrespecting her undertaking. She hardly knew it was there, butthen she couldn't tell what it was that made her fingers soinclined to be tremulous while she was dressing, and that madeher heart beat quicker than it ought, or than was pleasant, and one of her cheeks so much hotter than the other. However, she set forth upon her errand with a very brisk step, whichshe kept up till, on turning a corner, she came in sight ofthe place she was going to. Without thinking much about it, Ellen had directed her steps to St. Clair and Fleury's. It wasone of the largest and best stores in the city, and the oneshe knew where her mother generally made her purchases; and itdid not occur to her that it might not be the best for herpurpose on this occasion. But her steps slackened as soon asshe came in sight of it, and continued to slacken as she drewnearer, and she went up the broad flight of marble steps infront of the store, very slowly indeed, though they wereexceeding low and easy. Pleasure was not certainly theuppermost feeling in her mind now; yet she never thought ofturning back. She knew that if she could succeed in the objectof her mission, her mother would be relieved from someanxiety; that was enough; she was bent on accomplishing it. 

Timidly she entered the large hall of entrance. It was full ofpeople, and the buzz of business was heard on all sides. Ellenhad for some time past seldom gone a-shopping with her mother, and had never been in this store but once or twice before. Shehad not the remotest idea where, or in what apartment of thebuilding, the merino counter was situated, and she could seeno one to speak to. She stood irresolute in the middle of thefloor. Everybody seemed to be busily engaged with somebodyelse; and whenever an opening on one side or another appearedto promise her an opportunity, it was sure to be filled upbefore she could reach it, and, disappointed and abashed, shewould return to her old station in the middle of the floor. Clerks frequently passed her, crossing the store in alldirections, but they were always bustling along in a greathurry of business; they did not seem to notice her at all, andwere gone before poor Ellen could get her mouth open to speakto them. She knew well enough now, poor child! what it wasthat made her cheeks burn as they did, and her heart beat asif it would burst its bounds. She felt confused, and almostconfounded by the incessant hum of voices, and moving crowd ofstrange people all around her, while her little figure stoodalone and unnoticed in the midst of them; and there seemed noprospect that she would be able to gain the ear or the eye ofa single person. Once she determined to accost a man she sawadvancing toward her from a distance, and actually made up tohim for the purpose, but with a hurried bow, and "I beg yourpardon, Miss!" he brushed past. Ellen almost burst into tears. She longed to turn and run out of the store, but a faint hoperemaining, and an unwillingness to give up her undertaking, kept her fast. At length one of the clerks in the deskobserved her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair, who stood by, "There is a little girl, Sir, who seems to be looking forsomething, or waiting for somebody; she has been standingthere a good while. " Mr. St. Clair, upon this, advanced topoor Ellen's relief. 

"What do you wish, miss?" he said. 

But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences, trying toutter them, and failing in the attempt, that now, when anopportunity to speak and be heard was given her, the power ofspeech seemed to be gone. 

"Do you wish anything, Miss?" inquired Mr. St. Clair again. 

"Mother sent me, " stammered Ellen — "I wish, if you please, Sir — Mamma wished me to look at the merinoes, Sir, if youplease. "

"Is your Mamma in the store?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, "she is ill, and cannot come out, andshe sent me to look at merinoes for her, if you please, Sir. "

"Here, Saunders, " said Mr. St. Clair, "show this young ladythe merinoes. "

Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among a little group ofclerks, with whom he had been indulging in a few jokes by wayof relief from the tedium of business. "Come this way, " hesaid to Ellen; and sauntering before her, with a ratherdissatisfied air, led the way out of the entrance-hall intoanother and much larger apartment. There were plenty of peoplehere too, and just as busy as those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having brought Ellen to the merino counter, placedhimself behind it, and leaning over it and fixing his eyescarelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look at. Histone and manner struck Ellen most unpleasantly, and made heragain wish herself out of the store. He was a tall, lank youngman, with a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side ofhis face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagreeable pairof eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld. She could notbear to meet them, and cast down her own. Their look was bold, ill-bred, and ill-humoured; and Ellen felt, though shecouldn't have told why, that she need not expect eitherkindness or politeness from him. 

"What do you want to see, little one?" inquired thisgentleman, as if he had a business on hand he would like to berid of. Ellen heartily wished he was rid of it, and she too. 

"Merinoes, if you please, " she answered, without looking up. 

"Well, what kind of merinoes? Here are all sorts anddescriptions of merinoes, and I can't pull them all down, youknow, for you to look at. What kind do you want?"

"I don't know without looking, " said Ellen. "Won't you pleaseto show me some?"

He tossed down several pieces upon the counter, and tumbledthem about before her. 

"There, " said he, "is that anything like what you want?There's a pink one — and there's a blue one — and there's agreen one. Is that the kind?"

"This is the kind, " said Ellen; "but this isn't the colour Iwant. "

"What colour do you want?"

"Something dark, if you please. "

"Well, there, that green's dark; won't that do? See, thatwould make up very pretty for you. "

"No, " said Ellen, "Mamma don't like green. "

"Why don't she come and choose her stuffs herself, then? Whatcolour does she like?"

"Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray would do, " saidEllen, "if it is fine enough. "

" 'Dark blue, ' or 'dark brown, ' or a 'nice gray, ' eh? Well, she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue I've showed you already— what's the matter with that?"

"It isn't dark enough, " said Ellen. 

"Well, " said he, discontentedly, pulling down another piece, "how'll that do? That's dark enough. "

It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different from thosehe had showed her first. Even Ellen could see that, andfumbling for her little pattern of merino, she compared itwith the piece. They agreed perfectly as to fineness. 

"What is the price of this?" she asked, with trembling hopethat she was going to be rewarded by success for all thetrouble of her enterprise. 

"Two dollars a yard. "

Her hopes and countenance fell together. "That's too high, "she said, with a sigh. 

"Then take this other blue; come — it's a great deal prettierthan that dark one, and not so dear; and I know your motherwill like it better. "

Ellen's cheeks were tingling and her heart throbbing, but shecouldn't bear to give up. 

"Would you be so good as to show me some gray?"

He slowly and ill-humouredly complied, and took down anexcellent piece of dark gray, which Ellen fell in love with atonce; but she was again disappointed; it was fourteenshillings. 

"Well, if you won't take that, take something else, " said theman; "you can't have everything at once; if you will havecheap goods, of course you can't have the same quality thatyou like; but now, here's this other blue, only twelveshillings, and I'll let you have it for ten, if you'll takeit. "

"No, it is too light and too coarse, " said Ellen; "Mammawouldn't like it. "

"Let me see, " said he, seizing her pattern, and pretending tocompare it; "it's quite as fine as this, if that's all youwant. "

"Could you, " said Ellen, timidly, "give me a little bit ofthis gray to show Mamma!"

"Oh, no!" said he, impatiently tossing over the cloths andthrowing Ellen's pattern on the floor; "we can't cut up ourgoods; if people don't choose to buy of us, they may gosomewhere else; and if you cannot decide upon anything, I mustgo and attend to those that can. I can't wait here all day. "

"What's the matter, Saunders?" said one of his brother clerks, passing him. 

"Why, I've been here this half hour showing cloths to a childthat doesn't know merino from a sheep's back, " said he, laughing. And, some other customers coming up at the moment, he was as good as his word, and left Ellen, to attend to them. 

Ellen stood a moment stock still, just where he had left her, struggling with her feelings of mortification; she could notendure to let them be seen. Her face was on fire; her head wasdizzy. She could not stir at first, and, in spite of herutmost efforts, she _could_ not command back one or two rebeltears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to her faceto remove them as quietly as possible. "What is all thisabout, my little girl?" said a strange voice at her side. Ellen started, and turned her face, with the tears but halfwiped away, towards the speaker. It was an old gentleman — anodd old gentleman, too, she thought — one she certainly wouldhave been rather shy of, if she had seen him under othercircumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindlyupon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which hisquestion had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend. "What is all this?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began totell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her toweep before strangers, gave way at one touch of sympathy, andshe poured out tears much faster than words, as she relatedher story, so that it was some little time before the oldgentleman could get a clear notion of her case. He waited verypatiently till she had finished; but then he set himself ingood earnest about righting the wrong. "Hallo! you, Sir!" heshouted, in a voice that made everybody look round; "youmerino man! come and show your goods. Why aren't you at yourpost, Sir?" — as Mr. Saunders came up, with an alteredcountenance — "here's a young lady you've left standingunattended to, I don't know how long; are these your manners?"

"The young lady did not wish anything, I believe, Sir, "returned Mr. Saunders, softly. 

"You know better, you scoundrel!" retorted the old gentleman, who was in a great passion; "I saw the whole matter with myown eyes. You are a disgrace to the store, Sir, and deserve tobe sent out of it, which you are like enough to be. "

"I really thought, Sir, " said Mr. Saunders, smoothly — for heknew the old gentleman, and knew very well he was a personthat must not be offended — "I really thought — I was notaware, Sir, that the young lady had any occasion for myservices. "

"Well, show your wares, Sir, and hold your tongue. Now, mydear, what did you want?"

"I wanted a little bit of this gray merino, Sir, to show toMamma. I couldn't buy it, you know, Sir, until I found outwhether she would like it. "

"Cut a piece, Sir, without any words, " said the gentleman. Mr. Saunders obeyed. 

"Did you like this best?" pursued the old gentleman. 

"I like this dark blue very much, Sir, and I thought Mammawould; but it's too high. "

"How much is it?" inquired he. 

"Fourteen shillings, " replied Mr. Saunders. 

"He said it was two dollars!" exclaimed Ellen. 

"I beg pardon, " said the crest-fallen Mr. Saunders — "theyoung lady mistook me; I was speaking of another piece when Isaid two dollars. "

"He said this was two dollars, and the gray was fourteenshillings, " said Ellen. 

"Is the gray fourteen shillings, " inquired the old gentleman. 

"I think not, Sir, " answered Mr. Saunders — "I believe not, Sir, — I think it's only twelve — I'll inquire, if you please, Sir. "

"No, no, " said the old gentleman, "I know it was only twelve —I know your tricks, Sir. Cut a piece off the blue. Now, mydear, are there any more pieces of which you would like totake patterns, to show your mother?"

"No, Sir, " said the overjoyed Ellen; "I am sure she will likeone of these. "

"Now, shall we go, then?"

"If you please, Sir, " said Ellen, "I should like to have mybit of merino that I brought from home; Mamma wanted me tobring it back again. "

"Where is it?"

"That gentleman threw it on the floor. "

"Do you hear, Sir?" said the old gentleman; "find itdirectly. "

Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stooping in searchof it till he was very red in the face; and he was left, wishing heartily that he had some safe means of revenge, andobliged to come to the conclusion that none was within hisreach, and that he must stomach his indignity in the bestmanner he could. But Ellen and her protector went forth mostjoyously together from the store. 

"Do you live far from here?" asked the old gentleman. 

"Oh, no, Sir, " said Ellen, "not very; it's only at Green'sHotel, in Southing-street. "

"I'll go with you, " said he; "and when your mother has decidedwhich merino she will have, we'll come right back and get it. I do not want to trust you again to the mercy of that saucyclerk. "

"Oh, thank you, Sir!" said Ellen, "that is just what I wasafraid of. But I shall be giving you a great deal of trouble, Sir, " she added, in another tone. 

"No, you won't, " said the old gentleman; "I can't be troubled, so you needn't say anything about that. "

They went gaily along — Ellen's heart about five times aslight as the one with which she had travelled that very road alittle while before. Her old friend was in a very cheerfulmood, too, for he assured Ellen, laughingly, that it was of nomanner of use for her to be in a hurry, for he could notpossibly set off and skip to Green's Hotel, as she seemedinclined to do. They got there at last. Ellen showed the oldgentleman into the parlour, and ran up stairs in great hasteto her mother. But in a few minutes she came down again, witha very April face, for smiles were playing in every feature, while the tears were yet wet upon her cheeks. 

"Mamma hopes you'll take the trouble, Sir, to come up stairs, "she said, seizing his hand; "she wants to thank you herself, Sir. "

"It is not necessary, " said the old gentleman — "it is notnecessary at all;" but he followed his little conductor, nevertheless, to the door of her mother's room, into which sheushered him with great satisfaction. 

Mrs. Montgomery was looking very ill — he saw that at aglance. She rose from her sofa, and extending her hand, thanked him, with glistening eyes, for his kindness to herchild. 

"I don't deserve any thanks, Ma’am, " said the old gentleman;"I suppose my little friend has told you what made usacquainted?"

"She gave me a very short account of it, " said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"She was very disagreeably tried, " said the old gentleman. "Ipresume you do not need to be told, Ma’am, that her behaviourwas such as would have become any years. I assure you, Ma’am, if I had had no kindness in my composition to feel for the_child_, my honour as a gentleman would have made me interferefor the _lady_. "

Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but looked through glistening eyesagain on Ellen. "I am _very_ glad to hear it, " she replied. "Iwas very far from thinking, when I permitted her to go on thiserrand, that I was exposing her to anything more serious thanthe annoyance a timid child would feel at having to transactbusiness with strangers. "

"I suppose not, " said the gentleman; "but it isn't a sort ofthing that should be often done. There are all sorts of peoplein this world, and a little one alone in a crowd is in dangerof being trampled upon. "

Mrs. Montgomery's heart answered this with an involuntarypang. He saw the shade that passed over her face, as she saidsadly —

"I know it, Sir; and it was with strong unwillingness that Iallowed Ellen this morning to do as she had proposed; but intruth I was but making a choice between difficulties. I amvery sorry I chose as I did. If you are a father, Sir, youknow better than I can tell you, how grateful I am for yourkind interference. "

"Say nothing about that, Ma’am; the less the better. I am anold man, and not good for much now, except to please youngpeople. I think myself best off when I have the best chance todo that. So if you will be so good as to choose that merino, and let Miss Ellen and me go and despatch our business, youwill be conferring, and not receiving, a favour. And any othererrand that you please to intrust her with, I'll undertake tosee her safe through. "

His look and manner obliged Mrs. Montgomery to take him at hisword. A very short examination of Ellen's patterns ended infavour of the gray merino; and Ellen was commissioned, notonly to get and pay for this, but also to choose a dark dressof the same stuff, and enough of a certain article callednankeen for a coat; Mrs. Montgomery truly opining that the oldgentleman's care would do more than see her scathless — thatit would have some regard to the justness and prudence of herpurchases. 

In great glee Ellen set forth again with her new old friend. Her hand was fast in his, and her tongue ran very freely, forher heart was completely opened to him. He seemed as pleasedto listen as she was to talk; and by little and little Ellentold him all her history — the troubles that had come upon herin consequence of her mother's illness, and her intendedjourney and prospects. 

That was a happy day to Ellen. They returned to St. Clair andFleury's — bought the gray merino and the nankeen, and a darkbrown merino for a dress. 

"Do you want only one of these?" asked the old gentleman. 

"Mamma said only one, " said Ellen; "that will last me all thewinter. "

"Well, " said he, "I think two will be better. Let us haveanother off the same piece, Mr. Shopman. "

"But I am afraid Mamma won't like it, Sir, " said Ellen, gently. 

"Pooh, pooh, " said he, "your mother has nothing to do withthis; this is my affair. " He paid for it accordingly. "Now, Miss Ellen, " said he, when they left the store, "have you gotanything in the shape of a good warm winter bonnet? for it'sprecious cold up there in Thirlwall; your pasteboard thingswon't do; if you don't take good care of your ears, you willlose them some fine frosty day. You must quilt and pad, andall sorts of things, to keep alive and comfortable. So youhaven't a hood, eh? Do you think you and I could make out tochoose one that your mother would think wasn't quite a fright!Come this way, and let us see. If she don't like it, she cangive it away, you know. "

He led the delighted Ellen into a milliner's shop, and afterturning over a great many different articles chose her a nicewarm hood, or quilted bonnet. It was of dark blue silk, wellmade and pretty. He saw with great satisfaction that it fittedEllen well, and would protect her ears nicely; and having paidfor it, and ordered it home, he and Ellen sallied forth intothe street again. But he wouldn't let her thank him. "It isjust the very thing I wanted, Sir, " said Ellen; "Mamma wasspeaking about it the other day, and she did not see how I wasever to get one, because she did not feel at all able to goout, and I could not get one myself; I know she'll like itvery much. "

"Would you rather have something for yourself or your mother, Ellen, if you could choose, and have but one?"

"Oh, for Mamma, Sir, " said Ellen — "a great deal!"

"Come in here, " said he; "let us see if we can find anythingshe would like. "

It was a grocery store. After looking about a little, the oldgentleman ordered sundry pounds of figs and white grapes to bepacked up in papers; and being now very near home, he took oneparcel and Ellen the other, till they came to the door ofGreen's Hotel, where he committed both to her care. 

"Won't you come in, Sir?" said Ellen. 

"No, " said he, "I can't this time — I must go home to dinner. "

"And shan't I see you any more, Sir?" said Ellen, a shadecoming over her face, which a minute before had been quitejoyous. 

"Well, I don't know, " said he, kindly — "I hope you will. Youshall hear from me again at any rate, I promise you. We'vespent one pleasant morning together, haven't we? Good-bye, good-bye. "

Ellen's hands were full, but the old gentleman took them inboth his, packages and all, and shook them after a fashion, and again bidding her good-bye, walked away down the street. 

The next morning Ellen and her mother were sitting quietlytogether, and Ellen had not finished her accustomed reading, when there came a knock at the door. "My old gentleman!" criedEllen, as she sprung to open it. No — there was no oldgentleman, but a black man with a brace of beautiful woodcocksin his hand. He bowed very civilly, and said he had beenordered to leave the birds with Miss Montgomery. Ellen, insurprise, took them from him, and likewise a note which hedelivered into her hand. Ellen asked from whom the birds came, but with another polite bow the man said the note would informher, and went away. In great curiosity she carried them andthe note to her mother, to whom the latter was directed. Itread thus —

"Will Mrs. Montgomery permit an old man to please himself inhis own way, by showing his regard for her little daughter, and not feel that he is taking a liberty? The birds are _forMiss Ellen_. "

"Oh, Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, jumping with delight, "did youever see such a dear old gentleman? Now I know what he meantyesterday, when he asked me if I would rather have somethingfor myself or for you. How kind he is! to do just the verything for me that he knows would give me the most pleasure!Now, Mamma, these birds are mine, you know, and I give them toyou. You must pay me a kiss for them, Mamma; they are worththat. Aren't they beauties?"

"They are very fine, indeed, " said Mrs. Montgomery; "this isjust the season for woodcock, and these are in beautifulcondition. "

"Do you like woodcocks, Mamma?"

"Yes, very much. "

"Oh, how glad I am!" said Ellen. "I'll ask Sam to have themdone very nicely for you, and then you will enjoy them somuch. "

The waiter was called, and instructed accordingly, and to himthe birds were committed, to be delivered to the care of thecook. 

"Now, Mamma, " said Ellen, "I think these birds have made mehappy for all day. "

"Then I hope, daughter, they will make you busy for all day. You have ruffles to hem, and the skirts of your dresses tomake — we need not wait for Miss Rice to do that; and when shecomes, you will have to help her, for I can do little. Youcan't be too industrious. "

"Well, Mamma, I am as willing as can be. "

This was the beginning of a pleasant two weeks to Ellen —weeks to which she often looked back afterwards, so quietlyand swiftly the days fled away, in busy occupation and sweetintercourse with her mother. The passions, which were aptenough to rise in Ellen's mind upon occasions, were, for thepresent, kept effectually in check. She could not forget thather days with her mother would very soon be at an end, for along time at least; and this consciousness, always present toher mind, forbade even the wish to do anything that mightgrieve or disturb her. Love and tenderness had absolute rulefor the time, and even had power to overcome the sorrowfulthoughts that would often rise; so that in spite of them peacereigned. And perhaps both mother and daughter enjoyed thisinterval the more keenly because they knew that sorrow was athand. 

All this while there was scarcely a day that the oldgentleman's servant did not knock at their door, bearing apresent of game. The second time he came with some fine larks;next was a superb grouse; then woodcock again. Curiositystrove with astonishment and gratitude in Ellen's mind. 

"Mamma, " she said, after she had admired the grouse for fiveminutes, "I cannot rest without finding out who this oldgentleman is. "

"I am sorry for that, " replied Mrs. Montgomery, gravely, "forI see no possible way of your doing it. "

"Why, Mamma, couldn't I ask the man that brings the birds whathis name is? He must know it. "

"Certainly not; it would be very dishonourable. "

"Would it, Mamma? — why?"

"This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you his name; hewrote his note without signing it, and his man has obviouslybeen instructed not to disclose it. Don't you remember, he didnot tell it when you asked him, the first time he came? Nowthis shows the old gentleman wishes to keep it secret, and totry to find it out in any way would be a very unworthy returnfor his kindness. "

"Yes, it wouldn't be doing as I would be done by, to be sure;but would it be _dishonourable_, Mamma?"

"Very. It is very dishonourable to try to find out that aboutother people which does not concern you, and which they wishto keep from you. Remember that, my dear daughter. "

"I will, Mamma. I'll never do it, I promise you. "

"Even in talking with people, if you discern in them anyunwillingness to speak upon a subject, avoid it immediately, provided, of course, that some higher interest do not obligeyou to go on. That is true politeness, and true kindness, which are nearly the same; and _not_ to do so, I assure you, Ellen, proves one wanting in true honour. "

"Well, Mamma, I don't care what his name is — at least I won'ttry to find out; but it does worry me that I cannot thank him. I wish he knew how much I feel obliged to him. "

"Very well; write him and tell him so. "

"Mamma!" said Ellen, opening her eyes very wide — "can I? —would you?"

"Certainly — if you like. It would be very proper. "

"Then I will! I declare that is a good notion. I'll do it thefirst thing, and then I can give it to that man if he comesto-morrow, as I suppose he will. Mamma, " said she, on openingher desk, "how funny! don't you remember you wondered who Iwas going to write notes to? Here is one now, Mamma; it isvery lucky I have got note-paper. "

More than one sheet of it was ruined before Ellen hadsatisfied herself with what she wrote. It was a full hour fromthe time she began when she brought the following note for hermother's inspection: —

"Ellen Montgomery does not know how to thank the old gentlemanwho is so kind to her. Mamma enjoys the birds very much, and Ithink I do more; for I have the double pleasure of giving themto Mamma, and of eating them afterwards; but your kindness isthe best of all. I can't tell you how much I am obliged toyou, Sir, but I will always love you for all you have done forme. 

"ELLEN MONTGOMERY. "

This note Mrs. Montgomery approved; and Ellen having, withgreat care and great satisfaction, enclosed it in an envelope, succeeded in sealing it according to rule, and very well. Mrs. Montgomery laughed when she saw the direction, but let it go. Without consulting her, Ellen had written on the outside, "Tothe old gentleman. " She sent it the next morning by the handsof the same servant, who this time was the bearer of a plumppartridge "To Miss Montgomery;" and her mind was a great dealeasier on this subject from that time. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Night and Morning. 

October was now far advanced. One evening — the evening of thelast Sunday in the month — Mrs. Montgomery was lying in theparlour alone. Ellen had gone to bed some time before; andnow, in the stillness of the Sabbath evening, the ticking ofthe clock was almost the only sound to be heard. The handswere rapidly approaching ten. Captain Montgomery was abroad;and he had been so — according to custom — or in bed, thewhole day. The mother and daughter had had the Sabbath tothemselves; and most quietly and sweetly it had passed. Theyhad read together, prayed together, talked together a greatdeal; and the evening had been spent in singing hymns; butMrs. Montgomery's strength failed here, and Ellen sang alone. _She_ was not soon weary. Hymn succeeded hymn, with fresh andvaried pleasure; and her mother could not tire of listening. The sweet words, and the sweet airs — which were all oldfriends, and brought of themselves many a lesson of wisdom andconsolation, by the mere force of association — needed not therecommendation of the clear childish voice in which they weresung, which was, of all things, the sweetest to Mrs. Montgomery's ear. She listened till she almost felt as ifearth were left behind, and she and her child already standingwithin the walls of that city where sorrow and sighing shallbe no more, and the tears shall be wiped from all eyes forever. Ellen's next hymn, however, brought her back to earthagain; but though her tears flowed freely while she heard it, all her causes of sorrow could not render them bitter. 

"God in Israel sows the seeds

Of affliction, pain, and toil;

These spring up and choke the weeds

Which would else o'erspread the soil. 

Trials make the promise sweet —

Trials give new life to prayer —

Trials bring me to his feet, Lay me low, and keep me there. "

"It is so, indeed, dear Ellen, " said Mrs. Montgomery, when shehad finished — and holding the little singer to her breast —"I have always found it so. God is faithful. I have seenabundant cause to thank him for all the evils he has made mesuffer heretofore, and I do not doubt it will be the same withthis last and worst one. Let us glorify him in the fires, mydaughter; and if earthly joys be stripped from us, and if webe torn from each other, let us cling the closer to him — hecan, and he will, in that case, make up to us more than all wehave lost. "

Ellen felt her utter inability to join in her mother'sexpressions of confidence and hope; to her there was nobrightness on the cloud that hung over them — it was all dark. She could only press her lips, in tearful silence, to the oneand the other of her mother's cheeks alternately. How sweetthe sense of the coming parting made every such embrace! Thisone, for particular reasons, was often and long remembered. Afew minutes they remained thus in each other's arms, cheekpressed against cheek, without speaking; but then Mrs. Montgomery remembered that Ellen's bed-time was already past, and dismissed her. 

For a while after, Mrs. Montgomery remained just where Ellenhad left her, her busy thoughts roaming over many things, inthe far past, and the sad present, and the uncertain future. She was unconscious of the passage of time, and did not noticehow the silence deepened as the night drew on, till scarce afootfall was heard in the street, and the ticking of the clocksounded with that sad distinctness which seems to say — "Timeis going on — time is going on, — and you are going with it —do what you will, you can't help that. " It was just upon thestroke of ten, and Mrs. Montgomery was still wrapped in herdeep musings, when a sharp, brisk footstep in the distancearoused her, rapidly approaching; and she knew very well whoseit was, and that it would pause at the door, before she heardthe quick run up the steps, succeeded by her husband's treadupon the staircase. And yet she saw him open the door with akind of startled feeling, which his appearance now invariablycaused her; the thought always darted through her head, "Perhaps he brings news of Ellen's going. " Something, it wouldhave been impossible to say what, in his appearance or manner, confirmed this fear on the present occasion. Her heart feltsick, and she waited in silence to hear what he would say. _He_seemed very well pleased — sat down before the fire, rubbinghis hands, partly with cold and partly with satisfaction; andhis first words were — "Well! we have got a fine opportunityfor her at last. "

How little he was capable of understanding the pang thisannouncement gave his poor wife! But she only closed her eyesand kept perfectly quiet, and he never suspected it. 

He unbuttoned his coat, and taking the poker in his hand, began to mend the fire, talking the while. 

"I am very glad of it, indeed, " said he; "it's quite a loadoff my mind. Now we'll be gone directly, and high time it is —I'll take passage in the _England_ the first thing to-morrow. And this is the best possible chance for Ellen — every thingwe could have desired. I began to feel very uneasy about it —it was getting so late; but I am quite relieved now. "

"Who is it?" said Mrs. Montgomery, forcing herself to speak. 

"Why, it's Mrs. Dunscombe, " said the captain, flourishing hispoker by way of illustration; "you know her, don't you? —Captain Dunscombe's wife — she's going right throughThirlwall, and will take charge of Ellen as far as that, andthere my sister will meet her with a waggon and take herstraight home. Couldn't be anything better. I write to letFortune know when to expect her. Mrs. Dunscombe is a lady ofthe first family and fashion — in the highest degreerespectable; she is going on to Fort Jameson, with herdaughter and a servant, and her husband is to follow her in afew days. I happened to hear of it to-day, and I immediatelyseized the opportunity to ask if she would not take Ellen withher as far as Thirlwall, and Dunscombe was only too glad tooblige me. I'm a very good friend of his, and he knows it. "

"How soon does she go?"

"Why, that's the only part of the business I am afraid youwon't like — but there is no help for it; — and, after all, itis a great deal better so than if you had time to wearyourselves out with mourning; better, and easier too, in theend. "

"How soon?" repeated Mrs. Montgomery, with an agonized accent. 

"Why, I'm a little afraid of startling you — Dunscombe's wifemust go, he told me, to-morrow morning; and we arranged thatshe could call in the carriage at six o'clock to take upEllen. "

Mrs. Montgomery put her hands to her face and sank backagainst the sofa. 

"I was afraid you would take it so, " said her husband, "but Idon't think it is worth while. It is a great deal better as itis; a great deal better than if she had a long warning. Youwould fairly wear yourself out if you had time enough, and youhaven't any strength to spare. "

It was some while before Mrs. Montgomery could recovercomposure and firmness enough to go on with what she had todo, though, knowing the necessity, she strove hard for it. Forseveral minutes she remained quite silent and quiet, endeavouring to collect her scattered forces; then sittingupright and drawing her shawl around her, she exclaimed — "Imust waken Ellen immediately!"

"Waken Ellen!" exclaimed her husband, in his turn; "what onearth for? That's the very last thing to be done. "

"Why, you would not put off telling her until to-morrowmorning?" said Mrs. Montgomery. 

"Certainly I would; that's the only proper way to do. Why inthe world should you wake her up, just to spend the wholenight in useless grieving? — unfitting her utterly for herjourney, and doing yourself more harm than you can undo in aweek. No, no; just let her sleep quietly, and you can go tobed and do the same. Wake her up, indeed! I thought you werewiser. "

"But she will be so dreadfully shocked in the morning!"

"Not one bit more that she would be to-night, and she won'thave so much time to feel it. In the hurry and bustle ofgetting off, she will not have time to think about herfeelings; and once on the way, she will do well enough;children always do. "

Mrs. Montgomery looked undecided and unsatisfied. 

"I'll take the responsibility of this matter on myself; youmust not waken her, absolutely. It would not do at all, " saidthe captain, poking the fire very energetically; "it would notdo at all; I cannot allow it. "

Mrs. Montgomery silently arose and lit a lamp. 

"You are not going into Ellen's room?" said the husband. 

"I must — I must put her things together. "

"But you'll not disturb Ellen?" said he, in a tone thatrequired a promise. 

"Not if I can help it. "

Twice Mrs. Montgomery stopped before she reached to door ofEllen's room, for her heart failed her. But she _must_ go on, and the necessary preparations for the morrow _must_ be made —she knew it; and repeating this to herself, she gently turnedthe handle of the door, and pushed it open, and guarding thelight with her hand from Ellen's eyes, she set it where itwould not shine upon her. Having done this, she set herself, without once glancing at her little daughter, to put allthings in order for her early departure on the followingmorning. But it was a bitter piece of work for her. She firstlaid out all that Ellen would need to wear; the dark merino, the new nankeen coat, the white bonnet, the clean frill thather own hands had done up, the little gloves and shoes, andall the etceteras, with the thoughtfulness and the carefulnessof love; but it went through and through her heart that it wasthe very last time a mother's fingers would ever be busy inarranging or preparing Ellen's attire; the very last time shewould ever see or touch even the little inanimate things thatbelonged to her; and painful as the task was, she was loth tohave it come to an end. It was with a kind of lingeringunwillingness to quit her hold of them, that one thing afteranother was stowed carefully and neatly away in the trunk. Shefelt it was love's last act; words might indeed a few timesyet come over the ocean on a sheet of paper; but sight, andhearing, and touch, must all have done henceforth for ever. Keenly as Mrs. Montgomery felt this, she went on busily withher work all the while, and when the last thing was safelypacked, shut the trunk and locked, it without allowing herselfto stop and think, and even drew the straps. And then, havingfinished all her task, she went to the bedside; she had notlooked that way before. 

Ellen was lying in the deep, sweet sleep of childhood; theeasy position, the gentle breathing, and the flush of healthupon the cheek, showed that all causes of sorrow were for thepresent far removed. Yet not so far either; for once, whenMrs. Montgomery stooped to kiss her, light as the touch ofthat kiss had been upon her lips, it seemed to awaken a trainof sorrowful recollections in the little sleeper's mind. Ashade passed over her face, and with gentle but sad accent theword "Mamma!" burst from the parted lips. Only a moment — andthe shade passed away, and the expression of peace settledagain upon her brow; but Mrs. Montgomery dared not try theexperiment a second time. Long she stood looking upon her, asif she knew she was looking her last; then she knelt by thebedside, and hid her face in the coverings — but no tearscame; the struggle in her mind, and her anxious fear for themorning's trial, made weeping impossible. Her husband atlength came to seek her, and it was well he did; she wouldhave remained there on her knees all night. He fearedsomething of the kind, and came to prevent it. Mrs. Montgomerysuffered herself to be led away without making any opposition, and went to bed as usual; but sleep was far from her. The fearof Ellen's distress when she should be awakened and suddenlytold the truth, kept her in an agony. In restless wakefulnessshe tossed and turned uneasily upon her bed, watching for thedawn, and dreading unspeakably to see it. The captain, inhappy unconsciousness of his wife's distress, and utterinability to sympathize with it, was soon in a sound sleep, and his heavy breathing was an aggravation of her trouble; itkept repeating, what indeed she knew already, that the onlyone in the world who ought to have shared and soothed hergrief was not capable of doing either. Wearied with watchingand tossing to and fro, she at length lost herself a moment inuneasy slumber, from which she suddenly started in terror, andseizing her husband's arm to arouse him, exclaimed, "It istime to wake Ellen!" but she had to repeat her efforts two orthree times before she succeeded in making herself heard. 

"What is the matter?" said he, heavily, and not over wellpleased at the interruption. 

"It is time to wake Ellen. "

"No it isn't, " said he, relapsing; "it isn't time yet thisgreat while. "

"Oh, yes, it is, " said Mrs. Montgomery; "I am sure it is; Isee the beginning of dawn in the east. "

"Nonsense! it's no such thing; it's the glimmer of the lamp-light; what is the use of your exciting yourself so, fornothing? It won't be dawn these two hours. Wait till I find myrepeater, and I'll convince you. " He found and struck it. 

"There! I told you so — only one quarter after four; it wouldbe absurd to wake her yet. Do go to sleep, and leave it to me;I'll take care it is done in proper time. "

Mrs. Montgomery sighed heavily, and again arranged herself towatch the eastern horizon, or rather with her face in thatdirection; for she could see nothing. But, more quietly now, she lay gazing into the darkness, which it was in vain to tryto penetrate; and thoughts succeeding thoughts in a moreregular train, at last fairly cheated her into sleep, much asshe wished to keep it off. She slept soundly for near an hour;and when she awoke, the dawn had really begun to break in theeastern sky. She again aroused Captain Montgomery, who thistime allowed it might be as well to get up; but it was withunutterable impatience that she saw him lighting a lamp, andmoving about as leisurely as if he had nothing more to do thanto get ready for breakfast at eight o'clock. 

"Oh! do speak to Ellen!" she said, unable to control herself. "Never mind brushing your hair till afterwards. She will haveno time for any thing. Oh! do not wait any longer! what areyou thinking of?"

"What are _you_ thinking of?" said the captain; — "there'splenty of time. Do quiet yourself — you're getting as nervousas possible. I'm going immediately. "

Mrs. Montgomery fairly groaned with impatience, and anagonizing dread of what was to follow the disclosure to Ellen. But her husband coolly went on with his preparations, whichindeed were not long in finishing; and then taking the lamp, he at last went. He had in truth delayed on purpose, wishingthe final leave-taking to be as brief as possible; and thegray streaks of light in the east were plainly showingthemselves when he opened the door of his little daughter'sroom. He found her lying very much as her mother had left her— in the same quiet sleep, and with the same expression ofcalmness and peace spread over her whole face and person. Ittouched even him, and he was not readily touched by any thing;— it made him loth to say the word that would drive all thatsweet expression so quickly and completely away. It must besaid, however; the increasing light warned him he must nottarry; but it was with a hesitating and almost faltering voicethat he said, "Ellen!"

She stirred in her sleep, and the shadow came over her faceagain. 

"Ellen! Ellen!"

She started up — broad awake now; — and both the shadow andthe peaceful expression were gone from her face. It was a lookof blank astonishment at first with which she regarded herfather, but very soon indeed that changed into one of bleakdespair. He saw that she understood perfectly what he wasthere for, and that there was no need at all for him totrouble himself with making painful explanations. 

"Come, Ellen, " he said, "that's a good child — make haste anddress. There's no time to lose now, for the carriage will soonbe at the door; and your mother wants to see you, you know. "

Ellen hastily obeyed him, and began to put on her stockingsand shoes. 

"That's right — now you'll be ready directly. You are goingwith Mrs. Dunscombe — I have engaged her to take charge of youall the way quite to Thirlwall; she's the wife of CaptainDunscombe, whom you saw here the other day, you know; and herdaughter is going with her, so you will have charming company. I dare say you will enjoy the journey very much; and your auntwill meet you at Thirlwall. Now, make haste — I expect thecarriage every minute. I meant to have called you before, butI overslept myself. Don't be long. "

And nodding encouragement, her father left her. 

"How did she bear it?" asked Mrs. Montgomery, when hereturned. 

"Like a little hero. She didn't say a word, or shed a tear. Iexpected nothing but that she would make a great fuss; but shehas all the old spirit that you used to have — and have yet, for any thing I know. She behaved admirably. "

Mrs. Montgomery sighed deeply. She understood far better thanher husband what Ellen's feelings were, and could interpretmuch more truly than he the signs of them; the conclusion shedrew from Ellen's silent and tearless reception of the newsdiffered widely from his. She now waited anxiously and almostfearfully for her appearance, which did not come as soon asshe expected it. 

It was a great relief to Ellen when her father ended histalking, and left her to herself; for she felt she could notdress herself so quick with him standing there and looking ather, and his desire that she should be speedy in what she hadto do, could not be greater than her own. Her fingers didtheir work as fast as they could, with every joint trembling. But though a weight like a mountain was upon the poor child'sheart, she could not cry; and she could not pray, though, trueto her constant habit, she fell on her knees by her bedside, as she always did: it was in vain: all was in a whirl in herheart and head, and after a minute, she rose again, claspingher little hands together with an expression of sorrow that itwas well her mother could not see. She was dressed very soon, but she shrank from going to her mother's room while herfather was there. To save time she put on her coat, andeverything but her bonnet and gloves; and then stood leaningagainst the bed-post, for she could not sit down, watchingwith most intense anxiety to hear her father's step come outof the room and go down-stairs. Every minute seemed too longto be borne; poor Ellen began to feel as if she could notcontain herself. Yet five had not passed away when she heardthe roll of carriage-wheels, which came to the door and thenstopped, and immediately her father opening the door to comeout. Without waiting any longer, Ellen opened her own, andbrushed past him into the room he had quitted. Mrs. Montgomerywas still lying on the bed, for her husband has insisted onher not rising. She said not a word, but opened her arms toreceive her little daughter; and with a cry of indescribableexpression, Ellen sprang upon the bed, and was folded in them. But then neither of them spoke or wept. What could words say?Heart met heart in that agony, for each knew all that was inthe other. No — not quite all. Ellen did not know that thewhole of bitterness death had for her mother she was tastingthen. But it was true. Death had no more power to give herpain after this parting should be over. His after-work — theparting between soul and body — would be welcome, rather; yes, very welcome. Mrs. Montgomery knew it all well. She knew thiswas the last embrace between them. She knew it would be thevery last time that dear little form would ever lie on herbosom, or be pressed in her arms; and it almost seemed to herthat soul and body must part company too, when they should berent asunder. Ellen's grief was not like this; _she_ did notthink it was the last time; — but she was a child of very highspirit and violent passions, untamed at all by sorrow'sdiscipline; and in proportion violent was the tempest excitedby this first real trial. Perhaps, too, her sorrow wassharpened by a sense of wrong, and a feeling of indignation ather father's cruelty in not waking her earlier. 

Not many minutes had passed in this sad embrace, and no wordhad yet been spoken; no sound uttered, except Ellen's firstinarticulate cry of mixed affection and despair, when CaptainMontgomery's step was again heard slowly ascending the stairs. "He is coming to take me away!" thought Ellen; and in terrorlest she should go without a word from her mother, she burstforth with, "Mamma! speak!"

A moment before, and Mrs. Montgomery could not have spoken. But she could now; and as clearly and calmly the words wereuttered as if nothing had been the matter, only her voice fella little toward the last. 

"God bless my darling child! and make her his own — and bringher to that home where parting cannot be!"

Ellen's eyes had been dry until now; but when she heard thesweet sound of her mother's voice, it opened all the fountainsof tenderness within her. She burst into uncontrollableweeping; it seemed as if she would pour out her very heart intears; and she clung to her mother with a force that made it adifficult task for her father to remove her. He could not doit at first; and Ellen seemed not to hear any thing that wassaid to her. He was very unwilling to use harshness; and aftera little, though she had paid no attention to his entreatiesor commands, yet, sensible of the necessity of the case, shegradually relaxed her hold and suffered him to draw her awayfrom her mother's arms. He carried her down stairs, and puther on the front seat of the carriage, beside Mrs. Dunscombe'smaid — but Ellen could never recollect how she got there, andshe did not feel the touch of her father's hand, nor hear himwhen he bid her good-bye; and she did not know that he put alarge paper of candies and sugar-plums in her lap. She knewnothing but that she had lost her mother. 

"It will not be so long, " said the captain, in a kind ofapologizing way; "she will soon get over it, and you will nothave any trouble with her. "

"I hope so, " returned the lady, rather shortly; and then, asthe captain was making his parting bow, she added, in no verypleased tone of voice — "Pray, Captain Montgomery, is thisyoung lady to travel without a bonnet?"

"Without a bonnet! — no, " said the captain. "How is this?hasn't she a bonnet? I beg a thousand pardons, Ma’am — I'llbring it on the instant. "

After a little delay, the bonnet was found, but the captainoverlooked the gloves in his hurry. 

"I am very sorry you have been delayed, Ma’am, " said he. 

"I hope we may be able to reach the boat yet, " replied thelady. "Drive on as fast as you can!"

A very polite bow from Captain Montgomery — a very slight onefrom the lady — and off they drove. 

"Proud enough, " thought the captain, as he went up the stairsagain. "I reckon she don't thank me for her travellingcompanion. But Ellen's off — that's one good thing — and nowI'll go and engage berths in the England. "

CHAPTER VII. 

"Strangers walk as friends. "

The long drive to the boat was only a sorrowful blank toEllen's recollection. She did not see the frowns that passedbetween her companions on her account. She did not know thather white bonnet was such a matter of merriment to MargaretDunscombe and the maid, that they could hardly containthemselves. She did not find out that Miss Margaret's fingerswere busy with her paper of sweets, which only a good stringand a sound knot kept her from rifling. Yet she felt very wellthat nobody there cared in the least for her sorrow. Itmattered nothing; she wept on in her loneliness, and knewnothing that happened, till the carriage stopped on the wharf;even then she did not raise her head. Mrs. Dunscombe got out, and saw her daughter and servant do the same; then aftergiving some orders about the baggage, she returned to Ellen. 

"Will you get out, Miss Montgomery, or would you prefer toremain in the carriage? We must go on board directly. "

There was something, not in the words, but in the tone, thatstruck Ellen's heart with an entirely new feeling. Her tearsstopped instantly, and, wiping away quick the traces of themas well as she could, she got out of the carriage without aword, aided by Mrs. Dunscombe's hand. The party was presentlyjoined by a fine-looking man, whom Ellen recognised as CaptainDunscombe. 

"Dunscombe, do put these girls on board, will you? and thencome back to me; I want to speak to you. Timmins, you may goalong and look after them. "

Captain Dunscombe obeyed. When they reached the deck, MargaretDunscombe and the maid Timmins went straight to the cabin. Notfeeling at all drawn towards their company, as indeed they hadgiven her no reason, Ellen planted herself by the guards ofthe boat, not far from the gangway, to watch the busy scenethat at another time would have had a great deal of interestand amusement for her. And interest it had now; but it waswith a very, very grave little face that she looked on thebustling crowd. The weight on her heart was just as great asever, but she felt this was not the time or the place to letit be seen; so for the present she occupied herself with whatwas passing before her, though it did not for one moment makeher forget her sorrow. 

At last the boat rang her last bell. Captain Dunscombe put hiswife on board, and had barely time to jump off the boat againwhen the plank was withdrawn. The men on shore cast off thegreat loops of ropes that held the boat to enormous woodenposts on the wharf, and they were off!

At first it seemed to Ellen as if the wharf and the peopleupon it were sailing away from them backwards; but shepresently forgot to think of them at all. She was gone! — shefelt the bitterness of the whole truth; — the blue wateralready lay between her and the shore, where she so muchlonged to be. In that confused mass of buildings at which shewas gazing, but which would be so soon beyond even gazingdistance, was the only spot she cared for in the world; herheart was there. She could not see the place, to be sure, nortell exactly whereabouts it lay in all that wide-spread city;but it was there, somewhere — and every minute was making itfarther and farther off. It's a bitter thing, that sailingaway from all one loves; and poor Ellen felt it so. She stoodleaning both her arms upon the rail, the tears running downher cheeks, and blinding her so that she could not see theplace towards which her straining eyes were bent. Somebodytouched her sleeve — it was Timmins. 

"Mrs. Dunscombe sent me to tell you she wants you to come intothe cabin, Miss. "

Hastily wiping her eyes, Ellen obeyed the summons, andfollowed Timmins into the cabin. It was full of groups ofladies, children, and nurses — bustling and noisy enough. Ellen wished she might have stayed outside; she wanted to beby herself; but, as the next best thing, she mounted upon thebench, which ran all round the saloon, and kneeling on thecushion by one of the windows, placed herself with the edge ofher bonnet just touching the glass, so that nobody could see abit of her face, while she could look out near by as well asfrom the deck. Presently her ear caught, as she thought, thevoice of Mrs. Dunscombe, saying in rather an undertone, butlaughing too, "What a figure she does cut in that outlandishbonnet!"

Ellen had no particular reason to think _she_ was meant, and yetshe did think so. She remained quite still, but with raisedcolour and quickened breathing waited to hear what would comenext. Nothing came at first, and she was beginning to thinkshe had perhaps been mistaken, when she plainly heard MargaretDunscombe say, in a loud whisper —

"Mamma, I wish you could contrive some way to keep her in thecabin — can't you? she looks so odd in that queer sun-bonnetkind of a thing, that anybody would think she had come out ofthe woods; — and no gloves too; I shouldn't like to have theMiss M'Arthurs think she belonged to us; — can't you, Mamma?"

If a thunderbolt had fallen at Ellen's feet, the shock wouldhardly have been greater. The lightning of passion shotthrough every vein. And it was not passion only: there washurt feeling and wounded pride; and the sorrow of which herheart was full enough before, now wakened afresh. The childwas beside herself. One wild wish for a hiding-place was themost pressing thought — to be where tears could burst and herheart could break unseen. She slid off her bench and rushedthrough the crowd to the red curtain that cut off the far endof the saloon; and from there down to the cabin below — peoplewere everywhere. At last she spied a nook where she could becompletely hidden. It was in the far-back end of the boat, just under the stairs by which she had come down. Nobody wassitting on the three or four large mahogany steps that ranround that end of the cabin, and sloped up to the little cabinwindow: and creeping beneath the stairs, and seating herselfon the lowest of these steps, the poor child found that shewas quite screened, and out of sight of every human creature. It was time, indeed; her heart had been almost bursting withpassion and pain, and now the pent-up tempest broke forth witha fury that racked her little frame from head to foot; and themore because she strove to stifle every sound of it as much aspossible. It was the very bitterness of sorrow, without anysoftening thought to allay it, and sharpened and made morebitter by mortification and a passionate sense of unkindnessand wrong. And through it all, how constantly in her heart thepoor child was reaching forth longing arms towards her far-offmother, and calling in secret on her beloved name. "Oh, Mamma!Mamma!" was repeated numberless times, with the unspeakablebitterness of knowing that she would have been a sure refugeand protection from all this trouble, but was now where shecould neither reach nor hear her. Alas! how soon and how sadlymissed!

Ellen's distress was not soon quieted, or, if quieted for amoment, it was only to break out afresh. And then she was gladto sit still and rest herself. 

Presently she heard the voice of the chambermaid upstairs, ata distance at first, and coming nearer and nearer. "Breakfastready, ladies! — Ladies, breakfast ready!" — and then came allthe people in a rush pouring down the stairs over Ellen'shead. She kept quite still and close, for she did not want tosee anybody, and could not bear that anybody should see her. Nobody did see her — they all went off into the next cabin, where breakfast was set. Ellen began to grow tired of herhiding-place, and to feel restless in her confinement — shethought this would be a good time to get away; so she creptfrom her station under the stairs, and mounted them as quickand as quietly as she could. She found almost nobody left inthe saloon — and, breathing more freely, she possessed herselfof her despised bonnet, which she had torn off her head in thefirst burst of her indignation, and passing gently out at thedoor, went up the stairs which led to the promenade deck — shefelt as if she could not get far enough from Mrs. Dunscombe. 

The promenade-deck was very pleasant in the bright morningsun: and nobody was there except a few gentlemen. Ellen satdown on one of the settees that were ranged along the middleof it, and much pleased at having found herself such a niceplace of retreat, she once more took up her interruptedamusement of watching the banks of the river. 

It was a fair, mild day, near the end of October, and one ofthe loveliest of that lovely month. Poor Ellen, however, couldnot fairly enjoy it just now. There was enough darkness in herheart to put a veil over all nature's brightness. The thoughtdid pass through her mind, when she first went up, how veryfair everything was; but she soon forgot to think about it atall. They were now in a wide part of the river, and the shoretowards which she was looking was low and distant, and offerednothing to interest her. She ceased to look at it, andpresently lost all sense of everything around and before her, for her thoughts went home. She remembered that sweet moment, last night, when she lay in her mother's arms, after she hadstopped singing — could it be only last night? — it seemed along, long time ago. She went over again, in imagination, hershocked waking up that very morning — how cruel that was! —her hurried dressing — the miserable parting — and those lastwords of her mother, that seemed to ring in her ears yet —"That home where parting cannot be. " "Oh!" thought Ellen, "howshall I ever get there? Who is there to teach me now? Oh! whatshall I do without you? Oh, Mamma! how much I want youalready!"

While poor Ellen was thinking these things over and over, herlittle face had a deep sadness of expression it was sorrowfulto see. She was perfectly calm — her violent excitement hadall left her — her lip quivered a very little, sometimes, butthat was all; and one or two tears rolled slowly down the sideof her face. Her eyes were fixed upon the dancing water, butit was very plain her thoughts were not, nor on anything elsebefore her; and there was a forlorn look of hopeless sorrow onher lip, and cheek, and brow, enough to move anybody whoseheart was not very hard. She was noticed, and with a feelingof compassion, by several people; but they all thought it wasnone of their business to speak to her, or they didn't knowhow. At length a gentleman, who had been for some time walkingup and down the deck, happened to look, as he passed, at herlittle pale face. He went to the end of his walk that time, but in coming back he stopped just in front of her, and, bending down his face towards hers, said, —

"What is the matter with you, my little friend?"

Though his figure had passed before her a great many timesEllen had not seen him at all; for "her eyes were with herheart, and that was far away. " Her cheek flushed with surpriseas she looked up. But there was no mistaking the look ofkindness in the eyes that met hers, nor the gentleness andgrave truthfulness of the whole countenance. It won herconfidence immediately. All the floodgates of Ellen's heartwere at once opened. She could not speak, but rising, andclasping the hand that was held out to her in both her own, she bent down her head upon it, and burst into one of thoseuncontrollable agonies of weeping, such as the news of hermother's intended departure had occasioned that firstsorrowful evening. He gently, and as soon as he could, drewher to a retired part of the deck, where they werecomparatively free from other people's eyes and ears; then, taking her in his arms he endeavoured by many kind andsoothing words to stay the torrent of her grief. This fit ofweeping did Ellen more good than the former one; that onlyexhausted, this in some little measure relieved her. 

"What is all this about?" said her friend, kindly. "Nay, nevermind shedding any more tears about it, my child. Let me hearwhat it is, and perhaps we can find some help for it. "

"Oh, no! you can't, Sir, " said Ellen, sadly. 

"Well, let us see, " said he — "perhaps I can. What is it thathas troubled you so much?"

"I have lost my mother, Sir, " said Ellen. 

"Your mother! Lost her! — how?"

"She is very ill, Sir, and obliged to go away over the sea toFrance, to get well; and papa could not take me with her, "said poor Ellen, weeping again, "and I am obliged to go to beamong strangers. Oh, what shall I do?"

"Have you left your mother in the city?"

"Oh yes, Sir! I left her this morning. "

"What is your name?"

"Ellen Montgomery. "

"Is your mother obliged to go to Europe for her health?"

"Oh yes, Sir; nothing else would have made her go, but thedoctor said she would not live long if she didn't go, and thatwould cure her. "

"Then you hope to see her come back by-and-by, don't you?"

"Oh yes, Sir; but it won't be this great, great, long while;it seems to me as if it was for ever. "

"Ellen, do you know who it is that sends sickness and troubleupon us?"

"Yes, Sir, I know; but I don't feel that that makes it anyeasier. "

"Do you know _why_ he sends it? He is the God of love — he doesnot trouble us willingly — he has said so; why does he evermake us suffer? do you know?"

"No, Sir. "

"Sometimes he sees that if he lets them alone, his childrenwill love some dear thing on the earth better than himself, and he knows they will not be happy if they do so; and then, because he loves them, he takes it away — perhaps it is a dearmother, or a dear daughter — or else he hinders theirenjoyment of it, that they may remember him, and give theirwhole hearts to him. He wants their whole hearts, that he maybless them. Are you one of his children, Ellen?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, with swimming eyes, but cast down tothe ground. 

"How do you know that you are not?"

"Because I do not love the Saviour. "

"Do you not love him, Ellen?"

"I am afraid not, Sir. "

"Why are you afraid not? What makes you think so?"

"Mamma said I could not love him at all, if I did not love himbest; and, oh! Sir, " said Ellen, weeping, "I do love Mamma agreat deal better. "

"You love your mother better than you do the Saviour?"

"Oh yes, Sir, " said Ellen; "how can I help it?"

"Then, if he had left you your mother, Ellen, you would neverhave cared or thought about him?"

Ellen was silent. 

"Is it so? — would you, do you think?"

"I don't know, Sir, " said Ellen, weeping again — "oh, Sir! howcan I help it?"

"Then Ellen, can you not see the love of your heavenly Fatherin this trial? He saw that his little child was in danger offorgetting him; and he loved you, Ellen; and so he has takenyour dear mother, and sent you away where you will have no oneto look to but him; and now he says to you, 'My daughter, give_me_ thy heart. ' — Will you do it, Ellen?"

Ellen wept exceedingly while the gentleman was saying thesewords, clasping his hands still in both hers; but she made noanswer. He waited till she had become calmer, and then went onin a low tone —

"What is the reason that you do not love the Saviour, mychild?"

"Mamma says it is because my heart is so hard. "

"That is true; but you do not know how good and how lovely heis, or you could not help loving him. Do you often think ofhim, and think much of him, and ask him to show you himself, that you may love him?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen; "not often. "

"You pray to him, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir; but not so. "

"But you ought to pray to him so. We are all blind by nature, Ellen; — we are all hard-hearted; — none of us can see him orlove him unless he opens our eyes and touches our hearts; buthe has promised to do this for those who seek him. Do youremember what the blind man said when Jesus asked him what heshould do for him? — he answered, 'Lord, that I may receive mysight!' That ought to be your prayer now, and mine too; andthe Lord is just as ready to hear us as he was to hear thepoor blind man; and you know he cured him. Will you ask him, Ellen?"

A smile was almost struggling through Ellen's tears as shelifted her face to that of her friend, but she instantlylooked down again. 

"Shall I put you in mind, Ellen, of some things about Christthat ought to make you love him with all your heart?"

"Oh yes, Sir, if you please. "

"Then tell me first what it is that makes you love your motherso much?"

"Oh, I can't tell you, Sir; — everything, I think. "

"I suppose the great thing is that she loves _you_ so much?"

"Oh yes, Sir, " said Ellen, strongly. 

"But how do you know that she loves you? how has she shownit?"

Ellen looked at him, but could give no answer; it seemed toher that she must bring the whole experience of her lifebefore him to form one. 

"I suppose, " said her friend, "that, to begin with thesmallest thing, she has always been watchfully careful toprovide every thing that would be useful or necessary for you;— she never forgot your wants, or was careless about them?"

"No indeed, Sir. "

"And perhaps you recollect that she never minded trouble, orexpense, or pain, where your good was concerned; — she wouldsacrifice her own pleasure at any time for yours?"

Ellen's eyes gave a quick and strong answer to this, but shesaid nothing. 

"And in all your griefs and pleasures you were sure of findingher ready and willing to feel with you, and for you, and tohelp you if she could? And in all the times you have seen hertried, no fatigue ever wore out her patience, nor anynaughtiness of yours ever lessened her love; she could not beweary of waiting upon you when you were sick, nor of bearingwith you when you forgot your duty — more ready always toreceive you than you to return. Isn't it so?"

"Oh yes, Sir. "

"And you can recollect a great many words and looks ofkindness and love — many and many endeavours to teach you andlead you in the right way — all showing the strongest desirefor your happiness in this world, and in the next?"

"Oh yes, Sir, "said Ellen, tearfully; and then added, "Do youknow my mother, Sir?"

"No, " said he, smiling, "not at all; but my own mother hasbeen in many things like this to me, and I judged yours mighthave been such to you. Have I described her right?"

"Yes, indeed, Sir, " said Ellen — "exactly. "

"And in return for all this, you have given this dear motherthe love and gratitude of your whole heart, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, Sir;" and Ellen's face said it more than herwords. 

"You are very right, " he said, gravely, "to love such a mother— to give her all possible duty and affection; — she deservesit. But, Ellen, in all these very things I have beenmentioning, Jesus Christ has shown that he deserves it farmore. Do you think, if you had never behaved like a child toyour mother — if you had never made her the least return oflove or regard — that she would have continued to love you asshe does?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen — "I do not think she would. "

"Have you ever made any fit return to God for his goodness toyou?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, in a low tone. 

"And yet there has been no change in _his_ kindness. Just lookat it, and see what he has done and is doing for you. In thefirst place, it is not your mother, but he, who has given youevery good and pleasant thing you have enjoyed in your wholelife. You love your mother, because she is so careful toprovide for all your wants; but who gave her the materials towork with? — She has only been, as it were, the hand by whichhe supplied you. And who gave you such a mother? — There aremany mothers not like her; — who put into her heart the truthand love that have been blessing you ever since you were born?It is all — all God's doing, from first to last: but his childhas forgotten him in the very gifts of his mercy. "

Ellen was silent, but looked very grave. 

"Your mother never minded her own ease or pleasure when yourgood was concerned. Did Christ mind his? You know what he didto save sinners, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I know; Mamma often told me. "

" 'Though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, thatwe through his poverty might be rich. ' He took your burden ofsin upon himself, and suffered that terrible punishment — allto save you, and such as you. And now he asks his children toleave off sinning and come back to him, who has bought themwith his own blood. He did this because he _loved_ you; does henot deserve to be loved in return?'

Ellen had nothing to say; she hung down her head further andfurther. 

"And patient and kind as your mother is, the Lord Jesus iskinder and more patient still. In all your life so far, Ellen, you have not loved or obeyed him; and yet he loves you, and isready to be your friend. Is he not even to-day taking awayyour dear mother for the very purpose that he may draw yougently to himself, and fold you in his arms, as he haspromised to do with his lambs? He knows you can never be happyanywhere else. "

The gentleman paused again, for he saw that the littlelistener's mind was full. 

"Has not Christ shown that he loves you better even than yourmother does? And were there ever sweeter words of kindnessthan these? —

" 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid themnot; for of such is the kingdom of heaven. '

" 'I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd giveth his lifefor the sheep. '

" 'I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore withloving-kindness have I drawn thee. ' "

He waited a minute, and then added, gently —

"Will you come to him, Ellen?"

Ellen lifted her tearful eyes to his; but there were tearsthere too, and her own sank instantly. She covered her facewith her hands, and sobbed out in broken words —

"Oh, if I could! — but I don't know how. "

"Do you wish to be his child, Ellen?"

"Oh yes, Sir — if I could. "

"I know, my child, that sinful heart of yours is in the way, but the Lord Jesus can change it, and will, if you will giveit to him. He is looking upon you now, Ellen, with morekindness and love than any earthly father or mother could, waiting for you to give that little heart of yours to him, that he may make it holy, and fill it with blessing. He says, you know, 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock. ' Do notgrieve him away, Ellen. "

Ellen sobbed, but all the passion and bitterness of her tearswas gone. Her heart was completely melted. 

"If your mother were here, and could do for you what you want, would you doubt her love to do it? would you have anydifficulty in asking her?"

"Oh no!"

"Then do not doubt his love who loves you better still. Cometo Jesus. Do not fancy he is away up in heaven out of reach ofhearing; he is here, close to you, and knows every wish andthrob of your heart. Think you are in his presence and at hisfeet — even now — and say to him in your heart, 'Lord, lookupon me — I am not fit to come to thee, but thou hast bid mecome — take me and make me thine own — take this hard heartthat I can do nothing with, and make it holy and fill it withthy love — I give it and myself into thy hands, O dearSaviour!' "

These words were spoken very low, that only Ellen could catchthem. Her bowed head sank lower and lower till he ceasedspeaking. He added no more for some time, waited till she hadresumed her usual attitude and appearance, and then said —

"Ellen, could you join in heart with my words?"

"I did, Sir — I couldn't help it — all but the last. "

"All but the last?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"But, Ellen, if you say the first part of my prayer with yourwhole heart, the Lord will enable you to say the last too — doyou believe that?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Will you not make that your constant prayer till you areheard and answered?"

"Yes, Sir. "

And he thought he saw that she was in earnest. 

"Perhaps the answer may not come at once — it does not always;— but it will come, as surely as the sun will rise to-morrowmorning. 'Then shall we know, if we _follow on_ to know theLord. ' But then you must be in earnest. And if you are inearnest, is there nothing you have to do besides _praying?_"

Ellen looked at him without making any answer. 

"When a person is in earnest, how does he show it?"

"By doing every thing he possibly can to get what he wants. "

"Quite right, " said her friend, smiling; "and has God biddenus to do nothing besides pray for a new heart?"

"Oh yes, Sir, he has told us to do a great many things. "

"And will he be likely to grant that prayer, Ellen, if he seesthat you do not care about displeasing him in those 'greatmany things?' will he judge that you are sincere in wishingfor a new heart?"

"Oh no, Sir. "

"Then, if you are resolved to be a Christian, you will not becontented with praying for a new heart, but you will begin atonce to be a servant of God. You can do nothing well withouthelp, but you are sure the help will come; and from this goodday you will seek to know and to do the will of God, trustingin his dear Son to perfect that which concerneth you. — Mylittle child, " said the gentleman, softly and kindly, "are youready to say you will do this?"

As she hesitated, he took a little book from his pocket, andturning over the leaves, said —

"I am going to leave you for a little while — I have a fewmoments' business downstairs to attend to: and I want you tolook over this hymn and think carefully of what I have beensaying, will you? — and resolve what you will do. "

Ellen got off his knee, where she had been sitting all thiswhile, and silently taking the book, sat down in the chair hehad quitted. Tears ran fast again, and many thoughts passedthrough her mind, as her eyes went over and over the words towhich he had pointed —

"Behold the Saviour at thy door;He gently knocks, — has knock'd before, —Has waited long, — is waiting still, —You treat no other friend so ill. 

"Oh, lovely attitude! — he standsWith open heart and outstretch'd hands:Oh, matchless kindness! — and he showsThis matchless kindness to his foes. 

"Admit him — for the human breastNe'er entertain'd so kind a guest;Admit him — or the hour's at handWhen at _His_ door, denied, you'll stand. 

"Open my heart, Lord, enter in;Slay every foe, and conquer sin. Here now to thee I all resign —My body, soul, and all are thine. "

The last two lines Ellen longed to say, but could not: the twopreceding were the very speech of her heart. 

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed when her friend cameback again. The book hung in Ellen's hand; her eyes were fixedon the floor. 

"Well, " he said, kindly, and taking her hand, "what's yourdecision?"

Ellen looked up. 

"Have you made up your mind on that matter we were talkingabout?"

"Yes, Sir, " Ellen said, in a low voice, casting her eyes downagain. 

"And how have you decided, my child?"

"I will try to do as you said, Sir. "

"You will begin to follow your Saviour, and to please him, from this day forward?"

"I will try, Sir, " said Ellen, meeting his eyes as she spoke. Again the look she saw made her burst into tears. She weptviolently. 

"God bless you, and help you, my dear Ellen!" said he, gentlypassing his hand over her head; — "but do not cry any more —you have shed too many tears this morning already. We will nottalk about this any more now. "

And he spoke only soothing and quieting words for a while toher; and then asked if she would like to go over the boat andsee the different parts of it. Ellen's joyful agreement withthis proposal was only qualified by the fear of giving himtrouble. But he put that entirely by. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Leaves us in the Street. 

The going over the boat held them a long time, for Ellen's newfriend took kind pains to explain to her whatever he thoughthe could make interesting; he was amused to find how far shepushed her inquiries into the how and the why of things. Forthe time her sorrows were almost forgotten. 

"What shall we do now?" said he, when they had at last gonethrough the whole — "would you like to go to your friends?"

"I haven't any friends on board, Sir, " said Ellen, with aswelling heart. 

"Haven't any friends on board! — what do you mean? Are youalone?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, — "not exactly alone; my father put mein the care of a lady that is going to Thirlwall; but they arestrangers and not friends. "

"Are they _un_friends? I hope you don't think, Ellen, thatstrangers cannot be friends too?"

"No, indeed, Sir, I don't, " said Ellen, looking up with a facethat was fairly brilliant with its expression of gratitude andlove. But, casting it down again, she added, "But they are notmy friends, Sir. "

"Well, then, " he, said smiling, "will you come with me?"

"Oh yes, Sir! if you will let me — and if I shan't be atrouble to you, Sir. "

"Come this way, " said he, "and we'll see if we cannot find anice place to sit down, where no one will trouble us. "

Such a place was found. And Ellen would have been quitesatisfied though the gentleman had done no more than merelypermit her to remain there, by his side; but he took out hislittle Bible, and read and talked to her for some time sopleasantly that neither her weariness nor the way could bethought of. 

When he ceased reading to her, and began to read to himself, weariness and faintness stole over her. She had had nothing toeat, and had been violently excited that day. A little whileshe sat in a dreamy sort of quietude — then her thoughts grewmisty and the end of it was — she dropped her head against thearm of her friend, and fell fast asleep. He smiled at first, but one look at the very pale little face changed theexpression of his own. He gently put his arm round her, anddrew her head to a better resting-place than it had chosen. 

And there she slept till the dinner-bell rang. Timmins wassent out to look for her, but Timmins did not choose to meddlewith the grave protector Ellen seemed to have gained; and Mrs. Dunscombe declared herself rejoiced that any other handsshould have taken the charge of her. 

After dinner Ellen and her friend went up to the promenade-deck again, and there, for a while, they paced up and down, enjoying the pleasant air and quick motion, and the lovelyappearance of everything in the mild hazy sunlight. Anothergentleman, however, joining them, and entering intoconversation, Ellen silently quitted her friend's hand, andwent and sat down at the side of the boat. After taking a fewturns more, and while still engaged in talking, he drew hislittle hymn-book out of his pocket, and, with a smile, put itinto Ellen's hand as he passed. She gladly received it, andspent an hour or more very pleasantly, in studying and turningit over. At the end of that time, the stranger having lefthim, Ellen's friend came and sat down by her side. 

"How do you like my little book?" said he. 

"Oh, very much indeed, Sir. "

"Then you love hymns, do you?"

"Yes, I do Sir, dearly. "

"Do you sometimes learn them by heart?"

"Oh yes, Sir, often. Mamma often made me. I have learnt twosince I have been sitting here. "

"Have you?" said he; "which are they?"

"One of them is the one you showed me this morning, Sir. "

"And what is your mind now about the question I asked you thismorning?"

Ellen cast down her eyes from his inquiring glance, andanswered, in a low tone, "Just what it was then, Sir. "

"Have you been thinking of it since?"

"I have thought of it the whole time, Sir. "

"And are you resolved you will obey Christ henceforth?"

"I am resolved to try, Sir. "

"My dear Ellen, if you are in earnest, you will not try invain. He never yet failed any that sincerely sought him. Haveyou a Bible?"

"Oh yes Sir! — a beautiful one; Mamma gave it to me the otherday. "

He took the hymn-book from her hand, and turning over theleaves, marked several places in pencil. 

"I am going to give you this, " he said, "that it may serve toremind you of what we have talked of to-day, and of yourresolution. "

Ellen flushed high with pleasure. 

"I have put this mark, " said he, showing her a particular one, "in a few places of this book, for you; wherever you find it, you may know there is something I want you to take specialnotice of. There are some other marks here too, but they aremine — _these_ are for you. "

"Thank you, Sir, " said Ellen, delighted; "I shall not forget. "

He knew from her face what she meant — not the _marks_. 

The day wore on, thanks to the unwearied kindness of herfriend, with great comparative comfort to Ellen. Late in theafternoon they were resting from a long walk up and down thedeck. 

"What have you got in this package that you take such careof?" said he, smiling. 

"Oh, candies, " said Ellen; "I am always forgetting them. Imeant to ask you to take some. Will you have some, Sir?"

"Thank you. What are they?"

"Almost all kinds, I believe, Sir — I think the almonds arethe best. "

He took one. 

"Pray, take some more, Sir, " said Ellen — "I don't care forthem in the least. "

"Then I am more of a child than you — in this, at any rate —for I do care for them. But I have a little headache to-day; Imustn't meddle with sweets. "

"Then take some for to-morrow, Sir — please do, " said Ellen, dealing them out very freely. 

"Stop, stop!" said he — "not a bit more; this won't do — Imust put some of these back again; you'll want them to-morrow, too. "

"I don't think I shall, " said Ellen; "I haven't wanted totouch them to-day. "

"Oh, you'll feel brighter to-morrow, after a night's sleep. But aren't you afraid of catching cold? This wind is blowingpretty fresh, and you've been bonnetless all day — what's thereason?"

Ellen looked down, and coloured a good deal. 

"What's the matter?" said he, laughing; "has any mischiefbefallen your bonnet?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, in a low tone, her colour mountinghigher and higher — "it was laughed at, this morning. "

"Laughed at! — who laughed at it?"

"Mrs. Dunscombe, and her daughter, and her maid. "

"Did they! I don't see much reason in that, I confess. Whatdid they think was the matter with it?"

"I don't know, Sir; they said it was outlandish, and what afigure I looked in it!"

"Well, certainly that was not very polite. Put it on, and letme see. " Ellen obeyed. 

"I am not the best judge of ladies' bonnets, it is true, " saidhe, "but I can see nothing about it that is not perfectlyproper and suitable — nothing in the world. So that is whathas kept you bareheaded all day? Didn't your mother wish youto wear that bonnet?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Then that ought to be enough for you. Will you be ashamed ofwhat she approved, because some people, that haven't probablyhalf her sense, choose to make merry with it? — is thatright?" he said, gently. "Is that honouring her as shedeserves?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, looking up into his face, "but I neverthought of that before — I am sorry. "

"Never mind being laughed at, my child. If your mother says athing is right, that's enough for you — let them laugh. "

"I won't be ashamed of my bonnet any more, " said Ellen, tryingit on; "but they made me very unhappy about it, and veryangry, too. "

"I am sorry for that, " said her friend, gravely. "Have youquite got over it, Ellen?"

"Oh yes, Sir — long ago. "

"Are you sure?"

"I am not angry now, Sir. "

"Is there no unkindness left towards the people who laughed atyou?"

"I don't like them much, " said Ellen — "how can I?"

"You cannot, of course, _like_ the company of ill-behavedpeople, and I do not wish that you should; but you can andought to feel just as kindly disposed towards them as if theyhad never offended you — just as willing and inclined toplease them or do them good. Now, could you offer Miss —what's her name? — some of your candies with as heartygoodwill as you could before she laughed at you?"

"No, Sir, I couldn't. I don't feel as if I ever wished to seethem again. "

"Then, my dear Ellen, you have something to do, if you were inearnest in the resolve you made this morning. 'If ye forgiveunto men their trespasses, my Heavenly Father will alsoforgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will my Father forgive your trespasses. ' "

He was silent, and so was Ellen, for some time. His words hadraised a struggle in her mind; and she kept her face turnedtowards the shore, so that her bonnet shielded it from view;but she did not in the least know what she was looking at. Thesun had been some time descending through a sky of cloudlesssplendour, and now was just kissing the mountain-tops of thewestern horizon. Slowly and with great majesty he sank behindthe distant blue line, till only a glittering edge appeared —and then that was gone. There were no clouds hanging over hissetting, to be gilded and purpled by the parting rays, but aregion of glory long remained, to show where his path hadbeen. 

The eyes of both were fixed upon this beautiful scene, butonly one was thinking of it. Just as the last glimpse of thesun had disappeared, Ellen turned her face, bright again, towards her companion. He was intently gazing towards thehills that had so drawn Ellen's attention a while ago, andthinking still more intently, it was plain; so, though hermouth had been open to speak, she turned her face away againas suddenly as it had just sought his. He saw the motion, however. 

"What is it, Ellen?" he said. 

Ellen looked again, with a smile. 

"I have been thinking, Sir, of what you said to me. "

"Well?" said he, smiling, in answer. 

I can't _like_ Mrs. Dunscombe and Miss Dunscombe as well as ifthey hadn't done so to me, but I will try to behave as ifnothing had been the matter, and be as kind and polite to themas if they had been kind and polite to me. "

"And how about the sugar-plums?"

"The sugar-plums! Oh, " said Ellen, laughing, "Miss Margaretmay have them all, if she likes — I'm quite willing. Not but Ihad rather give them to you, Sir. "

"You give me something a great deal better when I see you tryto overcome a wrong feeling. You mustn't rest till you get ridof every bit of ill-will that you feel for this and any otherunkindness you may suffer. You cannot do it yourself, but youknow who can help you. I hope you have asked Him, Ellen?"

"I have? Sir, indeed. "

"Keep asking Him, and he will do everything for you. "

A silence of some length followed. Ellen began to feel verymuch the fatigue of this exciting day, and sat quietly by herfriend's side leaning against him. The wind had changed aboutsundown, and now blew light from the south, so that they didnot feel it all. 

The light gradually faded away, till only a silver glow in thewest showed where the sun had set, and the sober gray oftwilight was gently stealing over all the bright colours ofsky, and river, and hill; now and then a twinkling light beganto appear along the shores. 

You are very tired, " said Ellen's friend to her — "I see youare. A little more patience, my child — we shall be at ourjourney's end before a very great while. "

"I am almost sorry, " said Ellen, "though I _am_ tired. We don'tgo in the steamboat to-morrow, do we, Sir?"

"No — in the stage. "

"Shall _you_ be in the stage, Sir?"

"No, my child. But I am glad you and I have spent this daytogether. "

"Oh, Sir, " said Ellen, "I don't know what I should have doneif it hadn't been for you. "

There was silence again, and the gentleman almost thought hislittle charge had fallen asleep, she sat so still. But shesuddenly spoke again, and in a tone of voice that showed sleepwas far away. 

"I wish I knew where Mamma is now. "

"I do not doubt, my child, from what you told me, that it iswell with her, wherever she is. Let that thought comfort youwhenever you remember her. "

"She must want me so much, " said poor Ellen, in a scarcelyaudible voice. 

"She has not lost her best friend, my child. "

"I know it, Sir, " said Ellen, with whom grief was now gettingthe mastery — "but oh! it's just near the time when I used tomake the tea for her — who'll make it now? she'll want me —oh, what shall I do!" and, overcome completely by thisrecollection, she threw herself into her friend's arms andsobbed aloud. 

There was no reasoning against this. He did not attempt it;but with the utmost gentleness and tenderness endeavoured, assoon as he might, to soothe and calm her. He succeeded atlast; with a sort of despairing submission, Ellen ceased hertears, and arose to her former position. But he did not restfrom his kind endeavours till her mind was really eased andcomforted — which, however, was not long before the lights ofthe city began to appear in the distance. And with themappeared a dusky figure ascending the stairs, which, uponnearer approach, proved by the voice to be Timmins. 

"Is this Miss Montgomery?" said she — "I can't see, I am sure, it's so dark. Is that you, Miss Montgomery?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, "it is I; do you want me?"

"If you please, Miss, Mrs. Dunscombe wants you to come rightdown; we're almost in, she says, Miss. "

"I'll come directly, Miss Timmins, " said Ellen. "Don't waitfor me — I won't be a minute — I'll come directly. "

Miss Timmins retired, standing still a good deal in awe of thegrave personage whose protection Ellen seemed to have gained. 

"I must go, " said Ellen, standing up and extending her hand;"good-bye, Sir. "

She could hardly say it. He drew her towards him and kissedher cheek once or twice: it was well he did; for it sent athrill of pleasure to Ellen's heart that she did not get overthat evening, nor all the next day. 

"God bless you, my child, " he said gravely, but cheerfully;"and good-night! — you will feel better, I trust, when youhave had some rest and refreshment. "

He took care of her down the stairs, and saw her safe to thevery door of the saloon, and within it, and there again tookher hand, and kindly bade her good-night. 

Ellen entered the saloon only to sit down and cry as if herheart would break. She saw and heard nothing till Mrs. Dunscombe's voice bade her make haste and be ready, for theywere going ashore in five minutes. 

And in less than five minutes, ashore they went. 

"Which hotel, Ma’am?" asked the servant who carried herbaggage — "the Eagle, or Foster's?"

"The Eagle, " said Mrs. Dunscombe. 

"Come this way, then, Ma’am, " said another man, the driver ofthe Eagle carriage; "now, Ma’am, step in, if you please. "

Mrs. Dunscombe put her daughter in. 

"But it's full!" said she to the driver; "there isn't room foranother one!"

"Oh yes, Ma’am, there is, " said the driver, holding the dooropen "there's plenty of room for you, Ma’am — just get in, Ma’am, if you please — we'll be there in less than twominutes. "

"Timmins, you'll have to walk, " said Mrs. Dunscombe. "MissMontgomery, would you rather ride, or walk with Timmins?"

"How far is it, Ma’am?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, bless me! how can I tell how far it is? I don't know, Iam sure — not far; say, quick — would you rather walk orride?"

"I would rather walk, Ma’am, if you please, " said Ellen. 

"Very well, " said Mrs. Dunscombe, getting in; — "Timmins, youknow the way. "

And off went the coach with its load; but, tired as she was, Ellen did not wish herself in it. 

Picking a passage-way out of the crowd, she and Timmins nowbegan to make their way up one of the comparatively quietstreets. 

It was a strange place — that she felt. She had lived longenough in the place she had left, to feel at home there: buthere she came to no street or crossing that she had ever seenbefore; nothing looked familiar; all reminded her that she wasa traveller. Only one pleasant thing Ellen saw on her walk, and that was the sky; and that looked just as it did at home;and very often Ellen's gaze was fixed upon it, much to theastonishment of Miss Timmins, who had to be not a littlewatchful for the safety of Ellen's feet while her eyes werethus employed. She had taken a great fancy to Ellen, however, and let her do as she pleased, keeping all her wonderment toherself. 

"Take care, Miss Ellen!" cried Timmins, giving her arm a greatpull; "I declare I just saved you out of that gutter! Poorchild! you are dreadfully tired, ain't you?"

"Yes, I am very tired, Miss Timmins, " said Ellen; "have wemuch farther to go?"

"Not a great deal, dear; cheer up! we are almost there. I hopeMrs. Dunscombe will want to ride one of these days herself, and can't. "

"Oh, don't say so, Miss Timmins, " said Ellen, — "I don't wishso, indeed. "

"Well, I should think you would, " said Timmins; "I shouldthink you'd be fit to poison her; — _I_ should, I know, if I wasin your place. "

"Oh, no, " said Ellen, "that wouldn't be right — that would bevery wrong. "

"Wrong!" said Timmins; "why would it be wrong? she hasn'tbehaved good to you. "

"Yes, " said Ellen; "but don't you know the Bible says, if wedo not forgive people what they do to us, we shall not beforgiven ourselves?"

"Well, I declare, " said Miss Timmins, "you beat all! Buthere's the Eagle hotel at last, — and I am glad for your sake, dear. "

Ellen was shown into the ladies' parlour. She was longing fora place to rest, but she saw directly it was not to be there. The room was large and barely furnished; and round it werescattered part of the carriage-load of people that had arriveda quarter of an hour before her. They were waiting till theirrooms should be ready. Ellen silently found herself a chair, and sat down to wait with the rest, as patiently as she might. Few of them had as much cause for impatience; but she was theonly perfectly mute and uncomplaining one there. Her twocompanions, however, between them, fully made up her share offretting. At length a servant brought the welcome news thattheir room was ready, and the three marched up stairs. It madeEllen's heart very glad when they got there, to find a good-sized, cheerful-looking bed-room, comfortably furnished, witha bright fire burning, large curtains let down to the floor, and a nice warm carpet upon it. Taking off her bonnet, andonly that, she sat down on a low cushion by the corner of thefire-place, and leaning her head against the jamb, fell asleepalmost immediately. Mrs. Dunscombe set about arranging herselffor the tea-table. 

"Well!" she said — "one day of this precious journey is over!"

"Does Ellen go with us to-morrow, Mamma?"

"Oh, yes! quite to Thirlwall. "

"Well, you haven't had much plague with her to-day, Mamma. "

"No — I am sure I am much obliged to whoever has kept her outof my way. "

"Where is she going to sleep to-night?" asked Miss Margaret. 

"I don't know, I am sure — I suppose I shall have to have acot brought in here for her. "

"What a plague!" said Miss Margaret. "It will lumber up theroom so! There's no place to put it. Couldn't she sleep withTimmins?"

"Oh, she _could_, of course — just as well as not — only peoplewould make such a fuss about it — it wouldn't do; we must bearit for once. I'll try and not be caught in such a scrapeagain. "

"How provoking!" said Miss Margaret — "how came father to doso, without asking you about it?"

"Oh, he was bewitched, I suppose — men always are. Look here, Margaret — I can't go down to tea with a train of children atmy heels. I shall leave you and Ellen up here, and I'll sendup your tea to you. "

"Oh no, Mamma!" said Margaret, eagerly — "I want to go downwith you. Look here, Mamma! she's asleep, and you needn't wakeher up — that's excuse enough; you can leave her to have hertea up here, and let me go down with you. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Dunscombe, "I don't care — but make haste toget ready, for I expect every minute when the tea-bell willring. "

"Timmins! Timmins!" cried Margaret, "come here and fix me —quick! — and step softly, will you? — or you'll wake thatyoung one up, and then, you see, I shall have to stay upstairs. "

This did not happen, however. Ellen's sleep was much too deepto be easily disturbed. The tea-bell itself, loud and shrillas it was, did not even make her eyelids tremble. After Mrs. And Miss Dunscombe were gone down, Timmins employed herself alittle while in putting all things about the room to rights;and then sat down to take _her_ rest, dividing her attentionbetween the fire and Ellen, towards whom she seemed to feelmore and more kindness, as she saw that she was likely toreceive it from no one else. Presently came a knock at thedoor — "The tea for the young lady, " on a waiter. Miss Timminssilently took the tray from the man, and shut the door. "Well!" said she to herself — "if that ain't a pretty supperto send up to a child that has gone two hundred miles to-day, and had no breakfast! — a cup of tea, cold enough, I'llwarrant — bread and butter enough for a bird — and two littleslices of ham as thick as a wafer! Well, I just wish Mrs. Dunscombe had to eat it herself, and nothing else! — I'm notgoing to wake her up for that, I know, till I see whethersomething better ain't to be had for love or money. So justyou sleep on, darling, till I see what I can do for you. "

In great indignation, down stairs went Miss Timmins; and atthe foot of the stairs she met a rosy-cheeked, pleasant-facedgirl coming up. 

"Are you the chambermaid?" said Timmins. 

"I'm _one_ of the chambermaids, " said the girl, smiling;"there's three of us in this house, dear. "

"Well, I am a stranger here, " said Timmins, "but I want you tohelp me, and I am sure you will. I've got a dear little girlup stairs that I want some supper for — she's a sweet child, and she's under the care of some proud folks here in the tea-room that think it's too much trouble to look at her; andthey've sent her up about supper enough for a mouse, and she'shalf-starving; she lost her breakfast this morning by theirugliness. Now ask one of the waiters to give me something nicefor her, will you? — there's a good girl. "

"James!" said the girl, in a loud whisper to one of thewaiters, who was crossing the hall. He instantly stopped andcame towards them, tray in hand, and making several extra-polite bows as he drew near. 

"What's on the supper-table, James?" said the smiling damsel. 

"Everything that ought to be there, Miss Johns, " said the manwith another flourish. 

"Come, stop your nonsense, " said the girl, "and tell me quick— I'm in a hurry. "

"It's a pleasure to perform your commands, Miss Johns. I'llgive you the whole bill of fare. There's a very finebeefsteak, fricasseed chickens, stewed oysters, sliced ham, cheese, preserved quinces, with the usual complement of breadand toast, and muffins, and dough-nuts, and new-year-cake, andplenty of butter — likewise salt and pepper — likewise tea andcoffee, and sugar — likewise —"

"Hush!" said the girl. "Do stop, will you?" — and thenlaughing and turning to Miss Timmins, she added, "What willyou have?"

"I guess I'll have some of the chickens and oysters, " saidTimmins; "that will be the nicest for her — and a muffin ortwo. "

"Now, James, do you hear?" said the chambermaid; "I want youto get me now, right away, a nice little supper of chickensand oysters, and a muffin — it's for a lady upstairs. Be asquick as you can. "

"I should be very happy to execute impossibilities for you, Miss Johns, but Mrs. Custers is at the table herself. "

"Very well — that's nothing — she'll think it's for somebodyupstairs — and so it is. "

"Ay, but the upstairs people is Tim's business — I should behauled over the coals directly. "

"Then ask Tim, will you? How slow you are! Now, James, if youdon't, I won't speak to you again. "

"Till to-morrow? — I couldn't stand that. It shall be done, Miss Johns, instantum. "

Bowing and smiling, away went James, leaving the girlsgiggling on the staircase, and highly gratified. 

"He always does what I want him to, " said the good-humouredchambermaid, "but he generally makes a fuss about it first. He'll be back directly with what you want. "

Till he came, Miss Timmins filled up the time with telling hernew friend as much as she knew about Ellen and Ellen'shardships; with which Miss Johns was so much interested, thatshe declared she must go up and see her; and when James in afew minutes returned with a tray of nice things, the two womenproceeded together to Mrs. Dunscombe's room. Ellen had movedso far as to put herself on the floor with her head on thecushion for a pillow, but she was as sound asleep as ever. 

"Just see now!" said Timmins — "there she lies on the floor —enough to give her her death of cold; poor child! she's tiredto death — and Mrs. Dunscombe made her walk up from thesteamboat to-night, rather than do it herself; — I declare Iwished the coach would break down, only for the other folks. Iam glad I have got a good supper for her, though — thank you, Miss Johns. "

"And I'll tell you what, I'll go and get you some nice hottea, " said the chambermaid, who was quite touched by the sightof Ellen's little pale face. 

"Thank you, " said Timmins — "you're a darling. This is as coldas a stone. "

While the chambermaid went forth on her kind errand, Timminsstooped down by the little sleeper's side. "Miss Ellen!" shesaid — "Miss Ellen! — wake up, dear — wake up, and get somesupper — come! you'll feel a great deal better for it — youshall sleep as much as you like afterwards. "

Slowly Ellen raised herself, and opened her eyes. "Where amI?" she asked looking bewildered. 

"Here, dear, " said Timmins — "wake up and eat something — itwill do you good. "

With a sigh poor Ellen arose and came to the fire. 

"You're tired to death, ain't you?" said Timmins. 

"Not quite, " said Ellen. "I shouldn't mind that, if my legswould not ache so — and my head, too. "

"Now I'm sorry!" said Timmins — "but your head will be betterfor eating, I know. See here — I've got you some nice chicken, and oysters, and I'll make this muffin hot for you by the fire— and here comes your tea. Miss Johns, I'm your servant, andI'll be your bridesmaid with the greatest pleasure in life. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, just you put yourself on that lowchair, and I'll fix you off. "

Ellen thanked her, and did as she was told. Timmins broughtanother chair to her side, and placed the tray with her supperupon it, and prepared her muffin and tea; and having fairlyseen Ellen begin to eat, she next took off her shoes, andseating herself on the carpet before her, she made her lap theresting-place for Ellen's feet, chafing them in her hands, andheating them at the fire; saying there was nothing likerubbing and roasting to get rid of the leg-ache. By the helpof the supper, the fire, and Timmins, Ellen mended rapidly. With tears in her eyes, she thanked the latter for herkindness. 

"Now just don't say one word about that, " said Timmins — "Inever was famous for kindness, as I know; but people must bekind sometimes in their lives — unless they happen to be madeof stone, which I believe some people are. You feel better, don't you?"

"A great deal, " said Ellen. "Oh, if I only could go to bednow!"

"And you shall, " said Timmins. "I know about your bed, andI'll go right away and have it brought in. " And away she went. 

While she was gone, Ellen drew from her pocket her littlehymn-book, to refresh herself with looking at it. How quicklyand freshly it brought back to her mind the friend who hadgiven it, and his conversations with her, and the resolve shehad made! and again Ellen's whole heart offered the prayer shehad repeated many times that day —

"Open my heart, Lord, enter in;Slay every foe, and conquer sin. "

Her head was still bent upon her little book when Timminsentered. Timmins was not alone — Miss Johns and a little cot-bedstead came in with her. The latter was put at the foot ofMrs. Dunscombe's bed, and speedily made up by the chambermaid, while Timmins undressed Ellen; and very soon all the sorrowsand vexations of the day were forgotten in a sound, refreshingsleep; but not till she had removed her little hymn-book fromthe pocket of her frock to a safe station under her pillow; itwas with her hand upon it that Ellen went to sleep; and it wasin her hand still when she was waked the next morning. 

The next day was spent in a wearisome stage coach, over arough, jolting road. Ellen's companions did nothing to makeher way pleasant, but she sweetened theirs with her sugar-plums. Somewhat mollified, perhaps, after that, Miss Margaretcondescended to enter into conversation with her, and Ellenunderwent a thorough cross-examination as to all her own andher parents' affairs, past, present, and future; and likewiseas to all that could be known of her yesterday's friend, tillshe was heartily worried, and out of patience. 

It was just five o'clock when they reached her stopping-place. Ellen knew of no particular house to go to, so Mrs. Dunscombeset her down at the door of the principal inn of the town, called the "Star, " of Thirlwall. 

The driver smacked his whip, and away went the stage again, and she was left, standing alone, beside her trunk, before thepiazza of the inn, watching Timmins, who was looking back ather out of the stage window, nodding and waving good-bye. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The little Queen in the Arm-Chair. 

Ellen had been whirled along over the roads for so many hours— the rattle of the stage-coach had filled her ears for solong — that now, suddenly still and quiet, she felt half-stunned. She stood with a kind of dreamy feeling, lookingafter the departing stage-coach. In it there were three peoplewhose faces she knew, and she could not count a fourth withinmany a mile. One of those was a friend, too, as the flutteringhandkerchief of poor Miss Timmins gave token still. Yet Ellendid not wish herself back in the coach, although she continuedto stand and gaze after it as it rattled off at a great ratedown the little street, its huge body lumbering up and downevery now and then, reminding her of sundry uncomfortablejolts; till the horses making a sudden turn to the right, itdisappeared round a corner. Still for a minute Ellen watchedthe whirling cloud of dust it had left behind; but then thefeeling of strangeness and loneliness came over her, and herheart sank. She cast a look up and down the street. Theafternoon was lovely; the slant beams of the setting sun cameback from gilded windows, and the houses and chimney-tops ofthe little town were in a glow; but she saw nothing brightanywhere; in all the glory of the setting sun the little townlooked strange and miserable. There was no sign of her havingbeen expected; nobody was waiting to meet her. What was to bedone next? Ellen had not the slightest idea. 

Her heart growing fainter and fainter, she turned again to theinn. A tall awkward young countryman, with a cap set on oneside of his head, was busying himself with sweeping off thefloor of the piazza, but in a very leisurely manner; andbetween every two strokes of his broom he was casting longlooks at Ellen, evidently wondering who she was, and what shecould want there. Ellen saw it, and hoped he would ask her inwords, for she could not answer his _looks_ of curiosity — butshe was disappointed. As he reached the end of the piazza, andgave his broom two or three knocks against the edge of theboards to clear it of dust, he indulged himself with one good, long, finishing look at Ellen, and then she saw he was goingto take himself and his broom into the house. So in despairshe ran up the two or three low steps of the piazza andpresented herself before him. He stopped short. 

"Will you please to tell me, Sir, " said poor Ellen, "if MissEmerson is here?"

"Miss Emerson?" said he — "what Miss Emerson?"

"I don't know, Sir — Miss Emerson that lives not far fromThirlwall. "

Eyeing Ellen from head to foot, the man then trailed his broominto the house. Ellen followed him. 

"Mr. Forbes!" said he — "Mr. Forbes! do you know anything ofMiss Emerson?"

"What Miss Emerson?" said another man, with a big red face anda big round body, showing himself in a doorway which he nearlyfilled. 

"Miss Emerson that lives a little way out of town. "

"Miss Fortune Emerson? — yes, I know her. What of her?"

"Has she been here to-day?"

"Here? what, in town? No — not as I've seen or heard. Why, whowants her?"

"This little girl. "

And the man with the broom stepping back, disclosed Ellen tothe view of the red-faced landlord. He advanced a step or twotowards her. 

"What do you want with Miss Fortune, little one?" said he. 

"I expected she would meet me here, Sir, " said Ellen

"Where have you come from?"

"From New York. "

"The stage set her down just now, " put in the other man. 

"And you thought Miss Fortune would meet you, did you?"

"Yes, Sir; she was to meet me and take me home. "

"Take you home! Are you going to Miss Fortune's home?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Why, you don't belong to her, any way, do you?"

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, "but she's my aunt. "

"She's your what?"

"My aunt, Sir — my father's sister. "

"You father's sister! You ben't the daughter of MorganMontgomery, be you?"

"Yes, I am, " said Ellen, half-smiling. 

"And you are come to make a visit to Miss Fortune, eh?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, smiling no longer. 

"And Miss Fortune han't come up to meet you! — that's realshabby of her; and how to get you down there to-night, I amsure is more than I can tell. " And he shouted, "Wife!"

"What's the matter, Mr. Forbes?" said a fat landlady, appearing in the doorway, which she filled near as well as herhusband would have done. 

"Look here, " said Mr. Forbes — "here's Morgan Montgomery'sdaughter come to pay a visit to her aunt Fortune Emerson. Don't you think she'll be glad to see her?"

Mr. Forbes put this question with rather a curious look at hiswife. She didn't answer him. She only looked at Ellen, lookedgrave, and gave a queer little nod of her head, which meant, Ellen could not make out what. 

"Now, what's to be done?" continued Mr. Forbes. "Miss Fortunewas to have come up to meet her, but she ain't here, and Idon't know how in the world I can take the child down thereto-night. The horses are both out to plough, you know; andbesides, the tire is come off that waggon-wheel. I couldn'tpossibly use it. And then it's a great question in my mindwhat Miss Fortune would say to me. I should get paid, Is'pose?"

"Yes, you'd get paid, " said his wife, with another littleshake of her head; "but whether it would be the kind of payyou'd like, _I_ don't know. "

"Well, what's to be done, wife? Keep the child overnight, andsend word down yonder?"

"No, " said Mrs. Forbes, "I'll tell you. I think I saw VanBrunt go by two or three hours ago with the ox-cart, and Iguess he's somewhere up town yet; I han't seen him go back. Hecan take the child home with him. Sam!" shouted Mrs. Forbes —"Sam! — here! — Sam, run up street directly, and see if yousee Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart standing anywhere — I dare sayhe's at Mr. Miller's, or maybe at Mr. Hammersley's, theblacksmith — and ask him to stop here before he goes home. Nowhurry! — and don't run over him, and then come back and tellme he ain't in town. "

Mrs. Forbes herself followed Sam to the door, and cast anexploring look in every direction. 

"I don't see no signs of him — up nor down, " said she, returning to Ellen; "but I'm pretty sure he ain't gone home. Come in here — come in here, dear, and make yourselfcomfortable; it'll be a while yet, maybe, afore Mr. Van Bruntcomes, but he'll be along by-and-by; — come in here and restyourself. "

She opened a door, and Ellen followed her into a largekitchen, where a fire was burning, that showed wood must beplenty in those regions. Mrs. Forbes placed a low chair forher on the hearth, but herself remained standing by the sideof the fire, looking earnestly, and with a good deal ofinterest, upon the little stranger. Ellen drew her whitebonnet from her head, and sitting down with a wearied air, gazed sadly into the flames that were shedding their lightupon her. 

"Are you going to stop a good while with Miss Fortune?" saidMrs. Forbes. 

"I don't know, Ma’am — yes, I believe so, " said Ellen, faintly. 

"Han't you got no mother?" asked Mrs. Forbes, suddenly, aftera pause. 

"Oh, yes!" said Ellen, looking up. But the question hadtouched the sore spot. Her head sank on her hands, and "Oh, Mamma!" was uttered with a bitterness that even Mrs. Forbescould feel. 

"Now, what made me ask you that!" said she. "Don't cry! —don't, love; poor little dear! you're as pale as a sheet;you're tired, I know — ain't you? Now, cheer up, do — I can'tbear to see you cry. You've come a great way to-day, han'tyou?"

Ellen nodded her head, but could give no answer. 

"I know what will do you good, " said Mrs. Forbes, presently, getting up from the crouching posture she had taken to comfortEllen; "you want something to eat — that's the matter. I'llwarrant you're half starved; no wonder you feel bad. Poorlittle thing! you shall have something good directly. "

And away she bustled to get it. Left alone, Ellen's tearsflowed a few minutes very fast. She felt forlorn; and she was, besides, as Mrs. Forbes opined, both tired and faint. But shedid not wish to be found weeping; she checked her tears, andwas sitting again quietly before the fire when the landladyreturned. 

Mrs. Forbes had a great bowl of milk in one hand, and a plateof bread in the other, which she placed on the kitchen table, and setting a chair, called Ellen to come and partake of it. 

"Come, dear — here is something that will do you good. Ithought there was a piece of pie in the buttery, and so therewas, but Mr. Forbes must have got hold of it, for it ain'tthere now; and there ain't a bit of cake in the house for you;but I thought maybe you would like this as well as anything. Come!"

Ellen thanked her, but said she did not want anything. 

"Oh, yes, you do, " said Mrs. Forbes; "I know better. You're aspale as I don't know what. Come! this'll put roses in yourcheeks. Don't you like bread and milk?"

"Yes, very much indeed, Ma’am, " said Ellen; "but I'm nothungry. "

She rose, however, and came to the table. 

"Oh, well, try to eat a bit, just to please me. It's real goodcountry milk — not a bit of cream off. You don't get such milkas that in the city, I guess. That's right! — I see the rosescoming back to your cheeks already?"

"Is your pa in New York now?"

"Yes, Ma’am. "

"You expect your pa and ma up to Thirlwall by-and-by, don'tyou?"

"No, Ma’am. "

Mrs. Forbes was surprised, and longed to ask why not, and whatEllen had come for; but the shade that had passed over herface as she answered the last question, warned the landladyshe was getting upon dangerous ground. 

"Does your aunt expect you to-night?"

"I believe so, Ma’am — I don't know — she was to have met me;papa said he would write. "

"Oh, well! maybe something hindered her from coming. It's nomatter; you'll get home just as well. Mr. Van Brunt will behere soon, I guess; it's 'most time for him to be along. "

She went to the front door to look out for him, but returnedwithout any news. A few minutes passed in silence, for, thoughfull of curiosity, the good landlady dared not ask what shewanted to know, for fear of again exciting the sorrow of herlittle companion. She contented herself with looking at Ellen, who, on her part, much rested and refreshed, turned from thetable, and was again, though somewhat less sadly, gazing intothe fire. 

Presently the great wooden clock struck half-past five, with awhirring, rickety voice, for all the world like a hoarsegrasshopper. Ellen at first wondered where it came from, andwas looking at the clumsy machine, that reached nearly fromthe floor of the kitchen to the ceiling, when a door at theother end of the room opened, and "Good day, Mrs. Forbes, " ina rough but not unpleasant voice, brought her head quicklyround in that direction. There stood a large, strong-builtman, with an ox-whip in his hand. He was well made, and ratherhandsome, but there was something of heaviness in the air ofboth face and person mixed with his certainly good-humouredexpression. His dress was as rough as his voice — a coarsegray frock-coat, green velveteen pantaloons, and a fur capthat had seen its best days some time ago. 

"Good day, Mrs. Forbes, " said this personage; "Sam said youwanted me to stop as I went along. "

"Ah, how d'ye do, Mr. Van Brunt?" said the landlady, rising —"you've got the ox-cart here with you, han't you?"

"Yes — I've got the ox-cart, " said the person addressed. "Icame in town for a barrel of flour; and then the near ox hadlost both his fore-shoes off, and I had to go over there; andHammersley has kept me a precious long time. What's wanting, Mrs. Forbes? I can't stop. "

"You've no load in the cart, have you?" said the landlady. 

"No; I should have had, though, but Miller had no shorts norfresh flour, nor won't till next week. What's to go down, Mrs. Forbes?"

"The nicest load ever you carried, Mr. Van Brunt. Here's alittle lady come to stay with Miss Fortune. She's a daughterof Captain Montgomery, Miss Fortune's brother, you know. Shecame by the stage a little while ago, and the thing is now toget her down to-night. She can go in the cart, can't she?"

Mr. Van Brunt looked a little doubtful, and pulling off hiscap with one hand, while he scratched his head with the other, he examined Ellen from head to foot, much as if she had beensome great bale of goods, and he were considering whether hiscart would hold her or not. 

"Well, " said he at length, "I don't know but she can; butthere ain't nothing on 'arth for her to sit down upon. "

"Oh, never mind; I'll fix that, " said Mrs. Forbes. "Is thereany straw in the bottom of the cart?"

"Not a bit. "

"Well, I'll fix it, " said Mrs. Forbes. "You get her trunk intothe cart, will you, Mr. Van Brunt? and I'll see to the rest. "

Mr. Van Brunt moved off without another word, to do what wasdesired of him — apparently quite confounded at having apassenger instead of his more wonted load of bags and barrels. And his face still continued to wear the singular doubtfulexpression it had put on at first hearing the news. Ellen'strunk was quickly hoisted in, however; and Mrs. Forbespresently appeared with a little arm-chair, which Mr. VanBrunt, with an approving look, bestowed in the cart, plantingit with its back against the trunk to keep it steady. Mrs. Forbes then raising herself on tiptoe by the side of the cart, took a view of the arrangements. 

"That won't do yet, " said she; "her feet will be cold on thatbare floor, and 'tain't over clean neither. Here, Sally! runup and fetch me that piece of carpet you'll find lying at thetop of the back stairs. "Now, hurry! Now, Mr. Van Brunt, Idepend upon you to get my things back again; will you see andbring 'em the first time you come in town?"

"I'll see about it. But what if I can't get hold of them!"answered the person addressed, with a half-smile. 

"Oh, " said Mrs. Forbes, with another, "I leave that to you;you have your ways and means. Now, just spread this carpetdown nicely under her chair; and then she'll be fixed. Now, mydarling, you'll ride like a queen. But how are you going toget in? Will you let Mr. Van Brunt lift you up?"

Ellen's "Oh, no, Ma’am if you please!" was accompanied withsuch an evident shrinking from the proposal, that Mrs. Forbesdid not press it. A chair was brought from the kitchen, and bymaking a long step from it to the top of the wheel, and thento the edge of the cart, Ellen was at length safely stowed inher place. Kind Mrs. Forbes then stretched herself up over theside of the cart to shake hands with her, and bid her good-bye, telling her again she would ride like a queen. Ellenanswered only, "Good-bye, Ma’am;" but it was said with a lookof so much sweetness, and eyes swimming half in sadness andhalf in gratefulness, that the good landlady could not forgetit. 

"I do think, " said she, when she went back to her husband, "that is the dearest little thing, about, I ever did see. "

"Humph!" said her husband, "I reckon Miss Fortune will thinkso too. "

The doubtful look came back to Mrs. Forbes' face, and, withanother little, grave shake of her head, she went into thekitchen. 

"How kind she is! how good every body is to me!" thoughtlittle Ellen, as she moved off in state in her chariot drawnby oxen. Quite a contrast this new way of travelling was tothe noisy stage and swift steamer. Ellen did not know at firstwhether to like or dislike it; but she came to the conclusionthat it was very funny, and a remarkably amusing way ofgetting along. There was one disadvantage about it certainly —their rate of travel was very slow. Ellen wondered hercharioteer did not make his animals go faster; but she soonforgot their lazy progress in the interest of novel sights andnew scenes. 

Slowly, very slowly, the good oxen drew the cart and thelittle queen in the arm chair out of the town, and theyentered upon the open country. The sun had already gone downwhen they left the inn, and the glow of his setting had fadeda good deal by the time they got quite out of the town; butlight enough was left still to delight Ellen with the pleasantlook of the country. It was a lovely evening, and quiet assummer; not a breath stirring. The leaves were all off thetrees; the hills were brown; but the soft, warm light thatstill lingered upon them forbade any look of harshness ordreariness. These hills lay towards the west, and at Thirlwallwere not more than two miles distant, but sloping off more tothe west as the range extended in a southerly direction. Between, the ground was beautifully broken. Rich fields andmeadows lay on all sides, sometimes level, and sometimes witha soft, wavy surface, where Ellen thought it must be charmingto run up and down. Every now and then these were varied by alittle rising ground, capped with a piece of woodland; andbeautiful trees, many of them, were seen standing alone, especially by the roadside. All had a cheerful, pleasant look. The houses were very scattered; in the whole way they passedbut few. Ellen's heart regularly began to beat when they camein sight of one, and "I wonder if that is aunt Fortune'shouse!" — "perhaps it is!" — or, "I hope it is not!" were thethoughts that rose to her mind. But slowly the oxen broughther abreast of the houses, one after another, and slowly theypassed on beyond, and there was no sign of getting home yet. Their way was through pleasant lanes towards the south, butconstantly approaching the hills. About half a mile fromThirlwall, they crossed a little river, not more than thirtyyards broad, and after that the twilight deepened fast. Theshades gathered on field and hill; everything grew brown, andthen dusky; and then Ellen was obliged to content herself withwhat was very near, for further than that she could only seedim outlines. She began again to think of their slowtravelling, and to wonder that Mr. Van Brunt could be contentwith it. She wondered, too, what made him walk, when he mightjust as well have sat in the cart; the truth was, he hadchosen that for the very purpose that he might have a goodlook at the little queen in the arm-chair. Apparently, however, he, too, now thought it might be as well to make alittle haste, for he thundered out some orders to his oxen, accompanied with two or three strokes of his heavy lash, which, though not cruel by any means, went to Ellen's heart. 

"Them lazy critters won't go fast anyhow, " said he to Ellen;"they will take their own time; it ain't no use to cut them. "

"Oh, no! Pray don't, if you please!" said Ellen, in a voice ofearnest entreaty. 

" 'Tain't fair, neither, " continued Mr. Van Brunt, lashing hisgreat whip from side to side without touching anything. "Ihave seen critters that would take any quantity of whipping tomake them go, but them 'ere ain't of that kind; they'll workas long as they can stand, poor fellows!"

There was a little silence, during which Ellen eyed her roughcharioteer, not knowing exactly what to make of him. 

"I guess this is the first time you ever rid in an ox-cart, ain't it?"

"Yes, " said Ellen; "I never saw one before. "

"Han't you never seen an ox-cart! Well — how do you like it?"

"I like it very much indeed. Have we much further to go beforewe get to aunt Fortune's house?"

" 'Aunt Fortune's house?' a pretty good bit yet. You see thatmountain over there?" — pointing with his whip to a hilldirectly west of them, and about a mile distant. 

"Yes, " said Ellen. 

"That's the Nose. Then you see that other?" — pointing to onethat lay some two miles further south; — "Miss Fortune's houseis just this side of that; it's all of two miles from here. "

And urged by this recollection, he again scolded and cheeredthe patient oxen, who for the most part kept on their steadyway without any reminder. But perhaps it was for Ellen's sakethat he scarcely touched them with the whip. 

"That don't hurt them, not a bit, " he remarked to Ellen — "itonly lets them know that I'm here, and they must mind theirbusiness. So you're Miss Fortune's niece, eh?"

"Yes, " said Ellen. 

"Well, " said Mr. Van Brunt, with a desperate attempt at beingcomplimentary, "I shouldn't care if you was mine too. "

Ellen was somewhat astounded, and so utterly unable to echothe wish, that she said nothing. She did not know it, but Mr. Van Brunt had made, for him, most extraordinary efforts atsociability. Having quite exhausted himself, he now mountedinto the cart and sat silent, only now and then utteringenergetic "Gees!" and "Haws!" which greatly excited Ellen'swonderment. She discovered they were meant for the ears of theoxen, but more than that she could not make out. 

They plodded along very slowly, and the evening fell fast. Asthey left behind the hill which Mr. Van Brunt had called "theNose, " they could see through an opening in the mountains, abit of the western horizon, and some brightness stilllingering there; but it was soon hid from view, and darknessveiled the whole country. Ellen could amuse herself no longerwith looking about; she could see nothing very clearly but theoutline of Mr. Van Brunt's broad back, just before her. Butthe stars had come out! — and brilliant and clear they werelooking down upon her, with their thousand eyes. Ellen's heartjumped when she saw them, with a mixed feeling of pleasure andsadness. They carried her right back to the last evening, whenshe was walking up the hill with Timmins; she remembered heranger against Mrs. Dunscombe, and her kind friend's warningnot to indulge it, and all his teaching that day; and tearscame with the thought, how glad she should be to hear himspeak to her again. Still looking up at the beautiful quietstars, she thought of her dear far-off mother — how long itwas already since she had seen her — faster and faster thetears dropped — and then she thought of that glorious One whohad made the stars, and was above them all, and who could anddid see her mother and her, though ever so far apart, andcould hear and bless them both. The little face was no longerupturned — it was buried in her hands, and bowed to her lap, and tears streamed as she prayed that God would bless her dearmother and take care of her. Not once nor twice — the fulnessof Ellen's heart could not be poured out in one asking. Greatly comforted at last, at having as it were laid over thecare of her mother upon One who was able, she thought ofherself, and her late resolution to serve him. She was in thesame mind still. She could not call herself a Christian yet, but she was resolved to be one; and she earnestly asked theSaviour she sought, to make her and keep her his child. Andthen Ellen felt happy. 

Quiet, and weariness, and even drowsiness, succeeded. It waswell the night was still, for it had grown quite cool, and abreeze would have gone through and through Ellen's nankeencoat. As it was, she began to be chilly, when Mr. Van Brunt, who, since he got into the cart, had made no remarks except tohis oxen, turned round a little and spoke to her again. 

"It's only a little bit of way we've got to go now, " said he;"we're turning the corner. "

The words seemed to shoot through Ellen's heart. She was wideawake instantly, and quite warm; and leaning forward in herlittle chair, she strove to pierce the darkness on either handof her, to see whereabouts the house stood, and how thingslooked. She could discern nothing but misty shadows, andoutlines of she could not tell what; the starlight was too dimto reveal any thing to a stranger. 

"There's the house, " said Mr. Van Brunt, after a few minutesmore, — "do you see it yonder?"

Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out nothing — not evena glimpse of white. She sat back in her chair, her heartbeating violently. Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down andopened a gate at the side of the road; and with a great dealof "gee"-ing the oxen turned to the right, and drew the cart alittle way up hill — then stopped on what seemed level ground. 

"Here we are!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he threw his whip onthe ground — "and late enough! You must be tired of thatlittle arm-cheer by this time. Come to the side of the cart, and I'll lift you down. "

Poor Ellen! There was no help for it. She came to the side ofthe cart, and, taking her in his arms, her rough charioteerset her very gently and carefully on the ground. 

"There!" said he, "now you can run right in; do you see thatlittle gate?"

"No, " said Ellen, "I can't see anything. "

"Well, come here, " said he, "and I'll show you. Here — you'rerunning agin the fence — this way!"

And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen managed to stumblethrough. 

"Now, " said he, "go straight up to that door yonder, and openit, and you'll see where to go. Don't knock, but just pull thelatch and go in. "

And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw no door, anddid not even know where to look for it; by degrees, as herhead became clearer, the large dark shadow of the house stoodbefore her, and a little glimmering line of a path seemed tolead onward from where she stood. With unsteady steps, Ellenpursued it till her foot struck against the stone before thedoor. Her trembling fingers found the latch — lifted it — andshe entered. All was dark there; but at the right a windowshowed light glimmering within. Ellen made towards it, and, groping, came to another door-latch. This was big and clumsy;however, she managed it, and, pushing open the heavy door, went in. 

It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. A fine fire wasburning in the enormous fire-place; the white walls andceiling were yellow in the light of the flame. No candles wereneeded, and none were there. The supper-table was set, and, with its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, lookedvery comfortable indeed. But the only person there was an oldwoman, sitting by the side of the fire, with her back towardsEllen. She seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor lookround. Ellen had come a step or two into the room, and thereshe stood, unable to speak or to go any further. "Can that beAunt Fortune?" she thought; "she can't be as old as that!"

In another minute a door opened at her right, just behind theold woman's back, and a second figure appeared at the top of aflight of stairs which led down from the kitchen. She came in, shutting the door behind her with her foot; and indeed bothhands were full, one holding a lamp and a knife, and the othera plate of butter. The sight of Ellen stopped her short. 

"What is this? and what do you leave the door open for, child?" she said. 

She advanced towards it, plate and lamp in hand, and settingher back against the door, shut it vigorously. 

"Who are you? and what's wanting?"

"I am Ellen Montgomery, Ma’am, " said Ellen timidly. 

"_What?_" said the lady, with some emphasis. 

"Didn't you expect me, Ma’am?" said Ellen. "Papa said he wouldwrite. "

"Why, is this Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Fortune, apparentlyforced to the conclusion that it must be. 

"Yes, Ma’am, " said Ellen. 

Miss Fortune went to the table, and put the butter and thelamp in their places. 

"Did you say your father wrote to tell me of your coming?"

"He said he would, Ma’am, " said Ellen. 

"He didn't! Never sent me a line. Just like him! I never yetknew Morgan Montgomery do a thing when he promised he would. "

Ellen's face flushed, and her heart swelled. She stoodmotionless. 

"How did you get down here to-night?"

"I came in Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart, " said Ellen. 

"Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart! Then he's got home, has he?" Andhearing this instant a noise outside, Miss Fortune swept tothe door, saying, as she opened it, "Sit down, child, and takeoff your things. "

The first command, at least, Ellen obeyed gladly; she did notfeel enough at home to comply with the second. She only tookoff her bonnet. 

"Well, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Miss Fortune, at the door, "haveyou brought me a barrel of flour?"

"No, Miss Fortune, " said the voice of Ellen's charioteer, "I've brought you something better than that. "

"Where did you find her?" said Miss Fortune, somethingshortly. 

"Up at Forbes's. "

"What have you got there?"

"A trunk. Where is it to go?"

"A trunk! It must go up stairs; but how it is ever to getthere, I am sure I don't know. "

"I'll find a way to get it there, I'll engage, if you'll be sogood as to open the door for me, Ma’am. "

"Indeed you won't! That'll never do! With your shoes!" saidMiss Fortune, in a tone of indignant housewifery. 

"Well, without my shoes, then, " said Mr. Van Brunt, with ahalf-giggle, as Ellen heard the shoes kicked off. "Now, Ma’am, out of my way! give me a road. "

Miss Fortune seized the lamp, and, opening another door, ushered Mr. Van Brunt and the trunk out of the kitchen, and up— Ellen saw not whither. In a minute or two they returned, andhe of the ox-cart went out. 

"Supper's just ready, Mr. Van Brunt, " said the mistress of thehouse. 

"Can't stay, Ma’am — it's so late; must hurry home. " And heclosed the door behind him. 

"What made you so late?" asked Miss Fortune of Ellen. 

"I don't know, Ma’am — I believe Mr. Van Brunt said theblacksmith had kept him. "

Miss Fortune bustled about a few minutes in silence, settingsome things on the table, and filling the tea-pot. 

"Come, " she said to Ellen, "take off your coat and come to thetable. You must be hungry by this time. It's a good whilesince you had your dinner, ain't it? Come, mother. "

The old lady rose, and Miss Fortune, taking her chair, set itby the side of the table, next the fire. Ellen was opposite toher, and now, for the first time, the old lady seemed to knowthat she was in the room. She looked at her very attentively, but with an expressionless gaze which Ellen did not like tomeet, though otherwise her face was calm and pleasant. 

"Who is that?" inquired the old lady presently of MissFortune, in a half whisper. 

"That's Morgan's daughter, " was the answer. 

"Morgan's daughter! Has Morgan a daughter?"

"Why, yes, mother; don't you remember I told you a month agohe was going to send her here?"

The old lady turned again, with a half shake of her head, towards Ellen. "Morgan's daughter, " she repeated to herself, softly, "she's a pretty little girl — very pretty. Will youcome round here and give me a kiss, dear?"

Ellen submitted. The old lady folded her in her arms, andkissed her affectionately. "That's your grandmother, Ellen, "said Miss Fortune, as Ellen went back to her seat. 

Ellen had no words to answer. Her aunt saw her weary down-look, and soon after supper proposed to take her upstairs. Ellen gladly followed her. Miss Fortune showed her to herroom, and first asking if she wanted any thing, left her toherself. It was a relief. Ellen's heart had been brimful, andready to run over for some time, but the tears could not comethen. They did not now, till she had undressed and laid herweary little body on the bed: then they broke forth in anagony. "She did not kiss me! she didn't say she was glad tosee me!" thought poor Ellen. But weariness this time was toomuch for sorrow and disappointment. It was but a few minutes, and Ellen's brow was calm again, and her eyelids still, and, with the tears wet upon her cheeks, she was fast asleep. 

CHAPTER X. 

Mud — and what came of it. 

The morning sun was shining full and strong in Ellen's eyeswhen she awoke. Bewildered at the strangeness of everythingaround her, she raised herself on her elbow, and took a longlook at her new home. It could not help but seem cheerful. Thebright beams of sunlight, streaming in through the windows, lighted on the wall and the old wainscoting; and paintless andrough as they were, nature's own gilding more than made amendsfor their want of comeliness. Still Ellen was not much pleasedwith the result of her survey. The room was good-sized, andperfectly neat and clean; it had two large windows opening tothe east, through which, morning by morning, the sun looked in— that was another blessing. But the floor was without thesign of a carpet, and the bare boards looked to Ellen verycomfortless. The hard-finished walls were not very smooth, norparticularly white. The doors and wood-work, though very neat, and even carved with some attempt at ornament, had never knownthe touch of paint, and had grown in the course of years to bea light-brown colour. The room was very bare of furniture, too. A dressing-table, pier-table, or what-not, stood betweenthe windows, but it was only a half-circular top of pine-boardset upon three very long bare-looking legs — altogether of amost awkward and unhappy appearance, Ellen thought, and quitetoo high for her to use with any comfort. No glass hung overit, nor anywhere else. On the north side of the room was afireplace; against the opposite wall stood Ellen's trunk andtwo chairs; that was all, except the cot-bed she was lying on, and which had its place opposite the windows. The coverlid ofthat came in for a share of her displeasure, being of home-made white and blue worsted, mixed with cotton, exceedingthick and heavy. 

"I wonder what sort of a blanket is under it, " said Ellen, "ifI can ever get it off to see! Pretty good; but the sheets arecotton, and so is the pillow-case!"

She was still leaning on her elbow, looking around her with arather discontented face, when some door being opened down-stairs, a great noise of hissing and sputtering came to herears, and presently after there stole to her nostrils asteaming odour of something very savoury from the kitchen. Itsaid as plainly as any dressing-bell that she had better getup. So up she jumped, and set about the business of dressingwith great alacrity. Where was the distress of last night?Gone — with the darkness. She had slept well; the bracingatmosphere had restored strength and spirits; and the brightmorning light made it impossible to be dull or downhearted, inspite of the new cause she thought she had found. She went onquick with the business of the toilet. But when it came to thewashing, she suddenly discovered that there were noconveniences for it in her room — no sign of pitcher or basin, or stand to hold them. Ellen was slightly dismayed; butpresently recollected her arrival had not been looked for sosoon, and probably the preparations for it had not beencompleted. So she finished dressing, and then set out to findher way to the kitchen. On opening the door, there was alittle landing-place from which the stairs descended just infront of her and at the left hand another door, which shesupposed must lead to her aunt's room. At the foot of thestairs Ellen found herself in a large square room or hall, forone of its doors on the east opened to the outer air, and wasin fact the front door of the house. Another Ellen tried onthe south side; it would not open. A third, under the stairs, admitted her to the kitchen. 

The noise of hissing and sputtering now became quite violent, and the smell of the cooking, to Ellen's fancy, rather toostrong to be pleasant. Before a good fire stood Miss Fortune, holding the end of a very long iron handle, by which she waskept in communication with a flat vessel sitting on the fire, in which Ellen soon discovered all this noisy and odorouscooking was going on. A tall tin coffee-pot stood on somecoals in the corner of the fireplace, and another little ironvessel in front also claimed a share of Miss Fortune'sattention, for she every now and then leaned forward to give astir to whatever was in it, making each time quite a spasmodiceffort to do so, without quitting her hold of the end of thelong handle. Ellen drew near, and looked on with greatcuriosity, and not a little appetite; but Miss Fortune was fartoo busy to give her more than a passing glance. At length thehissing pan was brought to the hearth for some new arrangementof its contents, and Ellen seized the moment of peace andquiet to say, "Good morning, Aunt Fortune. "

Miss Fortune was crouching by the pan, turning her slices ofpork. "How do you do this morning?" she answered, withoutlooking up. 

Ellen replied she felt a great deal better. 

"Slept warm, did you?" said Miss Fortune, as she set the panback on the fire. And Ellen could hardly answer. "Quite warm, Ma’am, " when the hissing and sputtering began again, as loudas ever. 

"I must wait, " thought Ellen, "till this is over, before I saywhat I want to. I can't scream out to ask for a basin andtowel. "

In a few minutes the pan was removed from the fire, and MissFortune went on to take out the brown slices of nicely-friedpork and arrange them in a deep dish, leaving a small quantityof clear fat in the pan. Ellen, who was greatly interested, and observing every step most attentively, settled in her ownmind that certainly this would be thrown away, being fit fornothing but the pigs. But Miss Fortune didn't think so, forshe darted into some pantry close by, and returning with a cupof cream in her hand, emptied it all into the pork fat. Thenshe ran into the pantry again for a little round tin box, witha cover full of holes, and shaking this gently over the pan, afine white shower of flour fell upon the cream. The pan wasthen replaced on the fire and stirred; and, to Ellen'sastonishment, the whole changed, as if by magic, to a thick, stiff, white froth. It was not till Miss Fortune was carefullypouring this over the fried slices in the dish, that Ellensuddenly recollected that breakfast was ready, and she wasnot. 

"Aunt Fortune, " she said, timidly, "I haven't washed yet —there's no basin in my room. "

Miss Fortune made no answer, nor gave any sign of hearing; shewent on dishing up breakfast. Ellen waited a few minutes. 

"Will you please, Ma’am, to show me where I can wash myself. "

"Yes, " said Miss Fortune, suddenly standing erect, "you'llhave to go down to the spout. "

"The spout, Ma’am, " said Ellen, "what's that?"

"You'll know it when you see it, I guess, " answered her aunt, again stooping over her preparations. But in another momentshe arose and said, "Just open that door there behind you, andgo down the stairs and out at the door, and you'll see whereit is, and what it is too. "

Ellen still lingered. "Would you be so good as to give me atowel, Ma’am, " she said, timidly. 

Miss Fortune dashed past her and out of another door, whenceshe presently returned with a clean towel, which she threwover Ellen's arm, and then went back to her work. 

Opening the door by which she had first seen her aunt enterthe night before, Ellen went down a steep flight of steps, andfound herself in a lower kitchen, intended for commonpurposes. It seemed not to be used at all — at least there wasno fire there, and a cellar-like feeling and smell instead. That was no wonder, for beyond the fireplace on the left handwas the opening to the cellar, which, running under the otherpart of the house, was on a level with this kitchen. It had nofurniture but a table and two chairs. The thick, heavy doorstood open. Passing out, Ellen looked around for water — inwhat shape or form it was to present itself she had no veryclear idea. She soon spied, a few yards distant, a littlestream of water pouring from the end of a pipe or troughraised about a foot and a half from the ground; and a well-worn path leading to it, left no doubt of its being "thespout. " But when she had reached it, Ellen was in no smallpuzzle as to how she should manage. The water was clear andbright, and poured very fast into a shallow wooden troughunderneath, whence it ran off into the meadow and disappeared. 

"But what shall I do without a basin?" thought Ellen; "I can'tcatch any water in my hands, it runs too fast. If I only couldget my face under there — that would be fine!"

Very carefully and cautiously she tried it, but the continualspattering of the water had made the board on which she stoodso slippery, that before her face could reach the stream, shecame very near tumbling headlong, and so taking more of a coldbath than she wished for. So she contented herself with thedrops her hands could bring to her face — a scanty supply; butthose drops were deliciously cold and fresh. And afterwardsshe pleased herself with holding her hands in the runningwater till they were red with the cold. On the whole, Ellenenjoyed her washing very much. The morning air came playingabout her; its cool breath was on her cheek, with health inits touch. The early sun was shining on tree, and meadow, andhill; the long shadows stretched over the grass, and the verybrown outhouses looked bright. She thought it was theloveliest place she had ever seen. And that sparkling, trickling water was certainly the purest and sweetest she hadever tasted. Where could it come from? It poured from a smalltrough, made of the split trunk of a tree, with a littlegroove or channel, two inches wide, hollowed out in it. But atthe end of one of these troughs, another lapped on, andanother at the end of that; and how many there were, Ellencould not see, nor where the beginning of them was. Ellenstood gazing and wondering, drinking in the fresh air, hopeand spirits rising every minute, when she suddenly recollectedbreakfast! She hurried in. As she expected, her aunt was atthe table; but to her surprise, and not at all to hergratification, there was Mr. Van Brunt at the other end of it, eating away, very much at home indeed. In silent dismay, Ellendrew her chair to the side of the table. 

"Did you find the spout?" asked Miss Fortune. 

"Yes, Ma’am. "

"Well, how do you like it?"

"Oh, I like it very much indeed, " said Ellen. "I think it isbeautiful. "

Miss Fortune's face rather softened at this, and she gaveEllen an abundant supply of all that was on the table. Herjourney, the bracing air, and her cool morning wash, altogether, had made Ellen very sharp, and she did justice tothe breakfast. She thought never was coffee so good as thiscountry coffee; nor anything so excellent as the brown breadand butter, both as sweet as bread and butter could be;neither was any cookery so entirely satisfactory as MissFortune's fried pork and potatoes. Yet her teaspoon was notsilver; her knife could not boast of being either sharp orbright; and her fork was certainly made for anything else inthe world but comfort and convenience, being of only twoprongs, and those so far apart that Ellen had no smalldifficulty to carry the potato safely from her plate to hermouth. It mattered nothing; she was now looking on the brightside of things, and all this only made her breakfast taste thesweeter. 

Ellen rose from the table when she had finished, and stood afew minutes thoughtfully by the fire. 

"Aunt Fortune, " she said at length, timidly, "if you've noobjection, I should like to go and take a good look allabout. "

"Oh, yes, " said Miss Fortune, "go where you like; I'll giveyou a week to do what you please with yourself. "

"Thank you, Ma’am, " said Ellen, as she ran off for her bonnet;"a week's a long time. I suppose, " thought she, "I shall go toschool at the end of that. "

Returning quickly with her white bonnet, Ellen opened theheavy kitchen door by which she had entered last night, andwent out. She found herself in a kind of long shed. It hadvery rough walls and floor, and overhead showed the brownbeams and rafters; two little windows and a door were on theside. All manner of rubbish lay there, especially at thefurther end. There was scattered about and piled up variousboxes, boards, farming and garden tools, old pieces of ropeand sheepskin, old iron, a cheese-press, and what not. Ellendid not stay long to look, but went out to find somethingpleasanter. A few yards from the shed door was the little gatethrough which she had stumbled in the dark, and outside ofthat Ellen stood still a while. It was a fair, pleasant day, and the country scene she looked upon was very pretty. Ellenthought so. Before her, at a little distance, rose the greatgable end of the barn, and a long row of outhouses stretchedaway from it towards the left. The ground was strewn thickwith chips; and the reason was not hard to find, for a littleway off, under an old stunted apple-tree, lay a huge log, wellchipped on the upper surface, with the axe resting against it;and close by were some sticks of wood both chopped andunchopped. To the right, the ground descended gently to abeautiful plane meadow, skirted on the hither side by a row offine apple-trees. The smooth green flat tempted Ellen to arun, but first she looked to the left. There was the garden, she guessed, for there was a paling fence which enclosed apretty large piece of ground; and between the garden and thehouse a green slope ran down to the spout. That reminded herthat she intended making a journey of discovery up the courseof the long trough. No time could be better than now; and sheran down the slope. 

The trough was supported at some height from the ground bylittle heaps of stones, placed here and there along its wholecourse. Not far from the spout it crossed a fence. Ellen mustcross it, too, to gain her object, and how that could be done, was a great question; she resolved to try, however. But first, she played awhile with the water, which had great charms forher. She dammed up the little channel with her fingers, forcing the water to flow over the side of the trough; therewas something very pleasant in stopping the supply of thespout, and seeing the water trickling over where it had nobusiness to go; and she did not heed that some of the dropstook her frock in their way. She stooped her lips to thetrough and drank of its sweet current — only for fun's sake, for she was not thirsty. Finally, she set out to follow thestream up to its head. But poor Ellen had not gone more thanhalf way towards the fence, when she all at once plunged intothe mire. The green grass growing there had looked fairenough, but there was running water and black mud under thegreen grass, she found to her sorrow. Her shoes, herstockings, were full. What was to be done now! The journey ofdiscovery must be given up. She forgot to think about wherethe water came from, in the more pressing question, "What willAunt Fortune say?" — and the quick wish came that she had hermother to go to. However, she got out of the slough, andwiping her shoes as well as she could on the grass, shehastened back to the house. 

The kitchen was all put in order, the hearth swept, the ironsat the fire, and Miss Fortune just pinning her ironing-blanketon the table. 

"Well — what's the matter?" she said, when she saw Ellen'sface; but as her glance reached the floor, her brow darkened. "Mercy on me!" she exclaimed, with slow emphasis; "what onearth have you been about? where have you been?"

Ellen explained. 

"Well, you _have_ made a figure of yourself! Sit down!" said heraunt, shortly, as she thrust a chair down on the hearth beforethe fire — "I should have thought you'd have had wit enough atyour age, to keep out of the ditch. "

"I didn't see any ditch, " said Ellen. 

"No, I suppose not, " said Miss Fortune, who was energeticallytwitching off Ellen's shoes and stockings with her fore fingerand thumb — "I suppose not; you were staring up at the moon orstars, I suppose. "

"It all looked green and smooth, " said poor Ellen — "one partjust like another — and the first thing I knew, I was up to myankles. "

"What were you there at all for?" said Miss Fortune, shortlyenough. 

"I couldn't see where the water came from, and I wanted tofind out. "

"Well you've found out enough for one day, I hope. Just lookat those stockings! Han't you got never a pair of colouredstockings, that you must go poking into the mud with whiteones?"

"No, Ma’am. "

"Do you mean to say you never wore any but white ones athome?"

"Yes, Ma’am — I never had any others. "

Miss Fortune's thoughts seemed too much for speech, from theway in which she jumped up and went off without sayinganything more. She presently came back with an old pair ofgray socks, which she bade Ellen put on as soon as her feetwere dry. 

"How many of those white stockings have you?" she said. 

"Mamma bought me half a dozen pair of new ones just before Icame away, and I had as many as that of old ones besides. "

"Well, now go up to your trunk and bring 'em all down to me —every pair of white stockings you have got. There's a pair ofold slippers you can put on till your shoes are dry, " shesaid, flinging them to her — "They aren't much too big foryou. "

"They're not much too big for the _socks_ — they're a great dealtoo big for me, " thought Ellen. But she said nothing. Shegathered all her stockings together and brought them downstairs, as her aunt had bidden her. 

"Now you may run out to the barn, to Mr. Van Brunt — you'llfind him there — and tell him I want him to bring me somewhite maple bark when he comes home to dinner — white maplebark, do you hear?"

Away went Ellen, but in a few minutes came back. 

"I can't get in, " she said. 

"What's the matter?"

"Those great doors are shut, and I can't open them. I knocked, but nobody came. "

"Knock at a barn door!" said Miss Fortune. "You must go in atthe little cow-house door, at the left, and go round. He's inthe lower barn-floor. "

The barn stood lower than the level of the chip-yard, fromwhich a little bridge led to the great doorway of the secondfloor. Passing down the range of outhouses, Ellen came to thelittle door her aunt had spoken of. "But what in the worldshould I do if there should be cows inside there?" said she toherself. She peeped in — the cow-house was perfectly empty;and cautiously, and with many a fearful glance to the rightand left, lest some terrible horned animal should presentitself, Ellen made her way across the cow-house, and throughthe barn-yard, littered thick with straw wet and dry, to thelower barn-floor. The door of this stood wide open. Ellenlooked with wonder and pleasure when she got in. It was animmense room — the sides showed nothing but hay up to theceiling, except here and there an enormous upright post; thefloor was perfectly clean, only a few locks of hay and grainsof wheat scattered upon it; and a pleasant sweet smell wasthere, Ellen could not tell of what. But no Mr. Van Brunt. Shelooked about for him, she dragged her disagreeable slippersback and forth over the floor, in vain. 

"Hilloa! what's wanting?" at length cried a rough voice sheremembered very well. But where was the speaker? On everyside, to every corner, her eyes turned without finding him. She looked up at last. There was the round face of Mr. VanBrunt peering down at her through a large opening, or trap-door, in the upper floor. 

"Well!" said he, "have you come out here to help me thrashwheat?"

Ellen told him what she had come for. 

"White maple bark — well, " said he, in his slow way, "I'llbring it. I wonder what's in the wind now!"

So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back to the house; andyet more, when her aunt set her to tacking her stockingstogether by two and two. 

"What are you going to do with them, Aunt Fortune?" she atlast ventured to say. 

"You'll see — when the time comes. "

"Mayn't I keep out one pair?" said Ellen, who had a vaguenotion that by some mysterious means her stockings were to beprevented from ever looking white any more. 

"No — just do as I tell you. "

Mr. Van Brunt came at dinner-time with the white maple bark. It was thrown forthwith into a brass kettle of water, whichMiss Fortune had already hung over the fire. Ellen felt surethis had something to do with her stockings, but she could askno questions; and as soon as dinner was over she went up toher room. It didn't look pleasant now. The brown wood-work andrough dingy walls had lost their gilding. The sunshine was outof it; and what was more, the sunshine was out of Ellen'sheart too. She went to the window and opened it, but there wasnothing to keep it open; it slid down again as soon as she letit go. Baffled and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on thewindow-sill, looking out on the grass-plat that lay before thedoor, and the little gate that opened on the lane, and thesmooth meadow and rich broken country beyond. It was a veryfair and pleasant scene in the soft sunlight of the last ofOctober; but the charm of it was gone for Ellen; it wasdreary. She looked without caring to look, or knowing what shewas looking at; she felt the tears rising to her eyes, and, sick of the window, turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk;her next thought was of her desk inside of it; and suddenlyher heart sprang — "I will write to Mamma!" No sooner saidthan done. The trunk was quickly open, and hasty hands pulledout one thing after another till the desk was reached. 

"But what shall I do?" thought she — "there isn't a sign of atable. Oh, what a place! I'll shut my trunk and put it onthat. But here are all these things to put back first. "

They were eagerly stowed away; and then kneeling by the sideof the trunk, with loving hands Ellen opened her desk. A sheetof paper was drawn from her store, and properly placed beforeher; the pen dipped in the ink, and at first with a hurried, then with a trembling hand, she wrote, "My dear Mamma. " ButEllen's heart had been swelling and swelling with every letterof those three words, and scarcely was the last "a" finished, when the pen was dashed down, and flinging away from the desk, she threw herself on the floor in a passion of grief. Itseemed as if she had her mother again in her arms, and wasclinging with a death-grasp, not to be parted from her. Andthen the feeling that she was parted! As much bitter sorrow asa little heart can know was in poor Ellen's now. In herchildish despair she wished she could die, and almost thoughtshe should. After a time, however, though not a short time, she rose from the floor and went to her writing again — herheart a little eased by weeping, yet the tears kept coming allthe time, and she could not quite keep her paper from beingblotted. The first sheet was spoiled before she was aware; shetook another. 

"MY DEAREST MAMMA, "It makes me so glad and so sorry to write to you, that Idon't know what to do. I want to see you so much, Mamma, thatit seems to me sometimes as if my heart would break. Oh, Mamma, if I could just kiss you once more, I would giveanything in the whole world. I can't be happy as long as youare away, and I am afraid I can't be good either; but I willtry — oh, I will try, Mamma. I have so much to say to you, that I don't know where to begin. I am sure my paper willnever hold it. You will want to know about my journey. Thefirst day was on the steamboat, you know. I should have had adreadful time that day, Mamma, but for something I'll tell youabout. I was sitting up on the upper deck, thinking about you, and feeling very badly indeed, when a gentleman came and spoketo me, and asked me what was the matter. Mamma, I can't tellyou how kind he was to me. He kept me with him the whole day. He took me all over the boat, and showed me all about a greatmany things, and he talked to me a great deal. Oh, Mamma, howhe talked to me! He read in the Bible to me, and explained it, and he tried to make me a Christian. And oh! Mamma, when hewas talking to me, how I wanted to do as he said! and Iresolved I would. I did, Mamma, and I have not forgotten it. Iwill try indeed, but I am afraid it will be very hard, withoutyou or him or anybody else to help me. You couldn't have beenkinder yourself, Mamma; he kissed me at night when I bid himgood-bye, and I was very sorry indeed. I wish I could see himagain. Mamma, I will always love that gentleman, if I neversee him again in the world. I wish there was somebody herethat I could love, but there is not. You will want to knowwhat sort of a person my aunt Fortune is. I think she is verygood-looking, or she would be if her nose was not quite sosharp; but, Mamma, I can't tell you what sort of a feeling Ihave about her; it seems to me as if she was sharp all over. Iam sure her eyes are as sharp as two needles. And she don'twalk like other people — at least, sometimes. She makes queerlittle jerks and starts and jumps, and flies about like Idon't know what. I am afraid it is not right for me to writeso about her; but may I not tell you, Mamma? There's nobodyelse for me to talk to. I can't like Aunt Fortune much yet, and I am sure she don't like me; but I will try to make her. Ihave not forgotten what you said to me about that! Oh! dearMamma, I will try to mind everything you ever said to me inyour life. I am afraid you won't like what I have writtenabout Aunt Fortune; but indeed I have done nothing todisplease her, and I will try not to. If you were only here, Mamma, I should say it was the loveliest place I ever saw inmy life. Perhaps, after all, I shall feel better, and be quitehappy by and by; but oh! Mamma, how glad I shall be when I geta letter from you! I shall begin to look for it soon, and Ithink I shall go out of my wits with joy when it comes. I hadthe funniest ride down here from Thirlwall that you can think;how do you guess I came? In a cart drawn by oxen! They went soslow, we were an age getting here; but I liked it very much. There was a good-natured man driving the oxen, and he was kindto me; but, Mamma, what do you think? — he eats at the table!I know what you would tell me; you would say I must not mindtrifles. Well, I will try not, Mamma. Oh! darling mother, Ican't think much of anything but you. I think of you the wholetime. Who makes tea for you now? Are you better? Are you goingto leave New York soon? It seems dreadfully long since I sawyou. I am tired, dear Mamma, and cold; and it is getting dark. I must stop. I have a good big room to myself; that is a goodthing. I should not like to sleep with Aunt Fortune. Goodnight, dear Mamma. I wish I could sleep with you once more. Oh! when will that be again, Mamma? Good night. Good night —Your affectionate "ELLEN. "

The letter finished, was carefully folded, enclosed, anddirected; and then, with an odd mixture of pleasure andsadness, Ellen lit one of her little wax matches, as shecalled them, and sealed it very nicely. She looked at itfondly a minute when all was done, thinking of the dearfingers that would hold and open it; her next movement was tosink her face in her hands, and pray most earnestly for ablessing upon her mother, and help for herself — poor Ellenfelt she needed it. She was afraid of lingering lest teashould be ready, so, locking up her letter, she went downstairs. 

The tea was ready. Miss Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt were at thetable, and so was the old lady, whom Ellen had not seen beforethat day. She quietly drew up her chair to its place. 

"Well, " said Miss Fortune, "I hope you feel better for yourlong stay up stairs. "

"I do, Ma’am, " said Ellen — "a great deal better. "

"What have you been about?"

"I have been writing, Ma’am. "

"Writing what?"

"I have been writing to Mamma. "

Perhaps Miss Fortune heard the trembling of Ellen's voice, orher sharp glance saw the lip quiver and eyelid droop. Something softened her. She spoke in a different tone; askedEllen if her tea was good; took care she had plenty of thebread and butter, and excellent cheese, which was on thetable; and, lastly cut her a large piece of the pumpkin-pie. Mr. Van Brunt, too, looked once or twice at Ellen's face, asif he thought all was not right there. He was not so sharp asMiss Fortune, but the swollen eyes and tear-stains were notquite lost upon him. 

After tea, when Mr. Van Brunt was gone, and the tea thingscleared away, Ellen had the pleasure of finding out themystery of the brass kettle and the white maple bark. Thekettle now stood in the chimney corner. Miss Fortune, seatingherself before it, threw in all Ellen's stockings except onepair, which she flung over to her, saying, "There — I don'tcare if you keep that one. " Then tucking up her sleeves to theelbows, she fished up pair after pair out of the kettle, andwringing them out, hung them on chairs to dry. But, as Ellenhad opined, they were no longer white, but of a fine slatecolour. She looked on in silence, too much vexed to askquestions. 

"Well, how do you like that?" said Miss Fortune, at length, when she had got two or three chairs round the fire, prettywell hung with a display of slate-coloured cotton legs. 

"I don't like it at all, " said Ellen. 

"Well, _I_ do. How many pair of white stockings would you liketo drive into the mud, and let me wash out every week?"

"_You_ wash!" said Ellen, in surprise — "I didn't think of _your_doing it. "

"Who did you think _was_ going to do it? There's nothing in thishouse but goes through my hand, I can tell you, and so mustyou. I suppose you've lived all your life among people thatthought a great deal of wetting their little finger! but I'mnot one of 'em, I guess you'll find. "

Ellen was convinced of that already. 

"Well, what are you thinking of?" said Miss Fortune, presently. 

"I'm thinking of my nice white darning cotton, " said Ellen. "Imight just as well not have had it. "

"Is it wound, or in the skein?"

"In the skein. "

"Then just go right up and get it. I'll warrant I'll fix it sothat you'll have a use for it. "

Ellen obeyed, but musing rather uncomfortably what else therewas of hers that Miss Fortune could lay hands on. She seemedin imagination to see all her white things turning brown. Sheresolved she would keep her trunk well locked up; but what ifher keys should be called for?

She was dismissed to her room soon after the dyeing businesswas completed. It was rather a disagreeable surprise to findher bed still unmade; and she did not at all like the notionthat the making of it in future must depend entirely uponherself — Ellen had no fancy for such handiwork. She went tosleep in somewhat the same dissatisfied mood with which theday had been begun — displeasure at her coarse heavy coverlidand cotton sheets again taking its place among weightiermatters! — and dreamed of tying them together into a rope bywhich to let herself down out of the window; but when she hadgot so far, Ellen's sleep became sound, and the end of thedream was never known. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Running away with the brook. 

Clouds and rain and cold winds kept Ellen within doors forseveral days. This did not better the state of matters betweenherself and her aunt. Shut up with her in the kitchen frommorning till night, with the only variety of the old lady'scompany part of the time, Ellen thought neither of themimproved upon acquaintance. Perhaps they thought the same ofher — she was certainly not in her best mood. With nothing todo, the time hanging very heavy on her hands, disappointed, unhappy, frequently irritated, Ellen became at length veryready to take offence, and nowise disposed to pass it over, orsmooth it away. She seldom showed this in words, it is true, but it rankled in her mind. Listless and brooding, she sat, day after day, comparing the present with the past, wishingvain wishes, indulging bootless regrets, and looking upon heraunt and grandmother with an eye of more settled aversion. Theonly other person she saw was Mr. Van Brunt, who came inregularly to meals; but he never said anything, unless inanswer to Miss Fortune's questions, and remarks about the farmconcerns. These did not interest her, and she was greatlywearied with the sameness of her life. She longed to go outagain; but Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday, and Sundaypassed, and the weather still kept her close prisoner. Mondaybrought a change, but though a cool drying wind blew all day, the ground was too wet to venture out. 

On the evening of that day, as Miss Fortune was setting thetable for tea, and Ellen sitting before the fire, feelingweary of everything, the kitchen door opened, and a girlsomewhat larger and older than herself came in. She had apitcher in her hand, and marching straight up to the tea-table, she said —

"Will you let granny have a little milk to-night, MissFortune? I can't find the cow. I'll bring it back to-morrow. "

"You han't lost her, Nancy?"

"Have, though, " said the other; "she's been away these twodays. "

"Why didn't you go somewhere nearer for milk?"

"Oh! I don't know — I guess your'n is the sweetest, " said thegirl, with a look Ellen did not understand. 

Miss Fortune took the pitcher and went into the pantry. Whileshe was gone, the two children improved the time in lookingvery hard at each other. Ellen's gaze was modest enough, though it showed a great deal of interest in the new object;but the broad, searching stare of the other seemed intended totake in all there was of Ellen from her head to her feet, andkeep it, and find out what sort of a creature she was at once. Ellen almost shrank from the bold black eyes, but they neverwavered, till Miss Fortune's voice broke the spell. 

"How's your grandmother, Nancy?"

"She's tolerable, Ma’am, thank you. "

"Now, if you don't bring it back to-morrow, you won't get anymore in a hurry, " said Miss Fortune, as she handed the pitcherback to the girl. 

"I'll mind it, " said the latter, with a little nod of herhead, which seemed to say there was no danger of herforgetting. 

"Who is that, aunt Fortune?" said Ellen, when she was gone. 

"She is a girl that lives up on the mountain yonder. "

"But what's her name?"

"I had just as lief you wouldn't know her name. She ain't agood girl. Don't you never have anything to do with her. "

Ellen was in no mind to give credit to all her aunt'sopinions, and she set this down as in part at least comingfrom ill-humour. 

The next morning was calm and fine, and Ellen spent nearly thewhole of it out of doors. She did not venture near the ditch, but in every other direction she explored the ground, andexamined what stood or grew upon it as thoroughly as shedared. Towards noon she was standing by the little gate at theback of the house, unwilling to go in, but not knowing whatmore to do, when Mr. Van Brunt came from the lane with a loadof wood. Ellen watched the oxen toiling up the ascent, andthought it looked like very hard work; she was sorry for them. 

"Isn't that a very heavy load?" she asked of their driver, ashe was throwing it down under the apple-tree. 

"Heavy? Not a bit of it. It ain't nothing at all to 'em. They'd take twice as much any day with pleasure. "

"I shouldn't think so, " said Ellen; "they don't look as ifthere was much pleasure about it. What makes them lean over soagainst each other when they are coming up hill?"

"Oh, that's just a way they've got. They're so fond of eachother, I suppose. Perhaps they've something particular to say, and want to put their heads together for the purpose. "

"No, " said Ellen, half laughing, "it can't be that; theywouldn't take the very hardest time for that; they would waittill they got to the top of the hill: but there they standjust as if they were asleep, only their eyes are open. Poorthings!"

"They're not very poor anyhow, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "thereain't a finer yoke of oxen to be seen than them are, nor inbetter condition. "

He went on throwing the wood out of the cart, and Ellen stoodlooking at him. 

"What'll you give me if I'll make you a scup one of thesedays?" said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"A scup!" said Ellen. 

"Yes — a scup! how would you like it?"

"I don't know what it is. " said Ellen. 

"A scup! — may be you don't know it by that name; some folkscall it a swing. "

"A swing! oh, yes, " said Ellen, "now I know. Oh, I like itvery much. "

"Would you like to have one?"

"Yes, indeed I should, very much. "

"Well, what'll you give me, if I'll fix you out?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, "I have nothing to give; I'll bevery much obliged to you, indeed. "

"Well now, come — I'll make a bargain with you: I'll engage tofix up a scup for you, if you'll give me a kiss. "

Poor Ellen was struck dumb. The good-natured Dutchman hadtaken a fancy to the little pale-faced, sad-looking stranger, and really felt very kindly disposed toward her, but sheneither knew, nor at the moment cared about that. She stoodmotionless, utterly astounded at his unheard-of proposal, andnot a little indignant; but when, with a good-natured smileupon his round face, he came near to claim the kiss he nodoubt thought himself sure of, Ellen shot from him like anarrow from a bow. She rushed to the house, and bursting openthe door, stood with flushed face and sparkling eyes in thepresence of her astonished aunt. 

"What in the world is the matter?" exclaimed that lady. 

"He wanted to kiss me!" said Ellen, scarce knowing whom shewas talking to, and crimsoning more and more. 

"Who wanted to kiss you?"

"That man out there. "

"What man?"

"The man that drives the oxen. "

"What, Mr. Van Brunt?" And Ellen never forgot the loud ha! ha!which burst from Miss Fortune's wide-open mouth. 

"Well, why didn't you let him kiss you?"

The laugh, the look, the tone, stung Ellen to the very quick. In a fury of passion she dashed away out of the kitchen, andup to her own room. And there, for a while, the storm of angerdrove over her with such violence, that conscience had hardlytime to whisper. Sorrow came in again as passion faded, andgentler but very bitter weeping took the place of compulsivesobs of rage and mortification, and then the whispers ofconscience began to be heard a little. "Oh, Mamma! Mamma!"cried poor Ellen, in her heart, "how miserable I am withoutyou! I never can like Aunt Fortune — it's of no use — I nevercan like her; I hope I shan't get to hate her! — and thatisn't right. I am forgetting all that is good, and there'snobody to put me in mind. Oh, Mamma! if I could lay my head inyour lap for a minute!" Then came thoughts of her Bible andhymn-book, and the friend who had given it; sorrowful thoughtsthey were; and at last, humbled and sad, poor Ellen soughtthat great friend she knew she had displeased, and prayedearnestly to be made a good child; she felt and owned she wasnot one now. 

It was long after mid-day when Ellen rose from her knees. Herpassion was all gone; she felt more gentle and pleasant thanshe had done for days; but at the bottom of her heartresentment was not all gone. She still thought she had causeto be angry, and she could not think of her aunt's look andtone without a thrill of painful feeling. In a very differentmood, however, from that in which she had flown up stairs twoor three hours before, she now came softly down, and went outby the front door to avoid meeting her aunt. She had visitedthat morning a little brook, which ran through the meadow onthe other side of the road. It had great charms for her; andnow, crossing the lane and creeping under the fence, she madeher way again to its banks. At a particular spot, where thebrook made one of its sudden turns, Ellen sat down upon thegrass, and watched the dark water — whirling, brawling overthe stones, hurrying past her, with ever the same soft, pleasant sound — and she was never tired of it. She did nothear footsteps drawing near, and it was not till some one wasclose beside her, and a voice spoke almost in her ears, thatshe raised her startled eyes and saw the little girl who hadcome the evening before for a pitcher of milk. 

"What are you doing?" said the latter. 

"I'm watching for fish, " said Ellen. 

"Watching for fish!" said the other, rather disdainfully. 

"Yes, " said Ellen, — "there, in that little quiet place theycome sometimes — I've seen two. "

"You can look for fish another time. Come now, and take a walkwith me. "

"Where?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, you shall see. Come! I'll take you all about and show youwhere people live. You ha'nt been anywhere yet, have you?"

"No, " said Ellen, — "and I should like dearly to go, but" —

She hesitated. Her aunt's words came to mind, that this wasnot a good girl, and that she must have nothing to do withher; but she had not more than half believed them, and shecould not possibly bring herself now to go in and ask MissFortune's leave to take this walk. "I am sure, " thought Ellen, "she would refuse me if there was no reason in the world. " Andthen the delight of rambling though the beautiful country, andbeing for a while in other company than that of her auntFortune and the old grandmother! The temptation was too greatto be withstood. 

"Well, what are you thinking about?" said the girl; "what'sthe matter? won't you come?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I'm ready. Which way shall we go?"

With the assurance from the other that she would show herplenty of ways, they set off down the lane — Ellen with asecret fear of being seen and called back — till they had gonesome distance, and the house was hid from view. Then herpleasure became great. The afternoon was fair and mild, thefooting pleasant, and Ellen felt like a bird out of a cage. She was ready to be delighted with every trifle; her companioncould not by any means understand or enter into her bursts ofpleasure at many a little thing which she of the black eyesthought not worthy of notice. She tried to bring Ellen back tohigher subjects of conversion. 

"How long have you been here?" she asked. 

"Oh, a good while, " said Ellen — "I don't know exactly; it's aweek, I believe. "

"Why, do you call that a good while?" said the other. 

"Well, it seems a good while to me, " said Ellen, sighing — "itseems as long as four, I am sure. "

"Then you don't like to live here much, do you?"

"I had rather be at home, of course. "

"How do you like your aunt Fortune?"

"How do I like her?" said Ellen, hesitating — "I think she'sgood-looking, and very smart. "

"Yes, you needn't tell me she's smart — everybody knows that;that ain't what I ask you — how do you _like_ her?"

"How do I like her?" said Ellen, again — "how can I tell how Ishall like her? I haven't lived with her but a week yet. "

"You might just as well ha' spoke out, " said the other, somewhat scornfully; "do you think I don't know you half hateher already? and it'll be whole hating in another week more. When I first heard you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweettime with her. "

"Why?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, don't ask me why, " said the other, impatiently, "when youknow as well as I do. Every soul that speaks of you, says'poor child' and 'I'm glad I ain't her. ' You needn't try tocome cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I tellyou. "

"I don't know what you mean, " said Ellen. 

"Oh, no, I suppose you don't, " said the other, in the sametone — "of course you don't; I suppose you don't know whetheryour tongue is your own or somebody's else. You think MissFortune is an angel, and so do I — to be sure she is!"

Not very pleased with this kind of talk, Ellen walked on for awhile, in grave silence. Her companion meantime recollectedherself; when she spoke again it was with an altered tone. 

"How do you like Mr. Van Brunt?"

"I don't like him at all, " said Ellen, reddening. 

"Don't you!" said the other surprised — "why, everybody likeshim. What don't you like him for?"

"I don't like him, " repeated Ellen. 

"Ain't Miss Fortune queer to live in the way she does?"

"What way?" said Ellen. 

"Why, without any help — doing all her own work, and livingall alone, when she's so rich as she is. "

"Is she rich?" asked Ellen. 

"Rich! I guess she is! she's one of the very best farms in thecountry, and money enough to have a dozen help, if she wanted'em. Van Brunt takes care of the farm, you know?"

"Does he?" said Ellen. 

"Why, yes, of course he does; didn't you know that? what didyou think he was at your house all the time for?"

"I am sure I don't know, " said Ellen. "And are those AuntFortune's oxen that he drives?"

"To be sure they are. Well, I do think you are green, to havebeen there all this time, and not found that out. Mr. VanBrunt does just what he pleases over the whole farm, though;hires what help he wants, manages everything; and then he hashis share of all that comes off it. I tell you what — you'dbetter make friends with Van Brunt, for if anybody can helpyou when your aunt gets one of her ugly fits, it's him; shedon't care to meddle with him much. "

Leaving the lane, the two girls took a footpath leading acrossthe fields. The stranger was greatly amused here with Ellen'sawkwardness in climbing fences. Where it was a possible thing, she was fain to crawl under; but one or twice that could notbe done, and having, with infinite difficulty, mounted to thetop rail, poor Ellen sat there in a most tottering condition, uncertain on which side of the fence she should tumble over, but seeing no other possible way of getting down. The more shetrembled the more her companion laughed, standing aloofmeanwhile, and insisting she should get down by herself. Necessity enabled her to do this at last, and each time thetask became easier; but Ellen secretly made up her mind thather new friend was not likely to prove a very good one. 

As they went along, she pointed out to Ellen two or threehouses in the distance, and gave her not a little gossip aboutthe people who lived in them; but all this Ellen scarcelyheard, and cared nothing at all about. She had paused by theside of a large rock standing alone by the wayside, and waslooking very closely at its surface. 

"What is this curious brown stuff, " said Ellen, "growing allover the rock — like shrivelled and dried-up leaves? Isn't itcurious? — part of it stands out like a leaf, and part of itsticks fast; I wonder if it grows here, or what it is. "

"Oh, never mind, " said the other; "it always grows on therocks everywhere; I don't know what it is — and what's more, Idon't care. 'Tain't worth looking at. Come!"

Ellen followed her. But presently the path entered an openwoodland, and now her delight broke forth beyond bounds. 

"Oh, how pleasant this is! how lovely this is! Isn't itbeautiful?" she exclaimed. 

"Isn't _what_ beautiful? I do think you are the queerest girl, Ellen. "

"Why, everything, " said Ellen, not minding the latter part ofthe sentence; "the ground is beautiful, and those tall trees, and that beautiful blue sky — only look at it!"

"The ground is all covered with stones and rocks — is thatwhat you call beautiful? — and the trees are as homely as theycan be, with their great brown stems and no leaves. Come! —what _are_ you staring at?"

Ellen's eyes were fixed on a string of dark spots, which wererapidly passing overhead. 

"Hark!" said she; "do you hear that noise? what is that? whatis that?"

"Isn't it only a flock of ducks, " said the other, contemptuously; "come! do come!"

But Ellen was rooted to the ground, and her eyes followed theairy travellers till the last one had quitted the piece ofblue sky which the surrounding woods left to be seen. Andscarcely were these gone when a second flight came in view, following exactly in the track of the first. 

"Where are they going?" said Ellen. 

"I am sure I don't know where they are going; they never toldme. I know where _I_ am going; I should like to know whether youare going along with me. "

Ellen, however, was in no hurry. The ducks had disappeared, but her eye had caught something else that charmed it. 

"What is this?" said Ellen. 

"Nothing but moss. "

"Is that moss! How beautiful! how green and soft it is! Ideclare it's as soft as a carpet. "

"As soft as a carpet!" repeated the other. "I should like tosee a carpet as soft as that! _you_ never did, I guess. "

"Indeed I have, though, " said Ellen, who was gently jumping upand down on the green moss to try its softness, with a face ofgreat satisfaction. 

"I don't believe it a bit, " said the other; "all the carpets Iever saw were as hard as a board, and harder; as soft as that, indeed!"

"Well, " said Ellen, still jumping up and down, with bonnetoff, and glowing cheek, and her hair dancing about her face, "you may believe what you like; but I've seen a carpet as softas this, and softer too — only one, though. "

"What was it made of?"

"What other carpets are made of, I suppose. Come, I'll go withyou now. I do think this is the loveliest place I ever didsee. Are there any flowers here in the spring?"

"I don't know — yes, lots of 'em. "

"Pretty ones?" said Ellen. 

"_You'd_ think so, I suppose; I never look at 'em. "

"Oh, how lovely that will be!" said Ellen, clasping her hands. "How pleasant it must be to live in the country!"

"Pleasant, indeed!" said the other; "I think it's hateful. You'd think so, too, if you lived where I do. It makes me madat granny every day because she won't go to Thirlwall. Waittill we get out of the wood, and I'll show you where I live. You can't see it from here. "

Shocked a little at her companion's language, Ellen againwalked on in sober silence. Gradually the ground became morebroken, sinking rapidly from the side of the path, and risingagain in a steep bank on the other side of a narrow dell; bothsides were thickly wooded, but stripped of green now, exceptwhere here and there a hemlock-fir flung its graceful branchesabroad, and stood in lonely beauty among its leaflesscompanions. Now the gurgling of waters was heard. 

"Where is that?" said Ellen, stopping short. 

" 'Way down — down, at the bottom there. It's the brook. "

"What brook? Not the same that goes by Aunt Fortune's?"

"Yes, it's the very same. It's the crookest thing you eversaw. It runs over there, " said the speaker, pointing with herarm, "and then it takes a turn and goes that way, and then itcomes round so, and then it shoots off in that way again andpasses by your house; and after that, the dear knows where itgoes, for I don't. But I don't suppose it could run straight, if it was to try to. "

"Can't we get down to it?" said Ellen. 

"To be sure we can, unless you're as afraid of steep banks asyou are of fences. "

Very steep indeed it was, and strewn with loose stones; butEllen did not falter here, and though once or twice inimminent danger of exchanging her cautious stepping for onelong roll to the bottom, she got there safely on her two feet. When there, everything was forgotten in delight. It was a wildlittle place. The high, close sides of the dell left only alittle strip of sky overhead; and at their feet ran the brook, much more noisy and lively here than where Ellen had beforemade its acquaintance; leaping from rock to rock, eddyinground large stones, and boiling over the small ones, and nowand then pouring quietly over some great trunk of a tree thathad fallen across its bed and dammed up the whole stream. Ellen could scarcely contain herself at the magnificence ofmany of the waterfalls, the beauty of the little quiet poolswhere the water lay still behind some large stone, and thevariety of graceful tiny cascades. 

"Look here, Nancy!" cried Ellen; "that's the Falls of Niagara— do you see? — that large one; oh, that is splendid! And thiswill do for Trenton Falls — what a fine foam it makes! — isn'tit a beauty? And what shall we call this? I don't know what tocall it; I wish we could name them all. But there's no end tothem. Oh, just look at that one! That's too pretty not to havea name; what shall it be?"

"Black Falls, " suggested the other. 

"Black, " said Ellen, dubiously, "why! — I don't like that. "

"Why, the water's all dark and black, don't you see?"

"Well, " said Ellen; "let it be Black, then; but I don't likeit. Now, remember, — this is Niagara, that is Black, and thisis Trenton; and what is this?"

"If you are going to name them all, " said Nancy, "we shan'tget home to-night; you might as well name all the trees —there's a hundred of 'em, and more. I say, Ellen, suppos'n' wefollow the brook instead of climbing up yonder again; it willtake us out to the open fields by and by. "

"Oh, do let's!" said Ellen; "that will be lovely. "

It proved a rough way; but Ellen still thought and called it"lovely. " Often by the side of the stream there was no footingat all, and the girls picked their way over the stones, largeand small, wet and dry, which strewed its bed; against whichthe water foamed, and fumed, and fretted, as if in greatimpatience. It was ticklish work getting along over thesestones; now tottering on an unsteady one, now slipping on awet one — and every now and then making huge leaps from rockto rock, which there was no other method of reaching, at theimminent hazard of falling in. But they laughed at the danger;sprang on in great glee, delighted with the exercise and thefun; didn't stay long enough anywhere to lose their balance, and enjoyed themselves amazingly. There was many a hair-breadth escape; many an _almost_ sousing; but that made it allthe more lively. The brook formed, as Nancy had said, aconstant succession of little waterfalls, its course beingquite steep and very rocky; and in some places there werepools quite deep enough to have given them a thorough wetting, to say no more, if they had missed their footing and tumbledin. But this did not happen. In due time, though with nolittle difficulty, they reached the spot where the brook cameforth from the wood into the open day; and thence, making asharp turn to the right, skirted along by the edge of thetrees, as if unwilling to part company with them. 

"I guess we'd better get back into the lane now, " said MissNancy; "we're a pretty good long way from home. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Splitters. 

They left the wood and the brook behind them, and crossed alarge stubble-field; then got over a fence into another. Theywere in the midst of this when Nancy stopped Ellen, and badeher look up towards the west, where towered a high mountain, no longer hid from their view by the trees. 

"I told you I'd show you where I live, " said she. "Look up now— clear to the top of the mountain, almost, and a little tothe right — do you see that little mite of a house there? Looksharp — it's a'most as brown as the rock — do you see it? it'sclose by that big pine-tree, — but it don't look big from here— it's just by that little dark spot near the top. "

"I see it, " said Ellen — "I see it now; do you live away upthere?"

"That's just what I do; and that's just what I wish I didn't. But granny likes it; she will live there. I don't know whatfor, if it ain't to plague me. Do you think you'd like to liveup on the top of a mountain like that?"

"No, I don't think I should, " said Ellen. "Isn't it very coldup there?"

"Cold! you don't know anything about it. The wind comes there, I tell you! enough to cut you in two; I have to take and holdon to the trees sometimes, to keep from being blowed away. Andthen granny sends me out every morning before it's light, nomatter how deep the snow is, to look for the cow; and it's sobitter cold, I expect nothing else but I'll be froze to deathsome time. "

"Oh!" said Ellen, with a look of horror, "how can she do so!"

"Oh, she don't care, " said the other; "she sees my nose freezeoff every winter, and it don't make no difference. "

"Freeze your nose off!" said Ellen. 

"To be sure, " said the other, nodding gravely — "every winter;it grows out again when the warm weather comes. "

"And is that the reason why it is so little?" said Ellen, innocently, and with great curiosity. 

"Little!" said the other, crimsoning in a fury — "what do youmean by that? it's as big as yours any day, I can tell you. "

Ellen involuntarily put her hand to her face, to see if Nancyspoke true. Somewhat reassured to find a very decided ridgewhere her companion's nose was wanting in the line of beauty, she answered in her turn —

"It's no such thing, Nancy! you oughtn't to say so; you knowbetter. "

"I _don't_ know better! I _ought_ to say so!" replied the other, furiously. "If I had your nose, I'd be glad to have it freezeoff; I'd a sight rather have none. I'd pull it every day, if Iwas you, to make it grow. "

"I shall believe what Aunt Fortune said of you was true, " saidEllen. She had coloured very high, but she added no more, andwalked on in dignified silence. Nancy stalked before her insilence that was meant to be dignified too, though it had notexactly that air. By degrees each cooled down, and Nancy wastrying to find out what Miss Fortune had said of her, when onthe edge of the next field they met the brook again. Afterrunning a long way to the right, it had swept round, and herewas flowing gently in the opposite direction. But how werethey ever to cross it? The brook ran in a smooth currentbetween them and a rising bank on the other side, so high asto prevent their seeing what lay beyond. There were nostepping-stones now. The only thing that looked like a bridgewas an old log that had fallen across the brook, or perhapshad at some time or other been put there on purpose; and thatlay more than half in the water; what remained of its surfacewas green with moss and slippery with slime. Ellen was sadlyafraid to trust herself on it; but what to do? Nancy soonsettled the question, as far as she was concerned. Pulling offher thick shoes, she ran fearlessly upon the rude bridge; herclinging bare feet carried her safely over, and Ellen soon sawher re-shoeing herself in triumph on the opposite side; butthus left behind and alone, her own difficulty increased. 

"Pull off your shoes, and do as I did, " said Nancy. 

"I can't, " said Ellen; "I'm afraid of wetting my feet; I knowmama wouldn't let me. "

"Afraid of wetting your feet!" said the other; "what achickaninny you are! Well, if you try to come over with yourshoes on, you'll fall in, I tell you; and then you'll wet morethan your feet. But come along somehow, for I won't standwaiting here much longer. "

Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous journey over thebridge. Slowly and fearfully, and with as much care aspossible, she set step by step upon the slippery log. Alreadyhalf of the danger was passed, when, reaching forward to graspNancy's outstretched hand, she missed it — _perhaps_ that wasNancy's fault — poor Ellen lost her balance, and went in headforemost. The water was deep enough to cover her completely asshe lay, though not enough to prevent her getting up again. She was greatly frightened, but managed to struggle up firstto a sitting posture, and then to her feet, and then to wadeout to the shore; though, dizzy and sick, she came nearfalling back again more than once. The water was very cold;and thoroughly sobered, poor Ellen felt chill enough in bodyand mind too; all her fine spirits were gone; and not the lessbecause Nancy's had risen to a great pitch of delight at hermisfortune. The air rang with her laughter; she likened Ellento every ridiculous thing she could think of. Too miserable tobe angry, Ellen could not laugh, and would not cry, but sheexclaimed, in distress —

"Oh, what shall I do! I am so cold!"

"Come along, " said Nancy; "give me your hand; we'll run overto Mrs. Van Brunt's — 'tain't far — it's just over here. There, " said she, as they got to the top of the bank, and camewithin sight of a house standing only a few fields off —"there it is! Run, Ellen, and we'll be there directly. "

"Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" Ellen contrived to say, as Nancyhurried her along, "Who is she? — run, Ellen! — why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt —your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, you know — make haste, Ellen! —we had rain enough the other day; I'm afraid it wouldn't begood for the grass if you stayed too long in one place; hurry!I'm afraid you'll catch cold — you got your feet wet afterall, I'm sure. "

Run they did; and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. VanBrunt's door. The little brick walk leading to it from thecourtyard gate was as neat as a pin; so was every thing elsethe eye could rest on; and when Nancy went in, poor Ellenstayed _her_ foot at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoesand dripping garments any further. She could hear, however, what was going on. 

"Hillo! Mrs. Van Brunt, " shouted Nancy — "where are you? — oh!Mrs. Van Brunt, are you out of water? — cos if you are I'vebrought you a plenty; the person that has it don't want it;she's just at the door; she wouldn't bring it in till she knewyou wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't look so, or you'llkill me with laughing. Come and see! come and see!"

The steps within drew near the door, and first Nancy showedherself, and then a little old woman — not very old, either —of very kind, pleasant countenance. 

"What is all this?" said she, in great surprise. "Bless me!poor little dear! what is this?"

"Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt, don'tyou see?" said Nancy. 

"Go home, Nancy Vawse! go home, " said the old lady; "you're aregular bad girl. I do believe this is some mischief o' yourn— go right off home; it's time you were after your cow a greatwhile ago. "

As she spoke, she drew Ellen in and shut the door. 

"Poor little dear!" said the old lady, kindly, "what hashappened to you? Come to the fire, love, you're trembling withthe cold. Oh, dear! dear! You're soaking wet; this is allalong of Nancy somehow, I know; how was it love? Ain't youMiss Fortune's little girl? Never mind, don't talk, darling;there ain't one bit of colour in your face, not one bit. "

Good Mrs. Van Brunt had drawn Ellen to the fire, and all thiswhile she was pulling off as fast as possible her wet clothes. Then sending a girl who was in waiting, for clean towels, sherubbed Ellen dry from head to foot, and wrapping her in ablanket, left her in a chair before the fire, while she wentto seek something for her to put on. Ellen had managed to tellwho she was, and how her mischance had come about, but littleelse, though the kind old lady had kept on pouring out wordsof sorrow and pity during the whole time. She came trottingback directly with one of her own short gowns, the only thingthat she could lay hands on that was anywhere near Ellen'slength. Enormously big it was for her, but Mrs. Van Bruntwrapped it round and round, and the blanket over it again, andthen she bustled about till she had prepared a tumbler of hotdrink, which she said was to keep Ellen from catching cold. Itwas anything but agreeable, being made from some bitter herb, and sweetened with molasses; but Ellen swallowed it, as shewould anything else at such kind hands, and the old ladycarried her herself into a little room opening out of thekitchen, and laid her in a bed that had been warmed for her. Excessively tired and weak as she was, Ellen scarcely neededthe help of the hot herb-tea to fall into a very deep sleep;perhaps it might not have lasted so very long as it did, butfor that. Afternoon changed for evening, evening grew quitedark, still Ellen did not stir; and after every little journeyinto the bedroom to see how she was doing, Mrs. Van Brunt cameback saying how glad she was to see her sleeping so finely. Other eyes looked on her for a minute — kind and gentle eyes;though Mrs. Van Brunt's were kind and gentle too; once a softkiss touched her forehead — there was no danger of waking her. 

It was perfectly dark in the little bedroom, and had been so agood while, when Ellen was aroused by some noise, and then arough voice she knew very well. Feeling faint and weak, andnot more than half awake yet, she lay still and listened. Sheheard the outer door open and shut, and then the voice said —

"So, mother, you've got my stray sheep here, have you?"

"Ay, ay, " said the voice of Mrs. Van Brunt; "have you beenlooking for her? how did you know she was here?"

"Looking for her! ay, looking for her ever since sundown. Shehas been missing at the house since some time this forenoon. Ibelieve her aunt got a bit scared about her; any how, I did. She's a queer little chip, as ever I see. "

"She's a dear little soul, _I_ know, " said his mother; "youneedn't say nothin' agin her, I ain't agoing to believe it. "

"No more am I. I'm the best friend she's got, if she onlyknowed it; but don't you think, " said Mr. Van Brunt, laughing, "I asked her to give me a kiss this forenoon, and if I'd beenan owl she couldn't ha' been more scared; she went off like astreak, and Miss Fortune said she was as mad as she could be, and that's the last of her. "

"How did you find her out?"

"I met that mischievous Vawse girl, and I made her tell me;she had no mind to at first. It'll be the worse for Ellen ifshe takes to that wicked thing. "

"She won't. Nancy has been taking her a walk, and worked it soas to get her into the brook, and then brought her here, justas dripping wet as she could be. I gave her something hot andput her to bed, and she'll do, I reckon; but I tell you itgave me queer feelings to see the poor little thing just aswhite as ashes, and all of a tremble, and looking so sorrowfultoo. She's sleeping finely now; but it ain't right to see achild's face look so — it ain't right, " repeated Mrs. VanBrunt, thoughtfully; — "You han't had supper, have you?"

"No, mother, and I must take that young one back. Ain't sheawake yet?"

"I'll see directly; but she ain't going home, nor you neither, 'Brahm, till you've got your supper — it would be a sin to lether. She shall have a taste of my splitters this very night;I've been makin' them o' purpose for her. So you may just takeoff your hat and sit down. "

"You mean to let her know where to come when she wants goodthings, mother. Well, I won't say splitters ain't worthwaiting for. "

Ellen heard him sit down, and then she guessed from the wordsthat passed, that Mrs. Van Brunt and her little maid werebusied in making the cakes; she lay quiet. 

"You're a good friend, 'Brahm, " began the old lady again;"nobody knows that better than me; but I hope that poor littlething has got another one to-day that'll do more for her thanyou can. "

"What, yourself, mother? I don't know about that. "

"No, no; do you think I mean myself? — there, turn it quick, Sally! Miss Alice has been here. "

"How? this evening?"

"Just a little before dark, on her gray pony. She came in fora minute, and I took her — that'll burn, Sally! — I took herin to see the child while she was asleep, and I told her allyou told me about her. She didn't say much, but she looked ather very sweet, as she always does, and I guess, — there — nowI'll see after my little sleeper. "

And presently Mrs. Van Brunt came to the bedside with a light, and her arm full of Ellen's dry clothes. Ellen felt as if shecould have put her arms round her kind old friend, and huggedher with all her heart; but it was not her way to show herfeelings before strangers. She suffered Mrs. Van Brunt todress her in silence, only saying, with a sigh, "How kind youare to me, Ma’am!" to which the old lady replied with a kiss, and telling her she mustn't say a word about that. 

The kitchen was bright with firelight and candlelight; thetea-table looked beautiful with its piles of white splitters, besides plenty of other and more substantial things; and atthe corner of the hearth sat Mr. Van Brunt. 

"So, " said he, smiling, as Ellen came in and took her stand atthe opposite corner — "So I drove you away this morning? Youain't mad with me yet, I hope. "

Ellen crossed directly over to him, and putting her littlehand in his great rough one, said, "I'm _very_ much obliged toyou, Mr. Van Brunt, for taking so much trouble to come andlook after me. "

She said it with a look of gratitude and trust that pleasedhim very much. 

"Trouble, indeed!" said he, good-humouredly, "I'd take twiceas much any day for what you wouldn't give me this forenoon. But never fear, Miss Ellen, I ain't a going to ask you thatagain. "

He shook the little hand; and from that time Ellen and herrough charioteer were firm friends. 

Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table; and Ellen was wellfeasted with the splitters, which were a kind of rich short-cake, baked in irons, very thin and crisp, and then split intwo and buttered — whence their name. A pleasant meal wasthat. Whatever an epicure might have thought of the tea, toEllen, in her famished state, it was delicious; and no epicurecould have found fault with the cold ham and the butter andthe cakes — but far better than all was the spirit of kindnessthat was there. Ellen feasted on that more than on anythingelse. If her host and hostess were not very polished, theycould not have been outdone in their kind care of her, andkind attention to her wants. And when the supper was at lengthover, Mrs. Van Brunt declared a little colour had come back tothe pale cheeks. The colour came back in good earnest a fewminutes after, when a great tortoise-shell cat walked into theroom. Ellen jumped down from her chair, and presently wasbestowing the tenderest caresses upon pussy, who stretched outher head and purred as if she liked them very well. 

"What a nice cat!" said Ellen. 

"She has five kittens, " said Mrs. Van Brunt. 

"Five kittens!" said Ellen. "Oh, may I come some time and seethem?"

"You shall see 'em right away, dear, and come as often as youlike, too. Sally, just take a basket, and go fetch themkittens here. "

Upon this, Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about its being time togo, if they were going. But his mother insisted that Ellenshould stay where she was; she said she was not fit to go homethat night, that she oughtn't to walk a step, and that "'Brahm" should go and tell Miss Fortune the child was safe andwell, and would be with her early in the morning. Mr. VanBrunt shook his head two or three times, but finally agreed, to Ellen's great joy. When he came back, she was sitting onthe floor before the fire, with all the five kittens in herlap, and the old mother cat walking around and over her andthem. But she looked up with a happier face then he had everseen her wear, and told him she was "_so_ much obliged to himfor taking such a long walk for her;" and Mr. Van Brunt feltthat, like his oxen, he could have done a great deal more withpleasure. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Hope deferred. 

Before the sun was up the next morning, Mrs. Van Brunt cameinto Ellen's room, and aroused her. 

"It's a real shame to wake you up, " she said, "when you weresleeping so finely; but 'Brahm wants to be off to his work, and won't stay for breakfast. Slept sound, did you?"

"Oh, yes, indeed; as sound as a top, " said Ellen, rubbing hereyes; "I am hardly awake yet. "

"I declare it's too bad, " said Mrs. Van Brunt — "but there'sno help for it. You don't feel no headache, do you, nor painin your bones?"

"No, Ma’am, not a bit of it; I feel nicely. "

"Ah! well, " said Mrs. Van Brunt, "then your tumble into thebrook didn't do you any mischief; I thought it wouldn't. Poorlittle soul!"

"I am very glad I did fall in, " said Ellen; "for if I hadn't Ishouldn't have come here, Mrs. Van Brunt. "

The old lady instantly kissed her. 

"Oh! mayn't I just take one look at the kitties?" said Ellen, when she was ready to go. 

"Indeed you shall, " said Mrs. Van Brunt, "if 'Brahm's hurrywas ever so much; and it ain't, besides. Come here, dear. "

She took Ellen back to a waste lumber-room, where, in acorner, on some old pieces of carpet, lay pussy and herfamily. How fondly Ellen's hand was passed over each littlesoft back! how hard it was for her to leave them!

"Wouldn't you like to take one home with you, dear?" said Mrs. Van Brunt, at length. 

"Oh! may I?" said Ellen, looking up in delight; "are you inearnest? oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Van Brunt! oh, I shall be soglad!"

"Well, choose one then, dear — choose the one you like best, and 'Brahm shall carry it for you. "

The choice was made, and Mrs. Van Brunt and Ellen returned tothe kitchen, where Mr. Van Brunt had already been waiting sometime. He shook his head when he saw what was in the basket hismother handed to him. 

"That won't do, " said be; "I can't go that, mother. I'llundertake to see Miss Ellen safe home, but the cat 'ud be morethan I could manage. I think I'd hardly get off with a wholeskin 'tween the one and t'other. "

"Well, now!" said Mrs. Van Brunt. 

Ellen gave a longing look at her little black and whitefavourite, which was uneasily endeavouring to find out theheight of the basket, and mewing at the same time with a mostungratified expression. However, though sadly disappointed, she submitted with a very good grace to what could not behelped. First setting down the little cat out of the basket itseemed to like so ill, and giving it one farewell pat andsqueeze, she turned to the kind old lady, who stood watchingher, and throwing her arms around her neck, silently spoke hergratitude in a hearty hug and kiss. 

"Good-bye, Ma’am, " said she; "I may come and see them sometime again, and see you, mayn't I?"

"Indeed you shall, my darling, " said the old woman; "just asoften as you like — just as often as you can get away. I'llmake 'Brahm bring you home, sometimes. 'Brahm, you'll bringher, won't you?"

"There's two words to that bargain, mother, I can tell you;but if I don't, I'll know the reason on't. "

And away they went. Ellen drew two or three sighs at first, but she could not help brightening up soon. It was early — notsunrise; the cool freshness of the air was enough to give onenew life and spirit; the sky was fair and bright; and Mr. VanBrunt marched along at a quick pace. Enlivened by theexercise, Ellen speedily forgot everything disagreeable; andher little head was filled with pleasant things. She watchedwhere the silver light in the east foretold the sun's coming. She watched the silver change to gold, till a rich yellow tintwas flung over the whole landscape, and then broke the firstrays of light upon the tops of the western hills — the sun wasup. It was a new sight to Ellen. 

"How beautiful! Oh! how beautiful!" she, exclaimed. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Van Brunt, in his slow way, "it'll be a fineday for the field. I guess I'll go with the oxen over to that'ere big meadow. "

"Just look, " said Ellen, "how the light comes creeping downthe side of the mountain — now it has got to the wood — oh, dolook at the tops of the trees! Oh! I wish Mamma was here!"

Mr. Van Brunt didn't know what to say to this. He ratherwished so, too, for her sake. 

"There, " said Ellen, "now the sunshine is on the fence, andthe road, and everything. I wonder what is the reason that thesun shines first upon the top of the mountain, and then comesso slowly down the side; why don't it shine on the whole atonce?"

Mr. Van Brunt shook his head in ignorance. "He guessed italways did so, " he said. 

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I suppose it does; but that's the verything — I want to know the reason why. And I noticed just now, it shone in my face before it touched my hands. Isn't itqueer?"

"Humph! there's a great many queer things, if you come tothat, " said Mr. Van Brunt, philosophically. 

But Ellen's head ran on from one thing to another, and hernext question was not so wide of the subject as her companionmight have thought. 

"Mr. Van Brunt, are there any schools about here?"

"Schools?" said the person addressed; "yes — there's plenty ofschools. "

"Good ones?" said Ellen. 

"Well, I don't exactly know about that; there's CaptainConklin's, that had ought to be a good 'un; he's a regularsmart man, they say. "

"Whereabouts is that?" said Ellen. 

"His school? — it's a mile or so the other side of my house. "

"And how far is it from your house to Aunt Fortune's?"

"A good deal better than two mile; but we'll be there beforelong. You ain't tired, be you?"

"No, " said Ellen. But this reminder gave a new turn to herthoughts, and her spirits were suddenly checked. Her formerbrisk and springing step changed to so slow and lagging a one, that Mr. Van Brunt more than once repeated his remark that hesaw she was tired. 

If it was that, Ellen grew tired very fast; she lagged moreand more as they neared the house, and at last fell quitebehind, and allowed Mr. Van Brunt to go in first. 

Miss Fortune was busy about the breakfast, and as Mr. VanBrunt afterwards described it, "looking as if she could havebitten off a ten-penny nail, " and, indeed, as if the operationwould have been rather gratifying than otherwise. She gavethem no notice at first, bustling to and fro with greatenergy, but all of a sudden she brought up directly in frontof Ellen, and said —

"Why didn't you come home last night?"

The words were jerked out rather than spoken. 

"I got wet in the brook, " said Ellen, "and Mrs. Van Brunt wasso kind as to keep me. "

"Which way did you go out of the house yesterday?"

"Through the front door. "

"The front door was locked. "

"I unlocked it. "

"What did you go out that way for?"

"I didn't want to come this way. "

"Why not?"

Ellen hesitated. 

"Why not?" demanded Miss Fortune, still more emphatically thanbefore. 

"I did't want to see you, Ma’am, " said Ellen, flushing. 

"If ever you do so again!" said Miss Fortune, in a kind ofcold fury; "I've a great mind to whip you for this, as ever Ihad to eat. "

The flush faded on Ellen's cheek, and a shiver visibly passedover her — not from fear. She stood with downcast eyes andcompressed lips, a certain instinct of childish dignitywarning her to be silent. Mr. Van Brunt put himself inbetween. 

"Come, come!" said he, "this is getting to be too much of agood thing. Beat your cream, Ma’am, as much as you like; or ifyou want to try your hand on something else, you'll have totake me first, I promise you. "

"Now, don't _you_ meddle, Van Brunt, " said the lady, sharply, "with what ain't no business o' yourn. "

"I don't know about that, " said Mr. Van Brunt — "maybe it _is_my business; but meddle or no meddle, Miss Fortune, it is timefor me to be in the field; and if you han't no betterbreakfast for Miss Ellen and me than all this here, we'll justgo right away hum again; but there's something in your kettlethere that smells uncommonly nice, and I wish you'd just letus have it, and no more words. "

No more words did Miss Fortune waste on any one that morning. She went on with her work, and dished up the breakfast insilence, and with a face that Ellen did not quite understand;only she thought she had never in her life seen one sodisagreeable. The meal was a very solemn and uncomfortableone. Ellen could scarcely swallow, and her aunt was near inthe same condition. Mr. Van Brunt and the old lady alonedespatched their breakfast as usual; with no other attempts atconversation than the common mumbling on the part of thelatter, which nobody minded, and one or two strange gruntsfrom the former, the meaning of which, if they had any, nobodytried to find out. 

There was a breach now between Ellen and her aunt that neithercould make any effort to mend. Miss Fortune did not renew thedisagreeable conversation that Mr. Van Brunt had broken off;she left Ellen entirely to herself, scarcely speaking to her, or seeming to know when she went out or came in. And thislasted day after day. Wearily they passed. After one or two, Mr. Van Brunt seemed to stand just where he did before in MissFortune's good graces; but not Ellen. To her, when others werenot by, her face wore constantly something of the same cold, hard, disagreeable expression it had put on after Mr. VanBrunt's interference — a look that Ellen came to regard withabsolute abhorrence. She kept away by herself as much as shecould; but she did not know what to do with her time, and forwant of something better often spent it in tears. She went tobed cheerless night after night, and arose spiritless morningafter morning; and this lasted till Mr. Van Brunt more thanonce told his mother that "that poor little thing was goingwandering about like a ghost, and growing thinner and palerevery day; and he didn't know what she would come to if shewent on so. "

Ellen longed now for a letter with unspeakable longing — butnone came; — day after day brought new disappointment, eachday more hard to bear. Of her only friend, Mr. Van Brunt, shesaw little; he was much away in the fields during the fineweather; and when it rained, Ellen herself was prisoner athome, whither he never came but at meal times. The oldgrandmother was very much disposed to make much of her; butEllen shrank, she hardly knew why, from her fond caresses, andnever found herself alone with her if she could help it; forthen she was regularly called to the old lady's side, andobliged to go through a course of kissing, fondling, andpraising she would gladly have escaped. In her aunt's presencethis was seldom attempted, and never permitted to go on. MissFortune was sure to pull Ellen away, and bid her mother "stopthat palavering, " — avowing that "it made her sick. " Ellen hadone faint hope that her aunt would think of sending her toschool, as she employed her in nothing at home, and certainlytook small delight in her company; but no hint of the kinddropped from Miss Fortune's lips; and Ellen's longing look forthis as well as for a word from her mother, was daily doomedto be ungratified, and to grow more keen by delay. 

One pleasure only remained to Ellen in the course of the day, and that one she enjoyed with the carefulness of a miser. Itwas seeing the cows milked morning and evening. For this shegot up very early, and watched till the men came for thepails; and then away she bounded, out of the house and to thebarnyard. There were the milky mothers, five in number, standing about, each in her own corner of the yard orcowhouse, waiting to be relieved of their burden of milk. Theywere fine, gentle animals, in excellent condition, and lookingevery way happy and comfortable; nothing living under Mr. VanBrunt's care was ever suffered to look otherwise. He wasalways in the barn or barnyard at milking time, and under hisprotection Ellen felt safe, and looked on at her ease. It wasa very pretty scene — at least, she thought so. The gentlecows standing quietly to be milked as if they enjoyed it, andmunching the cud; and the white streams of milk foaming intothe pails; then there was the interest of seeing whether Samor Johnny would get through first; and how near Jane or Dollywould come to rivalling Streaky's fine pailful; and at lastEllen allowed Mr. Van Brunt to teach herself how to milk. Shebegan with trembling, but learnt fast enough; and more thanone pailful of milk that Miss Fortune strained, had been, unknown to her, drawn by Ellen's fingers. These minutes in thefarm-yard were the pleasantest in Ellen's day. While theylasted every care was forgotten, and her little face was asbright as the morning; but the milking was quickly over, andthe cloud gathered on Ellen's brow almost as soon as theshadow of the house fell upon it. 

"Where is the post-office, Mr. Van Brunt?" she asked, onemorning, as she stood watching the sharpening of an axe uponthe grindstone. The axe was in that gentleman's hand, and itsedge carefully laid to the whirling-stone, which one of thefarm-boys was turning. 

"Where is the post office? Why, over to Thirlwall, to besure, " replied Mr. Van Brunt, glancing up at her from his work"faster, Johnny. "

"And how often do the letters come here?" said Ellen. 

"Take care, Johnny! — some more water — mind your business, will you? — Just as often as I go to fetch 'em, Miss Ellen, and no oftener. "

"And how often do you go, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Only when I've some other errand Miss Ellen; my grain wouldnever be in the barn if I was running to the post-office everyother thing — and for what ain't there, too. I don't get aletter but two or three times a-year I s'pose, though I call —I guess — half-a-dozen times. "

"Ah, but there's one there now, or soon will be, I know, forme, " said Ellen. "When do you think you will go again, Mr. VanBrunt?"

"Now, if I'd ha' know'd that, I'd ha' gone to Thirlwallyesterday — I was within a mile of it. I don't see as I can gothis week, anyhow, in the world; but I'll make some errandthere the first day I can, Miss Ellen — that you may dependon. You shan't wait for your letter a bit longer than I canhelp. "

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Van Brunt — you're very kind. Then theletters never come except when you go after them?"

"No; — yes — they do come once in a while by old Mr. Swaim, but he han't been here this great while. "

"And who's he?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, he's a queer old chip that goes round the country on allsorts of errands; he comes along once in a while. That'll do, Johnny — I believe this here tool is as sharp as I have anyoccasion for. "

"What's the use of pouring water upon the grindstone?" saidEllen; — "why wouldn't it do as well dry?"

"I can't tell, I am sure, " replied Mr. Van Brunt, who wasslowly drawing his thumb over the edge of the axe; — "yourquestions are a good deal too sharp for me, Miss Ellen; I onlyknow it would spoil the axe, or the grindstone, or both, mostlikely. "

"It's very odd, " said Ellen, thoughtfully — "I wish I kneweverything. But, O dear! I am not likely to know anything, "said she, her countenance suddenly changing from its pleasedinquisitive look to a cloud of disappointment and sorrow. Mr. Van Brunt noticed the change. 

"Ain't your aunt going to send you to school, then?" said he. 

"I don't know, " said Ellen, sighing — "she never speaks aboutit, nor about anything else. But I declare I'll make her!" sheexclaimed, changing again. "I'll go right in and ask her, andthen she'll have to tell me. I will! I am tired of living so. I'll know what she means to do, and then I can tell what _I_must do. "

Mr. Van Brunt, seemingly dubious about the success of thisline of conduct, stroked his chin and his axe alternately twoor three times in silence, and finally walked off. Ellen, without waiting for her courage to cool, went directly intothe house. 

Miss Fortune, however, was not in the kitchen; to follow herinto her secret haunts, the dairy, cellar, or lower kitchen, was not to be thought of. Ellen waited a while, but her auntdid not come, and the excitement of the moment cooled down. She was not quite so ready to enter upon the business as shehad felt at first; she had even some qualms about it. 

"But I'll do it!" said Ellen to herself — "it will be hard, but I'll do it!"

CHAPTER XIV. Work _not_ deferred. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Ellen found the chance sherather dreaded than wished for. Mr. Van Brunt had gone out;the old lady had not left her room, and Miss Fortune wasquietly seated by the fire, busied with some mysteries ofcooking. Like a true coward, Ellen could not make up her mindto bolt at once into the thick of the matter, but thought tocome to it gradually — always a bad way. 

"What is that, Aunt Fortune?" said she, after she had watchedher with a beating heart for about five minutes. 

"What is what?"

"I mean, what is that you are straining through the colanderinto that jar?"

"Hop-water. "

"What is it for?"

"I'm scalding this meal with it to make turnpikes. "

"Turnpikes!" said Ellen — "I thought turnpikes were high, smooth roads, with toll-gates every now and then — that's whatMamma told me they were. "

"That's all the kind of turnpikes your Mamma knew anythingabout, I reckon, " said Miss Fortune, in a tone that conveyedthe notion that Mrs. Montgomery's education had been veryincomplete. "And indeed, " she added, immediately after, "ifshe had made more turnpikes and paid fewer tolls, it wouldhave been just as well, I'm thinking. "

Ellen felt the tone, if she did not thoroughly understand thewords. She was silent for a moment; then remembering herpurpose, she began again —

"What are these, then, aunt Fortune?"

"Cakes, child, cakes — turnpike-cakes — what I raise the breadwith. "

"What, those little brown cakes I have seen you melt in waterand mix in the flour when you make bread?"

"Mercy on us! yes! you've seen hundreds of 'em since you'vebeen here, if you never saw one before. "

"I never did, " said Ellen. "But what are they called turnpikesfor?"

"The land knows! — I don't. For mercy's sake, stop asking mequestions, Ellen; I don't know what's gotten into you; you'lldrive me crazy. "

"But there's one more question I want to ask very much, " saidEllen, with her heart beating. 

"Well, ask it, then, quick, and have done, and take yourselfoff. I have other fish to fry than to answer all yourquestions. "

Miss Fortune, however, was still quietly seated by the firestirring her meal and hop-water, and Ellen could not be quick;the words stuck in her throat — came out at last. 

"Aunt Fortune, I wanted to ask you if I may go to school. "

"Yes. "

Ellen's heart sprang with a feeling of joy, a little qualifiedby the peculiar dry tone in which the word was uttered. 

"When may I go?"

"As soon as you like. "

"Oh, thank you, Ma’am. To which school shall I go, AuntFortune?"

"To whichever you like. "

"But I don't know anything about them, " said Ellen — "how canI tell which is best?"

Miss Fortune was silent. 

"What schools are there near here?" said Ellen. 

"There's Captain Conklin's down at the Cross, and MissEmerson's at Thirlwall. "

Ellen hesitated. The name was against her, but neverthelessshe concluded on the whole that the lady's school would be thepleasantest. 

"Is Miss Emerson any relation of yours?" she asked. 

"No. "

"I think I should like to go to her school the best. I will gothere if you let me — may I?"

"Yes. "

"And I will begin next Monday — may I?"

"Yes. "

Ellen wished exceedingly that her aunt would speak in someother tone of voice; it was a continual damper to her risinghopes. 

"I'll get my books ready, " said she — "and look 'em over alittle, too, I guess. But what will be the best way for me togo, Aunt Fortune?"

"I don't know. "

"I couldn't walk so far, could I?"

"You know best. "

"I couldn't, I am sure, " said Ellen. "It's four miles toThirlwall, Mr. Van Brunt said; and that would be too much forme to walk twice a day; and I should be afraid besides. "

A dead silence. 

"But Aunt Fortune, do please tell me what I am to do. How canI know unless you tell me? What way is there that I can go toschool?"

"It is unfortunate that I don't keep a carriage, " said MissFortune — "but Mr. Van Brunt can go for you morning andevening in the ox-cart, if that will answer. "

"The ox-cart! But, dear me! it would take him all day, AuntFortune. It takes hours and hours to go and come with the oxen— Mr. Van Brunt wouldn't have time to do anything but carry meto school, and bring me home. "

"Of course — but that's of no consequence, " said Miss Fortune, in the same dry tone. 

"Then I can't go — there's no help for it, " said Ellendespondingly. "Why didn't you say so before? When you saidyes, I thought you meant yes. "

She covered her face. Miss Fortune rose with a half-smile andcarried her jar of scalded meal into the pantry. She then cameback and commenced the operation of washing up the breakfast-things. 

"Ah, if I only had a little pony, " said Ellen, "that wouldcarry me there and back, and go trotting about with meeverywhere — how nice that would be!"

"Yes, that would be very nice! And who do you think would gotrotting about after the pony? I suppose you would leave thatto Mr. Van Brunt; and I should have to go trotting about afteryou, to pick you up in case you broke your neck in some ditchor gulley — it would be a very nice affair altogether, Ithink. "

Ellen was silent. Her hopes had fallen to the ground, and herdisappointment was unsoothed by one word of kindness orsympathy. With all her old grievances fresh in her mind, shesat thinking her aunt was the very most disagreeable personshe ever had the misfortune to meet with. No amiable feelingswere working within her; and the cloud on her brow was ofdispleasure and disgust, as well as sadness and sorrow. Heraunt saw it. 

"What are you thinking of?" said she, rather sharply. 

"I am thinking, " said Ellen, "I am very sorry I cannot go toschool. "

"Why, what do you want to learn so much? you know how to readand write and cipher, don't you?"

"Read and write and cipher!" said Ellen — "to be sure I do;but that's nothing; that's only the beginning. "

"Well, what do you want to learn besides?"

"Oh, a great many things. "

"Well, what?"

"Oh, a great many things, " said Ellen; "French, and Italian, and Latin, and music, and arithmetic, and chemistry, and allabout animals, and plants; and insects — I forget what it'scalled — and — oh, I can't recollect; a great many things. Every now and then I think of something I want to learn; Ican't remember them now. But I am doing nothing, " said Ellen, sadly — "learning nothing — I am not studying and improvingmyself as I meant to; Mamma will be disappointed when shecomes back; and I meant to please her so much!"

The tears were fast coming; she put her hand upon her eyes toforce them back. 

"If you are so tired of being idle, " said Miss Fortune, "I'llwarrant I'll give you something to do; and something to learn, too, that you want enough, more than all those crinkum-crankums; I wonder what good they'd ever do you! That's theway your mother was brought up, I suppose. If she had beentrained to use her hands and do something useful, instead ofthinking herself above it, maybe she wouldn't have had to goto sea for her health just now; it doesn't do for women to bebookworms. "

"Mamma isn't a bookworm!" said Ellen, indignantly; "I don'tknow what you mean; and she never thinks of herself abovebeing useful; it's very strange you should say so when youdon't know anything about her. "

"I know she han't brought you up to know manners, anyhow, "said Miss Fortune. "Look here — I'll give you something to do— just you put those plates and dishes together ready forwashing while I am down stairs. "

Ellen obeyed, unwillingly enough. She had neither knowledge ofthe business nor any liking for it; so it is no wonder MissFortune at her return was not well pleased. 

"But I never did such a thing before, " said Ellen. 

"There it is now!" said Miss Fortune. "I wonder where youreyes have been every single time that I have done it since youhave been here. I should think your own sense might have toldyou! But you're too busy learning of Mr. Van Brunt to knowwhat's going on in the house. Is that what you call made readyfor washing? Now just have the goodness to scrape every plateclean off and put them nicely in a pile here; and turn out theslops out of the tea cups and saucers, and set them bythemselves. Well! what makes you handle them so? are youafraid they'll burn you?"

"I don't like to take hold of things people have drunk outof, " said Ellen, who was indeed touching the cups and saucersvery delicately with the tips of her fingers. 

"Look here, " said Miss Fortune — "don't you let me hear nomore of that, or I vow I'll give you something to do you won'tlike. Now, put the spoons here, and the knives and forkstogether here; and carry the salt-cellar, and the pepper-box, and the butter and the sugar into the buttery. "

"I don't know where to put them, " said Ellen. 

"Come along then, and I'll show you; it's time you did. Ireckon you'll feel better when you've something to do, and youshall have plenty. There, put them in that cupboard, and setthe butter up here, and put the bread in this box, do you see?now don't let me have to show you twice over. "

This was Ellen's first introduction to the buttery; she hadnever dared go in there before. It was a long light closet orpantry, lined on the left side, and at the further end, withwide shelves up to the ceiling. On these shelves stood manycapacious pans and basins, of tin and earthenware, filled withmilk, and most of them coated with superb yellow cream. Midwaywas the window, before which Miss Fortune was accustomed toskim her milk; and at the side of it was the mouth of a woodenpipe, or covered trough, which conveyed the refuse milk downto an enormous hogshead standing at the lower kitchen door, whence it was drawn as wanted for the use of the pigs. Beyondthe window in the buttery, and on the higher shelves were rowsof yellow cheeses; forty or fifty were there, at least. On theright hand of the door was the cupboard, and a short range ofshelves, which held in ordinary all sorts of matters for thetable, both dishes and eatables. Floor and shelves were wellpainted with thick yellow paint, hard and shining, and cleanas could be; and there was a faint pleasant smell of dairythings. 

Ellen did not find out all this at once, but in the course ofa day or two, during which her visits to the buttery weremany. Miss Fortune kept her word, and found her plenty to do;Ellen's life soon became a pretty busy one. She did not likethis at all; it was a kind of work she had no love for; yet nodoubt it was a good exchange for the miserable moping life shehad lately led. Any thing was better than that. One concern, however, lay upon poor Ellen's mind with pressing weight — herneglected studies and wasted time; for no better than wastedshe counted it. "What shall I do?" she said to herself, afterseveral of these busy days had passed; "I am doing nothing — Iam learning nothing — I shall forget all I have learntdirectly. At this rate, I shall not know any more than allthese people around me; and what _will_ Mamma say? — Well, if Ican't go to school, I know what I will do, " she said, taking asudden resolve — "I'll study by myself! I'll see what I cando; it will be better than nothing, any way. I'll begin thisvery day!"

With new life Ellen sprang up stairs to her room, andforthwith began pulling all the things out of her trunk to getat her books. They were at the very bottom; and by the timeshe had reached them, half the floor was strewn with thevarious articles of her wardrobe: without minding them in herfirst eagerness, Ellen pounced at the books. 

"Here you are, my dear Numa Pompilius, " said she, drawing outa little French book she had just begun to read; "and here youare, old grammar and dictionary — and here is my history —very glad to see you, Mr. Goldsmith! — and what in the worldis this? — wrapped up as if it was something great — oh! myexpositor; I am not glad to see _you_, I am sure; never want tolook at your face or your back again. My copy-book — I wonderwho'll set copies for me now; my arithmetic, that's you! —geography and atlas — all right; — and my slate; but dear me, I don't believe I've such a thing as a slate-pencil in theworld; where shall I get one, I wonder? — well, I'll manage. And that's all — that's all, I believe. "

With all her heart Ellen would have begun her studying atonce, but there were all her things on the floor, silentlysaying, "Put us up first. "

"I declare, " she said to herself, "it's too bad to havenothing in the shape of a bureau to keep one's clothes in. Iwonder if I am to live in a trunk, as Mamma says, all the timeI am here, and have to go down to the bottom of it every timeI want a pocket-handkerchief or a pair of stockings. How I dodespise those gray stockings! — But what can I do? it's toobad to squeeze my nice things up so. I wonder what is behindthose doors? I'll find out, I know, before long. "

On the north side of Ellen's room were three doors. She hadnever opened them, but now took it into her head to see whatwas there, thinking she might possibly find what would helpher out of her difficulty. She had some little fear ofmeddling with anything in her aunt's domain; so she fastenedher own door, to guard against interruption while she wasbusied in making discoveries. 

At the foot of her bed, in the corner, was one large door, fastened by a button, as indeed they were all. This opened, she found, upon a flight of stairs, leading, as she supposed, to the garret, but Ellen did not care to go up and see. Theywere lighted by half of a large window, across the middle ofwhich the stairs went up. She quickly shut that door, andopened the next, a little one. Here she found a tiny closetunder the stairs, lighted by the other half of the window. There was nothing in it but a broad, low shelf or step underthe stairs, where Ellen presently decided she could stow awayher books very nicely. "It only wants a little brushing out, "said Ellen, "and it will do very well. " The other door, in theother corner, admitted her to a large light closet, perfectlyempty. "Now, if there were only some hooks or pegs here, "thought Ellen, "to hang up dresses on; — but why shouldn't Idrive some nails? I will! I will! Oh, that'll be fine!"

Unfastening her door in a hurry, she ran down stairs; and herheart beating, between pleasure and the excitement of daringso far without her aunt's knowledge, she ran out and crossedthe chip-yard to the barn, where she had some hope of findingMr. Van Brunt. By the time she got to the little cowhousedoor, a great noise of knocking or pounding in the barn madeher sure he was there, and she went on to the lower barn-floor. There he was, he and the two farm-boys (who, by-the-by, were grown men), all three threshing wheat. Ellen stopped atthe door, and for a minute forgot what she had come for in thepleasure of looking at them. The clean floor was strewn withgrain, upon which the heavy flails came down one afteranother, with quick, regular beat — one — two — three — one —two — three, — keeping perfect time. The pleasant sound couldbe heard afar off; though, indeed, where Ellen stood, it wasrather too loud to be pleasant. Her little voice had no chanceof being heard; she stood still and waited. Presently, Johnny, who was opposite, caught a sight of her, and, without stoppinghis work, said to his leader, "Somebody there for you, Mr. VanBrunt. " That gentleman's flail ceased its motion, then hethrew it down, and went to the door to help Ellen up the highstep. 

"Well, " said he, "have you come to see what's going on?"

"No, " said Ellen, "I've been looking — but Mr. Van Brunt, could you be so good as to let me have a hammer and half-a-dozen nails?"

"A hammer and half-a-dozen nails; — come this way, " said he. 

They went out of the barn-yard and across the chip-yard to anout-house below the garden, and not far from the spout, calledthe poultry-house; though it was quite as much the property ofthe hogs, who had a regular sleeping apartment there, wherecorn was always fed out to the fatting ones. Opening a kind ofgranary store-room, where the corn for this purpose wasstowed, Mr. Van Brunt took down from a shelf a large hammerand a box of nails, and asked Ellen what size she wanted. 

"Pretty large. "

"So?"

"No, a good deal bigger yet, I should like. "

"A good deal bigger yet — who wants 'em?"

"I do, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"You do! do you think your little arms can manage that bighammer?"

"I don't know; I guess so; I'll try. "

"Where do you want 'em driv?"

"Up in a closet in my room, " said Ellen, speaking as softly asif she had feared her aunt was at the corner; "I want 'em tohang up dresses and things. "

Mr. Van Brunt half smiled, and put up the hammer and nails onthe shelf again. 

"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, " said he; — "you can'tmanage them big things; I'll put 'em up for you to-night whenI come in to supper. "

"But I'm afraid she won't let you, " said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"Never you mind about that, " said he, "I'll fix it. Maybe wewon't ask her. "

"Oh, thank you!" said Ellen, joyfully, her face recovering itsfull sunshine in answer to his smile, and clapping her hands, she ran back to the house, while more slowly Mr. Van Bruntreturned to the threshers. Ellen seized dustpan and brush, andran up to her room; and setting about the business with rightgood will, she soon had her closets in beautiful order. Thebooks, writing desk, and work-box were then bestowed verycarefully in the one; in the other her coats and dresses, neatly folded up in a pile on the floor, waiting till thenails should be driven. Then the remainder of her things weregathered up from the floor, and neatly arranged in the trunkagain. Having done all this, Ellen's satisfaction wasunbounded. By this time dinner was ready. As soon after dinneras she could escape from Miss Fortunes's calls upon her, Ellenstole up to her room and her books, and began work in earnest. The whole afternoon was spent over sums, and verbs, and maps, and pages of history. A little before tea, as Ellen wassetting the table, Mr. Van Brunt came into the kitchen with abag on his back. 

"What have you got there, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Miss Fortune. 

"A bag of seed-corn. "

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Put it up in the garret for safe keeping. "

"Set it down in the corner, and I'll take it up to-morrow. "

"Thank you, Ma’am; — rather go myself, if it's all the same toyou. You needn't be scared, I've left my shoes at the door. Miss Ellen, I believe I've got to go through your room. "

Ellen was glad to run before, to hide her laughter. When theyreached her room, Mr. Van Brunt produced a hammer out of thebag, and taking a handful of nails from his pocket, put up afine row of them along her closet wall, then, while she hungup her dresses, he went on to the garret, and Ellen heard himhammering there, too. Presently he came down, and theyreturned to the kitchen. 

"What's all that knocking?" said Miss Fortune. 

"I've been driving some nails, " said Mr. Van Brunt, coolly. 

"Up in the garret?"

"Yes, and in Miss Ellen's closet; she said she wanted some. "

"You should ha' spoken to _me_ about it, " said Miss Fortune toEllen. There was displeasure enough in her face: but she saidno more, and the matter blew over much better than Ellen hadfeared. 

Ellen steadily pursued her plans of studying, in spite of somediscouragements. 

A letter, written about ten days after, gave her mother anaccount of her endeavours and of her success. It was adespairing account. Ellen complained that she wanted help tounderstand, and lacked time to study; that her aunt kept herbusy, and, she believed, took pleasure in breaking her offfrom her books; and she bitterly said, her mother must expectto find an ignorant little daughter when she came home. Itended with "Oh, if I could just see you, and kiss you, and putmy arms round you, Mamma, I'd be willing to die!"

This letter was dispatched the next morning by Mr. Van Brunt;and Ellen waited and watched with great anxiety for his returnfrom Thirlwall in the afternoon. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Mother earth rather than aunt Fortune. 

The afternoon was already half spent when Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart was seen returning. Ellen was standing by the little gatethat opened on the chip-yard; and with her heart beatinganxiously, she watched the slow-coming oxen; — how slowly theycame! At last they turned out of the lane, and drew the cartup the ascent; and stopping beneath the apple tree, Mr. VanBrunt leisurely got down, and flinging back his whip, came tothe gate. But the little face that met him there quiveringwith hope and fear made his own quite sober. "I'm really _very_sorry, Miss Ellen" — he began. 

That was enough. Ellen waited to hear no more, but turnedaway, the cold chill of disappointment coming over her heart. She had borne the former delays pretty well, but this was onetoo many, and she felt sick. She went round to the frontstoop, where scarcely ever anybody came, and sitting down onthe steps, wept sadly and despairingly. 

It might have been half an hour or more after, that thekitchen door slowly opened, and Ellen came in. Wishing heraunt should not see her swollen eyes, she was going quietlythrough to her own room, when Miss Fortune called her. Ellenstopped. Miss Fortune was sitting before the fire with an openletter lying in her lap, and another in her hand. The lattershe held out to Ellen, saying, "Here, child, come and takethis. "

"What is it?" said Ellen, slowly coming towards her. 

"Don't you see what it is?" said Miss Fortune, still holdingit out. 

"But who is it from?" said Ellen. 

"Your mother. "

"A letter from Mamma, and not to me!" said Ellen, withchanging colour. She took it quick from her aunt's hand. Buther colour changed more as her eye fell upon the first words, "My dear Ellen, " and turning the paper, she saw upon the back, "Miss Ellen Montgomery. " Her next look was to her aunt's face, with her eye fired, and her cheek paled with anger, and whenshe spoke her voice was not the same. 

"This is _my_ letter, " she said, trembling; "who opened it?"

Miss Fortune's conscience must have troubled her a little, forher eye wavered uneasily. Only for a second, though. 

"Who opened it?" she answered; "_I_ opened it. I should like toknow who has a better right. And I shall open every one thatcomes, to serve you for looking so; — that you may dependupon. "

The look, and the words, and the injury together, fairly putEllen beside herself. She dashed the letter to the ground, andlivid and trembling with various feelings, — rage was not theonly one, — she ran from her aunt's presence. She did not shedany tears now; she could not; they were absolutely burnt up bypassion. She walked her room with trembling steps, claspingand wringing her hands now and then, wildly thinking what_could_ she do to get out of this dreadful state of things, andunable to see anything but misery before her. She walked, forshe could not sit down; but presently she felt that she couldnot breathe the air of the house; and taking her bonnet, shewent down, passed through the kitchen, and went out. MissFortune asked where she was going, and bade her stay withindoors, but Ellen paid no attention to her. 

She stood still a moment outside the little gate. She mighthave stood long to look. The mellow light of an Indian summerafternoon lay upon the meadow and the old barn and chip-yard;there was beauty in them all under its smile. Not a breath wasstirring. The rays of the sun struggled through a blue haze, which hung upon the hills and softened every distant object;and the silence of nature all around was absolute, made morenoticeable by the far-off voice of somebody, it might be Mr. Van Brunt calling to his oxen, very far off and not to beseen; the sound came softly to her ear through the stillness. "Peace, " was the whisper of nature to her troubled child; butEllen's heart was in a whirl; she could not hear the whisper. It was a relief, however, to be out of the house and in thesweet open air. Ellen breathed more freely, and pausing amoment there, and clasping her hands together once more insorrow, she went down the road, and out at the gate, andexchanging her quick, broken step for a slow, measured one, she took the way towards Thirlwall. Little regarding theloveliness which that day was upon every slope and roadside, Ellen presently quitted the Thirlwall road, and, halfunconsciously, turned into a path on the left which she hadnever taken before — perhaps for that reason. It was not muchtravelled, evidently; the grass grew green on both sides, andeven in the middle of the way, though here and there the trackof wheels could be seen. Ellen did not care about where shewas going; she only found it pleasant to walk on, and getfurther from home. The road or lane led towards a mountainsomewhat to the northward of Miss Fortune's; the same whichMr. Van Brunt had once named to Ellen as "The Nose. " Afterthree-quarters of an hour, the road began gently to ascend themountain, rising towards the north. About one-third of the wayfrom the bottom, Ellen came to a little footpath on the left, which allured her by its promise of prettiness, and sheforsook the lane for it. The promise was abundantly fulfilled;it was a most lovely, wild, woodway path; but withal not alittle steep and rocky. Ellen began to grow weary. The lanewent on towards the north; the path rather led off towards thesouthern edge of the mountain, rising all the while; butbefore she reached that, Ellen came to what she thought a goodresting-place, where the path opened upon a small levelplatform or ledge of the hill. The mountain rose steep behindher, and sank very steep immediately before her, leaving avery superb view of the open country from the north-east tothe south-east. Carpeted with moss, and furnished with fallenstones and pieces of rock, this was a fine resting-place forthe wayfarer, or loitering-place for the lover of nature. Ellen seated herself on one of the stones, and looked sadlyand wearily towards the east, at first very careless of theexceeding beauty of what she beheld there. 

For miles and miles, on every side but the west, lay stretchedbefore her a beautifully broken country. The November hazehung over it now like a thin veil, giving great sweetness andsoftness to the scene. Far in the distance a range of lowhills showed like a misty cloud; near by, at the mountain'sfoot, the fields and farmhouses and roads lay, — a picturedmap. About a mile and a half to the south, rose the mountainwhere Nancy Vawse lived, craggy and bare; but the leaflesstrees, and stern, jagged rocks were wrapped in the haze; andthrough this the sun, now near the setting, threw hismellowing rays, touching every slope and ridge with a rich, warm glow. 

Poor Ellen did not heed the picturesque effect of all this, yet the sweet influences of nature reached her, and softenedwhile they increased her sorrow. She felt her own heart sadlyout of tune with the peace and loveliness of all she saw. Hereye sought those distant hills — how very far off they were!and yet all that wide tract of country was but a little pieceof what lay between her and her mother. Her eye sought thosehills — but her mind overpassed them, and went far beyond, over many such a tract, till it reached the loved one at last. "But, oh! how much between! I cannot reach her — she cannotreach me!" thought poor Ellen. Her eyes had been filling anddropping tears for some time, but now came the rush of thepent-up storm, and the floods of grief were kept back nolonger. 

When once fairly excited, Ellen's passions were alwaysextreme. During the former peaceful and happy part of herlife, the occasions of such excitement had been very rare. Oflate, unhappily, they had occurred much oftener. Many were thebitter fits of tears she had known within a few weeks. But nowit seemed as if all the scattered causes of sorrow that hadwrought those tears were gathered together, and pressing uponher at once, and that the burden would crush her to the earth. To the earth it brought her, literally. She slid from her seatat first, and, embracing the stone on which she had sat, sheleaned her head there; but presently in her agony quitting herhold of that, she cast herself down upon the moss, lying atfull length upon the cold ground, which seemed, to herchildish fancy the best friend she had left. But Ellen waswrought up to the last pitch of grief and passion. Tearsbrought no relief. Convulsive weeping only exhausted her. Inthe extremity of her distress and despair, and in that lonelyplace, out of hearing of every one, she sobbed aloud, and evenscreamed, for almost the first time in her life; and thesefits of violence were succeeded by exhaustion, during whichshe ceased to shed tears, and lay quite still, drawing onlylong, sobbing sighs, now and then. 

How long Ellen had lain there, or how long this would havegone on before her strength had been quite worn out, no onecan tell. In one of these fits of forced quiet, when she layas still as the rocks around her, she heard a voice close bysay, "What is the matter, my child?"

The silver sweetness of the tone came singularly upon thetempest in Ellen's mind. She got up hastily, and, brushingaway the tears from her dimmed eyes, she saw a young ladystanding there, and a face, whose sweetness well matched thevoice, looking upon her with grave concern. She stoodmotionless and silent. 

"What is the matter, my dear?"

The tone found Ellen's heart, and brought the water to hereyes again, though with a difference. She covered her facewith her hands. But gentle hands were placed upon hers, anddrew them away; and the lady, sitting down on Ellen's stone, took her in her arms; and Ellen hid her face in the bosom of abetter friend than the cold earth had been like to prove her. But the change overcame her; and the soft whisper, "Don't cryany more, " made it impossible to stop crying. Nothing furtherwas said for some time; the lady waited till Ellen grewcalmer. When she saw her able to answer, she said, gently —

"What does all this mean, my child? What troubles you? Tellme, and I think we can find a way to mend matters. "

Ellen answered the tone of voice with a faint smile, but thewords with another gush of tears. 

"You are Ellen Montgomery, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ma’am. "

"I thought so. This isn't the first time I have seen you; Ihave seen you once before. "

Ellen looked up, surprised. 

"Have you, Ma’am? I am sure I have never seen you. "

"No, I know that. I saw you when you didn't see me. Where, doyou think?"

"I can't tell, I am sure, " said Ellen, — "I can't guess; Ihaven't seen you at Aunt Fortune's, and I haven't beenanywhere else. "

"You have forgotten, " said the lady. "Did you never hear of alittle girl who went to take a walk once upon a time, and hadan unlucky fall into a brook, and then went to a kind oldlady's house, where she was dried, and put to bed, and went tosleep?"

"Oh, yes, " said Ellen. "Did you see me there, Ma’am, and whenI was asleep?"

"I saw you there when you were asleep; and Mrs. Van Brunt toldme who you were, and where you lived; and when I came here, alittle while ago. I knew you again very soon. And I knew whatthe matter was, too, pretty well; but nevertheless, tell meall about it, Ellen; perhaps I can help you. "

Ellen shook her head dejectedly. "Nobody in this world canhelp me, " she said. 

"Then there's One in heaven that can, " said the lady, steadily. "Nothing is too bad for him to mend. Have you asked_His_ help, Ellen?"

Ellen began to weep again. "Oh, if I could, I would tell youall about it, Ma’am, " she said; "but there are so many things— I don't know where to begin — I don't know when I shouldever get through. "

"So many things that trouble you, Ellen?"

"Yes, Ma’am. "

"I am sorry for that, indeed. But never mind, dear, tell mewhat they are. Begin with the worst, and if I haven't time tohear them all now, I'll find time another day. Begin with theworst. "

But she waited in vain for an answer, and became distressedherself at Ellen's distress, which was extreme. 

"Don't cry so, my child — don't cry so, " she said, pressingher in her arms. "What _is_ the matter? Hardly anything in thisworld is so bad it can't be mended. I think I know whattroubles you so — it is that your dear mother is away fromyou, isn't it?"

"Oh, no, Ma’am!" Ellen could scarcely articulate. But, struggling with herself for a minute or two, she then spokeagain, and more clearly. 

"The worst is, — oh! the worst is, — that I meant — I meant —to be a good child, and I have been worse than ever I was inmy life before. "

Her tears gushed forth. 

"But how, Ellen?" said her surprised friend, after a pause. "Idon't quite understand you. When did you 'mean to be a goodchild?' Didn't you always mean so? and what have you beendoing?"

Ellen made a great effort, and ceased crying; straightenedherself — dashed away her tears, as if determined to shed nomore; and presently spoke calmly, though a choking sob everynow and then threatened to interrupt her. 

"I will tell you, Ma’am. That first day I left Mamma — when Iwas on board the steamboat, and feeling as badly as I couldfeel — a kind, kind gentleman — I don't know who he was — cameto me, and spoke to me, and took care of me the whole day. Oh, if I could see him again! He talked to me a great deal — hewanted me to be a Christian — he wanted me to make up my mindto begin that day to be one — and Ma’am, I did. I did resolvewith my whole heart, and I thought I should be different fromthat time from what I had ever been before. But I think I havenever been so bad in my life as I have been since then. Instead of feeling right, I have felt wrong all the time, almost — and I can't help it. I have been passionate andcross, and bad feelings keep coming; and I know it's wrong, and it makes me miserable. And yet, oh! Ma’am, I haven'tchanged my mind a bit — I think just the same as I did thatday; I want to be a Christian more than anything else in theworld, but I am not — and what shall I do?"

Her face sank in her hands again. 

"And this is your great trouble?" said her friend. 

"Yes. "

"Do you remember who said, 'Come unto me, all ye that labourand are heavy laden, and I will give you rest'?"

Ellen looked up inquiringly. 

"You are grieved to find yourself so unlike what you would be. You wish to be a child of the dear Saviour, and to have yourheart filled with his love, and to do what will please him. Doyou? — Have you gone to him day by day, and night by night, and told him so? — have you begged him to give you strength toget the better of your wrong feelings, and asked him to changeyou, and make you his child?"

"At first I did, Ma’am, " said Ellen, in a low voice. 

"Not lately!"

"No, Ma’am;" in a lower tone still, and looking down. 

"Then you have neglected your Bible and prayer for some timepast?"

Ellen hardly uttered, "Yes. "

"Why, my child?"

"I don't know, Ma’am, " said Ellen, weeping — "that is one ofthe things that made me think myself so very wicked. Icouldn't like to read my Bible or pray either, though I alwaysused to before. My Bible lay down quite at the bottom of mytrunk, and I even didn't like to raise my things enough to seethe cover of it. I was so full of bad feelings, I didn't feelfit to pray or read either. "

"Ah! that is the way with the wisest of us, " said hercompanion; "how apt we are to shrink most from our Physicianjust when we are in most need of him! But, Ellen, dear, thatisn't right. No hand but His can touch that sickness you arecomplaining of. Seek it, love — seek it. He will hear and helpyou, no doubt of it, in every trouble you carry simply andhumbly to his feet; — he has _promised_, you know. "

Ellen was weeping very much, but less bitterly than before;the clouds were breaking, and light beginning to shinethrough. 

"Shall we pray together now?" said her companion, after a fewminutes' pause. 

"Oh, if you please, Ma’am, do!" Ellen answered, through hertears. 

And they knelt together there on the moss beside the stone, where Ellen's head rested and her friend's folded hands werelaid. It might have been two children speaking to theirfather, for the simplicity of that prayer; difference of ageseemed to be forgotten, and what suited one suited the other. It was not without difficulty that the speaker carried itcalmly through, for Ellen's sobs went nigh to check her morethan once. When they rose, Ellen silently sought her friend'sarms again, and laying her face on her shoulder and puttingboth arms round her neck, she wept still — but what differenttears! It was like the gentle rain falling through sunshine, after the dark cloud and the thunder and the hurricane havepassed by. And they kissed each other before either of themspoke. 

"You will not forget your Bible and prayer again, Ellen?"

"Oh, no, Ma’am. "

"Then I am sure you will find your causes of trouble growless. I will not hear the rest of them now. In a day or two Ihope you will be able to give me a very different account fromwhat you would have done an hour ago; but, besides that, it isgetting late, and it will not do for us to stay too long uphere; you have a good way to go to reach home. Will you comeand see me to-morrow afternoon?"

"Oh, yes, Ma’am, indeed I will! — if I can; and if you willtell me where. "

"Instead of turning up this little rocky path, you must keepstraight on in the road — that's all: and it's the first houseyou come to. It isn't very far from here. Where were you goingon the mountain?"

"Nowhere, Ma’am. "

"Have you been any higher up than this?"

"No, Ma’am. "

"Then, before we go away, I want to show you something. I'lltake you over the Bridge of the Nose; it isn't but a step ortwo more: a little rough, to be sure, but you mustn't mindthat. "

"What is the 'Bridge of the Nose, ' Ma’am?" said Ellen, as theyleft her resting-place, and began to toil up the path, whichgrew more steep and rocky than ever. 

"You know this mountain is called the Nose. Just here it runsout to a very thin, sharp edge. We shall come to a placepresently where you turn a very sharp corner to get from oneside of the hill to the other; and my brother named it, jokingly, the Bridge of the Nose. "

"Why do they give the mountain such a queer name?" said Ellen. 

"I don't know, I'm sure. The people say that from one point ofview this side of it looks very like a man's nose; but I nevercould find it out, and have some doubt about the fact. But nowhere we are! Just come round this great rock — mind how youstep, Ellen — now, look there!"

The rock they had just turned was at their backs, and theylooked towards the west. Both exclaimed at the beauty beforethem. The view was not so extended as the one they had left. On the north and south the broken wavy outline of mountainsclosed in the horizon; but far to the west stretched anopening between the hills, through which the setting sun senthis long beams, even to their feet. In the distance all was agolden haze; nearer, on the right and left, the hills were litup singularly, and there was a most beautiful mingling ofdeep, hazy shadow, and bright, glowing mountain-sides andridges. A glory was upon the valley. Far down below, at theirfeet, lay a large lake, gleaming in the sunlight; and at theupper end of it, a village of some size showed like a clusterof white dots. 

"How beautiful!" said the lady again. "Ellen, dear, He whosehand raised up those mountains, and has painted them sogloriously, is the very same One who has said, to you and tome, 'Ask and it shall be given you. ' "

Ellen looked up; their eyes met: her answer was in thatgrateful glance. 

The lady sat down and drew Ellen close to her. 

"Do you see that little white village yonder, down at the farend of the lake? that is the village of Carra-carra; and thatis Carra-carra lake; that is where I go to church; you cannotsee the little church from here. My father preaches thereevery Sunday morning. "

"You must have a long way to go, " said Ellen. 

"Yes, a pretty long way, but it's very pleasant, though. Imount my little gray pony, and he carries me there in quicktime, when I will let him. I never wish the way shorter. I goin all sorts of weathers, too, Ellen; Sharp and I don't mindfrost and snow. "

"Who is Sharp?" said Ellen. 

"My pony. An odd name, isn't it? It wasn't of my choosing, Ellen, but he deserves it, if ever pony did. He's a verycunning little fellow. Where do you go, Ellen? to Thirlwall?"

"To church, Ma’am! — I don't go anywhere. "

"Doesn't your aunt go to church?"

"She hasn't since I have been here. "

"What do you do with yourself on Sunday?"

"Nothing, Ma’am; I don't know what to do with myself all theday long. I get tired of being in the house, and I go out ofdoors; and then I get tired of being out of doors, and come inagain. I wanted a kitten dreadfully, but Mr. Van Brunt saidaunt Fortune would not let me keep one. "

"Did you want a kitten to help you keep Sunday, Ellen?" saidher friend, smiling. 

"Yes, I did, Ma’am, " said Ellen, smiling again. "I thought itwould be a great deal of company for me. I got very tired ofreading all day long, and I had nothing to read but the Bible;and you know, Ma’am, I told you I have been all wrong eversince I came here, and I didn't like to read that much. "

"My poor child!" said the lady — "you have been hardlybestead, I think. What if you were to come and spend nextSunday with me? Don't you think I should do instead of akitten?"

"Oh, yes, Ma’am, I am sure of it, " said Ellen, clinging toher. "Oh, I'll come gladly, if you will let me — and if auntFortune will let me; and I hope she will, for she said lastSunday I was the plague of her life. "

"What did you do to make her say so?" said her friend, gravely. 

"Only asked her for some books, Ma’am. "

"Well, my dear, I see I am getting upon another of yourtroubles, and we haven't time for that now. By your ownaccount, you have been much in fault yourself, and I trust youwill find all things mend with your own mending. But now, there goes the sun! — and you and I must follow his example. "

The lake ceased to gleam, and the houses of the village wereless plainly to be seen; still the mountain heads were asbright as ever. Gradually the shadows crept up their sides, while the gray of evening settled deeper and deeper upon thevalley. 

"There, " said Ellen, "that's just what I was wondering at theother morning; only then the light shone upon the top of themountains first, and walked down, and now it leaves the bottomfirst and walks up. I asked Mr. Van Brunt about it, and hecould not tell me. That's another of my troubles; there'snobody that can tell me anything. "

"Put me in mind of it to-morrow, and I'll try to make youunderstand it, " said the lady. "But we must not tarry now. Isee you are likely to find me work enough, Ellen. "

"I'll not ask you a question, Ma’am, if you don't like it, "said Ellen, earnestly. 

"I do like, I do like, " said the other. "I spoke laughingly, for I see you will be apt to ask me a good many. As many asyou please, my dear. "

"Thank you, Ma’am, " said Ellen, as they ran down the hill;"they keep coming into my head all the while. "

It was easier going down than coming up. They soon arrived atthe place where Ellen had left the road to take the wood path. 

"Here we part, " said the lady. "Good night!"

"Good night, Ma’am. "

There was a kiss and a squeeze of the hand; but when Ellenwould have turned away, the lady still held her fast. 

"You are an odd little girl, " said she. "I gave you liberty toask me questions. "

"Yes, Ma’am, " said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"There is a question you have not asked me that I have beenexpecting. Do you know who I am?"

"No, Ma’am. "

"Don't you want to know?"

"Yes, Ma’am, very much, " said Ellen, laughing at her friend'slook; "but Mamma told me never to try to find out anythingabout other people that they didn't wish me to know, or thatwasn't my business. "

"Well, I think this is your business decidedly. Who are yougoing to ask for when you come to see me to-morrow? Will youask for 'the young lady that lives in this house?' or will yougive a description of my nose and eyes and height?"

Ellen laughed. 

"My dear Ellen, " said the lady, changing her tone, "do youknow you please me very much? For one person that showsherself well-bred in this matter, there are a thousand, Ithink, that ask impertinent questions. I am very glad you arean exception to the common rule. But, dear Ellen, I am quitewilling you should know my name — it is Alice Humphreys. Now, kiss me again, and run home; it is quite, quite time; I havekept you too late. Good night, my dear! Tell your aunt I begshe will allow you to take tea with me to-morrow. "

They parted; and Ellen hastened homewards, urged by therapidly-growing dusk of the evening. She trod the green turfwith a step lighter and quicker than it had been a few hoursbefore, and she regained her home in much less time than ithad taken her to come from thence to the mountain. Lights werein the kitchen, and the table set; but though weary and faint, she was willing to forego her supper rather than meet her auntjust then, so she stole quietly up to her room. She did notforget her friend's advice. She had no light; she could notread; but Ellen did pray. She did carry all her heart-sickness, her wants, and her woes, to that Friend whose ear isalways open to hear the cry of those who call upon Him intruth; and then, relieved, refreshed, almost healed, she wentto bed and slept sweetly. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Counsel, Cakes, and Captain Parry. 

Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense that somethingpleasant had happened. Then the joyful reality darted into hermind, and jumping out of bed, she set about her morning workwith a better heart than she had been able to bring to it formany a long day. When she had finished, she went to thewindow. She had found out how to keep it open now, by means ofa big nail stuck in a hole under the sash. It was very early, and in the perfect stillness, the soft gurgle of the littlebrook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned her arms on thewindow-sill, and tasted the morning air; almost wondering atits sweetness, and at the loveliness of field and sky, and thebright eastern horizon. For days and days all had looked darkand sad. 

There were two reasons for the change. In the first place, Ellen had made up her mind to go straight on in the path ofduty; in the second place, she had found a friend. Her littleheart bounded with delight and swelled with thankfulness atthe thought of Alice Humphreys. She was once more at peacewith herself, and had even some notion of being by-and-by atpeace with her aunt; though a sad twinge came over herwhenever she thought of her mother's letter. 

"But there is only one way for me, " she thought; "I'll do asthat dear Miss Humphreys told me — it's good and early, and Ishall have a fine time before breakfast yet to myself. AndI'll get up so every morning and have it! — that'll be thevery best plan I can hit upon. "

As she thought this, she drew forth her Bible from its placeat the bottom of her trunk; and opening it at hazard, shebegan to read the l8th chapter of Matthew. Some of it she didnot quite understand; but she paused with pleasure at the 14thverse. "That means me, " she thought. The 21st and 22d versesstruck her a good deal, but when she came to the last she wasalmost startled. 

"There it is again!" she said. "That is exactly what thatgentleman said to me. I thought I was forgiven, but how can Ibe — for I feel I have not forgiven Aunt Fortune. "

Laying aside her book, Ellen kneeled down; but this onethought so pressed upon her mind, that she could think ofscarce anything else; and her prayer this morning was anurgent and repeated petition that she might be enabled "fromher heart" to forgive her Aunt Fortune "all her trespasses. "Poor Ellen! she felt it was very hard work. At the very minuteshe was striving to feel at peace with her aunt, one grievanceafter another would start up to remembrance, and she knew thefeelings that met them were far enough from the spirit offorgiveness. In the midst of this she was called down. Sherose with tears in her eyes, and "what shall I do?" in herheart. Bowing her head once more, she earnestly prayed that ifshe could not yet _feel_ right towards her aunt, she might bekept at least from acting or speaking wrong. Poor Ellen! Inthe heart is the spring of action; and she found it so thismorning. 

Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt were already at the table. Ellentook her place in silence, for one look at her aunt's facetold her that no "good morning" would be accepted. MissFortune was in a particularly bad humour, owing, among otherthings, to Mr. Van Brunt's having refused to eat his breakfastunless Ellen were called. An unlucky piece of kindness. Sheneither spoke to Ellen nor looked at her; Mr. Van Brunt didwhat in him lay to make amends. He helped her very carefullyto the cold pork and potatoes, and handed her the well-piledplatter of griddle-cakes. 

"Here's the first buckwheats of the season, " said he, — "and Itold Miss Fortune I warn't agoing to eat one on 'em if youdidn't come down to enjoy 'em along with us. Take two — taketwo! — you want 'em to keep each other hot. "

Ellen's look and smile thanked him, as, following his advice, she covered one generous "buckwheat" with another as ample. 

"That's the thing! Now, here's some prime maple. You like 'em, I guess, don't you?"

"I don't know, yet — I have never seen any, " said Ellen. 

"Never seen buckwheats! why, they're most as good as mymother's splitters. Buckwheat cakes and maple molasses —that's food fit for a king, I think — when they're good; andMiss Fortune's are always first-rate. "

Miss Fortune did not relent at all at this compliment. 

"What makes you so white, this morning?" Mr. Van Bruntpresently went on; — "you ain't well, be you?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, doubtfully — "I'm well" —

"She's as well as I am, Mr. Van Brunt, if you don't go and puther up to any notions!" Miss Fortune said, in a kind of chokedvoice. 

Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and said no more to the end ofbreakfast-time. 

Ellen rather dreaded what was to come next, for her aunt'slook was ominous. In dead silence the things were put away, and put up, and in course of washing and drying, when MissFortune suddenly broke forth —

"What did you do with yourself yesterday afternoon?"

"I was up on the mountain, " said Ellen. 

"What mountain?"

"I believe they call it the Nose. "

"What business had you up there?"

"I hadn't any business there. "

"What did you go there for?"

"Nothing. "

"Nothing! — you expect me to believe that? you call yourself atruth-teller, I suppose?"

"Mamma used to say I was, " said poor Ellen, striving toswallow her feelings. 

"Your mother! — I daresay — mothers always are blind. Idaresay she took everything you said for gospel!"

Ellen was silent, from sheer want of words that were pointedenough to suit her. 

"I wish Morgan could have had the gumption to marry in his owncountry; but he must go running after a Scotchwoman! A Yankeewould have brought up his child to be worth something. Give meYankees!"

Ellen set down the cup she was wiping. 

"You don't know anything about my mother, " she said. "Yououghtn't to speak so — it's not right. "

"Why ain't it right, I should like to know?" said MissFortune; — "this is a free country, I guess. Our tongues ain'ttied — we're all free here. "

"I wish we were, " muttered Ellen; — "I know what I'd do. "

"What would you do?" said Miss Fortune. 

Ellen was silent. Her aunt repeated the question in a sharpertone. 

"I oughtn't to say what I was going to, " said Ellen — "I'drather not. "

"I don't care, " said Miss Fortune; "you began, and you shallfinish it. I will hear what it was. "

"I was going to say, if we were all free I would run away. "

"Well, that _is_ a beautiful, well-behaved speech! I am glad tohave heard it. I admire it very much. Now, what were you doingyesterday up on the Nose? Please to go on wiping. There's apile ready for you. What were you doing yesterday afternoon?"

Ellen hesitated. 

"Were you alone, or with somebody?"

"I was alone part of the time. "

"And who were you with the rest of the time?"

"Miss Humphreys. "

"Miss Humphreys! — what were you doing with her?"

"Talking. "

"Did you ever see her before?"

"No, Ma’am. "

"Where did you find her?"

"She found me, up on the hill!"

"What were you talking about?"

Ellen was silent. 

"What were you talking about?" repeated Miss Fortune. 

"I had rather not tell. "

"And I had rather you _should_ tell — so out with it. "

"I was alone with Miss Humphreys, " said Ellen; "and it is nomatter what we were talking about — it doesn't concern anybodybut her and me. "

"Yes it does, it concerns me, " said her aunt, "and I choose toknow; — what were you talking about?"

Ellen was silent. 

"Will you tell me?"

"No, " said Ellen, low, but resolutely. 

"I vow you're enough to try the patience of Job! Look here, "said Miss Fortune, setting down what she had in her hands — "I_will_ know! I don't care what it was, but you shall tell me, orI'll find a way to make you. I'll give you such a —"

"Stop! stop!" said Ellen wildly — "you must not speak to meso! Mamma never did, and you have no _right_ to! If Mamma orPapa were here, you would not _dare_ talk to me so. "

The answer to this was a sharp box on the ear from MissFortune's wet hand. Half stunned, less by the blow than thetumult of feeling it roused, Ellen stood a moment, and thenthrowing down her towel, she ran out of the room, shiveringwith passion, and brushing off the soapy water left on herface as if it had been her aunt's very hand. Violent tearsburst forth as soon as she reached her own room — tears atfirst of anger and mortification only; but consciencepresently began to whisper, "You are wrong! you are wrong!" —and tears of sorrow mingled with the others. 

"Oh!" said Ellen, "why couldn't I keep still? — when I hadresolved so this morning — why couldn't I be quiet? — But sheought not to have provoked me so dreadfully — I couldn't helpit. " "You are wrong, " said conscience again, and her tearsflowed faster. And then came back her morning trouble — theduty and the difficulty of forgiving. Forgive her auntFortune! — with her whole heart in a passion of displeasureagainst her. Alas! Ellen began to feel and acknowledge thatindeed all was wrong. But what to do? There was just onecomfort, the visit to Miss Humphreys in the afternoon. "Shewill tell me, " thought Ellen; "she will help me. But in themean while?"

Ellen had not much time to think; her aunt called her down andset her to work. She was very busy till dinner-time, and veryunhappy; but twenty times in the course of the morning didEllen pause for a moment, and covering her face with her handspray that a heart to forgive might be given her. 

As soon as possible after dinner, she made her escape to herroom that she might prepare for her walk. Conscience was notquite easy that she was going without the knowledge of heraunt. She had debated the question with herself, and could notmake up her mind to hazard losing her visit. 

So she dressed herself very carefully. One of her dark merinoswas affectionately put on; her single pair of white stockings;shoes, ruffle, cape — Ellen saw that all was faultlessly neat, just as her mother used to have it; and the nice blue hood layupon the bed ready to be put on the last thing, when she heardher aunt's voice calling —

"Ellen! — come down and do your ironing — right away, now! theirons are hot. "

For one moment Ellen stood still in dismay; then slowlyundressed, dressed again, and went down stairs. 

"Come! you've been an age, " said Miss Fortune; "now makehaste; there ain't but a handful; and I want to mop up. "

Ellen took courage again — ironed away with right good will;and as there was really but a handful of things, she had soondone, even to taking off the ironing blanket and putting upthe irons. In the mean time she had changed her mind as tostealing off without leave; conscience was too strong for her;and, though with a beating heart, she told of Miss Humphreys'desire and her half engagement. 

"You may go where you like — I am sure I do not care what youdo with yourself, " was Miss Fortune's reply. 

Full of delight at this ungracious permission, Ellen fled upstairs, and dressing much quicker than before, was soon on herway. 

But at first she went rather sadly. In spite of all her goodresolves and wishes, everything that day had gone wrong; andEllen felt that the root of the evil was in her own heart. Some tears fell as she walked. Further from her aunt's house, however, her spirits began to rise; her foot fell lighter onthe greensward. Hope and expectation quickened her steps; andwhen at length she passed the little wood-path, it was almoston a run. Not very far beyond that, her glad eyes saw thehouse she was in quest of. 

It was a large white house; not very white either, for itslast dress of paint had grown old long ago. It stood close bythe road, and the trees of the wood seemed to throng round iton every side. Ellen mounted the few steps that led to thefront door, and knocked; but as she could only just reach thehigh knocker, she was not likely to alarm anybody with thenoise she made. After a great many little faint raps, which, if anybody heard them, might easily have been mistaken for theattacks of some rat's teeth upon the wainscot, Ellen grewweary of her fruitless toil, and of standing on tiptoe, andresolved, though doubtfully, to go round the house and see ifthere was any other way of getting in. Turning the far corner, she saw a long, low out-building or shed, jutting out from theside of the house. On the further side of this, Ellen found anelderly woman, standing in front of the shed, which was thereopen and paved, and wringing some clothes out of a tub ofwater. She was a pleasant woman to look at, very trim andtidy, and a good-humored eye and smile when she saw Ellen. Ellen made up to her, and asked for Miss Humphreys. 

"Why, where in the world did you come from?" said the woman. "I don't receive company at the back of the house. "

"I knocked at the front door till I was tired, " said Ellen, smiling in return. 

"Miss Alice must ha' been asleep. Now, honey, you have come sofar round to find me, will you go a little further and findMiss Alice? Just go round this corner, and keep straight alongtill you come to the glass-door — there you'll find her. Stop!— may be she's asleep; I may as well go along with youmyself. "

She wrung the water from her hands and led the way. 

A little space of green grass stretched in front of the shed, and Ellen found it extended all along that side of the houselike a very narrow lawn; at the edge of it shot up the highforest-trees — nothing between them and the house but thesmooth grass, and a narrow, worn footpath. The woods were nowall brown stems, except here and there a superb hemlock andsome scattered silvery birches. But the grass was still green, and the last day of the Indian summer hung its soft veil overall; the foliage of the forest was hardly missed. They passedanother hall door, opposite the one where Ellen had tried herstrength and patience upon the knocker; a little further onthey paused at the glass-door. One step led to it. Ellen'sconductress looked in first through one of the panes, and thenopening the door, motioned her to enter. 

"Here you are, my new acquaintance, " said Alice, smiling andkissing her. "I began to think something was the matter, youtarried so late. We don't keep fashionable hours in thecountry, you know. But I'm very glad to see you. Take off yourthings, and lay them on that settee by the door. You see I'vea settee for summer and a sofa for winter; for here I am, inthis room, at all times of the year; and a very pleasant roomI think it — don't you?"

"Yes, indeed I do, Ma’am, " said Ellen, pulling off her lastglove. 

"Ah, but wait till you have taken tea with me half a dozentimes, and then see if you don't say it is pleasant. Nothingcan be so pleasant that is quite new. But now come here andlook out of this window or door, whichever you choose to callit. Do you see what a beautiful view I have here? The wood wasjust as thick all along as it is on the right and left; I felthalf smothered to be so shut in, so I got my brother andThomas to take axes and go to work there; and many a largetree they cut down for me, till you see they opened a waythrough the woods, for the view of that beautiful stretch ofcountry. I should grow melancholy if I had that wall of treespressing on my vision all the time; it always comforts me tolook off, far away, to those distant blue hills. "

"Aren't those the hills I was looking at yesterday?" saidEllen. 

"From up on the mountain? — the very same; this is part of thevery same view, and a noble view it is. Every morning, Ellen, the sun, rising behind those hills, shines in through thisdoor and lights up my room; and in winter he looks in at thatsouth window, so I have him all the time. To be sure, if Iwant to see him set, I must take a walk for it but that isn'tunpleasant; and you know we cannot have everything at once. "

It was a very beautiful extent of woodland, meadow, and hill, that was seen picture-fashion through the gap cut in theforest; the wall of trees on each side serving as a frame toshut it in, and the descent of the mountain, from almost theedge of the lawn, being very rapid. The opening had beenskilfully cut; the effect was remarkable, and very fine; thelight on the picture being often quite different from that onthe frame or on the hither side of the frame. 

"Now, Ellen, " said Alice, turning from the window, "take agood look at my room. I want you to know it and feel at homein it; for whenever you can run away from your aunt's, this isyour home — do you understand?"

A smile was on each face. Ellen felt that she wasunderstanding it very fast. 

"Here, next the door, you see, is my summer settee; and insummer it very often walks out of doors to accommodate peopleon the grass-plat. I have a great fancy for taking tea out ofdoors, Ellen, in warm weather; and if you do not mind amusquito or two, I shall be always happy to have your company. That door opens into the hall; look out and see, for I wantyou to get the geography of the house. That odd-looking, lumbering, painted concern is my cabinet of curiosities. Itried my best to make the carpenter man at Thirlwallunderstand what sort of a thing I wanted, and did all but showhim how to make it; but, as the southerners say, 'he hasn'tmade it right nohow!' There I keep my dried flowers, myminerals, and a very odd collection of curious things of allsorts that I am constantly picking up. I'll show you them someday, Ellen. Have you a fancy for curiosities?"

"Yes, Ma’am, I believe so. "

"Believe so! not more sure than that? Are you a lover of deadmoths, and empty beetle-skins, and butterflies' wings, and drytufts of moss, and curious stones, and pieces of ribbon-grass, and strange birds' nests? These are some of the things I usedto delight in when I was about as old as you. "

"I don't know, Ma’am, " said Ellen. "I never was where I couldget them. "

"Weren't you? Poor child! Then you have been shut up to brickwalls and paving-stones all your life?"

"Yes, Ma’am, all my life. "

"But now you have seen a little of the country — don't youthink you shall like it better?"

"Oh, a great deal better!"

"Ah, that's right. I am sure you will. On that other side, yousee, is my winter sofa. It's a very comfortable resting-place, I can tell you, Ellen, as I have proved by many a sweet nap;and its old chintz covers are very pleasant to me, for Iremember them as far back as I remember anything. "

There was a sigh here; but Alice passed on, and opened a doornear the end of the sofa. 

"Look in here, Ellen; this is my bedroom. "

"Oh, how lovely!" Ellen exclaimed. 

The carpet covered only the middle of the floor; the rest waspainted white. The furniture was common but neat as wax. Amplecurtains of white dimity clothed the three windows, andlightly draped the bed. The toilet-table was covered withsnow-white muslin, and by the toilet-cushion stood, late as itwas, a glass of flowers. Ellen thought it must be a pleasureto sleep there. 

"This, " said Alice, when they came out, "between my door andthe fireplace, is a cupboard. Here be cups and saucers, and soforth. In that other corner beyond the fireplace you see myflower-stand. Do you love flowers, Ellen?"

"I love them dearly, Miss Alice. "

"I have some pretty ones out yet, and shall have one or two inthe winter; but I can't keep a great many here; I haven't roomfor them. I have hard work to save these from frost. There's abeautiful daphne that will be out by-and-by, and make thewhole house sweet. But here, Ellen, on this side, between thewindows, is my greatest treasure — my precious books. Allthese are mine. Now, my dear, it is time to introduce you tomy most excellent of easy-chairs — the best things in theroom, aren't they? Put yourself in that; now do you feel athome?"

"Very much indeed, Ma’am, " said Ellen, laughing, as Aliceplaced her in the deep easy-chair. 

There were two things in the room that Alice had notmentioned; and while she mended the fire, Ellen looked atthem. One was the portrait of a gentleman, grave and good-looking; this had very little of her attention. The other wasthe counter-portrait of a lady; a fine, dignified countenancethat had a charm for Ellen. It hung over the fireplace in anexcellent light; and the mild eye, and somewhat of a peculiarexpression about the mouth, bore such likeness to Alice, though older, that Ellen had no doubt whose it was. 

Alice presently drew a chair close to Ellen's side, and kissedher. 

"I trust, my child, " she said, "that you feel better to-daythan you did yesterday?"

"Oh, I do, Ma’am — a great deal better, " Ellen answered. 

"Then I hope the reason is that you have returned to yourduty, and are resolved not to be a Christian by-and-by, but tolead a Christian's life now?"

"I have resolved so, Ma’am — I did resolve so last night andthis morning; but yet I have been doing nothing but wrong allto-day. "

Alice was silent. Ellen's lips quivered for a moment, and thenshe went on —

"Oh, Ma’am, how I have wanted to see you to-day to tell mewhat I _should_ do! I resolved and resolved this morning; andthen, as soon as I got down-stairs, I began to have badfeelings towards Aunt Fortune, and I have been full of badfeelings all day; and I couldn't help it. "

"It will not do to say that we cannot help what is wrong, Ellen. What is the reason that you have bad feelings towardsyour aunt?"

"She don't like me, Ma’am. "

"But how happens that, Ellen? I am afraid you don't like her. "

"No, Ma’am, I don't to be sure; how can I?"

"Why cannot you, Ellen?"

"Oh, I can't, Ma’am! I wish I could. But, oh! Ma’am, I shouldhave liked her — I might have liked her, if she had been kind, but she never has. Even that first night I came she neverkissed me nor said she was glad to see me. "

"That was failing in kindness, certainly, but is she unkind toyou, Ellen?"

"Oh, yes, Ma’am, indeed she is. She talks to me, and talks tome, in a way that almost drives me out of my wits; and to-dayshe even struck me! She has no right to do it, " said Ellen, firing with passion; "she has no _right_ to! and she has noright to talk as she does about Mamma. She did it to-day, andshe has done it before. I can't bear it! and I can't bear _her!_I can't _bear_ her!"

"Hush, hush, " said Alice, drawing the excited child to herarms, for Ellen had risen from her seat — "you must not talkso, Ellen; you are not feeling right now. "

"No, Ma’am, I am not, " said Ellen, coldly and sadly. She sat amoment, and then turning to her companion, put both arms roundher neck, and hid her face on her shoulder again; and, withoutraising it, she gave her the history of the morning. 

"What has brought about this dreadful state of things?" saidAlice, after a few minutes. "Whose fault is it, Ellen?"

"I think it is Aunt Fortune's fault, " said Ellen, raising herhead; "I don't think it is mine. If she had behaved well tome, I should have behaved well to her. I meant to, I am sure. "

"Do you mean to say you do not think you have been in fault atall in the matter?"

"No, Ma’am, I do not mean to say that. I have been very muchin fault, very often — I know that. I get very angry andvexed, and sometimes I say nothing, but sometimes I get out ofall patience and say things I ought not. I did so to-day; butit is so very hard to keep still when I am in such a passion, and now I have got to feel so towards Aunt Fortune that Idon't like the sight of her; I hate the very look of herbonnet hanging up on the wall. I know it isn't right; and itmakes me miserable; and I can't help it, for I grow worse andworse every day — and what shall I do?"

Ellen's tears came faster than her words. 

"Ellen, my child, " said Alice, after a while, "There is butone way. You know what I said to you yesterday?"

"I know it; but, dear Miss Alice, in my reading this morning Icame to that verse that speaks about not being forgiven if wedo not forgive others; and oh! how it troubles me! for I can'tfeel that I forgive Aunt Fortune; I feel vexed whenever thethought of her comes into my head; and how can I behave rightto her while I feel so?"

"You are right there, my dear; you cannot, indeed. The heartmust be set right before the life can be. "

"But what shall I do to set it right?"

"Pray. "

"Dear Miss Alice, I have been praying all this morning that Imight forgive Aunt Fortune, and yet I cannot do it. "

"Pray still, my dear, " said Alice, pressing her closer in herarms — "pray still; if you are in earnest, the answer willcome. But there is something else you can do, and must do, Ellen, besides praying, or praying may be in vain. "

"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"

"You acknowledge yourself in fault; have you made all theamends you can? Have you, as soon as you have seen yourself inthe wrong, gone to your aunt Fortune and acknowledged it, andhumbly asked her pardon?"

Ellen answered "No" in a low voice. 

"Then, my child, your duty is plain before you. The next thingafter doing wrong is to make all the amends in your power;confess your fault, and ask forgiveness, both of God and man. Pride struggles against it — I see yours does; but, my child, 'God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble. ' "

Ellen burst into tears, and cried heartily. 

"Mind your own wrong doings, my child, and you will not behalf so disposed to quarrel with those of other people. But, Ellen, dear, if you will not humble yourself to this, you mustnot count upon an answer to your prayer. 'If thou bring thygift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hathaught against thee' — what then? — 'Leave there thy giftbefore the altar; go first and be reconciled to thy brother, and then come. ' "

"But it is so hard to forgive!" sobbed Ellen. 

"Hard? Yes, it is hard when our hearts are so. But there islittle love to Christ, and no just sense of his love to us, inthe heart that finds it hard. Pride and selfishness make ithard; the heart full of love to the dear Saviour cannot lay upoffences against itself. "

"I have said quite enough, " said Alice, after a pause; "youknow what you want, my dear Ellen, and what you ought to do. Ishall leave you for a little while to change my dress, for Ihave been walking and riding all the morning. Make a good useof the time while I am gone. "

Ellen did make good use of the time. When Alice returned, shemet her with another face than she had worn all that day, humbler and quieter; and flinging her arms around her, shesaid —

"I will ask Aunt Fortune's forgiveness; — I feel I can do itnow. "

"And how about _forgiving_, Ellen?"

"I think God will help me to forgive her, " said Ellen; "I haveasked him. At any rate I will ask her to forgive me. But oh!Miss Alice, what would have become of me without you!"

"Don't lean upon me, dear Ellen; remember you have a betterFriend than I always near you; trust in Him; if I have doneyou any good, don't forget it was He brought me to youyesterday afternoon. "

"There's just one thing that troubles me now, " said Ellen, —"Mamma's letter. I am thinking of it all the time; I feel asif I should fly to get it!"

"We'll see about that. Cannot you ask your aunt for it?"

"I don't like to. "

"Take care, Ellen; there is some pride there yet. "

"Well, I will try, " said Ellen. "but sometimes, I know, shewould not give it to me if I were to ask her. But I'll try, ifI can. "

"Well, now to change the subject — at what o'clock did youdine to-day?"

"I don't know, Ma’am — at the same time we always do, Ibelieve. "

"And that is twelve o'clock, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma’am; but I was so full of coming here and otherthings? that I couldn't eat. "

"Then I suppose you would have no objection to an early tea?"

"No, Ma’am — whenever you please, " said Ellen? laughing. 

"I shall please it pretty soon. I have had no dinner at allto-day, Ellen; I have been out and about all the morning, andhad just taken a little nap when you came in. Come this way, and let me show you some of my house-keeping. "

She led the way across the hall to the room on the oppositeside; a large, well-appointed, and spotlessly neat kitchen. Ellen could not help exclaiming at its pleasantness. 

"Why, yes — I think it is. I have been in many a parlour thatI do not like as well. Beyond this is a lower kitchen, whereMargery does all her rough work; nothing comes up the stepsthat lead from that to this but the very nicest and daintiestof kitchen matters. Margery, is my father gone to Thirlwall?"

"No, Miss Alice — he's at Carra-carra — Thomas heard him sayhe wouldn't be back early. "

"Well, I shall not wait for him. Margery, if you will put thekettle on and see to the fire, I'll make some of my cakes fortea. "

"I'll do it, Miss Alice; it's not good for you to go so longwithout eating. "

Alice now rolled up her sleeves above the elbows, and tying alarge white apron before her, set about gathering thedifferent things she wanted for her work, to Ellen's greatamusement. A white moulding-board was placed upon a table aswhite; and round it soon grouped the pail of flour, the plateof nice yellow butter, the bowl of cream, the sieve, tray, andsundry etceteras. And then, first sifting some flour into thetray, Alice began to throw in the other things one afteranother, and toss the whole about with a carelessness thatlooked as if all would go wrong, but with a confidence thatseemed to say all was going right. Ellen gazed in comicalwonderment. 

"Did you think cakes were made without hands?" said Alice, laughing at her look. "You saw me wash mine before I began. "

"Oh! I'm not thinking of that, " said Ellen; "I am not afraidof your hands. "

"Did you never see your mother do this?" said Alice, who wasnow turning and rolling about the dough upon the board in away that seemed to Ellen curious beyond expression. 

"No, never, " she said. "Mamma never kept house, and I neversaw anybody do it. "

"Then your aunt does not let you into the mysteries of breadand butter-making!"

"Butter-making! Oh, " said Ellen, with a sigh, "I have enoughof that!"

Alice now applied a smooth wooden roller to the cake with suchquickness and skill, that the lump forthwith lay spread uponthe board in a thin even layer, and she next cut it intolittle round cakes with the edge of a tumbler. Half the boardwas covered with the nice little white things, which Ellendeclared looked good enough to eat already; and she had quiteforgotten all possible causes of vexation, past, present, orfuture, when suddenly a large gray cat jumped upon the table, and coolly walking upon the moulding-board, planted his pawdirectly in the middle of one of his mistress's cakes. 

"Take him off — oh, Ellen!" cried Alice, — "take him off! Ican't touch him. "

But Ellen was a little afraid. 

Alice then tried gently to shove puss off with her elbow; buthe seemed to think that was very good fun, — purred, whiskedhis great tail over Alice's bare arm, and rubbed his headagainst it, having evidently no notion that he was not justwhere he ought to be. Alice and Ellen were too much amused totry any violent method of relief, but Margery happily comingin, seized puss in both hands and set him on the floor. 

"Just look at the print of his paw in that cake, " said Ellen. 

"He has set his mark on it, certainly. I think it is his now, by the right of possession if not the right of discovery. "

"I think he discovered the cakes too, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"Why, yes. He shall have that one baked for his supper. "

"Does he like cakes?"

"Indeed he does. Captain Parry is very particular and delicateabout his eating. "

"Captain Parry!" said Ellen, — "is that his name?"

"Yes, " said Alice, laughing; "I don't wonder you lookastonished, Ellen. I have had that cat five years, and when hewas first given me, by my brother Jack, who was younger thenthan he is now, and had been reading Captain Parry's _Voyages_, gave him that name, and would have him called so. Oh, Jack!"said Alice, half laughing and half crying. 

Ellen wondered why. But she went to wash her hands, and whenher face was again turned to Ellen, it was unruffled as ever. 

"Margery, my cakes are ready, " said she, "and Ellen and I areready too. "

"Very well, Miss Alice — the kettle is just going to boil; youshall have tea in a trice. I'll do some eggs for you. "

"Something — anything, " said Alice; "I feel one cannot livewithout eating. Come, Ellen, you and I will go and set thetea-table. "

Ellen was very happy arranging the cups and saucers and otherthings that Alice handed her from the cupboard; and when, afew minutes after, the tea and the cakes came in, and she andAlice were cozily seated at supper, poor Ellen hardly knewherself, in such a pleasant state of things. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Difficulty of doing right. 

"Ellen dear, " said Alice as she poured out Ellen's second cupof tea, "have we run through the list of your troubles?"

"Oh, no, Miss Alice, indeed we haven't; but we have gotthrough the worst. "

"Is the next one so bad it would spoil our supper?"

"No, " said Ellen, "it couldn't do that, but it's bad enough, though; it's about my not going to school. Miss Alice, Ipromised myself I would learn so much while Mamma was away, and surprise her when she came back, but instead of that I amnot learning anything. I don't mean not learning _anything_, "said Ellen, correcting herself; "but I can't do much. When Ifound Aunt Fortune wasn't going to send me to school, Idetermined I would try to study by myself; and I have tried;but I can't get along. "

"Well, now, don't lay down your knife and fork and look sodoleful, " said Alice, smiling; "this is a matter I can helpyou in. What are you studying?"

"Some things I can manage well enough, " said Ellen — "the easythings; but I cannot understand my arithmetic without some oneto explain it to me: and French I can do nothing at all with, and that is what I wanted to learn most of all; and often Iwant to ask questions about my history. "

"Suppose, " said Alice, "you go on studying by yourself as muchand as well as you can, and bring your books up to me two orthree times a week; I will hear and explain and answerquestions to your heart's content, unless you should be toohard for me. What do you say to that?"

Ellen said nothing to it, but the colour that rushed to hercheeks — the surprised look of delight — were answer enough. 

"It will do, then, " said Alice; "and I have no doubt we shalluntie the knot of those arithmetical problems very soon. But, Ellen, my dear, I cannot help you in French, for I do not knowit myself. What will you do about that?"

"I don't know, Ma’am; I am sorry. "

"So am I, for your sake. I can help you in Latin, if thatwould be any comfort to you. "

"It wouldn't be much comfort to me, " said Ellen, laughing;"Mamma wanted me to learn Latin, but I wanted to learn Frencha great deal more; I don't care about Latin except to pleaseher. "

"Permit me to ask if you know English?"

"Oh, yes, Ma’am, I hope so; I knew that a great while ago. "

"Did you? I am very happy to make your acquaintance then; forthe number of young ladies who do know English is, in myopinion, remarkably small. Are you sure of the fact, Ellen?"

"Why, yes, Miss Alice. "

"Will you undertake to write me a note of two pages that shallnot have one fault of grammar, nor one word spelt wrong, noranything in it that is not good English? You may take for asubject the history of this afternoon. "

"Yes, Ma’am, if you wish it. I hope I can write a note thatlong without making mistakes. "

Alice smiled. 

"I will not stop to inquire, " she said, "whether _that long_ isLatin or French; but Ellen, my dear, it is not English. "

Ellen blushed a little, though she laughed too. 

"I believe I have got into the way of saying that by hearingAunt Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt say it; I don't think I everdid before I came here. "

"What are you so anxious to learn French for?"

"Mamma knows it, and I have often heard her talk French with agreat many people; and papa and I always wanted to be able totalk it too; and Mamma wanted me to learn it; she said therewere a great many French books I ought to read. "

"That last is true, no doubt. Ellen, I will make a bargainwith you, — if you will study English with me, I will studyFrench with you. "

"Dear Miss Alice, " said Ellen, caressing her, "I'll do itwithout that; I'll study anything you please. "

"Dear Ellen, I believe you would. But I should like to know itfor my own sake; we'll study it together; we shall get alongnicely, I have no doubt; we can learn to read it at least, andthat is the main point. "

"But how shall we know what to call the words?" said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"That is a grave question, " said Alice, smiling. "I am afraidwe should hit upon a style of pronunciation that a Frenchmanwould make nothing of. I have it!" she exclaimed, clapping herhands; "where there's a will there's a way — it always happensso. Ellen, I have an old friend upon the mountain who willgive us exactly what we want, unless I am greatly mistaken. We'll go and see her; that is the very thing! — my old friendMrs. Vawse. "

"Mrs. Vawse!" repeated Ellen; "not the grandmother of thatNancy Vawse?"

"The very same. Her name is not Vawse — the country peoplecall it so, and I being one of the country people have falleninto the way of it; but her real name is Vosier. She was borna Swiss, and brought up in a wealthy French family, as thepersonal attendant of a young lady to whom she becameexceedingly attached. This lady finally married an Americangentleman; and so great was Mrs. Vawse's love to her, that sheleft country and family to follow her here. In a few years hermistress died; she married; and since that time she has beentossed from trouble to trouble — a perfect sea of troubles —till now she is left like a wreck upon this mountain top. Afine wreck she is! I go to see her very often, and next time Iwill call for you and we will propose our French plan; nothingwill please her better, I know. By the way, Ellen, are you aswell versed in the other common branches of education as youare in your mother tongue?"

"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"

"Geography, for instance; do you know it well?"

"Yes, Ma’am; I believe so; I am sure I have studied it till Iam sick of it. "

"Can you give me the boundaries of Great Thibet or Peru?"

Ellen hesitated. 

"I had rather not try, " she said — "I am not sure. I can'tremember those queer countries in Asia and South America, halfso well as Europe and North America. "

"Do you know anything about the surface of the country inItaly or France — the character and condition of the people —what kind of climate they have, and what grows there mostfreely?"

"Why, no, Ma’am, " said Ellen; "nobody ever taught me that. "

"Would you like to go over the atlas again, talking about allthese matters, as well as the mere outlines of the countriesyou have studied before?"

"Oh, yes, dearly!" exclaimed Ellen. 

"Well, I think we may let Margery have the tea-things. Buthere is Captain's cake. "

"Oh, may I give him his supper?" said Ellen. 

"Certainly. You must carve it for him; you know I told you heis very particular. Give him some of the egg, too — he likesthat. Now, where is the Captain?"

Not far off; for scarcely had Alice opened the door and calledhim once or twice, when, with a queer little note of answer, he came hurriedly trotting in. 

"He generally has his supper in the outer kitchen, " said Alice— "but I grant him leave to have it here to-night, as aparticular honour to him and you. "

"How handsome he is! and how large!" said Ellen. 

"Yes, he is very handsome; and more than that, he is verysensible for a cat. Do you see how prettily his paws aremarked? Jack used to say he had white gloves on. "

"And white boots, too, " said Ellen. "No, only one leg iswhite; pussy's boots aren't mates. Is he good-natured?"

"Very — if you don't meddle with him. "

"I don't call that being good-natured, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"Nor I; but truth obliges me to say, the Captain does notpermit anybody to take liberties with him. He is a character, Captain Parry. Come out on the lawn, Ellen, and we will letMargery clear away. "

"What a pleasant face Margery has!" said Ellen, as the doorclosed behind them; "and what a pleasant way she has ofspeaking! I like to hear her; the words come out so clear, andI don't know how, but not like other people. "

"You have a quick ear, Ellen; you are very right. Margery hadlived too long in England before she came here to lose hertrick of speech afterwards. But Thomas speaks as thick as aYankee, and always did. "

"Then Margery is English?" said Ellen. 

"To be sure. She came over with us twelve years ago for thepure love of my father and mother; and I believe now she looksupon John and me as her own children. I think she couldscarcely love us more if we were so in truth. Thomas — youhaven't seen Thomas yet, have you?"

"No. "

"He is an excellent good man in his way, and as faithful asthe day is long — but he isn't equal to his wife. Perhaps I ampartial; Margery came to America for the love of us, andThomas came for the love of Margery — there's a difference. "

"But, Miss Alice!" —

"What, Miss Ellen?"

"You said Margery came over _with you?_"

"Yes; is that what makes you look so astonished?"

"But then you are English, too?"

"Well, what of that? you won't love me the less, will you?"

"Oh, no, " said Ellen; "my own mother came from Scotland, AuntFortune says. "

"I am English born, Ellen, but you may count me half American, if you like, for I have spent rather more than half my lifehere. Come this way, Ellen, and I'll show you my garden. It issome distance off, but as near as a spot could be found fitfor it. "

They quitted the house by a little steep path leading down themountain, which in two or three minutes brought them to aclear bit of ground. It was not large, but lying very prettilyamong the trees, with an open view to the east and south-east. On the extreme edge, and at the lower end of it, was fixed arude bench, well sheltered by the towering forest trees. HereAlice and Ellen sat down. 

It was near sunset; the air cool and sweet; the evening lightupon field and sky. 

"How fair it is!" said Alice, musingly — "how fair and lovely!Look at those long shadows of the mountains, Ellen; and howbright the light is on the far hills! It won't be so long. Alittle while more, and our Indian summer will be over — andthen the clouds, the frost, and the wind, and the snow. Well —let them come. "

"I wish they wouldn't, I am sure, " said Ellen. "I am sorryenough they are coming. "

"Why? all seasons have their pleasures. I am not sorry at all;I like the cold very much. "

"I guess you wouldn't, Miss Alice, if you had to wash everymorning where I do?"

"Why, where is that?"

"Down at the spout. "

"At the _spout_ — what is that, pray?"

"The spout of water, Ma’am, just down a little way from thekitchen door. The water comes in a little, long, very long, trough from a spring at the back of the pig-field; and at theend of the trough, where it pours out, is the spout. "

"Have you no conveniences for washing in your room?"

"Not a sign of such a thing, Ma’am. I have washed at the spoutever since I have been here, " said Ellen, laughing in spite ofher vexation. 

"And do the pigs share the water with you?"

"The pigs! Oh, no, Ma’am; the trough is raised up from theground on little heaps of stones; they can't get at the water, unless they drink at the spring, and I don't think they dothat, so many big stones stand around it. "

"Well, Ellen, I must say that is rather uncomfortable, evenwithout any danger of four-footed society. "

"It isn't so bad just now, " said Ellen, "in this warm weather;but in that cold time we had a week or two back — do youremember, Miss Alice? — just before the Indian summer began? —oh, how disagreeable it was! Early in the morning, you know;the sun scarcely up, and the cold wind blowing my hair and myclothes all about; and then that board before the spout that Ihave to stand on, is always kept wet by the spattering of thewater, and it's muddy besides, and very slippery — there's akind of green stuff comes upon it; and I can't stoop down forfear of muddying myself; I have to tuck my clothes round meand bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water tomy face in the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to dothat a great many times before I get enough. I can't helplaughing, " said Ellen, "but it isn't a laughing matter, forall that. "

"So you wash your face in your hands, and have no pitcher buta long wooden trough? Poor child! I am sorry for you; I thinkyou must have some other way of managing before the snowcomes. "

"The water is bitter cold already, " said Ellen; "it's thecoldest water I ever saw. Mamma gave me a nice dressing-boxbefore I came away, but I found very soon this was a queerplace for a dressing-box to come to. Why, Miss Alice, if Itake out my brush or comb, I haven't any table to lay them onbut one that's too high, and my poor dressing-box has to stayon the floor. And I haven't a sign of a bureau — all my thingsare tumbling about in my trunk. "

"I think if I were in your place I would not permit that, atany rate, " said Alice; "if my things were confined to mytruck, I would have them keep good order there, at least. "

"Well, so they do, " said Ellen — "pretty good order; I didn'tmean 'tumbling about' exactly. "

"Always try to say what you mean _exactly_. —

"But now, Ellen, love, do you know I must send you away? Doyou see, the sunlight has quitted those distant hills, and itwill be quite gone soon. You must hasten home. "

Ellen made no answer. Alice had taken her on her lap again, and she was nestling there with her friend's arms wrappedaround her. Both were quite still for a minute. 

"Next week, if nothing happens, we will begin to be busy withour books. You shall come to me Tuesday and Friday; and allthe other days you must study as hard as you can at home; forI am very particular, I forewarn you. "

"But suppose Aunt Fortune should not let me come?" said Ellen, without stirring. 

"Oh, she will. You need not speak about it; I'll come down andask her myself, and nobody ever refuses me anything. "

"I shouldn't think they would, " said Ellen. 

"Then, don't you set the first example, " said Alice, laughingly. "I ask you to be cheerful and happy, and growwiser and better every day. "

"Dear Miss Alice, how can I promise that?"

"Dear Ellen, it is very easy. There is One who has promised tohear and answer you when you cry to him; he will make you inhis own likeness again; and to know and love him and not behappy is impossible. That blessed Saviour!" said Alice — "oh, what should you and I do without him, Ellen? 'as rivers ofwaters in a dry place; as the shadow of a great rock in aweary land;' — how beautiful — how true! —how often I think ofthat!"

Ellen was silent, though entering into the feeling of thewords. 

"Remember Him, dear Ellen; remember your best Friend. Learnmore of Christ, our dear Saviour, and you can't help but behappy. Never fancy you are helpless and friendless while youhave him to go to. Whenever you feel wearied and sorry, fleeto the shadow of that great rock — will you? — and do youunderstand me?"

"Yes, Ma’am — yes, Ma’am, " said Ellen, as she lifted her lipsto kiss her friend. Alice heartily returned the kiss, andpressing Ellen in her arms, said —

"Now Ellen, dear, you _must go;_ I dare not keep you any longer. It will be too late now, I fear, before you reach home. "

Quick they mounted the little path again, and soon were at thehouse; and Ellen was putting on her things. 

"Next Tuesday remember, — but before that! Sunday — you are tospend Sunday with me; come bright and early. "

"How early?"

"Oh, as early as you please — before breakfast — and ourSunday morning breakfasts aren't late, Ellen; we have to setoff betimes to go to church. "

Kisses and good-byes; and then Ellen was running down the roadat a great rate; for twilight was beginning to gather, and shehad a good way to go. 

She ran till out of breath; then walked awhile to gatherbreath; then ran again. Running down hill is a pretty quickway of travelling; so before very long she saw her aunt'shouse at a distance. She walked now. She had come all the wayin good spirits, though with a sense upon her mind ofsomething disagreeable to come; when she saw the house, thisdisagreeable something swallowed up all her thoughts, and shewalked leisurely on, pondering what she had to do, and whatshe was like to meet in the doing of it. 

"If Aunt Fortune should be in a bad humour — and say somethingto vex me — but I'll not be vexed. But it will be very hard tohelp it; — but I _will not_ be vexed; — I have done wrong, andI'll tell her so, and ask her to forgive me; — it will be hard— but I'll do it — I'll say what I ought to say, and then, however she takes it, I shall have the comfort of knowing Ihave done right. " "But, " said conscience, "you must not say itstiffly and proudly; you must say it humbly and as if youreally felt and meant it. " "I will, " said Ellen. 

She paused in the shed, and looked through the window, to seewhat was the promise of things within. Not good; her aunt'sstep sounded heavy and ominous; Ellen guessed she was not in apleasant state of mind. She opened the door — no doubt of it —the whole air of Miss Fortune's figure, to the veryhandkerchief that was tied round her head, spoke displeasure. 

"She isn't in a good mood, " said Ellen, as she went upstairsto leave her bonnet and cape there; — "I never knew her to begood-humoured when she had that handkerchief on. "

She returned to the kitchen immediately. Her aunt was busiedin washing and wiping the dishes. 

"I have come home rather late, " said Ellen, pleasantly; —"shall I help you, Aunt Fortune?"

Her aunt cast a look at her. 

"Yes, you may help me. Go and put on a pair of white gloves, and a silk apron, and then you'll be ready. "

Ellen looked down at herself. "Oh, my merino! I forgot aboutthat. I'll go and change it. "

Miss Fortune said nothing, and Ellen went. 

When she came back, the things were all wiped, and as she wasabout to put some of them away, her aunt took them out of herhands, bidding her "go and sit down!"

Ellen obeyed, and was mute; while Miss Fortune dashed roundwith a display of energy there seemed to be no particular callfor, and speedily had everything in its place, and allstraight and square about the kitchen. When she was, as a lastthing, brushing the crumbs from the floor into the fire, shebroke the silence again. The old grandmother sat in thechimney corner, but she seldom was very talkative in thepresence of her stern daughter. 

"What did you come home for, to-night? Why didn't you stay atMr. Humphreys'?"

"Miss Alice didn't ask me. "

"That means, I suppose, that you would if she had?"

"I don't know, Ma’am; Miss Alice wouldn't have asked me to doanything that wasn't right. "

"Oh, no! — of course not! — Miss Alice is a piece ofperfection; everybody says so; and I suppose you'd sing thesame song who haven't seen her three times. "

"Indeed I would, " said Ellen; "I could have told that in oneseeing. I'd do anything in the world for Miss Alice. "

"Ay — I daresay — that's the way of it. You can show not onebit of goodness or pleasantness to the person that does themost for you, and has all the care of you — but the firststranger that comes along, you can be all honey to them, andmake yourself out too good for common folks, and go and tellgreat tales how you are used at home, I suppose. I am sick ofit!" said Miss Fortune, setting up the hand-irons and throwingthe tongs and shovel into the corner in a way that made theiron ring again. "One might as good be a step-mother at once, and done with it! Come, mother, it's time for you to go tobed. "

The old lady rose with the meekness of habitual submission, and went up-stairs with her daughter. Ellen had time tobethink herself while they were gone, and resolved to lose notime when her aunt came back in doing what she had to do. Shewould fain have persuaded herself to put it off. "It is late, "she said to herself; "it isn't a good time. It will be betterto go to bed now, and ask Aunt Fortune's pardon to-morrow. "But conscience said, "_First_ be reconciled to thy brother. "

Miss Fortune came down stairs presently. But before Ellencould get any words out, her aunt prevented her. 

"Come, light your candle and be off — I want you out of theway; I can't do anything with half a dozen people about. "

Ellen rose. "I want to say something to you first, AuntFortune. "

"Say it, and be quick; I haven't time to stand talking. "

"Aunt Fortune, " said Ellen, stumbling over her words — "I wantto tell you that I know I was wrong this morning, and I amsorry, and I hope you'll forgive me. "

A kind of indignant laugh escaped from Miss Fortune's lips. 

"It's easy talking; I'd rather have acting. I'd rather seepeople mend their ways than stand and make speeches aboutthem. Being sorry don't help the matter much. "

"But I will try not to do so any more, " said Ellen. 

"When I see you don't, I shall begin to think there issomething in it. Actions speak louder than words. I don'tbelieve in this jumping into goodness all at once. "

"Well, I will try not to, at any rate, " said Ellen, sighing. 

"I shall be very glad to see it. What has brought you intothis sudden fit of dutifulness and fine talking?"

"Miss Alice told me I ought to ask your pardon for what I haddone wrong, " said Ellen, scarce able to keep from crying; "andI know I did wrong this morning, and I did wrong the other dayabout the letter; and I am sorry, whether you believe it orno. "

"Miss Alice told you, did she? So all this is to please MissAlice. I suppose you were afraid your friend Miss Alice wouldhear of some of your goings on, and thought you had bettermake up with me. Is that it?"

Ellen answered, "No, Ma’am, " in a low tone, but had no voiceto say more. 

"I wish Miss Alice would look after her own affairs, and letother people's houses alone. That's always the way with yourpieces of perfection — they're eternally finding out somethingthat isn't as it ought to be among their neighbours. I thinkpeople that don't set up for being quite such great things, get along quite as well in the world. "

Ellen was strongly tempted to reply, but kept her lips shut. 

"I'll tell you what, " said Miss Fortune — "if you want me tobelieve that all this talk means something, I'll tell you whatyou shall do — you shall just tell Mr. Van Brunt to-morrowabout it all, and how ugly you have been these two days, andlet him know you were wrong and I was right. I believe hethinks you cannot do anything wrong, and I should like him toknow it for once. "

Ellen struggled hard with herself before she could speak; MissFortune's lips began to wear a scornful smile. 

"I'll tell him!" said Ellen, at length; "I'll tell him I waswrong, if you wish me to. "

"I _do_ wish it. I like people's eyes to be opened. It'll do himgood, I guess, and you too. Now, have you anything more tosay?"

Ellen hesitated; — the colour came and went; she knew itwasn't a good time, but how could she wait?

"Aunt Fortune, " she said, "you know I told you I behaved veryill about that letter — won't you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? yes, child; I don't care anything about it. "

"Then you will be so good as to let me have my letter again?"said Ellen, timidly. 

"Oh, I can't be bothered to look for it now; I'll see about itsome other time; take your candle and go to bed now, if you'venothing more to say. "

Ellen took her candle and went. Some tears were wrung from herby hurt feeling and disappointment; but she had the smile ofconscience, and, as she believed, of Him whose witnessconscience is. She remembered that "great rock in a wearyland, " and she went to sleep in the shadow of it. 

The next day was Saturday. Ellen was up early; and aftercarefully performing her toilet duties, she had a nice longhour before it was time to go down stairs. The use she made ofthis hour had fitted her to do cheerfully and well her morningwork; and Ellen would have sat down to breakfast in excellentspirits if it had not been for her promised disclosure to Mr. Van Brunt. It vexed her a little. "I told Aunt Fortune — thatwas all right; but why I should be obliged to tell Mr. VanBrunt, I don't know. But if it convinces aunt Fortune that Iam in earnest, and meant what I say — then I had better. "

Mr. Van Brunt looked uncommonly grave, she thought; her aunt, uncommonly satisfied. Ellen had more than half a guess at thereason of both; but make up her mind to speak she could not, during all breakfast time. She ate, without knowing what shewas eating. 

Mr. Van Brunt at length, having finished his meal, withoutsaying a syllable, arose, and was about to go forth, when MissFortune stopped him. "Wait a minute, Mr. Van Brunt, " she said;"Ellen has something to say to you. Go ahead, Ellen. "

Ellen _felt_ rather than saw the smile with which these wordswere spoken. She crimsoned and hesitated. 

"Ellen and I had some trouble yesterday, " said Miss Fortune;"and she wants to tell you about it. "

Mr. Van Brunt stood gravely waiting. 

Ellen raised her eyes, which were full, to his face. "Mr. VanBrunt, " she said, "Aunt Fortune wants me to tell you what Itold her last night — that I knew I behaved as I ought not toher yesterday, and the day before, and other times. "

"And what made you do that?" said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Tell him, " said Miss Fortune, colouring, "that you were inthe wrong, and I was in the right — then he'll believe it, Isuppose. "

"I was wrong, " said Ellen. 

"And I was right, " said Miss Fortune. 

Ellen was silent. Mr. Van Brunt looked from one to the other. 

"Speak, " said Miss Fortune; "tell him the whole, if you meanwhat you say. "

"I can't, " said Ellen. 

"Why, you said you were wrong, " said Miss Fortune; "that'sonly half of the business; if you were wrong, I was right; whydon't you say so, and not make such a shilly-shally piece ofwork of it?"

"I said I was wrong, " said Ellen — "and so I was; but I neversaid you were right, Aunt Fortune, and I don't think so. "

These words, though moderately spoken, were enough to put MissFortune in a rage. 

"What did I do that was wrong?" she said; "come, I should liketo know. What was it, Ellen? Out with it; say everything youcan think of; stop and hear it, Mr. Van Brunt; come, Ellen:let's hear the whole!"

"Thank you, Ma’am, I've heerd quite enough, " said thatgentleman, as he went out and closed the door. 

"And I have said too much, " said Ellen. "Pray forgive me, AuntFortune. I shouldn't have said that if you hadn't pressed meso; I forgot myself a moment. I am sorry I said that. "

"Forgot yourself!" said Miss Fortune; "I wish you'd forgetyourself out of my house. Please to forget the place where Iam for to-day, anyhow; I've got enough of you for one while. You had better go to Miss Alice and get a new lesson, and tellher you are coming on finely. "

Gladly would Ellen, indeed, have gone to Miss Alice, but asthe next day was Sunday, she thought it best to wait. She wentsorrowfully to her own room. "Why couldn't I be quiet?" saidEllen. "If I had only held my tongue that unfortunate minute!what possessed me to say that?"

Strong passion — strong pride — both long unbroken; and Ellenhad yet to learn that many a prayer and many a tear, muchwatchfulness, much help from on high, must be hers before shecould be thoroughly dispossessed of these evil spirits. Butshe knew her sickness; she had applied to the Physician; — shewas in a fair way to be well. 

One thought in her solitary room that day drew streams oftears down Ellen's cheeks. "My letter! — my letter! what shallI do to get you?" she said to herself. "It serves me right; Ioughtn't to have got in a passion; oh! I have got a lessonthis time!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Loses care on the cat's back. 

The Sunday with Alice met all Ellen's hopes. She wrote a verylong letter to her mother, giving the full history of the day. How pleasantly they had ridden to church on the pretty graypony — she half the way and Alice the other half, talking toeach other all the while; for Mr. Humphreys had ridden onbefore. How lovely the road was, "winding about round themountain, up and down, " and with such a wide fair view, and"part of the time close along by the edge of the water. " Thishad been Ellen's first ride on horseback. Then the letterdescribed the little Carra-carra church — Mr. Humphreys'excellent sermon, "every word of which she could understand;"Alice's Sunday-school, in which she was sole teacher; and howEllen had four little ones put under _her_ care; and told howwhile Mr. Humphreys went on to hold a second service at avillage some six miles off, his daughter ministered to twoinfirm old women at Carra-carra — reading and explaining theBible to the one and to the other, who was blind, repeatingthe whole substance of her father's sermon. "Miss Alice toldme that nobody could enjoy a sermon better than that oldwoman, but she cannot go out, and every Sunday Miss Alice goesand preaches to her, she says. " How Ellen went home in theboat with Thomas and Margery, and spent the rest of the dayand the night also at the parsonage; and how polite and kindMr. Humphreys had been. "He's a very grave-looking man, indeed, " said the letter, "and not a bit like Miss Alice; heis a great deal older than I expected. "

This letter was much the longest Ellen had ever written in herlife; but she had set her heart on having her mother'ssympathy in her new pleasures, though not to be had but afterthe lapse of many weeks, and beyond a sad interval of land andsea. Still she must have it; and her little fingers travelledbusily over the paper hour after hour, as she found time, tillthe long epistle was finished. She was hard at work at itTuesday afternoon when her aunt called her down; and obeyingthe call, to her great surprise and delight she found Aliceseated in the chimney-corner and chatting away with her oldgrandmother, who looked remarkably pleased. Miss Fortune wasbustling round, as usual, looking at nobody, though putting inher word now and then. 

"Come, Ellen, " said Alice, "get your bonnet; I am going up themountain to see Mrs. Vawse, and your aunt has given leave foryou to go with me. Wrap yourself up well, for it is not warm. "

Without waiting for a word of answer, Ellen joyfully ran off. 

"You have chosen rather an ugly day for your walk, MissAlice. "

"Can't expect pretty days in December, Miss Fortune. I am onlytoo happy it doesn't storm; it will by to-morrow, I think. ButI have learned not to mind weathers. "

"Yes, I know you have, " said Miss Fortune. "You'll stop up onthe mountain till supper-time, I guess — won't you?"

"Oh, yes; I shall want something to fortify me before cominghome after such a long tramp. You see I have brought a basketalong. I thought it safest to take a loaf of bread with me, for no one can tell what may be in Mrs. Vawse's cupboard, andto lose our supper is not a thing to be thought of. "

"Well, have you looked out for butter, too? for you'll findnone where you're going. I don't know how the old lady livesup there, but it's without butter, I reckon. "

"I have taken care of that, too, thank you, Miss Fortune. Yousee I'm a far-sighted creature. "

"Ellen, " said her aunt, as Ellen now, cloaked and hooded, camein, "go into the buttery and fetch out one of them pumpkinpies to put in Miss Alice's basket. "

"Thank you, Miss Fortune, " said Alice, smiling; "I shall tellMrs. Vawse who it comes from. Now, my dear, let's be off; wehave a long walk before us. "

Ellen was quite ready to be off. But no sooner had she openedthe outer shed door than her voice was heard in astonishment. 

"A cat! — What cat is this? Miss Alice! look here! — here'sthe Captain I do believe. "

"Here is the Captain, indeed, " said Alice. "Oh, pussy, pussy, what have you come for?"

Pussy walked up to his mistress, and stroking himself and hisgreat tail against her dress, seemed to say that he had comefor her sake, and that it made no difference to him where shewas going. 

"He was sitting as gravely as possible, " said Ellen, "on thestone just outside the door, waiting for the door to beopened. How could he have come here?"

"Why, he has followed me, " said Alice; "he often does; but Icame quick, and I thought I had left him at home to-day. Thisis too long an expedition for him. Kitty, I wish you hadstayed at home. "

Kitty did not think so; he was arching his neck and purring inacknowledgment of Alice's soft touch. 

"Can't you send him back?" said Ellen. 

"No, my dear; he is the most sensible of cats, no doubt, buthe could by no means understand such an order. No, we must lethim trot on after us, and when he gets tired I'll carry him;it won't be the first time, by a good many. "

They set off with a quick pace, which the weather forbade themto slacken. It was somewhat as Miss Fortune had said, an uglyafternoon. The clouds hung cold and gray, and the air had araw chill feeling, that betokened a coming snow. The wind blewstrong, too, and seemed to carry the chillness through allmanner of wrappers. Alice and Ellen, however, did not muchcare for it; they walked and ran by turns, only stopping oncein a while, when poor Captain's uneasy cry warned them theyhad left him too far behind. Still he would not submit to becarried, but jumped down whenever Alice attempted it, andtrotted on most perseveringly. As they neared the foot of themountain, they were somewhat sheltered from the wind, andcould afford to walk more slowly. 

"How is it between you and your aunt Fortune now?" said Alice. 

"Oh, we don't get on well at all, Miss Alice, and I don't knowexactly what to do. You know I said I would ask her pardon. Well, I did, the same night after I got home, but it was verydisagreeable. She didn't seem to believe I was in earnest, andwanted me to tell Mr. Van Brunt that I had been wrong. Ithought that was rather hard; but at any rate I said I would;and next morning I did tell him so; and I believe all wouldhave done well if I could only have been quiet; but AuntFortune said something that vexed me, and almost before I knewit I said something that vexed her dreadfully. It was nothingvery bad, Miss Alice, though I ought not to have said it, andI was sorry two minutes after; but I just got provoked, andwhat shall I do? for it is so hard to prevent it. "

"The only thing I know, " said Alice, with a slight smile, "isto be full of that charity which among other lovely ways ofshowing itself, has this — that it is 'not easily provoked. ' "

"I am easily provoked, " said Ellen. 

"Then you know one thing, at any rate, that is to be watchedand prayed and guarded against; it is no little matter to beacquainted with one's own weak points. "

"I tried so hard to keep quiet that morning, " said Ellen; "andif I only could have let that unlucky speech alone — butsomehow I forgot myself, and I just told her what I thought. "

"Which it is very often best not to do. "

"I do believe, " said Ellen, "Aunt Fortune would like to haveMr. Van Brunt not like me. "

"Well, " said Alice, "what then?"

"Nothing, I suppose, Ma’am. "

"I hope you are not going to lay it up against her?"

"No, Ma’am, I hope not. "

"Take care, dear Ellen — don't take up the trade of suspectingevil; you could not take up a worse; and even when it isforced upon you, see as little of it as you can, and forget assoon as you can what you see. Your aunt, it may be, is not avery happy person, and no one can tell but those that areunhappy how hard it is not to be unamiable too. Return goodfor evil as fast as you can, and you will soon either havenothing to complain of or be very well able to bear it. "

They now began to go up the mountain, and the path became inplaces steep and rugged enough. "There is an easier way on theother side, " said Alice, "but this is the nearest for us. "Captain Parry now showed signs of being decidedly weary, andpermitted Alice to take him up. But he presently mounted fromher arms to her shoulder, and to Ellen's great amusement, kepthis place there, passing from one shoulder to the other, andevery now and then sticking his nose up into her bonnet as ifto kiss her. 

"What _does_ he do that for?" said Ellen. 

"Because he loves me, and is pleased, " said Alice. "Put yourear close, Ellen, and hear the quiet way he is purring tohimself — do you hear? That's his way; he very seldom purrsaloud. "

"He's a very funny cat, " said Ellen laughing. 

"Cat!" said Alice; "there isn't such a cat as this to be seen. He's a cat to be respected, my old Captain Parry. He's not tobe laughed at, Ellen, I can tell you. "

The travellers went on with good will; but the path was sosteep, and the way so long that when about half-way up themountain they were fain to follow the example of their four-footed companion, and rest themselves. They sat down on theground. They had warmed themselves with walking, but theweather was as chill and disagreeable and gusty as ever; everynow and then the wind came sweeping by, catching up the driedleaves at their feet, and whirling and scattering them off toa distance — winter's warning voice. 

"I never was in the country before when the leaves were offthe trees, " said Ellen. "It isn't so pretty, Miss Alice; doyou think so?"

"So pretty! No, I suppose not, if we were to have it all thewhile; but I like the change very much. "

"Do you like to see the leaves off the trees?"

"Yes, in the time of it. There's beauty in the leafless treesthat you cannot see in summer. Just look, Ellen — no, I cannotfind you a nice specimen here, they grow too thick; but wherethey have room, the way the branches spread and ramify, orbranch out again, is most beautiful. There's first the trunk, then the large branches, then those divide into smaller ones, and those part and part again into smaller and smaller twigs, till you are canopied, as it were, with a network of finestems. And when the snow falls gently on them — oh, Ellen, winter has its own beauties. I love it all; the cold, and thewind, and the snow, and the bare forests, and our little riverof ice. What pleasant sleigh-rides to church I have had uponthat river! And then the evergreens, — look at them; you don'tknow in summer how much they are worth. Wait till you see thehemlock branches bending with a weight of snow, and then, ifyou don't say the winter is beautiful, I'll give you up as ayoung lady of bad taste. "

"I dare say I shall, " said Ellen; "I am sure I shall like whatyou like. But, Miss Alice, what makes the leaves fall when thecold weather comes?"

"A very pretty question, Ellen, and one that can't be answeredin a breath. "

"I asked Aunt Fortune the other day, " said Ellen, laughingvery heartily, "and she told me to hush up and not be a fool;and I told her I really wanted to know, and she said shewouldn't make herself a simpleton if she was in my place; so Ithought I might as well be quiet. "

"By the time the cold weather comes, Ellen, the leaves havedone their work, and are no more needed. Do you know what workthey have to do? — do you know what is the use of leaves?"

"Why, for prettiness, I suppose, " said Ellen, "and to giveshade; I don't know anything else. "

"Shade is one of their uses, no doubt, and prettiness too. Hewho made the trees, made them 'pleasant to the eyes, ' as wellas 'good for food. ' So we have an infinite variety of leaves;one shape would have done the work just as well for every kindof tree, but then we should have lost a great deal ofpleasure. But, Ellen, the tree could not live without leaves. In the spring, the thin sap which the roots suck up from theground is drawn into the leaves; there, by the help of the sunand air, it is thickened and prepared in a way you cannotunderstand, and goes back to supply the wood with the variousmatters necessary for its growth and hardness. After this hasgone on some time, the little vessels of the leaves becomeclogged and stopped up with earthy and other matter; theycease to do their work any longer; the hot sun dries them upmore and more, and by the time the frost comes they are asgood as dead. That finishes them, and they drop off from thebranch that needs them no more. Do you understand all this?"

"Yes, Ma’am, very well, " said Ellen; "and it's exactly what Iwanted to know, and very curious. So the trees couldn't livewithout leaves?"

"No more than you could without a heart and lungs. "

"I am very glad to know that, " said Ellen. "Then how is itwith the evergreens, Miss Alice? Why don't their leaves dieand drop off too?"

"They do; look how the ground is carpeted under that pine-tree. "

"But they stay green all winter, don't they?"

"Yes; their leaves are fitted to resist frost; I don't knowwhat the people in cold countries would do else. They have thefate of all other leaves, however; they live awhile, do theirwork, and then die; not all at once, though; there is always asupply left on the tree. Are we rested enough to begin again?"

"I am, " said Ellen; "I don't know about the Captain. Poorfellow! he's fast asleep. I declare it's too bad to wake youup, pussy. Haven't we had a pleasant little rest, Miss Alice?I have learnt something while we have been sitting here. "

"_That_ is pleasant, Ellen, " said Alice, as they began theirupward march; "I would I might be all the while learningsomething. "

"But you have been teaching, Miss Alice, and that's as good. Mamma used to say, 'It is more blessed to give than toreceive. ' "

"Thank you, Ellen, " said Alice, smiling; "that ought tosatisfy me, certainly. "

They bent themselves against the steep hill again, and pressedon. As they rose higher, they felt it grow more cold andbleak; the woods gave them less shelter, and the wind sweptround the mountain head and over them with great force, makingtheir way quite difficult. 

"Courage, Ellen!" said Alice, as they struggled on; "we shallsoon be there. "

"I wonder, " said the panting Ellen, as, making an effort, shecame up alongside of Alice — "I wonder why Mrs. Vawse willlive in such a disagreeable place. "

"It is not disagreeable to her, Ellen; though I must say Ishould not like to have _too_ much of this wind. "

"But does she really like to live up here better than downbelow, where it is warmer? — and all alone, too?"

"Yes, she does. Ask her why, Ellen, and see what she will tellyou. She likes it so much better, that this little cottage wasbuilt on purpose for her, near ten years ago, by a good oldfriend of hers, a connection of the lady whom she followed tothis country. "

"Well, " said Ellen, "she must have a queer taste — that is allI can say. "

They were now within a few easy steps of the house, which didnot look so uncomfortable when they came close to it. It wassmall and low, of only one story, though it is true the roofran up very steep to a high and sharp gable. It was perched sosnugly, in a niche of the hill, that the little yard wascompletely sheltered with a high wall of rock. The houseitself stood out more boldly, and caught pretty well near allthe winds that blew; but so, Alice informed Ellen, the inmateliked to have it. 

"And that roof, " said Alice, — "she begged Mr. Marshman whenthe cottage was building, that the roof might be high andpointed; she said her eyes were tired with the low roofs ofthis country, and if he would have it made so it would be agreat relief to them. "

The odd roof Ellen thought was pretty. But they now reachedthe door, protected with a deep porch. Alice entered, andknocked at the other door. They were bade to come in. A womanwas there stepping briskly back and forth before a largespinning-wheel. She half turned her head to see who the comerswere, then stopped her wheel instantly, and came to meet themwith open arms. 

"Miss Alice! Dear Miss Alice, how glad I am to see you!"

"And I you, dear Mrs. Vawse, " said Alice, kissing her. "Here'sanother friend you must welcome for my sake — little EllenMontgomery. "

"I am very glad to see Miss Ellen, " said the old woman, kissing her also; and Ellen did not shrink from the kiss, sopleasant were the lips that tendered it; so kind and frank thesmile, so winning the eye; so agreeable the whole air of theperson. She turned from Ellen again to Miss Alice. 

"It's a long while that I have not seen you, dear — not sinceyou went to Mrs. Marshman's. And what a day you have chosen tocome at last!"

"I can't help that, " said Alice, pulling off her bonnet, — "Icouldn't wait any longer. I wanted to see you dolefully, Mrs. Vawse. "

"Why, my dear? what's the matter? I have wanted to see you, but not dolefully. "

"That's the very thing, Mrs. Vawse; I wanted to see you to geta lesson of quiet contentment. "

"I never thought you wanted such a lesson, Miss Alice. What'sthe matter?"

"I can't get over John's going away. "

Her lip trembled and her eye was swimming as she said so. Theold woman passed her hands over the gentle head, and kissedher brow. 

"So I thought — so I felt, when my mistress died, and myhusband, and my sons, one after the other. But now I think Ican say, with Paul, 'I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. ' I think so — maybe that I deceivemyself; but they are all gone, and I am certain that I amcontent now. "

"Then surely I ought to be, " said Alice. 

"It is not till one looses one's hold of other things, andlooks to Jesus alone, that one finds how much he can do. 'There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother;' but Inever knew all that meant till I had no other friends to leanupon; — nay, I should not say _no_ other friends; — but mydearest were taken away. You have _your_ dearest still, MissAlice. "

"Two of them, " said Alice, faintly, — "and hardly that, now. "

"I have not one, " said the old woman, — "I have not one; butmy home is in heaven, and my Saviour is there, preparing aplace for me. I know it — I am sure of it — and I can wait alittle while, and rejoice all the while I am waiting. DearestMiss Alice — 'none of them that trust in him shall bedesolate;' don't you believe that?"

"I do, surely, Mrs. Vawse, " said Alice, wiping away a tear ortwo; "but I forget it sometimes; or the pressure of presentpain is too much for all that faith and hope can do. "

"It hinders faith and hope from acting — that is the trouble. 'They that seek the Lord, shall not want any good thing. ' Iknow that is true, of my own experience; so will you, dear. "

"I know it, Mrs. Vawse — I know it all; but it does me good tohear you say it. I thought I should become accustomed toJohn's absence, but I do not at all; the autumn winds all thewhile seem to sing to me that he is away. "

"My dear love, " said the old lady, "it sorrows me much to hearyou speak so; I would take away this trial from you if Icould; but He knows best. Seek to live nearer to the Lord, dear Miss Alice, and he will give you much more than he hastaken away. "

Alice again brushed away some tears. 

"I felt I must come and see you to-day, " said she, "and youhave comforted me already. The sound of your voice always doesme good. I catch courage and patience from you, I believe. "

" 'As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth thecountenance of his friend. ' How did you leave Mr. And Mrs. Marshman? and has Mr. George returned yet?"

Drawing their chairs together, a close conversation began. Ellen had been painfully interested and surprised by what wentbefore, but the low tone of voice now seemed to be not meantfor her ear, and turning away her attention, she amusedherself with taking a general survey. 

It was easy to see that Mrs. Vawse lived in this room, andprobably had no other to live in. Her bed was in one corner;cupboards filled the deep recesses on each side of thechimney; and in the wide fireplace, the crane and the hooksand trammels hanging upon it showed that the bedroom andsitting-room was the kitchen too. Most of the floor wascovered with a thick rag carpet; where the boards could beseen they were beautifully clean and white, and everythingelse in the room, in this respect, matched with the boards. The panes of glass in the little windows were clean and brightas panes of glass could be made; the hearth was clean sweptup; the cupboard doors were unstained and unsoiled, thoughfingers had worn the paint off; dust was nowhere. On a littlestand by the chimney corner lay a large Bible and anotherbook; close beside stood a cushioned arm-chair. Some otherapartment there probably was where wood and stores were kept;nothing was to be seen here that did not agree with the verycomfortable face of the whole. It looked as if one might behappy there; it looked as if somebody _was_ happy there; and aglance at the old lady of the house would not alter theopinion. Many a glance Ellen gave her as she sat talking withAlice; and with every one she felt more and more drawn towardsher. She was somewhat under the common size, and rather stout;her countenance most agreeable; there was sense, character, sweetness in it. Some wrinkles, no doubt, were there, too;lines deep-marked, that spoke of sorrows once known. Thosestorms had all passed away; the last shadow of a cloud haddeparted; her evening sun was shining clear and bright towardsthe setting; and her brow was beautifully placid, not asthough it never had been, but as if it never could be ruffledagain. Respect no one could help feeling for her; and morethan respect, one felt, would grow with acquaintance. Herdress was very odd, Ellen thought. It was not American, andwhat it was she did not know, but supposed Mrs. Vawse musthave a lingering fancy for the costume as well as for theroofs of her fatherland. More than all, her eye turned againand again to the face, which seemed to her, in its changingexpression, winning and pleasant exceedingly. The mouth hadnot forgotten to smile, nor the eye to laugh; and though thiswas not often seen, the constant play of feature showed a deepand lively sympathy in all Alice was saying, and held Ellen'scharmed gaze; and when the old lady's looks and words were atlength turned to herself, she blushed to think how long shehad been looking steadily at a stranger. 

"Little Miss Ellen, how do you like my house on the rockhere?"

"I don't know, Ma’am, " said Ellen; "I like it very much; onlyI don't think I should like it so well in winter. "

"I am not certain that I don't like it then best of all. Whywould you not like it in winter?"

"I shouldn't like the cold, Ma’am, and to be alone. "

"I like to be alone — but cold? I am in no danger of freezing, Miss Ellen. I make myself very warm — keep good fires — and myhouse is too strong for the wind to blow it away. Don't youwant to go out and see my cow? I have one of the best cowsthat ever you saw; her name is Snow: there is not a black hairupon her; she is all white. Come, Miss Alice; Mr. Marshmansent her to me a month ago; she's a great treasure, and worthlooking at. "

They went across the yard to the tiny barn or outhouse, wherethey found Snow nicely cared for. She was in a warm stable, anice bedding of straw upon the floor, and plenty of hay laidup for her. Snow deserved it, for she was a beauty, and a verywell-behaved cow, letting Alice and Ellen stroke her and pather, and feel of her thick hide, with the most perfectplacidity. Mrs. Vawse meanwhile went to the door to look out. 

"Nancy ought to be home to milk her, " she said; "I must giveyou supper and send you off. I've no feeling nor smell if snowisn't thick in the air somewhere; we shall see it here soon. "

"I'll milk her, " said Alice. 

"I'll milk her!" said Ellen; "I'll milk her! Ah, do let me! Iknow how to milk; Mr. Van Brunt taught me, and I have done itseveral times. May I? I should like it dearly. "

"You shall do it surely, my child, " said Mrs. Vawse. "Comewith me, and I'll give you the pail and the milking-stool. "

When Alice and Ellen came in with the milk, they found thekettle on, the little table set, and Mrs. Vawse very busy atanother table. 

"What are you doing, Mrs. Vawse, may I ask?" said Alice. 

"I'm just stirring up some Indian meal for you; I find I havenot but a crust left. "

"Please to put that away, Ma’am, for another time. Do youthink I didn't know better than to come up to this mountaintop without bringing along something to live upon while I amhere? Here's a basket, Ma’am, and in it are divers things; Ibelieve Margery and I between us have packed up enough for twoor three suppers — to say nothing of Miss Fortune's pie. Thereit is — sure to be good, you know; and here are some of mycakes, that you like so much, Mrs. Vawse, " said Alice, as shewent on pulling the things out of the basket; — "there is abowl of butter — that's not wanted, I see — and here is a loafof bread; and that's all. Ellen, my dear, this basket will belighter to carry down than it was to bring up. "

"I am glad of it, I am sure, " said Ellen; "my arm hasn't doneaching yet, though I had it so little while. "

"Ah, I am glad to hear that kettle singing, " said theirhostess. "I can give you good tea, Miss Alice; you'll thinkso, I know, for it's the same Mr. John sent me. It is veryfine tea; and he sent me a noble supply, like himself, "continued Mrs. Vawse, taking some out of her little caddy. "Iought not to say I have no friends left; I cannot eat a mealthat I am not reminded of two good ones. Mr. John knew one ofmy weak points when he sent me that box of souchong. "

The supper was ready, and the little party gathered round thetable. The tea did credit to the judgment of the giver and theskill of the maker, but they were no critics that drank it. 

Alice and Ellen were much too hungry and too happy to beparticular. Miss Fortune's pumpkin pie was declared to be veryfine, and so were Mrs. Vawse's cheese and butter. Eating andtalking went on with great spirit, their old friend seemingscarce less pleased or less lively than themselves. Aliceproposed the French plan, and Mrs. Vawse entered into it veryfrankly; it was easy to see that the style of building and ofdress to which she had been accustomed in early life were notthe only things remembered kindly for old times' sake. It wassettled they should meet as frequently as might be, eitherhere or at the parsonage, and become good Frenchwomen with allconvenient speed. 

"Will you wish to walk so far to see me again, little MissEllen?"

"Oh yes, Ma’am!"

"You won't fear the deep snow, and the wind and cold, and thesteep hill?"

"Oh no, Ma’am, I won't mind them a bit; but, Ma’am, Miss Alicetold me to ask you why you loved better to live up here thandown where it is warmer. I shouldn't ask if she hadn't said Imight. "

"Ellen has a great fancy for getting at the reason ofeverything, Mrs. Vawse, " said Alice, smiling. 

"You wonder anybody should choose it, don't you, Miss Ellen?"said the old lady. 

"Yes, Ma’am, a little. "

"I'll tell you the reason, my child. It is for the love of myold home, and the memory of my young days. Till I was as oldas you are, and a little older, I lived among the mountainsand upon them; and after that, for many a year, they were justbefore my eyes every day, stretching away for more than onehundred miles, and piled up one above another, fifty times asbig as any you ever saw; these are only molehills to them. Iloved them — oh! how I love them still! If I have oneunsatisfied wish, " said the old lady, turning to Alice, "it isto see my Alps again; but that will never be. Now, Miss Ellen, it is not that I fancy when I get to the top of this hill thatI am among my own mountains, but I can breathe better herethan down in the plain. I feel more free; and in the village Iwould not live for gold, unless that duty bade me. "

"But all alone, so far from everybody, " said Ellen. 

"I am never lonely; and, old as I am, I don't mind a long walkor a rough road, any more than your young feet do. "

"But isn't it very cold?" said Ellen. 

"Yes, it is very cold? — what of that? I make a good blazingfire; and then I like to hear the wind whistle. "

"Yes, but you wouldn't like to have it whistling inside aswell as out, " said Alice. "I will come and do the listing andcaulking for you in a day or two. Oh, you have it done withoutme! I am sorry. "

"No need to be sorry, dear — I am glad; you don't look fit forany troublesome jobs. "

"I am fit enough, " said Alice. "Don't put up the curtains;I'll come and do it. "

"You must come with a stronger face, then, " said her oldfriend; "have you wearied yourself with walking all this way?"

"I was a little weary, " said Alice, "but your nice tea hasmade me up again. "

"I wish I could keep you all night, " said Mrs. Vawse, lookingout; "but your father would be uneasy. I am afraid the stormwill catch you before you get home; and you aren't fit tobreast it. Little Ellen, too, don't look as if she was made ofiron. Can't you stay with me?"

"I must not — it wouldn't do, " said Alice, who was hastilyputting on her things; "we'll soon run down the hill. But weare leaving you alone — where's Nancy?"

"She'll not come if there's a promise of a storm, " said Mrs. Vawse; "she often stays out a night. "

"And leaves you alone!"

"I am never alone, " said the old lady, quietly; "I havenothing to fear; but I am uneasy about you, dear. Mind mywords; don't try to go back the way you came; take the otherroad; it's easier; and stop when you get to Mrs. Van Brunt's;Mr. Van Brunt will take you the rest of the way in his littlewaggon. "

"Do you think it is needful?" said Alice, doubtfully. 

"I am sure it is best. Hasten down. _Adieu, mon enfant_. "

They kissed and embraced her, and hurried out. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Showing that in certain circumstances white is black. 

The clouds hung thick and low; the wind was less than it hadbeen. They took the path Mrs. Vawse had spoken of; it wasbroader and easier than the other, winding more gently downthe mountain; it was sometimes, indeed, travelled by horses, though far too steep for any kind of carriage. Alice and Ellenran along without giving much heed to anything but theirfooting — down, down — running and bounding, hand in hand, till want of breath obliged them to slacken their pace. 

"Do you think it will snow soon?" asked Ellen. 

"I think it will snow — how soon, I cannot tell. Have you hada pleasant afternoon?"

"Oh, very!"

"I always have when I go there. Now, Ellen, there is anexample of contentment for you. If ever a woman loved husbandand children and friends, Mrs. Vawse loved hers; I know thisfrom those who knew her long ago; and now, look at her. Ofthem all, she has none left but the orphan daughter of heryoungest son, and you know a little what sort of a child thatis. "

"She must be a very bad girl, " said Ellen; "you can't thinkwhat stories she told me about her grandmother. "

"Poor Nancy!" said Alice. "Mrs. Vawse has no money norproperty of any kind, except what is in her house; but thereis not a more independent woman breathing. She does all sortsof things to support herself. Now, for instance, Ellen, ifanybody is sick within ten miles round, the family are toohappy to get Mrs. Vawse for a nurse. She is an admirable one. Then she goes out tailoring at the farmers' houses; she bringshome wool and returns it spun into yarn; she brings home yarnand knits it up into stockings and socks; all sorts of oddjobs. I have seen her picking hops; she isn't above doinganything, and yet she never forgets her own dignity. I think, wherever she goes and whatever she is about, she is at alltimes one of the most truly lady-like persons I have everseen. And everybody respects her; everybody likes to gain hergood will; she is known all over the country; and all thecountry are her friends. "

"They pay her for doing these things, don't they?"

"Certainly; not often in money; more commonly in various kindsof matters that she wants — flour, and sugar, and Indian meal, and pork, and ham, and vegetables, and wool — anything; it isbut a little of each that she wants. She has friends thatwould not permit her to earn another sixpence if they couldhelp it, but she likes better to live as she does. And she isalways as you saw her to-day — cheerful and happy as a littlegirl. "

Ellen was turning over Alice's last words, and thinking thatlittle girls were not _always_ the cheerfullest and happiestcreatures in the world, when Alice suddenly exclaimed, "It issnowing! Come, Ellen, we must make haste now!" — and set offat a quickened pace. Quick as they might, they had gone not ahundred yards when the whole air was filled with the fallingflakes, and the wind, which had lulled for a little, now rosewith greater violence, and swept round the mountain furiously. The storm had come in good earnest, and promised to be notrifling one. Alice and Ellen ran on, holding each other'shands and strengthening themselves against the blast, buttheir journey became every moment more difficult. The air wasdark with the thick-falling snow; the wind seemed to blow inevery direction by turns, but chiefly against them, blindingtheir eyes with the snow, and making it necessary to use nosmall effort to keep on their way. Ellen hardly knew where shewent, but allowed herself to be pulled along by Alice, or, aswell, pulled _her_ along — it was hard to say which hurriedmost. In the midst of this dashing on down the hill, Alice allat once came to a sudden stop. 

"Where's the Captain?" said she. 

"I don't know, " said Ellen — "I haven't thought of him sincewe left Mrs. Vawse's. "

Alice turned her back to the wind, and looked up the road theyhad come — there was nothing but wind and snow there; howfuriously it blew! Alice called "Pussy!"

"Shall we walk up the road a little way, or shall we stand andwait for him here?" said Ellen, trembling, half from exertionand half from a vague fear of she knew not what. 

Alice called again; no answer, but a wild gust of wind andsnow that drove past. 

"I can't go on and leave him, " said Alice; "he might perish inthe storm. " And she began to walk slowly back, calling atintervals, "Pussy! kitty! pussy!" and listening for an answerthat came not. Ellen was very unwilling to tarry, and nowiseinclined to prolong their journey by going backwards. Shethought the storm grew darker and wilder every moment. 

"Perhaps Captain staid up at Mrs. Vawse's, " she said, "anddidn't follow us down. "

"No, " said Alice; "I am sure he did. Hark! wasn't that he?"

"I don't hear anything, " said Ellen, after a pause of anxiouslistening. 

Alice went a few steps further. 

"I hear him!" she said; "I hear him! poor kitty!" and she setoff at a quick pace up the hill. Ellen followed, but presentlya burst of wind and snow brought them both to a stand. Alicefaltered a little at this, in doubt whether to go up or down;but then, to their great joy, Captain's far-off cry was heard, and both Alice and Ellen strained their voices to cheer anddirect him. In a few minutes he came in sight, trottinghurriedly along through the snow, and on reaching his mistresshe sat down immediately on the ground, without offering anycaress — a sure sign that he was tired. Alice stooped down andtook him up in her arms. 

"Poor kitty!" she said, "you've done your part for to-day, Ithink; I'll do the rest. Ellen, dear, it's of no use to tireourselves out at once; we will go moderately. Keep hold of mycloak, my child; it takes both of my arms to hold this bigcat. Now, never mind the snow; we can bear being blown about alittle; are you very tired?"

"No, " said Ellen, "not very; I am a little tired; but I don'tcare for that, if we can only get home safe. "

"There's no difficulty about that, I hope. Nay, there may besome _difficulty_, but we shall get there, I think, in goodsafety after a while. I wish we were there now, for your sake, my child. "

"Oh, never mind me, " said Ellen, gratefully; "I am sorry for_you_, Miss Alice; you have the hardest time of it, with thatheavy load to carry; I wish I could help you. "

"Thank you, my dear, but nobody could do that; I doubt ifCaptain would lie in any arms but mine. "

"Let me carry the basket, then, " said Ellen, — "do, MissAlice. "

"No, my dear, it hangs very well on my arm. Take it gently;Mrs. Van Brunt's isn't very far off; we shall feel the windless when we turn. "

But the road seemed long. The storm did not increase inviolence — truly there was no need of that — but the looked-for turning was not soon found, and the gathering darknesswarned them day was drawing towards a close. As they nearedthe bottom of the hill, Alice made a pause. 

"There's a path that turns off from this, and makes a shortercut to Mrs. Van Brunt's, but it must be above here; I musthave missed it, though I have been on the watch constantly. "

She looked up and down. It would have been a sharp eye indeedthat had detected any slight opening in the woods on eitherside of the path, which the driving snow-storm blended intoone continuous wall of trees. They could be seen stretchingdarkly before and behind them; but more than that — where theystood near together, and where scattered apart, was allconfusion, through the fast-falling shower of flakes. 

"In a few minutes he came in sight. "

"Shall we go back and look for the path?" said Ellen. 

"I am afraid we shouldn't find it if we did, " said Alice; "weshould only lose our time, and we have none to lose. I thinkwe had better go straight forward. "

"Is it much further this way than the other path we havemissed?"

"A good deal — all of half a mile. I am sorry; but courage, mychild! we shall know better than to go out in snowy weathernext time — on long expeditions, at least. "

They had to shout to make each other hear; so drove the snowand wind through the trees, and into their very faces andears. They plodded on. It was plodding; the snow lay thickenough now to make their footing uneasy, and grew deeper everymoment; their shoes were full; their feet and ankles were wet;and their steps began to drag heavily over the ground. Ellenclung as close to Alice's cloak as their hurried travellingwould permit; sometimes one of Alice's hands was loosened fora moment to be passed round Ellen's shoulders, and a word ofcourage or comfort in the clear calm tone, cheered her torenewed exertion. The night fell fast; it was very darkling bythe time they reached the bottom of the hill, and the road didnot yet allow them to turn their faces towards Mrs. VanBrunt's. A wearisome piece of the way this was, leading them_from_ the place they wished to reach. They could not go fast, either; they were too weary, and the walking too heavy. Captain had the best of it; snug and quiet he lay wrapped inAlice's cloak and fast asleep, little wotting how tired hismistress's arms were. 

The path at length brought them to the long-desired turning;but it was by this time so dark, that the fences on each sideof the road showed but dimly. They had not spoken for a while;as they turned the corner, a sigh of mingled weariness andsatisfaction escaped from Ellen's lips. It reached Alice'sear. 

"What's the matter, love?" said the sweet voice. No trace ofweariness was allowed to come into it. 

"I am so glad we have got here at last, " said Ellen, lookingup with another sigh, and removing her hand for an instantfrom its grasp on the cloak to Alice's arm. 

"My poor child! I wish I could carry you, too! Can you hold alittle longer?"

"Oh, yes, dear Miss Alice; I can hold on. "

But Ellen's voice was not so well guarded. It was like hersteps, a little unsteady. She presently spoke again. 

"Miss Alice — are you afraid?"

"I am afraid of your getting sick, my child, and a littleafraid of it for myself — of nothing else. What is there to beafraid of?"

"It is very dark, " said Ellen; "and the storm is so thick — doyou think you can find the way?"

"I know it perfectly; it is nothing but to keep straight on;and the fences would prevent us from getting out of the road. It is hard walking, I know, but we shall get there by-and-by;bear up as well as you can, dear. I am sorry I can give you nohelp but words. Don't you think a nice bright fire will lookcomfortable after all this?"

"O dear, yes!" answered Ellen, rather sadly. 

"Are _you_ afraid, Ellen?"

"No, Miss Alice — not much — I don't like its being so dark; Ican't see where I am going. "

"The darkness makes our way longer and more tedious; it willdo us no other harm, love. I wish I had a hand to give you, but this great cat must have both of mine. The darkness andthe light are both alike to our Father: we are in his Hand; weare safe enough, dear Ellen. "

Ellen's hand left the cloak again for an instant to pressAlice's arm in answer; her voice failed at the minute. Thenclinging anew as close to her side as she could get, theytoiled patiently on. The wind had somewhat lessened of itsviolence, and, besides, it blew not now in their faces, butagainst their backs, helping them on. Still the snow continuedto fall very fast, and already lay thick upon the ground;every half hour increased the heaviness and painfulness oftheir march; and darkness gathered till the very fences couldno longer be seen. It was pitch dark; to hold the middle ofthe road was impossible; their only way was to keep along byone of the fences; and, for fear of hurting themselves againstsome outstanding post or stone, it was necessary to travelquite gently. They were indeed in no condition to travelotherwise, if light had not been wanting. Slowly andpatiently, with painful care groping their way, they pushed onthrough the snow and the thick night. Alice could _feel_ theearnestness of Ellen's grasp upon her clothes; and her clothespressing up to her, made their progress still slower and moredifficult than it would otherwise have been. 

"Miss Alice, " said Ellen. 

"What, my child?"

"I wish you would speak to me once in a while. "

Alice freed one of her hands, and took hold of Ellen's. 

"I have been so busy picking my way along, I have neglectedyou, haven't I?"

"Oh, no, Ma’am. But I like to hear the sound of your voicesometimes; it makes me feel better. "

"This is an odd kind of travelling, isn't it?" said Alice, cheerfully; — "in the dark, and feeling our way along? Thiswill be quite an adventure to talk about, won't it?"

"Quite, " said Ellen. 

"It is easier going this way, don't you find it so? The windhelps us forward. "

"It helps me too much, " said Ellen; "I wish it wouldn't bequite so very kind. Why, Miss Alice, I have enough to do tohold myself together, sometimes. It almost makes me run, though I am so very tired. "

"Well, it is better than having it in our faces, at any rate. Tired you are, I know, and must be. We shall want to rest allday tomorrow, shan't we?"

"Oh, I don't know!" said Ellen, sighing; "I shall be glad whenwe begin. How long do you think it will be, Miss Alice, beforewe get to Mrs. Van Brunt's?"

"My dear child, I cannot tell you. I have not the least notionwhereabouts we are. I can see no way-marks, and I cannot judgeat all of the rate at which we have come. "

"But what if we should have passed it in this darkness?" saidEllen. 

"No, I don't think that, " said Alice, though a cold doubtstruck her mind at Ellen's words; "I think we shall see theglimmer of Mrs. Van Brunt's friendly candle, by-and-by. "

But more uneasily and more keenly now she stove to see thatglimmer through the darkness; strove till the darkness seemedto press painfully upon her eyeballs, and she almost doubtedher being able to see any light if light there were; it wasall blank thick darkness still. She began to questionanxiously with herself which side of the house was Mrs. VanBrunt's ordinary sitting-room; — whether she should see thelight from it before or after passing the house; and now herglance was directed often behind her, that they might be surein any case of not missing their desired haven. In vain shelooked forward or back; it was all one; no cheering glimmer oflamp or candle greeted her straining eyes. Hurriedly now fromtime to time the comforting words were spoken to Ellen, for topursue the long stretch of way that led onward from Mr. VanBrunt's to Miss Fortune's would be a very serious matter;Alice wanted comfort herself. 

"Shall we get there soon, do you think, Miss Alice?" said poorEllen, whose wearied feet carried her painfully over thedeepening snow. The tone of voice went to Alice's heart. 

"I don't know, my darling; — I hope so, " she answered, but itwas spoken rather patiently than cheerfully. "Fear nothing, dear Ellen; remember who has the care of us; darkness andlight are both alike to Him; nothing will do us any realharm. "

"How tired you must be, dear Miss Alice, carrying pussy!"Ellen said, with a sigh. 

For the first time Alice echoed the sigh; but almostimmediately Ellen exclaimed in a totally different tone, "There's a light! but it isn't a candle — it is moving about;what is it, Miss Alice?"

They stopped and looked. A light there certainly was, dimlyseen, moving at some little distance from the fence on theopposite side of the road. All of a sudden it disappeared. 

"What is it?" whispered Ellen, fearfully. 

"I don't know, my love, yet; wait" —

They waited several minutes. 

"What could it be?" said Ellen. "It was certainly a light; Isaw it as plainly as ever I saw anything; — what can it havedone with itself? — there it is again! going the other way!"

Alice waited no longer, but screamed out, "Who's there?"

But the light paid no attention to her cry; it travelled on. 

"Halloo!" called Alice, again, as loud as she could. 

"Halloo!" answered a rough deep voice. The light suddenlystopped. 

"That's he! that's he!" exclaimed Ellen, in an ecstasy, andalmost dancing — "I know it — it's Mr. Van Brunt! it's Mr. VanBrunt! — oh, Miss Alice!" —

Struggling between crying and laughing Ellen could not standit, but gave way to a good fit of crying. Alice felt theinfection, but controlled herself, though her eyes watered asher heart sent up its grateful tribute; as well as she couldshe answered the halloo. 

The light was seen advancing towards them. Presently itglimmered faintly behind the fence, showing a bit of the darkrails covered with snow, and they could dimly see the figureof a man getting over them. He crossed the road to where theystood. It was Mr. Van Brunt. 

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Van Brunt. " said Alice's sweetvoice; but it trembled a little. 

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt!" sobbed Ellen. 

That gentleman, at first dumb with astonishment, lifted hislantern to survey them, and assure his eyes that his ears hadnot been mistaken. 

"Miss Alice! — how in the name of wonder! — and my poor littlelamb! — but what on 'arth, Ma’am — you must be half dead. Comethis way — just come back a little bit — why, where were yougoing, Ma’am?"

"To your house, Mr. Van Brunt; I have been looking for it withno little anxiety, I assure you. "

"Looking for it! Why, how on 'arth! you wouldn't see thebiggest house ever was built half a yard off such a plaguynight as this. "

"I thought I should see the light from the windows, Mr. VanBrunt. "

"The light from the windows! the storm rattled so agin' thewindows, that mother made me pull the great shutters to. Iwon't have 'em shut again of a stormy night, that's a fact;you'd ha' gone far enough afore you'd ha' seen the lightthrough them shutters. "

"Then we had passed the house already, hadn't we?"

"Indeed, had you, Ma’am. I guess you saw my light, han't you?"

"Yes, and glad enough we were to see it, too. "

"I suppose so. It happened so to-night — now that is a queerthing — I minded that I hadn't untied my horse; he's a trickof being untied at night, and won't sleep well if he ain't;and mother wanted me to let him alone 'cause of the awfulstorm, but I couldn't go to my bed in peace till I had seenhim to his'n. So that's how my lantern came to be going to thebarn in such an awk'ard night as this. "

They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van Brunt with somedifficulty pulled it open. The snow lay thick upon the neatbrick walk which Ellen had trod the first time with wet feetand dripping garments. A few steps further, and they came tothe same door that had opened then so hospitably to receiveher. As the faint light of the lantern was thrown upon the oldlatch and door-posts, Ellen felt at home; and a sense ofcomfort sank down into her heart which she had not known forsome time. 

CHAPTER XX. 

Head-sick and heart-sick. 

Mr. Van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and wearytravellers stepped after him into the same cheerful, comfortable-looking kitchen that had received Ellen oncebefore. Just the same — tidy, clean swept up, a good fire, andthe same old red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth inmost cozy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse ofcomfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were noother faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Bruntput Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother! —here!" — muttering that she had taken herself off with thelight somewhere. Not very far: for in half a minute, answeringthe call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came hurriedly in. 

"What's the matter, 'Brahm? — who's this? — why 'tain't MissAlice! My gracious me! — and all wet! — oh, dear, dear! poorlamb! Why, Miss Alice, dear, where have you been? — and ifthat ain't my little Ellen! oh dear! what a fix you are in!Well, darling, I'm glad to see you again a'most anyway. "

She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this; but surprisewas not more quickly alive than kindness and hospitality. Shefell to work immediately to remove Alice's wet things, and todo whatever their joint prudence and experience might suggestto ward off any ill effects from the fatigue and exposure thewanderers had suffered; and while she was thus employed, Mr. Van Brunt busied himself with Ellen, who was really in nocondition to help herself. It was curious to see him carefullytaking off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one) and knocking itgently to get ride of the snow; evidently thinking thatladies' things must have delicate handling. He tried the cloaknext, but boggled sadly at the fastening of that, and at lastwas fain to call in help. 

"Here, Nancy! — where are you? step here and see if you canundo this here thing, whatever you call it; I believe myfingers are too big for it. "

It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came forward inobedience to this call. Ellen had not seen before that she wasin the room. Nancy grinned a mischievous smile of recognitionas she stooped to Ellen's throat and undid the fastening ofthe cloak, and then shortly enough bade her "get up, that shemight take it off!" Ellen obeyed, but was very glad to sitdown again. While Nancy went to the door to shake the cloak, Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet gloves, andon Nancy's return he directed her to take off the shoes, whichwere filled with snow. Nancy sat down on the floor beforeEllen to obey this order; and, tired and exhausted as she was, Ellen felt the different manner in which her hands and feetwere waited upon. 

"How did you get into this scrape?" said Nancy; "_this_ was noneof my doings anyhow. It'll never be dry weather, Ellen, whereyou are. I won't put on my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes when Igo a walking with you. You had ought to ha' been a duck or agoose, or something like that. — What's that for, Mr. VanBrunt!"

This last query, pretty sharply spoken, was in answer to alight touch of that gentleman's hand upon Miss Nancy's ear, which came rather as a surprise. He deigned no reply. 

"You're a fine gentleman!" said Nancy, tartly. 

"Have you done what I gave you to do?" said Mr. Van Brunt, coolly. 

"Yes — there!" said Nancy, holding up Ellen's bare feet on onehand, while the fingers of the other, secretly applied inticklish fashion to the soles of them, caused Ellen suddenlyto start and scream. 

"Get up!" said Mr. Van Brunt. Nancy didn't think best todisobey. "Mother, han't you got nothing you want Nancy to do?"

"Sally, " said Mrs. Van Brunt, "you and Nancy go and fetch herea couple of pails of hot water — right away. "

"Go, and mind what you are about, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "andafter that keep out of this room, and don't whisper again tillI give you leave. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, how do you feel?"

Ellen said in words that she felt "nicely, " but the eyes andthe smile said a great deal more; Ellen's heart was runningover. 

"Oh, she'll feel nicely directly, I'll be bound, " said Mrs. Van Brunt; "wait till she get her feet soaked, and then!" —

"I do feel nicely now, " said Ellen. And Alice smiled in answerto their inquiries, and said if she only knew her father waseasy, there would be nothing wanting to her happiness. 

The bathing of their feet was a great refreshment, and theirkind hostess had got ready a plentiful supply of hot herb-tea, with which both Alice and Ellen were well dosed. While theysat sipping this, toasting their feet before the fire, Mrs. Van Brunt and the girls meanwhile preparing their room, Mr. Van Brunt suddenly entered. He was cloaked and hatted, and hada riding-whip in his hand. 

"Is there any word you'd like to get home, Miss Alice? I'mgoing to ride a good piece that way, and I can stop as good asnot. "

"To-night, Mr. Van Brunt?" exclaimed Alice, in astonishment. 

Mr. Van Brunt's silence seemed to say that to-night was thetime and no other. 

"But the storm is too bad, " urged Alice. "Pray don't go tillto-morrow. "

"Pray don't, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen. 

"Can't help it; I've got business — must go. What shall I say, Ma’am?"

"I should be _very_ glad, " said Alice, "to have my father knowwhere I am. Are you going very near the Nose?"

"Very near. "

"Then I shall be greatly obliged if you will be so kind as tostop and relieve my father's anxiety. But how _can_ you go insuch weather? and so dark as it is. "

"Never fear, " said Mr. Van Brunt. "We'll be back in half anhour, if 'Brahm and me don't come across a snowdrift a _leetle_too deep. Good night, Ma’am. " And out he went. 

" 'Back in half an hour, ' " said Alice, musing. "Why, he saidhe had been to untie his horse for the night. He must be goingon our account, I am sure, Ellen!"

"On _your_ account, " said Ellen, smiling. "Oh, I knew that allthe time, Miss Alice. I don't think he'll stop to relieve AuntFortune's anxiety. "

Alice sprang to call him back, but Mrs. Van Brunt assured herit was too late, and that she need not be uneasy, for her son"didn't mind the storm no more than a weather-board. 'Brahmand 'Brahm could go anywhere in any sort of a time. He wasagoing without speaking to you, but I told him he had better, for maybe you wanted to send some word particular. And yourroom's ready now, dear, and you'd better go to bed, and sleepas long as you can. "

They went thankfully. 

"Isn't this a pleasant room?" said Ellen, who saw everythingin rose colour; "and a nice bed? But I feel as if I couldsleep on the floor to-night. Isn't it a'most worth while tohave such a time, Miss Alice, for the sake of the pleasureafterwards?"

"I don't know, Ellen, " said Alice, smiling; "I won't say that;though it _is_ worth paying a price for, to find how muchkindness there is in some people's hearts. As to sleeping onthe floor, I must say I never felt less inclined to it. "

"Well, I am tired enough, too, " said Ellen, as they laidthemselves down. "Two nights with you in a week! Oh, thoseweeks before I saw you, Miss Alice!"

One earnest kiss for good night; and Ellen's sign of pleasureon touching the pillow was scarcely breathed when sleep, deepand sound, fell upon her eyelids. 

It was very late next morning when they awoke, having sleptrather heavily than well. They crawled out of bed, feelingstiff and sore in every limb, each confessing to more evileffects from their adventure than she had been aware of theevening before. All the rubbing and bathing and drinking thatMrs. Van Brunt had administered, had been too little to undowhat wet and cold and fatigue had done. But Mrs. Van Brunt hadset her breakfast-table with everything her house couldfurnish that was nice; a bountifully-spread board it was. Mr. Humphreys was there, too; and no bad feelings of two of theparty could prevent that from being a most cheerful andpleasant meal. Even Mr. Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, twopersons not usually given to many words, came out wonderfullyon this occasion; gratitude and pleasure in the one, andgenerous feeling on the part of the other, untied theirtongues; and Ellen looked from one to the other in someamazement, to see how agreeable they could be. Kindness andhospitality always kept Mrs. Van Brunt in full flow; andAlice, whatever she felt, exerted herself and supplied whatwas wanting everywhere, like the transparent glazing whichpainters use to spread over the dead colour of their pictures;unknown, it was she gave life and harmony to the whole. AndEllen, in her enjoyment of everything and everybody, forgot ordespised aches and pains, and even whispered to Alice thatcoffee was making her well again. 

But happy breakfasts must come to an end, and so did this, prolonged though it was. Immediately after, the party, whomcircumstances had gathered for the first and probably the lasttime, scattered again: but the meeting had left pleasanteffects on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt was in general delightthat she had entertained so many people she thought a greatdeal of, and particularly glad of the chance of showing herkind feelings towards two of the number. Mr. Humphreysremarked upon "that very sensible, good-hearted man, Mr. VanBrunt, towards whom he felt himself under great obligation. "Mr. Van Brunt said "the minister warn't such a grum man aspeople called him;" and more-over said, "it was a good thingto have an education, and he had a notion to read more. " Asfor Alice and Ellen, they went away full of kind feeling forevery one, and much love to each other. This was true of thembefore; but their late troubles had drawn them closertogether, and given them fresh occasion to value theirfriends. 

Mr. Humphreys had brought the little one-horse sleigh for hisdaughter, and, soon after breakfast, Ellen saw it drive offwith her. Mr. Van Brunt then harnessed his own and carriedEllen home. Ill though she felt, the poor child made aneffort, and spent part of the morning in finishing the longletter to her mother, which had been on the stocks sinceMonday. The effort became painful towards the last: and theaching limbs and trembling hand of which she complained, werethe first beginnings of a serious fit of illness. She went tobed that same afternoon, and did not leave it again for twoweeks. Cold had taken violent hold of her system; fever setin, and ran high; and half the time little Ellen's wits wereroving in delirium. Nothing, however, could be too much forMiss Fortune's energies; she was as much at home in a sickroom as in a well one. She flew about with increased agility;was upstairs and downstairs twenty times in the course of aday, and kept all straight everywhere. Ellen's room was alwaysthe picture of neatness; the fire, the wood fire was takencare of; Miss Fortune seemed to know, by instinct, when itwanted a fresh supply, and to be on the spot by magic to giveit. Ellen's medicines were dealt out in proper time; hergruels and drinks perfectly well made and arranged, withappetizing nicety, on a little table by the bedside, where shecould reach them herself; and Miss Fortune was generally athand when she was wanted. But, in spite of all this, there wassomething missing in that sick room — there was a great want;and whenever the delirium was upon her, Ellen made no secretof it. She was never violent; but she moaned, sometimesimpatiently, and sometimes plaintively, for her mother. It wasa vexation to Miss Fortune to hear her. The name of her motherwas all the time on her lips; if by chance her aunt's namecame in, it was spoken in a way that generally sent herbouncing out of the room. 

"Mamma, " poor Ellen would say, "just lay your hand on myforehead, will you? it's so hot! Oh, do, Mamma! — where areyou? Do put your hand on my forehead, won't you? Oh, do speakto me! — why don't you, Mamma? Oh, why don't she come to me?"

Once, when Ellen was uneasily calling in this fashion for hermother's hand, Miss Fortune softly laid her own upon thechild's brow; but the quick sudden jerk of the head from underit told her how well Ellen knew the one from the other; and, little as she cared for Ellen, it was wormwood to her. 

Miss Fortune was not without offers of help during this sicktime. Mrs. Van Brunt, and afterwards Mrs. Vawse, asked leaveto come and nurse Ellen; but Miss Fortune declared it was moreplague than profit to her; and she couldn't be bothered withhaving strangers about. Mrs. Van Brunt she suffered, muchagainst her will, to come for a day or two: at the end ofthat, Miss Fortune found means to get rid of her civilly. Mrs. Vawse she would not allow to stay an hour. The old lady gotleave, however, to go up to the sick room for a few minutes. Ellen, who was then in a high fever, informed her that hermother was downstairs, and her aunt Fortune would not let hercome up; she pleaded, with tears, that she might come, andentreated Mrs. Vawse to take her aunt away, and send hermother. Mrs. Vawse tried to soothe her. Miss Fortune grewimpatient. 

"What on earth's the use, " said she, "of talking to a childthat's out of her head? she can't hear reason; that's the wayshe gets into whenever the fever's on her. I have the pleasureof hearing that sort of thing all the time. Come away, Mrs. Vawse, and leave her; she can't be better any way than alone, and I am in the room every other thing — she's just as wellquiet. Nobody knows, " said Miss Fortune, on her way downstairs — "nobody knows the blessings of taking care of otherpeople's children that han't tried it. _I've_ tried it, to myheart's content. "

Mrs. Vawse sighed, but departed in silence. 

It was not when the fever was on her and delirium high thatEllen most felt the want she then so pitifully made known. There were other times — when her head was aching, and, wearyand weak, she lay still there — oh, how she longed then forthe dear wonted face, the old quiet smile that carried so muchof comfort and assurance with it, the voice that was likeheaven's music, the touch of that loved hand to which she hadclung for so many years! She could scarcely bear to think ofit, sometimes. In the still, wakeful hours of night, when theonly sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of her auntasleep on the floor by her side; and in the long, solitaryday, when the only variety to be looked for was Miss Fortune'sflitting in and out, and there came to be a sameness aboutthat — Ellen mourned her loss bitterly. Many and many were thesilent tears that rolled down and wet her pillow; many a long-drawn sigh came from the very bottom of Ellen's heart: she wastoo weak and subdued now for violent weeping. She wonderedsadly why Alice did not come to see her; it was another greatgrief added to the former. She never chose, however, tomention her name to her aunt. She kept her wonder and hersorrow to herself — all the harder to bear for that. After twoweeks Ellen began to mend, and then she became exceedinglyweary of being alone and shut up to her room. It was apleasure to have her Bible and hymn-book lying upon the bed, and a great comfort when she was able to look at a few words, but that was not very often, and she longed to see somebody, and hear something besides her aunt's dry questions andanswers. 

One afternoon Ellen was sitting, alone as usual, bolstered upin bed. Her little hymn-book was clasped in her hand; thoughnot equal to reading, she felt the touch of it a solace toher. Half-dozing, half-waking, she had been perfectly quietfor some time, when the sudden and not very gentle opening ofthe room door caused her to start and open her eyes. Theyopened wider than usual, for, instead of her Aunt Fortune, itwas the figure of Miss Nancy Vawse that presented itself. Shecame in briskly, and, shutting the door behind her, advancedto the bedside. 

"Well, " said she, "there you are! Why, you look smart enough. I've come to see you. "

"Have you?" said Ellen, uneasily. 

"Miss Fortune's gone out, and she told me to come and takecare of you; so I'm a going to spend the afternoon. "

"Are you?" said Ellen, again. 

"Yes; ain't you glad? I knew you must be lonely, so I thoughtI'd come. "

There was a mischievous twinkle in Nancy's eyes. Ellen foronce in her life wished for her aunt's presence. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, " said Ellen. 

"Nothing indeed! It's a fine thing to lie there and donothing. You won't get well in a hurry, I guess — will you?You look as well as I do this minute. Oh, I always knew youwas a sham. "

"You are very much mistaken, " said Ellen, indignantly; "I havebeen very sick, and I am not at all well yet. "

"Fiddle-de-dee! it's very nice to think so; I guess you'relazy. How soft and good those pillows do look to be sure. Come, Ellen, try getting up a little. I believe you hurtyourself with sleeping; it'll do you good to be out of bedawhile; come, get up!"

She pulled Ellen's arm as she spoke. 

"Stop, Nancy — let me alone!" cried Ellen, struggling with allher force — "I musn't — I can't! I musn't get up! What do youmean? I'm not able to sit up at all; let me go!"

She succeeded in freeing herself from Nancy's grasp. 

"Well, you're an obstinate piece, " said the other; "have yourown way. But mind, I'm left in charge of you; is it time foryou to take your physic?"

"I am not taking any, " said Ellen. 

"What are you taking?"

"Nothing but gruel and little things. "

" 'Gruel and little things;' little things means somethinggood, I s'pose. Well, is it time for you to take your gruel orone of the little things?"

"No, I don't want any. "

"Oh, that's nothing; people never know what's good for them;I'm your nurse now, and I'm going to give it to you when Ithink you want it. Let me feel your pulse: — yes, your pulsesays gruel is wanting. I shall put some down to warm rightaway. "

"I shan't take it, " said Ellen. 

"That's a likely story! You'd better not say so. I rathers'pose you will if I give it to you. Look here, Ellen, you'dbetter mind how you behave; you're going to do just what Itell you. I know how to manage you; if you make any fuss Ishall just tickle you finely, " said Nancy, as she prepared abed of coals, and set the cup of gruel on it to get hot. "I'lldo it in no time at all, my young lady — so you'd bettermind. "

Poor Ellen involuntarily curled up her feet under the bed-clothes, so as to get them as far as possible out of harm'sway. She judged the best thing was to keep quiet if she could, so she said nothing. Nancy was in great glee; with somethingof the same spirit of mischief that a cat shows when she has acaptured mouse at the end of her paws. While the gruel washeating, she spun round the room in quest of amusement; andher sudden jerks and flings from one place and thing toanother had so much of lawlessness, that Ellen was inperpetual terror as to what she might take it into her head todo next. 

"Where does that door lead to?"

"I believe that one leads to the garret, " said Ellen. 

"You _believe so?_ why don't you say it does, at once?"

"I haven't been up to see. "

"You haven't! you expect me to believe that, I s'pose? I amnot quite such a gull as you take me for. What's up there?"

"I don't know, of course. "

"Of course! I declare I don't know what you are up to exactly;but if you won't tell me, I'll find out for myself prettyquick — that's one thing. "

She flung open the door and ran up; and Ellen heard her feettrampling overhead from one end of the house to the other; andsounds, too, of pushing and pulling things over the floor; itwas plain Nancy was rummaging. 

"Well, " said Ellen, as she turned uneasily upon her bed, "it'sno affair of mine; I can't help it, whatever she does. But oh!wont Aunt Fortune be angry!"

Nancy presently came down with her frock gathered up into abag before her. 

"What do you think I have got here?" said she, "I s'pose youdidn't know there was a basket of fine hickory-nuts up therein the corner? Was it you or Miss Fortune that hid them awayso nicely? I s'pose she thought nobody would ever think oflooking behind that great blue chest and under the feather-bed, but it takes me! — Miss Fortune was afraid of yourstealing 'em, I guess, Ellen?"

"She needn't have been, " said Ellen, indignantly. 

"No, I s'pose you wouldn't take 'em if you saw 'em; youwouldn't eat 'em if they were cracked for you, would you?"

She flung some on Ellen's bed as she spoke. Nancy had seatedherself on the floor, and using for a hammer a piece of oldiron she had brought down with her from the garret, she wascracking the nuts on the clean white hearth. 

"Indeed I wouldn't!" said Ellen, throwing them back; "and yououghtn't to crack them there, Nancy — you'll make a dreadfulmess. "

"What, do you think I care?" said the other, scornfully. Sheleisurely cracked and ate as many as she pleased of the nuts, bestowing the rest in the bosom of her frock. Ellen watchedfearfully for her next move. If she should open the littledoor and get among her books and boxes!

Nancy's first care, however, was the cup of gruel. It wasfound too hot for any mortal lips to bear, so it was set onone side to cool. Then taking up her rambling examination ofthe room, she went from window to window. 

"What fine big windows! one might get in here easy enough. Ideclare, Ellen, some night I'll set the ladder up againsthere, and the first thing you'll see will be me coming in. You'll have me to sleep with you before you think. "

"I'll fasten my windows, " said Ellen. 

"No, you won't. You'll do it a night or two, maybe, but thenyou'll forget it. I shall find them open when I come. Oh, I'llcome!"

"But I could call Aunt Fortune, " said Ellen. 

"No, you couldn't, 'cause if you spoke a word I'd tickle youto death; that's what I'd do. I know how to fix you off. Andif you did call her, I'd just whap out of the window and runoff with my ladder, and then you'd get a fine combing fordisturbing the house. What's in this trunk?"

"Only my clothes and things, " said Ellen. 

"Oh, goody! that's fine; now I'll have a look at 'em. That'sjust what I wanted, only I didn't know it. Where's the key?Oh, here it is, sticking in — that's good!"

"Oh, please don't!" said Ellen, raising herself on her elbow, "they're all in nice order, and you'll get them all inconfusion. Oh, do let them alone!"

"You'd best be quiet, or I'll come and see you, " said Nancy;"I'm just going to look at everything in it, and if I findanything out of sorts, you'll get it. What's this? ruffles, Ideclare! ain't you fine! I'll see how they look on me. What aplague! you haven't a glass in the room. Never mind — I amused to dressing without a glass. "

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't, " said Ellen, who was worried to thelast degree at seeing her nicely-done-up ruffles round Nancy'sneck; — "they're so nice, and you'll muss them all up. "

"Don't cry about it, " said Nancy, coolly, "I ain't agoing toeat 'em. My goodness! what a fine hood! ain't that pretty?"

The nice blue hood was turning about in Nancy's fingers, andwell looked at inside and out. Ellen was in distress for fearit would go on Nancy's head, as well as the ruffles round herneck; but it didn't; she flung it at length on one side, andwent on pulling out one thing after another, strewing themvery carelessly about the floor. 

"What's here? a pair of dirty stockings, as I am alive! Ain'tyou ashamed to put dirty stockings in your trunk?"

"They are no such thing, " said Ellen, who, in her vexation, was in danger of forgetting her fear — "I've worn them butonce. "

"They've no business in here, anyhow, " said Nancy, rollingthem up in a hard ball and giving them a sudden fling atEllen. They just missed her face, and struck the wall beyond. Ellen seized them to throw back, but her weakness warned hershe was not able, and a moment reminded her of the folly ofdoing anything to rouse Nancy, who, for the present, waspretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, readyto cry with vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of whiteclothes were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; hercapes tried on; her summer dresses unfolded, displayed, criticised. Nancy decided one was too short; another veryugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done witheach, it was cast out of her way, on one side or the other, asthe case might be. 

The floor was littered with clothes in various states ofdisarrangement and confusion. The bottom of the trunk wasreached at last, and then Nancy suddenly recollected hergruel, and sprang to it. But it had grown cold again. 

"This won't do, " said Nancy, as she put it on the coals again— "it must be just right; it'll warm soon, and then, MissEllen, you're agoing to take it, whether or no. I hope youwon't give me the pleasure of pouring it down. "

Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's study closetand went in there, though Ellen begged her not. She pulled thedoor to, and stayed some time perfectly quiet. Not able to seeor hear what she was doing, and fretted beyond measure thather work-box and writing-desk should be at Nancy's mercy, oreven feel the touch of her fingers, Ellen at last could standit no longer, but threw herself out of the bed, weak as shewas, and went to see what was going on. Nancy was seatedquietly on the floor, examining, with much seeming interest, the contents of the work-box; trying on the thimble, cuttingbits of thread with the scissors, and marking the ends of thespools — with whatever like pieces of mischief her restlessspirit could devise; but when Ellen opened the door, she putthe box from her and started up. 

"My goodness me!" said she, "this'll never do. What are youout here for? you'll catch your death with those dear littlebare feet, and we shall have the mischief to pay!"

As she said this, she caught up Ellen in her arms as if shehad been a baby, and carried her back to the bed, where shelaid her with two or three little shakes, and then proceededto spread up the clothes and tuck her in all round. She thenran for the gruel. Ellen was in great question whether to giveway to tears or vexation; but with some difficulty determinedupon vexation as the best plan. Nancy prepared the gruel toher liking, and brought it to the bedside; but to get itswallowed was another matter. Nancy was resolved Ellen shouldtake it. Ellen had less strength, but quite as much obstinacyas her enemy, and she was equally resolved not to drink adrop. Between laughing on Nancy's part, and very serious angeron Ellen's, a struggle ensued. Nancy tried to force it down, but Ellen's shut teeth were as firm as a vice, and the end wasthat two-thirds were bestowed on the sheet. Ellen burst intotears. Nancy laughed. 

"Well, I _do_ think, " said she, "you are one of the hardestcustomers ever I came across. I shouldn't want to have themanaging of you when you get a little bigger. Oh, the way MissFortune will look, when she comes in here will be a caution!Oh, what fun!"

Nancy shouted and clapped her hands. "Come, stop crying!" saidshe; "what a baby you are! what are you crying for? come, stop! — I'll make you laugh if you don't. "

Two or three little applications of Nancy's fingers made herwords good, but laughing was mixed with crying, and Ellenwrithed in hysterics. Just then came a little knock at thedoor. Ellen did not hear it, but it quieted Nancy. She stoodstill a moment; and then, as the knock was repeated, shecalled out boldly, "Come in!" Ellen raised her head "to seewho there might be;" and great was the surprise of both, andthe joy of one, as the tall form and broad shoulders of Mr. Van Brunt presented themselves. 

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt, " sobbed Ellen, "I am so glad to see you!won't you please send Nancy away?"

"What are you doing here?" said the astonished Dutchman. 

"Look and see, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Nancy with a smile ofmischief's own curling; "you won't be long finding out, Iguess. "

"Take yourself off, and don't let me hear of your being caughthere again. "

"I'll go when I'm ready, thank you, " said Nancy; "and as tothe rest, I haven't been caught the first time, yet; I don'tknow what you mean. "

She sprang as she finished her sentence, for Mr. Van Bruntmade a sudden movement to catch her then and there. He wasfoiled; and then began a running chase round the room, in thecourse of which Nancy dodged, pushed, and sprang, with thepower of squeezing by impassables, and overleapingimpossibilities, that, to say the least of it, was remarkable. The room was too small for her, and she was caught at last. 

"I vow!" said Mr. Van Brunt as he pinioned her hands, "Ishould like to see you play blind man's buff for once, if Iwarn't the blind man. "

"How'd you see me if you was?" said Nancy, scornfully. 

"Now, Miss Ellen, " said Mr. Van Brunt, as he brought her toEllen's bedside, "here she is safe; what shall I do with her?"

"If you will only send her away, and not let her come back, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, "I'll be so much obliged to you!"

"Let me go!" said Nancy; "I declare you're a real meanDutchman, Mr. Van Brunt. "

He took both her hands in one, and laid the other lightly overher ears. 

"I'll let you go, " said he. "Now, don't you be caught hereagain, if you know what is good for yourself. "

He saw Miss Nancy out of the door, and then came back toEllen, who was crying heartily again from nervous vexation. 

"She's gone, " said he. "What has that wicked thing been doing, Miss Ellen? what's the matter with you?"

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, "you can't think how she hasworried me; she has been here this great while; just look atall my things on the floor, and that isn't the half. "

Mr. Van Brunt gave a long whistle as his eye surveyed thetokens of Miss Nancy's mischief-making, over and through whichboth she and himself had been chasing at full speed, makingthe state of matters rather worse than it was before. 

"I do say, " said he, slowly, "that is too bad. I'd fix them upagain for you, Miss Ellen, if I knew how; but my hands area'most as clumsy as my feet, and I see the marks of themthere; it's too bad, I declare; I didn't know what I was goingon. "

"Never mind, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, — "I don't mind whatyou have done, a bit. I'm so glad to see you!"

She put out her little hand to him as she spoke. He took it inhis own, silently; but, though he said and showed nothing ofit, Ellen's look and tone of affection thrilled his heart withpleasure. 

"How do you do?" said he, kindly. 

"I'm a great deal better, " said Ellen. "Sit down, won't you, Mr. Van Brunt? I want to see you a little. "

Horses wouldn't have drawn him away after that. He sat down. 

"Ain't you going to be up again some of these days?" said he. 

"Oh yes, I hope so, " said Ellen, sighing; "I am very tired oflying here. "

He looked round the room; got up and mended the fire, thencame and sat down again. 

"I was up yesterday for a minute, " said Ellen; "but the chairtired me so, I was glad to get back to bed again. "

It was no wonder; harder and straighter-backed chairs neverwere invented. Probably Mr. Van Brunt thought so. 

"Wouldn't you like to have a rocking cheer?" said he, suddenly, as if a bright thought had struck him. 

"Oh yes, how much I should!" said Ellen, with another long-drawn breath; "but there isn't such a thing in the house, thatever I saw. "

"Ay, but there is in other houses, though, " said Mr. VanBrunt, with as near an approach to a smile as his lipscommonly made; "we'll see!"

Ellen smiled more broadly. "But don't you give yourself anytrouble for me, " said she. 

"Trouble, indeed!" said Mr. Van Brunt; "I don't know anythingabout that. How came that wicked thing up here to plague you?"

"She said Aunt Fortune left her to take care of me. "

"That's one of her lies. Your aunt's gone out, I know; butshe's a trifle wiser than to do such a thing as that. She hasplagued you badly, han't she?"

He might have thought so. The colour which excitement broughtinto Ellen's face had faded away, and she had settled herselfback against her pillow with an expression of weakness andweariness that the strong man saw and felt. 

"What is there I can do for you?" said he, with a gentlenessthat seemed almost strange from such lips. 

"If you would, " said Ellen, faintly, — "if you _could_ be sokind as to read to me a hymn — I should be so glad. I've hadnobody to read to me. "

Her hand put the little book towards him as she said so. 

Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had asked him toplough an acre. He was to the full as much confounded as poorEllen had once been at a request of his. He hesitated, andlooked towards Ellen, wishing for an excuse. But the palelittle face that lay there against the pillow — the droopingeyelids — the meek, helpless look of the little child, put allexcuses out of his head; and though he would have chosen to doalmost anything else, he took the book, and asked her "Where?"She said, "Anywhere;" and he took the first he saw. 

"Poor, weak, and worthless though I am, I have a rich, almighty Friend;Jesus the Saviour is his name, He freely loves, and without end. "

"Oh, " said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and folding herhands on her breast, — "how lovely that is!"

He stopped and looked at her a moment, and then went on withincreased gravity —

"He ransom'd me from hell with blood, And by his pow'r my foes controll'd;He found me wand'ring far from God, And brought me to his chosen fold. "

"Fold?" said Ellen, opening her eyes; "what is that?"

"It's where sheep are penned, ain't it?" said Mr. Van Brunt, after a pause. 

"Oh, yes!" said Ellen; "that's it; I remember; that's likewhat he said — 'I am the good shepherd, ' and 'the Lord is myshepherd;' I know now. Go on, please. "

He finished the hymn without more interruption. Looking againtowards Ellen, he was surprised to see several large tearsfinding their way down her cheeks from under the wet eyelash. But she quickly wiped them away. 

"What do you read them things for, " said he, "if they make youfeel bad?"

"Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, they don't; they make me happy; Ilove them dearly. I never read that one before. You can'tthink how much I am obliged to you for reading it to me. Willyou let me see where it is?"

He gave it her. 

"Yes, there's his mark!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes. "Now, Mr. Van Brunt, would you be so very good as to read itonce more?"

He obeyed. It was easier this time. She listened, as before, with closed eyes, but the colour came and went, once or twice. 

"Thank you, very much, " she said, when he had done. "Are yougoing?"

"I must; I have some things to look after. "

She held his hand still. 

"Mr. Van Brunt, don't _you_ love hymns?"

"I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen. "

"Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold?"

"What fold?"

"The fold of Christ's people. "

"I'm afeard not, Miss Ellen, " said he, soberly, after aminute's pause. 

"Because, " said Ellen, bursting into tears, "I wish you were, very much. "

She carried the great brown hand to her lips before she let itgo. He went, without saying a word. But when he got out, hestopped and looked at a little tear she had left on the backof it. And he looked till one of his own fell there to keep itcompany. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Footsteps of Angels. 

The next day, about the middle of the afternoon, a light stepcrossed the shed, and the great door opening gently, in walkedMiss Alice Humphreys. The room was all "redd up, " and MissFortune and her mother sat there at work; one picking overwhite beans at the table, the other in her usual seat by thefire, and at her usual employment, which was knitting. Alicecame forward and asked the old lady how she did. 

"Pretty well! — oh!, pretty well!" she answered, with the lookof bland good-humour her face almost always wore — "and gladto see you, dear. Take a chair. "

Alice did so, quite aware that the other person in the roomwas _not_ glad to see her. 

"And how goes the world with you, Miss Fortune?"

"Humph! it's a queer kind of world, I think, " answered thatlady, drily, sweeping some of the picked beans into her pan:"I get a'most sick of it, sometimes. "

"Why, what's the matter?" said Alice, pleasantly; "may I ask?Has anything happened to trouble you?"

"Oh, no!" said the other, somewhat impatiently; "nothingthat's any matter to anyone but myself; it's no use speakingabout it. "

"Ah! Fortune never would take the world easy, " said the oldwoman, shaking her head from side to side; — "never would; — Inever could get her to. "

"Now, do hush, mother, will you!" said the daughter, turninground upon her with startling sharpness of look and tone; "'take the world easy!' you always did; I am glad I ain't likeyou. "

"I don't think it's a bad way, after all, " said Alice; "what'sthe use of taking it hard, Miss Fortune?"

"The way one goes on!" said that lady, picking away at herbeans very fast, and not answering Alice's question; "I'mtired of it; toil, toil, and drive, drive, from morning tonight — and what's the end of it all?"

"Not much, " said Alice, gravely, "if our toiling looks nofurther than this world. When we go we shall carry nothingaway with us. I should think it would be very wearisome totoil only for what we cannot keep, nor stay long to enjoy. "

"It's a pity you warn't a minister, Miss Alice, " said MissFortune, drily. 

"Oh, no, Miss Fortune, " said Alice, smiling, "the family wouldbe overstocked. My father is one, and my brother will beanother — a third would be too much. You must be so good as tolet me preach without taking orders. "

"Well, I wish every minister was as good a one as you'd make, "said Miss Fortune, her hard face giving way a little; "at anyrate, nobody'd mind anything you'd say, Miss Alice. "

"That would be unlucky, in one sense, " said Alice; "but Ibelieve I know what you mean. But, Miss Fortune, no one woulddream the world went very hard with you. I don't know anybody, I think, lives in more independent comfort and plenty, and hasthings more to her mind. I never come to the house that I amnot struck with the fine look of the farm, and all thatbelongs to it. "

"Yes, " said the old lady, nodding her head two or three times;"Mr. Van Brunt is a good farmer — very good — there's no doubtabout that. "

"I wonder what _he'd_ do, " said Miss Fortune, quickly andsharply, as before, "if there warn't a head to manage for him!— Oh, the farm's well enough, Miss Alice — tain't that; everyone knows where his own shoe pinches. "

"I wish you'd let me into the secret, then, Miss Fortune; I'ma cobbler by profession. "

Miss Fortune's ill-humour was giving way, but somethingdisagreeable seemed again to cross her mind. Her browdarkened. 

"I say it's a poor kind of world, and I'm sick of it! One mayslave, and slave one's life out for other people, and whatthanks do you get? I'm sick of it. "

"There's a little body up-stairs, or I'm much mistaken, whowill give you very sincere thanks for every kindness shownher. "

Miss Fortune tossed her head, and brushing the refuse beansinto her lap, she pushed back her chair with a jerk, to go tothe fire with them. 

"Much you know about her, Miss Alice! Thanks, indeed! Ihaven't seen the sign of such a thing since she's been here, for all I have worked and worked, and had plague enough withher, I am sure. Deliver me from other people's children, sayI!"

"After all, Miss Fortune, " said Alice, soberly, "it is notwhat we _do_ for people that makes them love us — or, at least, everything depends on the way things are done. A look of love, a word of kindness, goes further towards winning the heartthan years of service, or benefactions mountain high, withoutthem. "

"Does she say I am unkind to her?" asked Miss Fortune, fiercely. 

"Pardon me, " said Alice, "words on her part are unnecessary;it is easy to see from your own that there is no love lostbetween you, and I am very sorry it is so. "

"Love, indeed!" said Miss Fortune, with great indignation;"there never was any to lose, I can assure you. She plaguesthe very life out of me. Why, she hadn't been here three daysbefore she went off with that girl Nancy Vawse, that I hadtold her never to go near, and was gone all night; that's thetime she got in the brook. And if you'd seen her face when Iwas scolding her about it! it was like seven thunderclouds. Much you know about it! I dare say she's very sweet to you;that's the way she is to everybody beside me; they all thinkshe's too good to live; and it just makes me mad!"

"She told me herself, " said Alice, "of her behaving illanother time, about her mother's letter. "

"Yes — that was another time. I wish you'd seen her!"

"I believe she saw and felt her fault in that case. Didn't sheask your pardon? — she said she would. "

"Yes, " said Miss Fortune, drily — "after a fashion. "

"Has she had her letter yet?"

"No. "

"How is she to-day?"

"Oh, she's well enough — she's sitting up. You can go up andsee her. "

"I will, directly, " said Alice. "But now, Miss Fortune, I amgoing to ask a favour of you — will you do me a greatpleasure?"

"Certainly, Miss Alice — if I can. "

"If you think Ellen has been sufficiently punished for herill-behaviour — if you do not think it right to withhold herletter still — will you let me have the pleasure of giving itto her? I should take it as a great favour to myself. "

Miss Fortune made no kind of reply to this, but stalked out ofthe room, and in a few minutes stalked in again with theletter, which she gave to Alice, only saying shortly —

"It came to me in a letter from her father. "

"You are willing she should have it?" said Alice. 

"Oh, yes! — do what you like with it. "

Alice now went softly up stairs. She found Ellen's door alittle ajar, and looking in, could see Ellen seated in arocking-chair between the door and the fire, in her doublegown, and with her hymn-book in her hand. It happened thatEllen had spent a good part of that afternoon in crying forher lost letter; and the face that she turned to the door, onhearing some slight noise outside, was very white and thinindeed. And though it was placid, too, her eye searched thecrack of the door with a keen wistfulness that went to Alice'sheart. But as the door was gently pushed open, and the eyecaught the figure that stood behind it, the sudden and entirechange of expression took away all her powers of speech. Ellen's face became radiant; she rose from her chair, and asAlice came silently in, and kneeling down to be near her, tookher in her arms, Ellen put both hers round Alice's neck, andlaid her face there; one was too happy and the other tootouched, to say a word. 

"My poor child!" was Alice's first expression. 

"No, I ain't, " said Ellen, tightening the squeeze of her armsround Alice's neck; "I am not poor at all now. "

Alice presently rose, sat down in the rocking-chair, and tookEllen in her lap; and Ellen rested her head on her bosom, asshe had been wont to do of old time on her mother's. 

"I am too happy, " she murmured. But she was weeping, and thecurrent of tears seemed to gather force as it flowed. What waslittle Ellen thinking of just then? Oh, those times gone by! —when she had sat just so; her head pillowed on another asgentle breast; kind arms wrapped round her, just as now; thesame little, old double-gown; the same weak, helpless feeling;the same committing herself to the strength and care ofanother; — how much the same, and, oh! how much not the same!— and Ellen knew both. Blessing, as she did, the breast onwhich she leaned, and the arms whose pressure she felt, theyyet reminded her sadly of those most loved and so very faraway; and it was an odd mixture of relief and regret, joy andsorrow, gratified and ungratified affection, that opened thesluices of her eyes. Tears poured. 

"What is the matter, my love?" said Alice, softly. 

"I don't know, " whispered Ellen. 

"Are you so glad to see me? or so sorry? or what is it?"

"Oh, glad and sorry both, I think!" said Ellen, with a longbreath, and sitting up. 

"Have you wanted me so much, my poor child?"

"I cannot tell you how much, " said Ellen, her words cut short. 

"And didn't you know that I have been sick, too? What did youthink had become of me? Why, Mrs. Vawse was with me a wholeweek, and this is the very first day I have been able to goout. It is so fine to-day, I was permitted to ride Sharpdown. "

"Was that it?" said Ellen. "I did wonder, Miss Alice — I didwonder very much why you did not come to see me, but I neverliked to ask Aunt Fortune, because —"

"Because what?"

"I don't know as I ought to say what I was going to; I had afeeling she would be glad about what I was sorry about. "

"Don't know _that_ you ought to say, " said Alice. "Remember, youare to study English with me. "

Ellen smiled a glad smile. 

"And you have had a weary two weeks of it, haven't you, dear?"

"Oh, " said Ellen, with another long-drawn sigh, "how weary!Part of that time, to be sure, I was out of my head; but Ihave got _so_ tired lying here all alone; Aunt Fortune coming inand out, was just as good as nobody. "

"Poor child!" said Alice, "you have had a worse time than I. "

"I used to lie and watch that crack in the door, at the footof my bed, " said Ellen, "and I got so tired of it I hated tosee it; but when I opened my eyes I couldn't help looking atit, and watching all the little ins and outs in the crack, till I was as sick of it as could be; and that button too, that fastens the door, and the little round mark the buttonhas made, and thinking how far the button went round. Andthen, if I looked towards the windows, I would go right tocounting the panes, first up and down, and then across — and Ididn't want to count them, but I couldn't help it; andwatching to see through which pane the sky looked brightest. Oh! I got so sick of it all! There was only the fire that Ididn't get tired of looking at; I always liked to lie and lookat that, except when it hurt my eyes. And oh! how I wanted tosee you, Miss Alice! You can't think how sad I felt that youdidn't come to see me. I couldn't think what could be thematter. "

"I should have been with you, dear, and not have left you, ifI had not been tied at home myself. "

"So I thought, and that made it seem so very strange. But oh!don't you think, " said Ellen, her face suddenly brightening —"don't you think Mr. Van Brunt came up to see me last night?Wasn't it good of him? He even sat down and read to me — onlythink of that! And isn't he kind? — he asked if I would like arocking-chair, and of course I said yes, for these otherchairs are dreadful — they break my back; and there wasn'tsuch a thing as a rocking-chair in Aunt Fortune's house — shehates 'em, she says; and this morning, the first thing I knew, in walked Mr. Van Brunt with this nice rocking-chair. Just getup and see how nice it is; — you see the back is cushioned, and the elbows, as well as the seat; it's queer-looking, ain'tit? but it's very comfortable. Wasn't it good of him?"

"It was very kind, I think. But do you know, Ellen, I am goingto have a quarrel with you?"

"What about?" said Ellen. "I don't believe it's anything verybad, for you look pretty good-humoured, considering. "

"Nothing _very_ bad, " said Alice, "but still enough to quarrelabout. You have twice said '_ain't_ ' since I have been here. "

"Oh, " said Ellen, laughing, "is that all?"

"Yes, " said Alice, "and my English ears don't like it at all. "

"Then they shan't hear it, " said Ellen, kissing her. "I don'tknow what makes me say it — I never used to. But I've got moreto tell you — I've had more visitors. Who do you think came tosee me? — you'd never guess — Nancy Vawse! Mr. Van Brunt camein the very nick of time, when I was almost worried to deathwith her. Only think of _her_ coming up here — unknown to everybody! And she stayed an age, and how she _did_ go on! Shecracked nuts on the hearth; — she got every stitch of myclothes out of my trunk, and scattered them over the floor; —she tried to make me drink gruel, till, between us we spilleda great parcel on the bed; — and she had begun to tickle mewhen Mr. Van Brunt came. Oh! wasn't I glad to see him! Andwhen Aunt Fortune came up and saw it all, she was as angry asshe could be; and she scolded and scolded, till at last I toldher it was none of my doing — I couldn't help it at all — andshe needn't talk so to me about it; and then she said it wasmy fault, the whole of it! that if I hadn't scrapedacquaintance with Nancy, when she had forbidden me all thiswould never have happened. "

"There is some truth in that, isn't there, Ellen?"

"Perhaps so; but I think it might all have happened whether orno; and, at any rate, it is a little hard to talk so to meabout it now, when it's all over, and can't be helped. Oh, Ihave been so tired to-day, Miss Alice! — Aunt Fortune has beenin such a bad humour. "

"What put her in a bad humour?"

"Why, all this about Nancy in the first place; and then I knowshe didn't like Mr. Van Brunt's bringing the rocking-chair forme — she couldn't say much, but I could see by her face. Andthen Mrs. Van Brunt's coming — I don't think she liked that. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt came to see me this morning, and brought mea custard. How many people are kind to me, everywhere I go. "

"I hope, dear Ellen, you don't forget whose kindness sendsthem all. "

"I don't, Miss Alice; I always think of that now; and itseems, you can't think how pleasant, to me sometimes. "

"Then I hope you can bear unkindness from one poor woman —who, after all, isn't as happy as you are — without feelingany ill-will towards her in return. "

"I don't think I feel ill-will towards her, " said Ellen; "Ialways try as hard as I can not to; but I can't _like_ her, MissAlice; and I do get out of patience. It's very easy to put meout of patience, I think; it takes almost nothing, sometimes. "

"But, remember, 'charity suffereth long, and is kind. ' "

"And I try all the while, dear Miss Alice, to keep down my badfeelings, " said Ellen, her eyes watering as she spoke; "I try, and pray to get rid of them, and I hope I shall by-and-by; Ibelieve I am very bad. "

Alice drew her closer. 

"I have felt very sad part of to-day, " said Ellen, presently;"Aunt Fortune, and my being so lonely, and my poor letter, altogether; but part of the time I felt a great deal better. Iwas learning that lovely hymn — do you know it, Miss Alice? —

'Poor, weak, and worthless, though I am. ' "

Alice went on: —

" 'I have a rich, almighty Friend, Jesus the Saviour is his name, He freely loves, and without end. '

"Oh, dear Ellen, whoever can say that, has no right to beunhappy. No matter what happens, we have enough to be gladof. "

"And then I was thinking of those words in the Psalms —'Blessed is the man' — stop, I'll find it; I don't knowexactly how it goes; — 'Blessed is he whose transgression isforgiven; whose sin is covered. ' "

"Oh, yes, indeed!" said Alice. "It is a shame that any triflesshould worry much those whose sins are forgiven them, and whoare the children of the great King. Poor Miss Fortune neverknew the sweetness of those words. We ought to be sorry forher, and pray for her, Ellen; and never, never, even inthought, return evil for evil. It is not like Christ to doso. "

"I will not, I will not, if I can help it, " said Ellen. 

"You can help it; but there is only one way. Now, Ellen, dear, I have three pieces of news for you, that I think you willlike. One concerns you, another myself, and the third concernsboth you and myself. Which will you have first?"

"Three pieces of good news!" said Ellen, with opening eyes; "Ithink I'll have my part first. "

Directing Ellen's eyes to her pocket, Alice slowly made thecorner of the letter show itself. Ellen's colour came and wentquick as it was drawn forth; but when it was fairly out, andshe knew it again, she flung herself upon it with a desperateeagerness Alice had not looked for; she was startled at thehalf-frantic way in which the child clasped and kissed it, weeping bitterly at the same time. Her transport was almosthysterical. She had opened the letter, but she was not able toread a word; and quitting Alice's arms, she threw herself uponthe bed, sobbing in a mixture of joy and sorrow that seemed totake away her reason. Alice looked on surprised a moment, butonly a moment, and turned away. 

When Ellen was able to begin her letter, the reading of itserved to throw her back into fresh fits of tears. Many a wordof Mrs. Montgomery's went so to her little daughter's heart, that its very inmost cords of love and tenderness were wrung. It is true, the letter was short and very simple; but it camefrom her mother's heart; it was written by her mother's hand;and the very old remembered hand-writing had mighty power tomove her. She was so wrapped up in her own feelings, thatthrough it all she never noticed that Alice was not near her, that Alice did not speak to comfort her. When the letter hadbeen read time after time, and wept over again and again, andEllen at last was folding it up for the present, she bethoughtherself of her friend, and turned to look after her. Alice wassitting by the window, her face hid in her hands; and as Ellendrew near, she was surprised to see that her tears wereflowing, and her breast heaving. Ellen came quite close, andsoftly laid her hand on Alice's shoulder. But it drew noattention. 

"Miss Alice, " said Ellen, almost fearfully, "_dear_ Miss Alice"— and her own eyes filled fast again — "what is the matter? —won't you tell me? Oh! don't do so! please don't!"

"I will not, " said Alice, lifting her head; "I am sorry I havetroubled you, dear; I am sorry, I could not help it. "

She kissed Ellen, who stood anxious and sorrowful by her side, and brushed away her tears. But Ellen saw she had beenshedding a great many. 

"What is the matter, dear Miss Alice? — what has happened totrouble you? — won't you tell me?" — Ellen was almost cryingherself. 

Alice came back to the rocking-chair, and took Ellen in herarms again; but she did not answer her. Leaning her faceagainst Ellen's forehead, she remained silent. Ellen venturedto ask no more questions; but lifting her hand once or twicecaressingly to Alice's face, she was distressed to find hercheek wet still. Alice spoke at last. 

"It isn't fair not to tell you what is the matter, dear Ellen, since I have let you see me sorrowing. It is nothing new, noranything I would have otherwise if I could. It is only that Ihave had a mother once, and have lost her; — and you broughtback the old time so strongly, that I could not commandmyself. "

Ellen felt a hot tear drop upon her forehead, and againventured to speak her sympathy only by silently strokingAlice's cheek. 

"It is all past now, " said Alice; "it is all well. I would nothave her back again. I shall go to her, I hope, by-and-by. "

"Oh, no! You must stay with me, " said Ellen, clasping botharms around her. 

There was a long silence, during which they remained locked ineach other's arms. 

"Ellen, dear, " said Alice, at length, "we are both motherless, for the present, at least — both of us almost alone: I thinkGod has brought us together to be a comfort to each other. Wewill be sisters while He permits us to be so. Don't call meMiss Alice any more. You shall be my little sister, and I willbe your elder sister, and my home shall be your home as well. "

Ellen's arms were drawn very close round her companion atthis, but she said nothing, and her face was laid in Alice'sbosom. There was another very long pause. Then Alice spoke ina livelier tone. 

"Come, Ellen! look up! you and I have forgotten ourselves; itisn't good for sick people to get down in the dumps. Look up, and let me see these pale cheeks. Don't you want something toeat?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, faintly. 

"What would you say to a cup of chicken-broth?"

"Oh, I should like it very much!" said Ellen, with new energy. 

"Margery made me some particularly nice, as she always does;and I took it into my head a little might not come amiss toyou; so I resolved to stand the chance of Sharp's jolting itall over me, and I rode down with a little pail of it on myarm. Let me rake open these coals, and you shall have somedirectly. "

"And did you come without being spattered?" said Ellen. 

"Not a drop. Is this what you use to warm things in? Nevermind, it has had gruel in it; I'll set the tin pail on thefire; it won't hurt it. "

"I am so much obliged to you, " said Ellen, "for do you know Ihave got quite tired of gruel, and panada I can't bear. "

"Then I am very glad I brought it. "

While it was warming, Alice washed Ellen's gruel cup andspoon; and presently she had the satisfaction of seeing Elleneating the broth with that keen enjoyment none know but thosethat have been sick and are getting well. She smiled to seeher gaining strength almost in the very act of swallowing. 

"Ellen, " said she, presently, "I have been considering yourdressing-table. It looks rather doleful. I'll make you apresent of some dimity, and when you come to see me you shallmake a cover for it, that will reach down to the floor andhide those long legs. "

"That wouldn't do at all, " said Ellen; "Aunt Fortune would gooff into all sorts of fits. "

"What about?"

"Why, the washing, Miss Alice — to have such a great thing towash every now and then. You can't think what a fuss she makesif I have more than just so many white clothes in the washevery week. "

"That's too bad, " said Alice. "Suppose you bring it up to me —it wouldn't be often — and I'll have it washed for you — ifyou care enough about it to take the trouble. "

"Oh, indeed I do!" said Ellen: "I should like it very much, and I'll get Mr. Van Brunt to — no, I can't, Aunt Fortunewon't let me; I was going to say, I would get him to saw offthe legs and make it lower for me, and then my dressing-boxwould stand so nicely on the top. Maybe I can yet. Oh, I nevershowed you my boxes and things. "

Ellen brought them all out, and displayed their beauties. Inthe course of going over the writing-desk, she came to thesecret drawer, and a little money in it. 

"Oh, that puts me in mind!" she said. "Miss Alice, this moneyis to be spent for some poor child; — now, I've been thinkingNancy has behaved so to me, I should like to give hersomething, to show her that I don't feel unkindly about it —what do you think will be a good thing?"

"I don't know, Ellen — I'll take the matter intoconsideration. "

"Do you think a Bible would do?"

"Perhaps that would do as well as anything; — I'll think aboutit. "

"I should like to do it, very much, " said Ellen, "for she hasvexed me wonderfully. "

"Well, Ellen, would you like to hear my other pieces of news?or have you no curiosity?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, " said Ellen; "I had forgotten it entirely;what is it, Miss Alice?"

"You know, I told you one concerns only myself, but it isgreat news to me. I learnt this morning that my brother willcome to spend the holidays with me. It is many months since Ihave seen him. "

"Does he live far away?" said Ellen. 

"Yes — he has gone far away to pursue his studies, and cannotcome home often. The other piece of news is, that I intend, ifyou have no objection, to ask Miss Fortune's leave to have youspend the holidays with me too. "

"Oh, delightful!" said Ellen, starting up, and clapping herhands, and then throwing them round her adopted sister's neck;— "dear Alice, how good you are!"

"Then I suppose I may reckon upon your consent, " said Alice —"and I'll speak to Miss Fortune, without delay. "

"Oh, thank you, dear Miss Alice; — how glad I am! I shall behappy all the time from now till then thinking of it. Youaren't going?"

"I must. "

"Ah, don't go yet! Sit down again; you know you're my sister —don't you want to read Mamma's letter?"

"If you please, Ellen — I should like it very much. "

She sat down, and Ellen gave her the letter, and stood bywhile she read it, watching her with glistening eyes; andthough, as she saw Alice's fill, her own overflowed again, shehung over her still to the last; going over every line thistime with a new pleasure: —

"New York, Saturday, Nov. 22, 18 — . 

"MY DEAR ELLEN, — "I meant to have written to you before, buthave been scarcely able to do so. I did make one or twoefforts which came to nothing; I was obliged to give it upbefore finishing anything that could be called a letter. To-day I feel much stronger than I have at any time since yourdeparture. 

"I have missed you, my dear child, very much. There is not anhour in the day, nor a half hour, that the want of you doesnot come home to my heart; and I think I have missed you in myvery dreams. This separation is a very hard thing to bear. Butthe hand that has arranged it does nothing amiss; we musttrust Him, my daughter, that all will be well. I feel it iswell; though sometimes the thought of your dear little face isalmost too much for me. I will thank God I have had such ablessing so long, and I now commit my treasure to him. It isan unspeakable comfort to me to do this, for nothing committedto his care is ever forgotten or neglected. Oh! my daughter, never forget to pray; never slight it. It is almost my onlyrefuge, now I have lost you, and it bears me up. How often —how often — through years gone by — when heart-sick and faint— I have fallen on my knees, and presently there have been, asit were, drops of cool water sprinkled upon my spirit's fever. Learn to love prayer, dear Ellen, and then you will have acure for all the sorrows of life. And keep this letter, that, if ever you are like to forget it, your mother's testimony maycome to mind again. 

"My tea, that used to be so pleasant, has become a sad meal tome. I drink it mechanically, and set down my cup, rememberingonly that the dear little hand which used to minister to mywants is near me no more. My child — my child! — words arepoor to express the heart's yearnings, — my spirit is near youall the time. 

"Your old gentleman has paid me several visits. The day afteryou went, came some beautiful pigeons. I sent word back thatyou were no longer here to enjoy his gifts, and the next dayhe came to see me. He has shown himself very kind. And allthis, dear Ellen, had for its immediate cause your proper andladylike behaviour in the store. That thought has been sweeterto me than all the old gentleman's birds and fruit. I am sorryto inform you that, though I have seen him so many times, I amstill perfectly ignorant of his name. 

"We set sail Monday, in the _England_. Your father has secured anice state-room for me, and I have a store of comforts laid upfor the voyage. So next week you may imagine me out on thebroad ocean, with nothing but sky and clouds and water to beseen around me, and probably much too sick to look at those. Never mind that; the sickness is good for me. 

"I will write you as soon as I can again, and send by thefirst conveyance. 

"And now, my dear baby — my precious child — farewell! May theblessings of God be with you! — Your affectionate mother, "E. MONTGOMERY. "

"You ought to be a good child, Ellen, " said Alice, as shedashed away some tears. "Thank you for letter me see this; ithas been a great pleasure to me. "

"And now, " said Ellen, "you feel as if you knew Mamma alittle. "

"Enough to honour and respect her very much. Now, good-bye, mylove; I must be at home before it is late. I will see youagain before Christmas comes. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

Shows how Mr. Van Brunt could be sharp upon some things. 

To Ellen's sorrow, she was pronounced next morning well enoughto come downstairs; her aunt averring that "it was no use tokeep a fire burning up there for nothing. " She must get up anddress in the cold, again; and winter had fairly set in now;the 19th of December rose clear and keen. Ellen lookedsighingly at the heap of ashes and the dead brands in thefireplace, where the bright little fire had blazed socheerfully the evening before. But regrets did not help thematter, and shivering she began to dress as fast as she could. Since her illness, a basin and pitcher had been brought intoher room, so the washing at the spout was ended for thepresent; and, though the basin had no place but a chair, andthe pitcher must stand on the floor, Ellen thought herself toohappy. But how cold it was! The wind swept past her windows, giving wintry shakes to the panes of glass, and through manyan opening in the wooden framework of the house it came in andsaluted Ellen's bare arms and neck. She hurried to finish herdressing, and wrapping her double-gown over all, went down tothe kitchen. It was another climate there. A great fire wasburning, that it quite cheered Ellen's heart to look at; andthe air seemed to be full of coffee and buckwheat cakes; Ellenalmost thought she should get enough breakfast by the sense ofsmell. 

"Ah! here you are, " said Miss Fortune. "What have you got thatthing on for?"

"It was so cold up-stairs, " said Ellen, drawing up hershoulders. The warmth had not got inside of her wrapper yet. 

"Well, 'tain't cold here; you'd better pull it off right away. I've no notion of people's making themselves tender. You'll bewarm enough directly. Breakfast'll warm you. "

Ellen felt almost inclined to quarrel with the breakfast thatwas offered in exchange for her comfortable wrapper; shepulled it off, however, and sat down without saying anything. Mr. Van Brunt put some cakes on her plate. 

"If breakfast's agoing to warm you, " said he, "make haste andget something down; or drink a cup of coffee — you're as blueas skim milk. "

"Am I?" said Ellen, laughing; "I feel blue, but I can't eatsuch a pile of cakes as that, Mr. Van Brunt. "

As a general thing, the meals at Miss Fortune's were silentsolemnities; an occasional consultation, or a few questionsand remarks about farm affairs, being all that ever passed. The breakfast this morning was a singular exception to thecommon rule. 

"I am in a regular quandary, " said the mistress of the house, when the meal was about half over. 

Mr. Van Brunt looked up for an instant, and asked, "whatabout?"

"Why, how I am ever going to do to get those apples andsausage-meat done? If I go to doing 'em myself, I shall aboutget through by spring. "

"Why don't you make a bee?" said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Ain't enough of either on 'em to make it worth while. I ain'tagoing to have all the bother of a bee without some thing toshow for't. "

"Turn'em both into one, " suggested her counsellor, going onwith his breakfast. 

"Both?"

"Yes — let'em pare apples in one room and cut pork int'other. "

"But I wonder who ever heard of such a thing before, " saidMiss Fortune, pausing with her cup of coffee half-way to herlips. Presently, however, it was carried to her mouth, drunkoff, and set down with an air of determination. 

"I don't care, " said she, "if it never was heard of. I'll doit for once anyhow. I'm not one of them to care what folkssay. I'll have it so! But I won't have 'em to tea, mind you —I'd rather throw apples and all into the fire at once. I'llhave but one plague of setting tables, and that. I won't have'em to tea. I'll make it up to 'em in the supper, though. "

"I'll take care to publish that, " said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Don't you go and do such a thing, " said Miss Fortune, earnestly. "I shall have the whole country on my hands. Iwon't have but just as many on 'em as'll do what I want done;that'll be as much as I can stand under. Don't you whisper aword of it to a living creature. I'll go round and ask 'emmyself to come Monday evening. "

"Monday evening; then I suppose you'd like to have up thesleigh this afternoon. Who's acoming?"

"I don't know; I han't asked 'em yet. "

"They'll every soul come that's asked — that you may depend;there ain't one on 'em that would miss of it for a dollar. "

Miss Fortune bridled a little at the implied tribute to herhousekeeping. 

"If I was some folks, I wouldn't let people know I was in sucha mighty hurry to get a good supper, " she observed, ratherscornfully. 

"Humph!" said Mr. Van Brunt; "I think a good supper ain't abad thing, and I've no objection to folk's knowing it. "

"Pshaw! I didn't mean _you_, " said Miss Fortune; "I was thinkingof those Lawsons, and other folks. "

"If you're agoing to ask _them_ to your bee, you ain't of mymind. "

"Well, I am, though, " replied Miss Fortune; "there's a goodmany hands of 'em; they can turn off a good lot of work in anevening; and they always take care to get me to _their_ bees. Imay as well get something out of them in return, if I can. "

"They'll reckon on getting as much as they can get o' _you_, ifthey come, there's no sort of doubt in my mind. It's my beliefMimy Lawson will kill herself some of these days upon greencorn. She was at home to tea one day last summer, and Ideclare I thought —"

What Mr. Van Brunt thought he left his hearers to guess. 

"Well, let them kill themselves if they like, " said MissFortune; "I am sure I am willing; there'll be enough; I ain'tagoing to mince matters when once I begin. Now, let me see. There's five of the Lawsons to begin with — I suppose they'llall come — Bill Huff and Jany, that's seven —"

"That Bill Huff is as good-natured a fellow as ever brokeground, " remarked Mr. Van Brunt. "Ain't better people in thetown than them Huffs are. "

"They're well enough, " said Miss Fortune. "Seven — and theHitchcocks, there's three of them, that'll make ten —"

"Dennison's ain't far from there, " said Mr. Van Brunt. "DanDennison's a fine hand at a'most anything, in-doors or out. "

"That's more than you can say for his sister. Cilly Dennisongives herself so many airs, it's altogether too much for plaincountry folks. I should like to know what she thinks herself. It's a'most too much for my stomach to see her flourishingthat watch and chain. "

"What's the use of troubling yourself about other people'snotions?" said Mr. Van Brunt. "If folks want to take the road, let them have it. That's my way. I am satisfied, provided theydon't run me over. "

" 'Tain't my way, then, I'd have you to know, " said MissFortune; "I despise it! And 'tain't your way, neither, VanBrunt; what did you give Tom Larkens a cowhiding for?"

" 'Cause he deserved it, if ever a man did, " said Mr. VanBrunt, quite rousing up; "he was treating that little brotherof his'n in a way a boy shouldn't be treated; and I am glad Idid it. I gave him notice to quit before I laid a finger onhim. He warn't doing nothing to _me_. "

"And how much good do you suppose it did?" said Miss Fortune, rather scornfully. 

"It did just the good I wanted to do. He has seen fit to letlittle Billy alone ever since. "

"Well, I guess I'll let the Dennisons come, " said MissFortune; "that makes twelve — and you and your mother arefourteen. I suppose that man Marshchalk will come danglingalong after the Hitchcocks. "

"To be sure he will; and his aunt, Miss Janet, will come withhim, most likely. "

"Well — there's no help for it, " said Miss Fortune. "Thatmakes sixteen. "

"Will you ask Miss Alice?"

"Not I; she's another of your proud set. I don't want to seeanybody that thinks she's going to do me a great favour bycoming. "

Ellen's lips opened, but wisdom came in time to stop the wordsthat were on her tongue. It did not, however, prevent thequick little turn of her head, which showed what she thought, and the pale cheeks were for a moment bright enough. 

"She is, and I don't care who hears it, " repeated MissFortune. "I suppose she'd look as sober as a judge, too, ifshe saw cider on the table; they say she won't touch a dropever, and thinks it's wicked; and if that ain't setting one'sself up for better than other folks, I don't know what is. "

"I saw her paring apples at the Huffs', though, " said Mr. VanBrunt, "and as pleasant as anybody; but she didn't stay tosupper. "

"I'd ask Mrs. Vawse, if I could get word to her, " said MissFortune; "but I can never travel up that mountain. If I get asight of Nancy, I'll tell her. "

"There she is, then, " said Mr. Van Brunt, looking towards thelittle window that opened into the shed. And there, indeed, was the face of Miss Nancy pressed flat against the glass, peering into the room! Miss Fortune beckoned to her. 

"That is the most impudent, shameless, outrageous piece of —. What were you doing at the window?" said she as Nancy came in. 

"Looking at you, Miss Fortune, " said Nancy coolly. "What haveyou been talking about, this great while? If there had onlybeen a pane of glass broken, I needn't have asked. "

"Hold your tongue, " said Miss Fortune, "and listen to me. "

"I'll listen, Ma’am, " said Nancy; "but it's no use to hold mytongue. I do try sometimes, but I never could keep it long. "

"Have you done?"

"I don't know, Ma’am, " said Nancy, shaking her head; "it'sjust as it happens. "

"You tell your granny I am going to have a bee here nextMonday evening, and ask her if she'll come to it. "

Nancy nodded. "If it's good weather, " she added, conditionally. 

"Stop, Nancy!" said Miss Fortune — "here!" for Nancy wasshutting the door behind her. — "As sure as you come hereMonday night without your grandma, you'll go out of the housequicker than you come in; see if you don't!"

With another gracious nod and smile, Nancy departed. 

"Well, " said Mr. Van Brunt, rising, "I'll despatch thisbusiness down-stairs, and then I'll bring up the sleigh. Thepickle's ready, I suppose. "

"No, it ain't, " said Miss Fortune, "I couldn't make ityesterday; but it's all in the kettle, and I told Sam to makea fire down-stairs, so you can put it on when you do down. Thekits are all ready, and the salt, and everything else. "

Mr. Van Brunt went down the stairs that led to the lowerkitchen; and Miss Fortune, to make up for lost time, set abouther morning's work with even an uncommon measure of activity. Ellen, in consideration of her being still weak, was notrequired to do anything. She sat and looked on, keeping out ofthe way of her bustling aunt as far as it was possible; butMiss Fortune's gyrations were of that character, that no onecould tell five minutes beforehand what she might consider "inthe way. " Ellen wished for her quiet room again. Mr. VanBrunt's voice sounded downstairs in tones of business; whatcould he be about? it must be very uncommon business that kepthim in the house. Ellen grew restless with the desire to goand see, and to change her aunt's company for his; and nosooner was Miss Fortune fairly shut up in the buttery at somesecret work, than Ellen gently opened the door at the head ofthe lower stairs, and looked down. Mr. Van Brunt was standingat the bottom, and looked up. 

"May I come down there, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen, softly. 

"Come down here? to be sure you may! You may always comestraight where I am, without asking any questions. "

Ellen went down. But before she reached the lowest step shestopped with almost a start, and stood fixed with such ahorrified face, that neither Mr. Van Brunt nor Sam Larkens, who was there, could help laughing. 

"What's the matter?" said the former — "they're all deadenough, Miss Ellen; you needn't be scared. "

Three enormous hogs, which had been killed the day before, greeted Ellen's eyes. They lay in different parts of the room, with each a cob in his mouth. A fourth lay stretched upon hisback on the kitchen table, which was drawn out into the middleof the floor. Ellen stood fast on the stair. 

"Have they been killed!" was her first astonished exclamation, to which Sam responded with another burst. 

"Be quiet, Sam Larkens!" said Mr. Van Brunt. "Yes, Miss Ellen, they've been killed, sure enough. "

"Are these the same pigs I used to see you feeding with corn, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"The identical same ones, " replied that gentleman, as, layinghold of the head of the one on the table, and applying hislong sharp knife with the other hand, he, while he wasspeaking, severed it neatly and quickly from the trunk. "Andvery fine porkers they are; I ain't ashamed of 'em. "

"And what's going to be done with them now?" said Ellen. 

"I am just going to cut them up and lay them down. You neversee nothing of the kind before, did you?"

"No, " said Ellen. "What do you mean by 'laying them down, ' Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Why, laying 'em down in salt for pork and hams. You want tosee the whole operation, don't you? Well, here's a seat foryou. You'd better fetch that painted coat o' yourn and wrapround you, for it ain't quite so warm here as up-stairs; butit's getting warmer. Sam, just you shut that door to, andthrow on another log. "

Sam built up as large a fire as could be made under a verylarge kettle that hung in the chimney. When Ellen came down inher wrapper, she was established close in the chimney corner;and when Mr. Van Brunt, not thinking her quite safe from thekeen currents of air that would find their way into the room, despatched Sam for an old buffalo robe that lay in the shed. This he himself with great care wrapped round her, feet andchair and all, and secured it in various places with oldforks. He declared then she looked for all the world like anIndian, except her face; and, in high good-humour both, hewent to cutting up the pork, and Ellen from out of her buffalorobe watched him. 

It was beautifully done. Even Ellen could see that, althoughshe could not have known if it had been done ill. The knife, guided by strength and skill, seemed to go with the greatestease and certainty just where he wished it; the hams werebeautifully trimmed out; the pieces fashioned clean; no raggedcutting; and his quick-going knife disposed of carcass aftercarcass with admirable neatness and celerity. Sam meanwhilearranged the pieces in different parcels at his direction, andminded the kettle, in which a great boiling and scumming wasgoing on. Ellen was too much amused for a while to ask anyquestions. When the cutting up was all done, the hams andshoulders were put in a cask by themselves, and Mr. Van Bruntbegan to pack down the other pieces in the kits, strewing themwith an abundance of salt. 

"What's the use of putting all that salt with the pork, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen. 

"It wouldn't keep good without that; it would spoil veryquick. "

"Will the salt make it keep?"

"All the year round — as sweet as a nut. "

"I wonder what is the reason of that, " said Ellen. "Will saltmake everything keep good?"

"Everything in the world — if it only has enough of it, and iskept dry and cool. "

"Are you going to do the hams in the same way?"

"No; — they're to go in that pickle over the fire. "

"In this kettle? what is in it?" said Ellen. 

"You must ask Miss Fortune about that; — sugar, and salt, andsaltpetre, and molasses, and I don't know what all. "

"And will this make the hams so different from the rest of thepork?"

"No; they've got to be smoked after they have laid in that fora while. "

"Smoked!" said Ellen; "how?"

"Why, han't you been in the smoke-house? The hams has to betaken out of the pickle and hung up there! and then we make alittle fire of oak chips, and keep it burning night and day. "

"And how long must they stay in the smoke?"

"Oh, three or four weeks or so. "

"And then they are done?"

"Then they are done. "

"How very curious?" said Ellen. "Then it's the smoke thatgives them that nice taste? I never knew smoke was good foranything before. "

"Ellen!" said the voice of Miss Fortune, from the top of thestairs — "come right up here, this minute! you'll catch yourdeath!"

Ellen's countenance fell. 

"There's no sort of fear of that, Ma’am, " said Mr. Van Brunt, quietly; "and Miss Ellen is fastened up so, she can't getloose; and I can't let her out just now. "

The upper door was shut again pretty sharply, but that was theonly audible expression of opinion with which Miss Fortunefavoured them. 

"I guess my leather curtains keep off the wind, don't they?"said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Yes, indeed they do, " said Ellen; "I don't feel a breath; Iam as warm as a toast — too warm, almost. How nicely you havefixed me up, Mr. Van Brunt!"

"I thought that 'ere old buffalo had done its work, " he said;"but I'll never say anything is good for nothing again. Haveyou found out where the apples are, yet?"

"No, " said Ellen. 

"Han't Miss Fortune showed you? Well, it's time you'd know. Sam, take that little basket and go fill it at the bin; Iguess you know where they be, for I believe you put 'emthere. "

Sam went into the cellar, and presently returned with thebasket nicely filled. He handed it to Ellen. 

"Are all these for me?" she said in surprise. 

"Every one on 'em, " said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"But I don't like to, " said Ellen; — "what will Aunt Fortunesay?"

"She won't say a word, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "and don't you saya word neither, but whenever you want apples, just go to thebin and take 'em. I give you leave. It's right at the end ofthe far cellar, at the left-hand corner; there are the binsand all sorts of apples in 'em. You've got a pretty varietythere, han't you?"

"Oh! all sorts, " said Ellen — "and what beauties! and I loveapples very much — red, and yellow, and speckled, and green —what a great monster!"

"That's a Swar; that ain't as good as most of the others; —those are Seek-no-furthers. "

"Seek-no-further!" said Ellen; "what a funny name. It ought tobe a mighty good apple. _I_ shall seek no further, at any rate. What is this?"

"That's as good an apple as you've got in the basket; that's areal Orson pippin — a very fine kind. I'll fetch you some upfrom home some day, though, that are better than the best ofthese. "

The pork was all packed; the kettle was lifted off the fire;Mr. Van Brunt was wiping his hands from the salt. 

"And now, I suppose I must go, " said Ellen, with a littlesigh. 

"Why, _I_ must go, " said he; "so I suppose I may as well let youout of your tent first. "

"I have had such a nice time, " said Ellen; "I had got so tiredof doing nothing up-stairs. I am _very_ much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt. But, " said she, stopping as she had taken up herbasket to go, "aren't you going to put the hams in thepickle?"

"No, " said he, laughing, "it must wait to get cold first. Butyou'll make a capital farmer's wife, there's no mistake. "

Ellen blushed, and ran up stairs with her apples. To bestowthem safely in her closet was her first care; the rest of themorning was spent in increasing weariness and listlessness. She had brought down her little hymn-book, thinking to amuseherself with learning a hymn, but it would not do; eyes andhead both refused their part of the work; and when at last Mr. Van Brunt came in to a late dinner, he found Ellen seated flaton the hearth before the fire, her right arm curled round thehard wooden bottom of one of the chairs, and her head pillowedupon that, fast asleep. 

"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Van Brunt, "what's become of that'ere rocking-cheer?"

"It's upstairs, I suppose. You can fetch it if you've a mindto, " answered Miss Fortune, drily enough. 

He did so immediately; and Ellen barely waked up to feelherself lifted from the floor, and placed in the friendlyrocking-chair; Mr. Van Brunt remarking, at the same time, that"it might be well enough to let well folks lie on the floorand sleep on cheers, but cushions warn't a bit too soft forsick ones. "

Among the cushions Ellen went to sleep again with a muchbetter prospect of rest; and either sleeping or dozing, passedaway the time for a good while. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

How Miss Fortune went out and pleasure came in. 

She was thoroughly roused at last by the slamming of thehouse-door after her aunt. She and Mr. Van Brunt had goneforth on their sleighing expedition, and Ellen waked to findherself quite alone. 

She could not have doubted that her aunt was away, even if shehad not caught a glimpse of her bonnet going out of the sheddoor — the stillness was so uncommon. No such quiet could bewith Miss Fortune anywhere about the premises. The oldgrandmother must have been abed and asleep, too, for a cricketunder the hearth, and the wood fire in the chimney, had it allto themselves, and made the only sounds that were heard; thefirst singing out every now and then in a very contented andcheerful style, and the latter giving occasional little snapsand sparks, that just served to make one take notice how veryquickly and steadily it was burning. 

Miss Fortune had left the room put up in the last extreme ofneatness. Not a speck of dust could be supposed to lie on theshining painted floor; the back of every chair was in itsplace against the wall. The very hearth-stones shone, and theheads of the large iron nails in the floor were polished tosteel. Ellen sat a while listening to the soothing chirrup ofthe cricket, and the pleasant crackling of the flames. It wasa fine, cold winter's day. The two little windows at the farend of the kitchen looked out upon an expanse of snow; and thelarge lilac-bush that grew close by the wall, moved lightly bythe wind, drew its icy fingers over the panes of glass. Wintryit was without, but that made the warmth and comfort withinseem all the more. Ellen would have enjoyed it very much ifshe had had any one to talk to; as it was, she felt ratherlonely and sad. She had begun to learn a hymn; but it had sether off upon a long train of thought; and with her headresting on her hand, her fingers pressed into her cheek, theother hand with the hymn-book lying listlessly in her lap, andeyes staring into the fire, she was sitting the very pictureof meditation, when the door opened, and Alice Humphreys camein. Ellen started up. 

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I'm all alone. "

"Left alone, are you?" said Alice, as Ellen's warm lips werepressed again and again to her cold cheeks. 

"Yes, aunt Fortune's gone out. Come and sit down here in therocking-chair. How cold you are! Oh, do you know she is goingto have a great bee here Monday evening? What is a _bee?_"

Alice smiled. "Why, " said she, "when people here in thecountry have so much of any kind of work to do that their ownhands are not enough for it, they send and call in theirneighbours to help them — that's a bee. A large party in thecourse of a long evening can do a great deal. "

"But why do they call it a _bee?_"

"I don't know, unless they mean to be like a hive of bees forthe time. 'As busy as a bee, ' you know. "

"Then they ought to call it a hive, and not a bee, I shouldthink. Aunt Fortune is going to ask sixteen people. I wish youwere coming!"

"How do you know but I am?"

"Oh, I know you aren't. Aunt Fortune isn't going to ask you. "

"You are sure of that, are you?"

"Yes, I wish I wasn't. Oh, how she vexed me this morning bysomething she said!"

"You mustn't get vexed so easily, my child. Don't let everylittle untowards thing roughen your temper. "

"But I couldn't help it, dear Miss Alice; it was about you. Idon't know whether I ought to tell you; but I don't thinkyou'll mind it, and I know it isn't true. She said she didn'twant you to come because you were one of the proud set. "

"And what did _you_ say?"

"Nothing. I had it just on the end of my tongue to say, 'It'sno such thing;' but I didn't say it. "

"I am glad you were so wise. Dear Ellen, that is nothing to bevexed about. If it were true, indeed, you might be sorry. Itrust Miss Fortune is mistaken. I shall try and find some wayto make her change her mind. I am glad you told me. "

"I am _so_ glad you are come, dear Alice!" said Ellen again. "Iwish I could have you always!" And the long, very closepressure of her two arms about her friend, said as much. Therewas a long pause. The cheek of Alice rested on Ellen's head, which nestled against her; both were busily thinking, butneither spoke; and the cricket chirped, and the flamescrackled, without being listened to. 

"Miss Alice, " said Ellen, after a long time — "I wish youwould talk over a hymn with me. "

"How do you mean, my dear?" said Alice, rousing herself. 

"I mean, read it over and explain it. Mamma used to do itsometimes. I have been thinking a great deal about her to-day;and I think I'm very different from what I ought to be. I wishyou would talk to me, and make me better, Miss Alice. "

Alice pressed an earnest kiss upon the tearful little facethat was uplifted to her, and presently said —

"I am afraid I shall be a poor substitute for your mother, Ellen. What hymn shall we take?"

"Any one — this one, if you like. Mamma likes it very much. Iwas looking it over to-day: —

'A charge to keep I have, A God to glorify;A never-dying soul to saveAnd fit it for the sky. ' "

Alice read the first line, and paused. 

"There, now, " said Ellen — "what is a charge?"

"Don't you know that?"

"I think I do, but I wish you would tell me. "

"Try to tell me first. "

"Isn't it something that is given to one to do? — I don't knowexactly. "

"It is something given one in trust to be done, or taken careof. I remember very well once, when I was about your age, mymother had occasion to go out for half an hour, and she leftme in charge of my little baby sister; she gave me a _charge_not to let anything disturb her while she was away, and tokeep her asleep if I could. And I remember how I kept mycharge, too. I was not to take her out of the cradle, but Isat beside her the whole time; I would not suffer a fly tolight on her little fair cheek; I scarcely took my eyes fromher; I made John keep pussy at a distance; and whenever one ofthe little, round, dimpled arms was thrown out upon thecoverlet, I carefully drew something over it again. "

"Is she dead?" said Ellen, timidly, her eyes watering insympathy with Alice's. 

"She is dead, my dear; she died before we left England. "

"I understand what a charge is, " said Ellen, after a little;"but what is this charge the hymn speaks of? What charge haveI to keep?"

"The hymn goes on to tell you. The next line gives you part ofit. 'A God to glorify. ' "

"To glorify?" said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"Yes, that is, to honour — to give him all the honour thatbelongs to him. "

"But can _I_ honour _Him?_"

"Most certainly; either honour or dishonour; you cannot helpdoing one. "

"I!" said Ellen, again. 

"Must not your behaviour speak either well or ill for themother who has brought you up?"

"Yes, I know that. "

"Very well; when a child of God lives as he ought to do, people cannot help having high and noble thoughts of thatglorious One whom he serves, and of that perfect law he obeys. Little as they may love the ways of religion in their ownsecret hearts, they _cannot help_ confessing that there is aGod, and that they ought to serve him. But a worldling, andstill more, an unfaithful Christian, just helps people toforget there is such a Being, and makes them think either thatreligion is a sham, or that they may safely go on despisingit. I have heard it said, Ellen, that Christians are the onlyBible some people ever read; and it is true; all they know ofreligion is what they get from the lives of its professors;and oh! were the world but full of the right kind of example, the kingdom of darkness could not stand. 'Arise, shine!' is aword that every Christian ought to take home. "

"But how can I shine?" asked Ellen. 

"My dear Ellen — in the faithful, patient, self-denyingperformance of every duty as it comes to hand — 'Whatsoeverthy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. ' "

"It is very little that I can do, " said Ellen. 

"Perhaps more than you think — but never mind that. All arenot great stars in the church; you may be only a littlerushlight — see you burn well. "

"I remember, " said Ellen, musing, "Mamma once told me, when Iwas going somewhere, that people would think strangely of _her_if I didn't behave well. "

"Certainly. Why, Ellen, I formed an opinion of her very soonafter I saw you. "

"Did you?" said Ellen, with a wonderfully brightened face —"what was it? was it good? ah! do tell me!"

"I am not quite sure of the wisdom of that, " said Alice, smiling: "you might take home the praise that is justly herright and not yours. "

"Oh no, indeed, " said Ellen; "I had rather she should have itthan I. Please tell me what you thought of her, dear Alice — Iknow it was good, at any rate. "

"Well, I will tell you, " said Alice, "at all risks. I thoughtyour mother was a lady, from the honourable notions she hadgiven you; and, from your ready obedience to her, which wasevidently the obedience of love, I judged she had been a goodmother in the true sense of the term. I thought she must be arefined and cultivated person, from the manner of your speechand behaviour; and I was sure she was a Christian, because shehad taught you the truth, and evidently had tried to lead youin it. "

The quivering face of delight with which Ellen began to listengave way, long before Alice had done, to a burst of tears. 

"It makes me so glad to hear you say that!" she said. 

"The praise of it is your mother's, you know, Ellen. "

"I know it — but you make me so glad!" And hiding her face inAlice's lap, she fairly sobbed. 

"You understand now, don't you, how Christians may honour ordishonour their Heavenly Father?"

"Yes, I do; but it makes me afraid to think of it. "

"Afraid! It ought rather to make you glad. It is a greathonour and happiness for us to be permitted to honour Him —

'A never-dying soul to saveAnd fit it for the sky. '

Yes — that is the great duty you owe yourself. Oh, neverforget it, dear Ellen! And whatever would hinder you, havenothing to do with it. 'What shall it profit a man though hegain the whole world, and lose his own soul?'

'To serve the present age, My calling to fulfil —' "

"What is 'the present age?' " said Ellen. 

"All the people who are living in the world at this time. "

"But, dear Alice, what can I do to the present age?"

"Nothing to the most part of them, certainly; and yet, dearEllen, if your little rushlight shines well, there is just somuch the less darkness in the world — though perhaps you lightonly a very little corner. Every Christian is a blessing tothe world — another grain of salt to go towards sweetening andsaving the mass. "

"That is very pleasant to think of, " said Ellen, musing. 

"Oh, if we were but full of love to our Saviour, how pleasantit would be to do anything for him! how many ways we shouldfind of honouring him by doing good. "

"I wish you would tell me some of the ways that I can do it, "said Ellen. 

"You will find them fast enough if you seek them, Ellen. Noone is so poor or so young but he has one talent at least touse for God. "

"I wish I knew what mine is, " said Ellen. 

"Is your daily example as perfect as it can be?"

Ellen was silent, and shook her head. 

"Christ pleased not himself, and went about doing good; and hesaid, 'If any man serve me, let him _follow me_. ' Remember that. Perhaps your aunt is unreasonable and unkind — see with howmuch patience and perfect sweetness of temper you can bear andforbear; see if you cannot win her over by untiringgentleness, obedience, and meekness. Is there no improvementto be made here?"

"Oh me, yes!" answered Ellen, with a sigh. 

"Then your old grandmother. Can you do nothing to cheer herlife in her old age and helplessness? can't you find some wayof giving her pleasure — some way of amusing a long andtedious hour, now and then?"

Ellen looked very grave; in her inmost heart she knew this wasa duty she shrank from. 

"He 'went about doing good. ' Keep that in mind. A kind wordspoken — a little thing to smooth the way of one, or lightenthe load of another — teaching those who need teaching —entreating those who are walking in the wrong way. Oh! mychild, there is work enough!

'To serve the present age, My calling to fulfil;Oh, may it all my powers engageTo do my Maker's will!

Arm me with jealous care, As in thy sight to live;And oh! thy servant, Lord, prepare, A strict account to give!' "

"An account of what?" said Ellen. 

"You know what an account is. If I give Thomas a dollar tospend for me at Carra-carra, I expect he will give me an exact_account_, when he comes back, what he has done with everyshilling of it. So must we give an account of what we havedone with everything our Lord has committed to our care — ourhands, our tongues, our time, our minds, our influence; howmuch we have honoured him, how much good we have done toothers, how fast and how far we have grown holy and fit forheaven. "

"It almost frightens me to hear you talk, Miss Alice. "

"Not _frighten_, dear Ellen — that is not the word; _sober_ weought to be — mindful to do nothing we shall not wish toremember in the great day of account. Do you recollect howthat day is described? Where is your Bible?"

She opened at the 20th chapter of Revelation. 

"And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, fromwhose face the earth and the heaven flew away; and there wasfound no place for them. 

"And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God: andthe books were opened; and another book was opened, which isthe book of life; and the dead were judged out of those thingswhich were written in the books, according to their works. Andthe sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and helldelivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judgedevery man according to their works. And death and hell werecast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. 

"And whosoever was not found written in the book of life wascast into the lake of fire. "

Ellen shivered. "That is dreadful!" she said. 

"It will be a dreadful day to all but those whose names arewritten in the Lamb's book of life; — not dreadful to them, dear Ellen. "

"But how shall I be sure, dear Alice, that _my_ name is writtenthere? and I can't be happy if I am not sure. "

"My dear child, " said Alice, tenderly, as Ellen's anxious faceand glistening eyes were raised to hers, "if you love JesusChrist, you may know you are his child, and none shall pluckyou out of his hand. "

"But how can I tell whether I do love him really? Sometimes Ithink I do, and then again sometimes I am afraid I don't atall. "

Alice answered in the words of Christ: — "He that hath mycommandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me. "

"Oh, I don't keep his commandments!" said Ellen, the tearsrunning down her cheeks. 

"_Perfectly_, none of us do. But, dear Ellen, _that_ is not thequestion. Is your heart's desire and effort to keep them? Areyou grieved when you fail? There is the point. You cannot loveChrist without loving to please him. "

Ellen rose, and putting both arms round Alice's neck, laid herhead there, as her manner sometimes was, tears flowing fast. 

"I sometimes think I do love him a little, " she said; "but Ido so many wrong things. But he will teach me to love him if Iask him, won't he, dear Alice?"

"Indeed he will, dear Ellen, " said Alice, folding her armsround her little adopted sister — "_indeed_ he will. He haspromised that. Remember what he told somebody who was almostin despair — 'Fear not; only believe. ' "

Alice's neck was wet with Ellen's tears; and after they hadceased to flow, her arms kept their hold, and her head itsresting-place on Alice's shoulder for some time. It wasnecessary at last for Alice to leave her. 

Ellen waited till the sound of her horse's footsteps died awayon the road; and then, sinking on her knees beside herrocking-chair, she poured forth her whole heart in prayers andtears. She confessed many a fault and short-coming that noneknew but herself; and most earnestly besought help that "herlittle rushlight might shine bright. " Prayer was to littleEllen what it is to all that know it — the satisfying ofdoubt, the soothing of care, the quieting of trouble. She hadknelt down very uneasy; but she knew that God has promised tobe the hearer of prayer, and she rose up very comforted, hermind fixing on those most sweet words Alice had brought to hermemory — "Fear not, only believe. " When Miss Fortune returned, Ellen was quietly asleep again in her rocking-chair, with aface very pale, but calm as an evening sunbeam. 

"Well, I declare if that child ain't sleeping her life away!"said Miss Fortune. "She's slept this whole blessed forenoon; Isuppose she'll want to be alive and dancing the whole night, to pay for it. "

"I can tell you what she'll want a sight more, " said Mr. VanBrunt, who had followed her in — it must have been to seeabout Ellen, for he was never known to do such a thing beforeor since — "I'll tell you what she'll want, and that's a righthot supper. She's ate as nigh as possible nothing at all thisnoon. There ain't much danger of her dancing a hole in yourfloor this some time. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Sweeping and dusting. 

Great preparations were making all Saturday and Monday for theexpected gathering. From morning till night Miss Fortune wasin a perpetual bustle. The great oven was heated no less thanthree several times on Saturday alone. Ellen could hear thebreaking of eggs in the buttery, and the sound of beating orwhisking, for a long time together; and then Miss Fortunewould come out with floury hands, and plates of empty egg-shells made their appearance. But Ellen saw no more. Wheneverthe coals were swept out of the oven, and Miss Fortune hadmade sure that the heat was just right for her purposes, Ellenwas sent out of the way, and when she got back there wasnothing to be seen but the fast-shut oven door. It was justthe same when the dishes, in all their perfection, were tocome out of the oven again. The utmost Ellen was permitted tosee was the napkin covering some stray cake or pie that bychance had to pass through the kitchen where she was. 

As she could neither help nor look on, the day passed ratherwearily. She tried studying; a very little, she found, wasenough to satisfy both mind and body in their present state. She longed to go out again and see how the snow looked, but afierce wind all the fore part of the day made it unfit forher. Towards the middle of the afternoon she saw with joy thatit had lulled, and, though very cold, was so bright and calm, that she might venture. She had eagerly opened the kitchendoor to go up and get ready, when a long weary yawn from herold grandmother made her look back. The old lady had laid herknitting in her lap, and bent her face down to her hand, whichshe was rubbing across her brow, as if to clear away the tiredfeeling that had settled there. Ellen's conscience immediatelybrought up Alice's words — "Can't you do something to passaway a tedious hour now and then?" The first feeling was ofvexed regret that they should have come into her head at thatmoment; then conscience said that was very selfish. There wasa struggle. Ellen stood with the door in her hand, unable togo out or come in. But not long. As the words came back uponher memory — "A charge to keep I have" — her mind was made up;after one moment's prayer for help and forgiveness, she shutthe door, came back to the fireplace, and spoke in a cheerfultone —

"Grandma, wouldn't you like to have me read something to you?"

"Read!" answered the old lady — "laws a me! _I_ don't readnothing, deary. "

"But wouldn't you like to have _me_ read to you, Grandma?"

The old lady, in answer to this, laid down her knitting, folded both arms around Ellen, and, kissing her a great manytimes, declared she should like anything that came out of thatsweet little mouth. As soon as she was set free, Ellen broughther Bible, sat down close beside her, and read chapter afterchapter; rewarded even then by seeing that, though hergrandmother said nothing, she was listening with fixedattention, bending down over her knitting as if in earnestcare to catch every word. And when at last she stopped, warnedby certain noises downstairs that her aunt would presently bebustling in, the old lady again hugged her close to her bosom, kissing her forehead and cheeks and lips, and declaring thatshe was "a great deal sweeter than any sugar-plums;" and Ellenwas very much surprised to feel her face wet with a tear fromher grandmother's cheek. Hastily kissing her again (for thefirst time in her life), she ran out of the room, her owntears starting, and her heart swelling big. "Oh! how muchpleasure, " she thought, "I might have given my poor Grandma, and how I have let her alone all this while! How wrong I havebeen! But it shan't be so in future!"

It was not quite sundown, and Ellen thought she might yet havetwo or three minutes in the open air. So she wrapped up verywarm and went out to the chip-yard. 

Ellen's heart was very light; she had just been fulfilling aduty that cost her a little self-denial, and the reward hadalready come; and now it seemed to her that she had never seenanything so perfectly beautiful as the scene before her — thebrilliant snow that lay in a thick carpet over all the fieldsand hills, and the pale streaks of sunlight stretching acrossit between the long shadows that reached now from the barn tothe house. One moment the light tinted the snow-capped fencesand whitened barn-roofs; then the lights and the shadowsvanished together, and it was all one cold, dazzling white. "Oh, how glorious!" Ellen almost shouted to herself. It wastoo cold to stand still; she ran to the barnyard to see thecows milked. There they were — all her old friends — Streakyand Dolly, and Jane and Sukey, and Betty Flynn — sleek andcontented; winter and summer were all the same to them. AndMr. Van Brunt was very glad to see her there again, and SamLarkens and Johnny Low looked as if they were too, and Ellentold them with great truth she was very glad indeed to bethere; and then she went in to supper with Mr. Van Brunt andan amazing appetite. 

That was Saturday. Sunday passed quietly, though Ellen couldnot help suspecting it was not entirely a day of rest to heraunt; there was a savoury smell of cooking in the morning, which nothing that came on the table by any means accountedfor; and Miss Fortune was scarcely to be seen the whole day. 

With Monday morning began a grand bustle, and Ellen was wellenough now to come in for her share. The kitchen, parlour, hall, shed, and lower kitchen, must all be thoroughly sweptand dusted; this was given to her, and a morning's work prettynear she found it. Then she had to rub bright all the brasshandles of the doors, and the big brass andirons in theparlour, and the brass candlesticks on the parlour mantel-piece. When at last she got through, and came to the fire towarm herself, she found her grandmother lamenting that hersnuff-box was empty, and asking her daughter to fill it forher. 

"Oh! I can't be bothered to be running upstairs to fill snuff-boxes, " answered that lady; "you'll have to wait. "

"I'll get it, Grandma, " said Ellen, "if you'll tell me where. "

"Sit down, and be quiet!" said Miss Fortune; "you go into myroom just when I bid you, and not till then. "

Ellen sat down. But no sooner was Miss Fortune hid in thebuttery, than the old lady beckoned her to her side, andnodding her head a great many times, gave her the box, saying, softly —

"You can run up now; she won't see you, deary. It's in a jarin the closet. Now's the time. "

Ellen could not bear to say no. She hesitated a minute, andthen boldly opened the buttery door. 

"Keep out! — what do you want?"

"She wanted me to go for the snuff, " said Ellen, in a whisper;"please, do let me — I won't look at anything, nor touchanything, but just get the snuff. "

With an impatient gesture, her aunt snatched the box from herhand, pushed Ellen out of the buttery, and shut the door. Theold lady kissed and fondled her, as if she had done what shehad only tried to do; smoothed down her hair, praising itsbeauty, and whispered —

"Never mind, deary — you'll read to Grandma, won't you?"

It cost Ellen no effort now. With the beginning of kindoffices to her poor old parent, kind feeling had sprung upfast; instead of disliking and shunning, she had begun to loveher. 

There was no dinner for any one this day. Mr. And Mrs. VanBrunt came to an early tea; after which, Ellen was sent todress herself, and Mr. Van Brunt to get some pieces of boardfor the meat-choppers. He came back presently with an armfulof square bits of wood; and sitting down before the fire, began to whittle the rough sawn ends over the hearth. Hismother grew nervous. Miss Fortune bore it as she would haveborne it from no one else, but vexation was gathering in herbreast for the first occasion. Presently, Ellen's voice washeard singing down the stairs. 

"I'd give something to stop that child's pipe!" said MissFortune; "she's eternally singing the same thing over and over— something about 'a charge to keep' — I'd a good notion togive her a charge to keep this morning; it would have been tohold her tongue. "

"That would have been a public loss, _I_ think, " said Mr. VanBrunt, gravely. 

"Well, you _are_ making a precious litter!" said the lady, turning short upon him. 

"Never mind, " said he, in the same tone — "it's nothing butwhat the fire'll burn up, anyhow; don't worry yourself aboutit. "

Just as Ellen came in, so did Nancy by the other door. 

"What are you here for?" said Miss, Fortune with an irefulface. 

"Oh, come to see the folks, and get some peaches, " said Nancy;— "come to help along, to be sure. "

"Ain't your Grandma coming?"

"No, Ma’am, she ain't. I knew she wouldn't be of much use, soI thought I wouldn't ask her. "

Miss Fortune immediately ordered her out. Half-laughing, halfserious, Nancy tried to keep her ground, but Miss Fortune wasin no mood to hear parleying. She laid violent hands on thepassive Nancy, and between pulling and pushing, at last gother out and shut the door. Her next sudden move was to hauloff her mother to bed. Ellen looked her sorrow at this, andMr. Van Brunt whistled _his_ thoughts; but that either madenothing, or made Miss Fortune more determined. Off she went, with her old mother under her arm. While she was gone, Ellenbrought the broom to sweep up the hearth, but Mr. Van Bruntwould not let her. 

"No, " said he; "it's more than you nor I can do. You know, "said he, with a sly look, "we might sweep up the shavings intothe wrong corner!"

This entirely overset Ellen's gravity, and unluckily she couldnot get it back again, even though warned by Mrs. Van Bruntthat her aunt was coming. Trying only made it worse, and MissFortune's entrance was but the signal for a fresh burst ofhearty merriment. What she was laughing at, was of courseinstantly asked, in no pleased tone of voice. Ellen could nottell; and her silence and blushing only made her aunt morecurious. 

"Come, leave bothering her, " said Mr. Van Brunt, at last; "shewas only laughing at some of my nonsense, and she won't tellon me. "

"Will you swear to that?" said the lady, sharply. 

"Humph! — no, I won't swear; unless you will go before amagistrate with me; — but it is true. "

"I wonder if you think I am as easy blinded as all that comesto!" said Miss Fortune, scornfully. 

And Ellen saw that her aunt's displeasure was all gatheredupon her for the evening. She was thinking of Alice's words, and trying to arm herself with patience and gentleness, whenthe door opened, and in walked Nancy as demurely as if nobodyhad ever seen her before. 

"Miss Fortune, granny sent me to tell you she is sorry shecan't come to-night; she don't think it would do for her to beout so late; she's a little touch of the rheumatics, shesays. "

"Very well, " said Miss Fortune. "Now, clear out. "

"You had better not say so, Miss Fortune; I'll do as much foryou as any two of the rest — see if I don't!"

"I don't care — if you did as much as fifty!" said MissFortune impatiently. "I won't have you here; so go, or I'llgive you something to help you along. "

Nancy saw she had no chance with Miss Fortune in her presenthumour, and went quickly out. A little while after, Ellen wasstanding at the window, from which, through the shed window, she had a view of the chip-yard, and there she saw Nancylingering still, walking round and round in a circle, andkicking the snow with her feet in a discontented fashion. 

"I am very glad she isn't going to be here, " thought Ellen. "But, poor thing! I dare say she is very much disappointed. And how sorry she will feel going back all that long, long wayhome! What if I should get her leave to stay? wouldn't it be afine way of returning good for evil? But, O dear! I don't wanther here! — But that's no matter —"

The next minute, Mr. Van Brunt was half startled by Ellen'shand on his shoulder, and the softest of whispers in his ear. He looked up, very much surprised. 

"Why, do _you_ want her?" said he, likewise in a low tone. 

"No, " said Ellen, "but I know I should feel very sorry if Iwas in her place. "

Mr. Van Brunt whistled quietly to himself. "Well!" said he, "you _are_ a good-natured piece. "

"Miss Fortune, " said he, presently, "if that mischievous girlcomes in again, I recommend you to let her stay. "

"Why?"

" 'Cause it's true what she said — she'll do you as much goodas half-a-dozen. She'll behave herself this evening, I'llengage, or, if she don't, I'll make her. "

"She's too impudent to live! But I don't care — hergrandmother is another sort; but I guess she is gone by thistime. "

Ellen waited only till her aunt's back was turned. She slippeddown stairs and out at the kitchen door, and ran up the slopeto the fence of the chip-yard. 

"Nancy! Nancy!"

"What?" said Nancy, wheeling about. 

"If you go in now, I guess Aunt Fortune will let you stay. "

"What makes you think so?" said the other, surlily. 

" 'Cause Mr. Van Brunt was speaking to her about it. Go in andyou'll see. "

Nancy looked doubtfully at Ellen's face, and then ran hastilyin. More slowly Ellen went back by the way she came. When shereached the upper kitchen she found Nancy as busy as possible— as much at home already as if she had been there all day;helping to set the table in the hall, and going to and frobetween that and the buttery with an important face. Ellen wasnot suffered to help, nor even to stand and see what wasdoing; so she sat down in the corner, by her old friend Mrs. Van Brunt, and with her head in her lap watched, by the fire-light, the busy figures that went back and forward, and Mr. Van Brunt, who still sat working at his bits of board. Therewere pleasant thoughts in Ellen's head, that kept the dancingblaze company. Mr. Van Brunt once looked up, and asked herwhat she was smiling at; the smile brightened at his question, but he got no more answer. 

At last the supper was all set out in the hall, so that itcould very easily be brought into the parlour when the timecame; the waiter, with the best cups and saucers, which alwaysstood covered with a napkin on the table in the front room, was carried away; the great pile of wood in the parlour fireplace, built ever since morning, was kindled; all was inapple-pie order, and nothing was left but to sweep up theshavings that Mr. Van Brunt had made. This was done; and thenNancy seized hold of Ellen. 

"Come along, " said she, pulling her to the window — "comealong, and let us watch the folks come in. "

"But it isn't time for them to be here yet, " said Ellen; "thefire is only just burning. "

"Fiddle-de-dee! they won't wait for the fire to burn, I cantell you. They'll be along directly, some of them. I wonderwhat Miss Fortune is thinking of — that fire had ought to havebeen burning this long time ago — but they won't set to worktill they all get here, that's one thing. Do you know what'sgoing to be for supper?"

"No. "

"Not a bit?"

"No. "

"Ain't that funny! Then I'm better off than you. I say, Ellen, any one would think _I_ was Miss Fortune's niece, and you wassomebody else, wouldn't they? Goodness! I'm glad I ain't. I amgoing to make part of the supper myself — what do you think ofthat? Miss Fortune always has grand suppers — when she has 'emat all; 'tain't very often, that's one thing. I wish she'dhave a bee every week, I know, and let me come and help. Hark!— didn't I tell you? there's somebody coming this minute;don't you hear the sleigh-bells? I'll tell you who it is now;it's the Lawsons — you see if it ain't. It's good it's such abright night we can see 'em first-rate. There — here they come— just as I told you — here's Mimy Lawson the first one — ifthere's anybody I do despise, it's Mimy Lawson. "

"Hush!" said Ellen. The door opened, and the lady herselfwalked in, followed by three others — large, tall women, muffled from head to foot against the cold. The quiet kitchenwas speedily changed into a scene of bustle. Loud talking andlaughing — a vast deal of unrobing — pushing back and pullingup chairs on the hearth — and Nancy and Ellen running in andout of the room with countless wrappers, cloaks, shawls, comforters, hoods, mittens, and moccasins. 

"What a precious muss it will be to get 'em all their ownthings when they come to go away again, " said Nancy. "Throw'em all down there, Ellen, in that heap. Now, come quick —somebody else'll be here directly. "

"Which is Miss Mimy?" said Ellen. 

"That big ugly woman in a purple frock. The one next her isKitty — the black-haired one is Mary, and t'other is Fanny. Ugh! don't look at 'em; I can't bear 'em. "

"Why?"

" 'Cause I don't, I can tell you; reason good. They are asstingy as they can live. Their way is to get as much as theycan out of other folks, and let other folks get as little asthey can out of them. I know 'em. Just watch that purple frockwhen it comes to the eating. There's Mr. Bob. "

"Mr. Who?"

"Bob — Bob Lawson. He's a precious small young man, for such abig one. There — go take his hat. Miss Fortune, " said Nancy, coming forward, "mayn't the gentlemen take care of their ownthings in the stoop, or must the young ladies wait upon them, too? t'other room won't hold everything neither. "

This speech raised a general laugh, in the midst of which Mr. Bob carried his own hat and cloak into the shed, as desired. Before Nancy had done chuckling came another arrival — a tall, lank gentleman, with one of those unhappy-shaped faces thatare very broad at the eyes and very narrow across the chops, and having a particularly grave and dull expression. He waswelcomed with such a shout of mingled laughter, greeting, andjesting, that the room was in a complete hurly-burly; and aplain-looking, stout, elderly lady, who had come in justbehind him, was suffered to stand unnoticed. 

"It's Miss Janet, " whispered Nancy — "Mr. Marshchalk's aunt. Nobody wants to see her here; she's one of your pious kind, and that's a kind your aunt don't take to. "

Instantly Ellen was at her side, offering gently to relieveher of hood and cloak, and with a tap on his arm drawing Mr. Van Brunt's attention to the neglected person. 

Quite touched by the respectful politeness of her manner, theold lady inquired of Miss Fortune, as Ellen went off with aload of mufflers, "who was that sweet little thing?"

"It's a kind of sweetmeats that is kept for company, MissJanet, " replied Miss Fortune, with a darkened brow. 

"She's too good for everyday use, that's a fact, " remarked Mr. Van Brunt. 

Miss Fortune coloured and tossed her head, and the companywere for a moment still with surprise. Another arrival setthem agoing again. 

"Here come the Hitchcocks, Ellen, " said Nancy. "Walk in, MissMary — walk in, Miss Jenny — Mr. Marshchalk has been here thisgreat while. "

Miss Mary Hitchcock was in nothing remarkable. Miss Jenny, when her wrappers were taken off, showed a neat, little, roundfigure, and a round face of very bright and good-humouredexpression. It fastened Ellen's eye, till Nancy whispered herto look at Mr. Juniper Hitchcock, and that young gentlemanentered, dressed in the last style of elegance. His hair wasarranged in a faultless manner — unless, perhaps, it had a_little_ too much of the tallow-candle; for when he had sat fora while before the fire, it had somewhat the look of beingexcessively wet with perspiration. His boots were as shiny ashis hair; his waistcoat was of a startling pattern; hispantaloons were very tightly strapped down; and at the end ofa showy watch-riband hung some showy seals. 

The kitchen was now one buzz of talk and good-humour; Ellenstood half-smiling to herself to see the universal smile, whenNancy twitched her. 

"Here's more coming — Cilly Dennison, I guess — no, it's tootall; _who_ is it?"

But Ellen flung open the door with a half-uttered scream, andthrew herself into the arms of Alice, and then led her in; herface full of such extreme joy, that it was perhaps one reasonwhy her aunt's wore a very doubtful air as she came forward. That could not stand, however, against the graceful politenessand pleasantness of Alice's greeting. Miss Fortune's browsmoothed, her voice cleared, she told Miss Humphreys she wasvery welcome — and she meant it. Clinging close to her friendas she went from one to another, Ellen was delighted to seethat everyone echoed the welcome. Every face brightened atmeeting hers, every eye softened, and Jenny Hitchcock eventhrew her arms round Alice and kissed her. 

Ellen left now the window to Nancy, and stood fast by heradopted sister, with a face of satisfaction it was pleasant tosee, watching her very lips as they moved. Soon the dooropened again, and various voices hailed the new-comer as"Jane, " "Jany, " and "Jane Huff. " She was a decidedly plain-looking country girl; but when she came near, Ellen saw asober, sensible face, and a look of thorough good-nature, which immediately ranked her next to Jenny Hitchcock in herfancy. Mr. Bill Huff followed, a sturdy young man; quite asplain, and hardly so sensible-looking; he was still moreshining with good-nature. He made no pretensions to theelegance of Mr. Juniper Hitchcock; but, before the evening wasover, Ellen had a vastly greater respect for him. 

Last, not least, came the Dennisons; it took Ellen some timeto make up her mind about them. Miss Cilly, or Cecilia, wascertainly very elegant indeed. Her hair was in the extremeststate of nicety, with a little round curl plastered in frontof each ear; how she coaxed them to stay there, Ellen couldnot conceive. She wore a real watch — there was no doubt ofthat — and there was even a ring on one of her fingers, withtwo or three blue or red stones in it. Her dress was smart, and so was her figure, and her face was pretty; and Ellenoverheard one of the Lawsons whisper to Jenny Hitchcock that"there wasn't a greater lady in the land than Cilly Dennison. "Her brother was very different; tall and athletic, and ratherhandsome, _he_ made no pretensions to be a gentleman. He valuedhis fine farming and fine cattle a great deal higher thanJuniper Hitchcock's gentility. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Shows what noise a bee can make when it gets into the house. 

As the party were all gathered, it was time to set to work. The fire in the front room was burning up finely now, but MissFortune had no idea of having pork-chopping or apple-paringdone there. One party was despatched down-stairs into thelower kitchen; the others made a circle round the fire. Everyone was furnished with a sharp knife, and a basket of appleswas given to each two or three. Now it would be hard to saywhether talking or working went on best. Not faster moved thetongues than the fingers; not smoother went the knives thanthe flow of talk; while there was a constant leaping ofquarters of apples from the hands that had prepared them intothe bowls, trays, or whatnot, that stood on the hearth toreceive them. Ellen had nothing to do: her aunt had managed itso, though she would gladly have shared the work that lookedso pretty and pleasant in other people's hands. Miss Fortunewould not let her; so she watched the rest and amused herselfas well as she could with hearing and seeing; and standingbetween Alice and Jenny Hitchcock, she handed them the applesout of the basket as fast as they were ready for them. It wasa pleasant evening that. Laughing and talking went on merrily;stories were told; anecdotes, gossip, jokes, passed from mouthto mouth; and not one made himself so agreeable, or had somuch to do with the life and pleasure of the party, as Alice. Ellen saw it, delighted. The pared apples kept dancing intothe bowls and trays; the baskets got empty surprisingly fast;Nancy and Ellen had to run to the barrels in the shed againfor fresh supplies. 

"Do they mean to do all these to-night?" said Ellen to Nancy, on one of these occasions. 

"I don't know what _they_ mean, I am sure, " replied Nancy, diving down into the barrel to reach the apples; "if you hadasked me what _Miss Fortune meant_, I might ha' given a guess. "

"But only look, " said Ellen — "only so many done, and allthese to do! — Well, I know what 'busy as a bee' means now, ifI never did before. "

"You'll know it better to-morrow, I can tell you. "

"Why?"

"Oh, wait till you see. I wouldn't be you to-morrow forsomething, though. Do you like sewing?"

"Sewing!" said Ellen. But "Girls! girls! — what _are_ youleaving the door open for!" sounded from the kitchen, and theyhurried in. 

" 'Most got through, Nancy?" inquired Bob Lawson. (MissFortune had gone downstairs. )

"Han't begun to, Mr. Lawson. There's every bit as many to doas there was at your house t'other night. "

"What on airth does she want with such a sight of 'em, "inquired Dan Dennison. 

"Live on pies and apple-sass till next summer, " suggested MimyLawson. 

"That's the stuff for my money!" replied her brother; "tatersand apple-sass is my sass in the winter. "

"It's good those is easy got, " said his sister Mary; "the sassis the most of the dinner to Bob, most commonly. "

"Are they fixing for more apple-sass down-stairs?" Mr. Dennison went on rather drily. 

"No — hush!" said Juniper Hitchcock — "sassages!"

"Humph!" said Dan, as he speared up an apple out of the basketon the point of his knife — "ain't that something like whatyou can call killing two" —

"Just that, exactly, " said Jenny Hitchcock, as Dan broke offshort, and the mistress of the house walked in. "Ellen, " shewhispered, "don't you want to go downstairs and see when thefolks are coming up to help us? And tell the doctor he must bespry, for we ain't agoing to get through in a hurry, " sheadded, laughing. 

"Which is the doctor, Ma’am?"

"The doctor! — Doctor Marshchalk! — don't you know?"

"Is he a doctor?" said Alice. 

"No, not exactly, I suppose, but he's just as good as thereal. There was a man broke his leg horribly at Thirlwall, theother day, and Gibson was out of the way, and Marshchalk setit, and did it famously they said. So go, Ellen, and bring usword what they are all about. "

Mr. Van Brunt was head of the party in the lower kitchen. Hestood at one end of the table, cutting, with his huge knife, the hard-frozen pork into very thin slices, which the rest ofthe company took, and, before they had time to thaw, cut upinto small dice on the little boards Mr. Van Brunt hadprepared. As large a fire as the chimney would hold was builtup and blazing finely; the room looked as cozy and bright asthe one upstairs, and the people as busy and as talkative. They had less to do, however, or they had been more smart, forthey were drawing to the end of their chopping; of which MissJanet declared herself very glad, for, she said, "the windcame sweeping in under the doors, and freezing her feet thewhole time, and she was sure the biggest fire ever was builtcouldn't warm that room;" an opinion in which Mrs. Van Bruntagreed perfectly. Miss Janet no sooner spied Ellen standing inthe chimney-corner, than she called her to her side, kissedher, and talked to her a long time, and finally, fumbling inher pocket, brought forth an old, little, three-cornered pin-cushion, which she gave her for a keepsake. Jane Huff and herbrother also took kind notice of her; and Ellen began to thinkthe world was full of nice people. About half-past eight thechoppers went up and joined the company, who were paringapples; the circle was a very large one now, and the buzz ofthe tongues grew quite furious. 

"What are you smiling at?" asked Alice of Ellen, who stood ather elbow. 

"Oh, I don't know, " said Ellen, smiling more broadly; andpresently added — "they're all so kind to me. "

"Who?"

"Oh, everybody — Miss Jenny, and Miss Jane Huff, and MissJanet, and Mrs. Van Brunt, and Mr. Huff — they all speak sokindly, and look so kindly at me. But it's very funny what anotion people have for kissing — I wish they hadn't — I've runaway from three kisses already, and I'm so afraid somebodyelse will try next. "

"You don't seem very bitterly displeased, " said Alice, smiling. 

"I am, though — I can't bear it, " said Ellen, laughing andblushing. "There's Mr. Dennison caught me, in the first place, and tried to kiss me, but I tried so hard to get away, Ibelieve he saw I was really in good earnest, and let me go. And just now — only think of it! — while I was standingtalking to Miss Jane Huff, downstairs, her brother caught me, and kissed me, before I knew what he was going to do. Ideclare it's too bad!" said Ellen, rubbing her cheek veryhard, as if she would rub off the affront. 

"You must let it pass, my dear; it is one way of expressingkindness. They feel kindly towards you, or they would not doit. "

"Then I wish they wouldn't feel quite so kindly, " said Ellen —"that's all. Hark! — what was that?"

"What is that?" said somebody else; and instantly there wassilence, broken again, after a minute or two, by the faintblast of a horn. 

"It's old Father Swaim, I reckon, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "I'llgo fetch him in. "

"Oh, yes! bring him in — bring him in, " was heard on allsides. 

"That horn makes me think of what happened to me once, " saidJenny Hitchcock to Ellen. "I was a little girl at school, notso big as you are; and one afternoon, when we were all asstill as mice, and studying away, we heard Father Swaim's horn—"

"What does he blow it for?" said Ellen, as Jenny stooped forher knife, which she had let fall. 

"Oh to let people know he's there, you know; did you never seeFather Swaim?"

"No. "

"La! he's the funniest old fellow! He goes round and round thecountry, carrying the news-papers; and we get him to bring ourletters from the post-office, when there are any. He carries'em in a pair of saddle-bags hanging across that old whitehorse of his — I don't think that horse will ever grow old, nomore than his master; — and in summer he has a stick — so long— with a horse's tail tied to the end of it, to brush away theflies, for the poor horse has had _his_ tail cut off prettyshort. I wonder if it isn't the very same, " said Jenny, laughing heartily: "Father Swaim thought he could manage itbest, I guess. "

"But what was it that happened to you that time at school?"said Ellen. 

"Why, when we heard the horn blow, our master — theschoolmaster, you know — went out to get a paper; and I wastired with sitting still, so I jumped up, and ran across theroom and then back again, and over and back again, five or sixtimes; and when he came in, one of the girls up and told ofit. It was Fanny Lawson, " said Jenny, in a whisper to Alice, "and I think she ain't much different now from what she wasthen. I can hear her now — 'Mr. Starks, Jenny Hitchcock's beenrunning all around the room. ' Well, what do you think he didto me? He took hold of my two hands, and swung me round andround by the arms, till I didn't know which was head and whichwas feet. "

"What a queer schoolmaster!" said Ellen. 

"Queer enough; you may say that. His name was Starks; — theboys used to call him Starksification. We did hate him, that'sa fact. I'll tell you what he did to a black boy of ours — youknow our black Sam, Alice? — I forget what he had been doing;but Starks took him so — by the rims of the ears — and dancedhim up and down upon the floor. "

"But didn't that hurt him?"

"Hurt him! I guess it did, he meant it should. He tied meunder the table once. Sometime, when he wanted to punish twoboys at a time, he would set them to spit in each other'sfaces. "

"Oh! don't tell me about him!" cried Ellen, with a face ofhorror: "I don't like to hear it. "

Jenny laughed; and just then the door opened, and Mr. VanBrunt and the old news-carrier came in. 

He was a venerable, mild-looking man, with thin hair as whiteas snow. He wore a long snuff-coloured coat and a broad-brimmed hat, the sides of which were oddly looped up to thecrown, with twine; his tin horn or trumpet was in his hand. His saddle-bags were on Mr. Van Brunt's' arm. As soon as shesaw him, Ellen was fevered with the notion that perhaps he hadsomething for her; and she forgot everything else. It wouldseem that the rest of the company had the same hope, for theycrowded round him, shouting out welcomes, and questions, andinquiries for letters — all in a breath. 

"Softly — softly, " said the old man, sitting down, slowly;"not all at once; I can't attend to you all at once; — one ata time — one at a time. "

"Don't attend to 'em at all till you're ready, " said MissFortune — "let 'em wait. " And she handed him a glass of cider. 

He drank it off at a breath, smacking his lips as he gave backthe glass to her hand, and exclaiming, "That's prime!" Thentaking up his saddle-bags from the floor, he began slowly toundo the fastenings. 

"You are going to our house to-night, ain't you, FatherSwaim?" said Jenny. 

That's where I _was_ going, " said the old man — "I _was_ agoing tostop with your father, Miss Jenny; but since I've got intofarmer Van Brunt's hands, I don't know any more what's goingto become of me; — and after that glass of cider, I don't muchcare! Now let's see — let's see — 'Miss Jenny Hitchcock, ' —here's something for you. I should like very much to knowwhat's inside of that letter — there's a blue seal to it. Ah, young folks! — young folks!

Jenny received her letter amidst a great deal of laughing andjoking, and seemed herself quite as much amused as anybody. 

" 'Jedediah B. Lawson' — there's for your father, Miss Mimy;that saves me a long tramp — if you've twenty-one cents inyour pocket, that is; if you han't, I shall be obleeged totramp after that. Here's something for 'most all of you, I'mthinking. 'Miss Cecilia Dennison' — your fair hands — how'sthe squire? — rheumatism, eh? I think I'm a younger man nowthan your father, Cecilly; and yet I must ha' seen a good manyyears more than Squire Dennison; — I must, surely. 'MissFortune Emerson' — that's for you; a double letter, Ma’am. "

Ellen with a beating heart had pressed nearer and nearer tothe old man, till she stood close by his right hand, and couldsee every letter as he handed it out. A spot of deepening redwas on each cheek as her eye eagerly scanned letter afterletter; it spread to a sudden flush when the last name wasread. Alice watched in some anxiety her keen look as itfollowed the letter from the old man's hand to her aunt's, andthence to the pocket, where Miss Fortune coolly bestowed it. Ellen could not stand this; she sprang forward across thecircle. 

"Aunt Fortune, there's a letter inside of that for me — won'tyou give it to me? — won't you give it to me?" she repeated, trembling. 

Her aunt did not notice her by so much as a look; she turnedaway and began talking to some one else. The red had leftEllen's face when Alice could see it again — it was livid andspotted from stifled passion. She stood in a kind of maze. Butas her eye caught Alice's anxious and sorrowful look, shecovered her face with her hands, and as quick as possible madeher escape out of the room. 

For some minutes Alice heard none of the hubbub around her. Then came a knock at the door, and the voice of Thomas Grimessaying to Mr. Van Brunt that Miss Humphreys' horse was there. 

"Mr. Swaim, " said Alice, rising, "I don't like to leave youwith these gay friends of ours; you'll stand no chance of restwith them to-night. Will you ride home with me?"

Many of the party began to beg Alice would stay to supper, butshe said her father would be uneasy. The old news-carrierconcluded to go with her, for, he said, "there was a pint hewanted to mention to Parson Humphreys that he had forgotten tobring for'ard when they were talking on that 'ere subject twomonths ago. " So Nancy brought her things from the next room, and helped her on with them, and looked pleased, as well shemight, at the smile and kind words with which she wasrewarded. Alice lingered at her leave-taking, hoping to seeEllen — but it was not till the last moment that Ellen camein. She did not say a word, but the two little arms were putaround Alice's neck, and held her with a long, closeearnestness, which did not pass from her mind all the eveningafterwards. 

When she was gone, the company sat down again to business; andapple-paring went on more steadily than ever for a while, tillthe bottom of the barrels was seen, and the last basketful ofapples was duly emptied. Then there was a general shout; thekitchen was quickly cleared, and everybody's face brightened, as much as to say, "Now for fun!" While Ellen and Nancy, andMiss Fortune and Mrs. Van Brunt were running all ways withtrays, pans, baskets, knives, and buckets, the fun began byMr. Juniper Hitchcock's whistling in his dog, and setting himto do various feats for the amusement of the company. Therefollowed such a rushing, leaping, barking, laughing, andscolding on the part of the dog and his admirers, that theroom was in an uproar. He jumped over a stick; he got into achair, and sat up on two legs; he kissed the ladies' hands; hesuffered an apple-paring to be laid across his nose, thenthrew it up with a jerk and caught it in his mouth. Nothingvery remarkable, certainly, but, as Miss Fortune observed tosomebody, "if he had been the learned pig, there couldn't ha'been more fuss made over him. "

Ellen stood looking on, smiling partly at the dog and hismaster, and partly at the antics of the company. Presently Mr. Van Brunt, bending down to her, said —

"What is the matter with your eyes?"

"Nothing, " said Ellen, starting — "at least nothing that's anymatter, I mean. "

"Come here, " said he, drawing her on one side; "tell me allabout it — what is the matter?"

"Never mind — please don't ask me, Mr. Van Brunt, it's nothingI ought to tell you — it isn't any matter. "

But her eyes were full again, and he still held her fastdoubtfully. 

"_I'll_ tell you about it, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Nancy, as shecame past them — "you let her go, and I'll tell you by-and-by. "

And Ellen tried in vain afterwards to make her promise shewould not. 

"Come, June, " said Miss Jenny, "we have got enough of you andJumper — turn him out; we are going to have the cat now. Come!— Puss, puss in the corner! Go off in t'other room, will you, everybody that don't want to play. Puss, puss!"

Now the fun began in good earnest, and but few minutes hadpassed before Ellen was laughing with all her heart, as if shenever had had anything to cry for in her life. After "puss, puss in the corner" came "blind-man's-buff;" and this wasplayed with great spirit, the two most distinguished beingNancy and Dan Dennison, though Miss Fortune played admirablywell. Ellen had seen Nancy play before; but she forgot her ownpart of the game in sheer amazement at the way Mr. Dennisonmanaged his long body, which seemed to go where there was noroom for it, and vanish into air just when the grasp of somegrasping "blind man" was ready to fasten upon him. And when hewas blinded, he seemed to know by instinct where the wallswere, and keeping clear of them, he would swoop like a hawkfrom one end of the room to the other, pouncing upon theunlucky people who could by no means get out of the way fastenough. When this had lasted awhile, there was a general callfor "the fox and the goose, " and Miss Fortune was pitched uponfor the latter, she having in the other game showed herselfcapable of good generalship. But who for the fox? Mr. VanBrunt?

"Not I, " said Mr. Van Brunt — "there ain't nothing of the foxabout me; Miss Fortune would beat me all hollow. "

"Who then, farmer?" said Bill Huff; — "come! who is the fox?Will I do?"

"Not you, Bill; the goose 'ud be too much for you. "

There was a general shout, and cries of "Who then? who then?"

"Dan Dennison, " said Mr. Van Brunt. "Now look out for a sharpfight. "

Amidst a great deal of laughing and confusion, the line wasformed, each person taking hold of a handkerchief or bandpassed round the waist of the person before him, except whenthe women held by each other's skirts. There were rangedaccording to height, the tallest being next their leader, the"goose. " Mr. Van Brunt and the elder ladies, and two or threemore, chose to be lookers-on, and took post outside the door. 

Mr. Dennison began by taking off his coat, to give himselfmore freedom in his movements; for his business was to catchthe train of the goose, one by one, as each in turn became thehindmost; while _her_ object was to baffle him and keep herfamily together, meeting him with outspread arms at every rushhe made to seize one of her brood; while the long train behindher, following her quick movements, and swaying from side toside to get out of the reach of the furious fox, was sometimesin the shape of the letter C, and sometimes in that of theletter S, and sometimes looked like a long snake with acurling tail. Loud was the laughter, shrill the shrieks, asthe fox drove them hither and thither, and seemed to be in allparts of the room at once. He was a cunning fox that, as wellas a bold one. Sometimes, when they thought him quite safe, held at bay by the goose, he dived under or leaped over heroutstretched arms, and _almost_ snatched hold of little Ellen, who being the least, was the last one of the party. But Ellenplayed very well, and just escaped him two or three times, till he declared she gave him so much trouble, that when hecaught her he would "kiss her the worst kind. " Ellen playednone the worse for that; however she was caught at last, andkissed, too; there was no help for it, so she bore it as wellas she could. Then she watched and laughed till the tears randown her cheeks, to see how the fox and the goose dodged eachother, what tricks were played, and how the long train pulledeach other about. At length Nancy was caught, and then JennyHitchcock, and then Cecilia Dennison, and then Jane Huff, andso on, till at last the fox and the goose had a long strugglefor Mimy Lawson, which would never have come to an end if Mimyhad not gone over to the enemy. 

There was a general pause. The hot and tired company wereseated around the room, panting and fanning themselves withtheir pocket-handkerchiefs, and speaking broken sentences;glad to rest even from laughing. Miss Fortune had thrownherself down on a seat close by Ellen, when Nancy came up andsoftly asked, "Is it time to beat the eggs now?" Miss Fortunenodded, and then drew her close to receive a long, low whisperin her ear, at the end of which Nancy ran off. 

"Is there anything _I_ can do, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen, sogently and timidly, that it ought to have won a kind answer. 

"Yes, " said her aunt, "you may go and put yourself to bed;it's high time, long ago. " And looking round as she moved off, she added, "Go!" with a little nod that as much as said, "I amin earnest. "

Ellen's heart throbbed — she stood doubtful. One word to Mr. Van Brunt, and she need not go — that she knew. But as surely, too, that word would make trouble and do harm. And then sheremembered, "A charge to keep I have!" She turned quick, andquitted the room. 

Ellen sat down on the first stair she came to, for her bosomwas heaving up and down, and she was determined not to cry. The sounds of talking and laughing came to her from theparlour, and there at her side stood the covered-up supper; —for a few minutes it was hard to keep her resolve. The thickbreath came and went very fast. Through the fanlights of thehall door, opposite to which she was sitting, the brightmoonlight streamed in; and presently, as Ellen quieted, itseemed to her fancy, like a gentle messenger from its Makerbidding his child remember Him; — and then came up some wordsin her memory that her mother's lips had fastened there longago — "I love them that love me, and they that seek me earlyshall find me. " She remembered her mother had told her it isJesus who says this. Her lost pleasure was well nighforgotten; and yet, as she sat gazing into the moonlight, Ellen's eyes were gathering tears very fast. 

"Well, I _am_ seeking Him, " she thought — "can it be that heloves me! — Oh, I'm so glad!"

And they were glad tears that little Ellen wiped away as shewent upstairs, for it was too cold to sit there long, if themoon was ever so bright. 

She had her hand on the latch of the door, when hergrandmother called out from the other room to know who wasthere. 

"It's I, grandma. "

"Ain't somebody there? Come in here — who is it?"

"It's I, Grandma, " said Ellen, coming to the door. 

"Come in here, deary, " said the old woman, in a lower tone —"what is it all? what's the matter? who's down stairs?"

"It's a bee, Grandma; there's nothing the matter. "

"A bee! who's been stung? what's all the noise about?"

" 'T isn't that kind of bee, Grandma; don't you know? there'sa parcel of people that came to pare apples, and they've beenplaying games in the parlour — that's all. "

"Paring apples, eh? Is there company below?"

"Yes, Ma’am — a whole parcel of people. "

"Dear me!" said the old lady, "I oughtn't to ha' been abed!Why han't Fortune told me? I'll get right up. Ellen, you go inthat fur closet and bring me my paddysoy, that hangs there, and then help me on with my things — I'll get right up. Dearme! what was Fortune thinking about?"

The moonlight served very well instead of candles. After twicebringing the wrong dresses, Ellen at last hit upon the"paddysoy, " which the old lady knew immediately by the touch. In haste, and not without some fear and trembling on Ellen'spart, she was arrayed in it; her best cap put on, not overhair in the best order, Ellen feared, but the old lady wouldnot stay to have it made better; Ellen took care of her downthe stairs, and after opening the door for her went back toher room. 

A little while had passed, and Ellen was just tying hernightcap strings, and ready to go peacefully to sleep, whenNancy burst in. 

"Ellen! Hurry! you must come right downstairs. "

"Downstairs! — why, I am just ready to go to bed. "

"No matter — you must come right away down. There's Mr. VanBrunt says he won't begin supper till you come. "

"But does Aunt Fortune want me too?"

"Yes, I tell you! and the quicker you come the better she'llbe pleased. She sent me after you in all sorts of a hurry. Shesaid she didn't know where you was!"

"Said she didn't know where I was! Why, she told me herself, "— Ellen began, and stopped short. 

"Of course!" said Nancy; "don't you think I know that? But _he_don't, and if you want to plague her, you'll just tell him. Now come, and be quick, will you? The supper's splendid. "

Ellen lost the first view of the table, for everything hadbegun to be pulled to pieces before she came in. The companywere all crowded round the table, eating and talking, andhelping themselves; and ham and bread and butter, pumpkin-piesand mince-pies and apple-pies, cake of various kinds, andglasses of egg-nogg and cider, were in everybody's hands. Onedish in the middle of the big table had won the praise ofevery tongue; nobody could guess, and many asked how it wasmade, but Miss Fortune kept a satisfied silence, pleased tosee the constant stream of comers to the big dish, till it wasnear empty. Just then, Mr. Van Brunt, seeing Ellen hadnothing, gathered up all that was left, and gave it to her. 

It was sweet, and cold, and rich. Ellen told her motherafterwards it was the best thing she had ever tasted exceptthe ice-cream she once gave her in New York. She had taken, however, but one spoonful, when her eye fell upon Nancy, standing at the back of all the company, and forgotten. Nancyhad been upon her good behaviour all the evening, and it was asingular proof of this that she had not pushed in and helpedherself among the first. Ellen's eye went once or twice fromher plate to Nancy, and then she crossed over and offered itto her. It was eagerly taken, and, a little disappointed Ellenstepped back again. But she soon forgot the disappointment. "She'll know now that I don't bear her any grudge, " shethought. 

"Han't you got nothing?" said Nancy, coming up presently;"that wasn't your'n that you gave me — was it?"

Ellen nodded, smilingly. 

"Well, there ain't no more of it, " said Nancy. "The bowl isempty. "

"I know it, " said Ellen. 

"Why, didn't you like it?"

"Yes — very much. "

"Why, you're a queer little fish, " said Nancy. "What did youget Mr. Van Brunt to let me in for?"

"How did you know I did?"

" 'Cause he told me. Say — what did you do it for? Mr. Dennison, won't you give Ellen a piece of cake or something?Here — take this, " said Nancy, pouncing upon a glass of egg-nog, which a gap in the company enabled her to reach; "I madeit more than half myself. Ain't it good?"

"Yes, very, " said Ellen, smacking her lips; "what's in it?"

"Oh, plenty of good things. But what made you ask Mr. VanBrunt to let me stop to-night? you didn't tell me — did youwant me to stay?"

"Never mind, " said Ellen; "don't ask me any questions. "

"Yes, but I will though: and you've got to answer me. Why didyou? Come! do you like me? — say!"

"I should like you, I dare say, if you would be different. "

"Well, I don't care, " said Nancy, after a little pause; "Ilike _you_, though you're as queer as you can be. I don't carewhether you like me or not. Look here, Ellen, _that_ cake thereis the best — I know it is, for I've tried 'em all. — You knowI told Van Brunt that I would tell him what you were cryingabout?"

"Yes, and I asked you not. Did you?"

Nancy nodded, being at the moment still further engaged in"trying" the cake. 

"I am sorry you did. What did he say?"

"He didn't say much to _me_ — somebody else will hear of it, Iguess. He was mad about it, or I am mistaken. What makes yousorry?"

"It will only do harm, and make Aunt Fortune angry. "

"Well, that's just what I should like, if I were you. I can'tmake you out. "

"I'd a great deal rather have her like me, " said Ellen. "Wasshe vexed when Grandma came down?"

"I don't know, but she had to keep it to herself if she was;everybody else was so glad, and Mr. Van Brunt made such afuss. Just look at the old lady, how pleased she is! I declareif the folks ain't talking of going! Come, Ellen! now for thecloaks! you and me'll finish our supper afterwards. "

That, however, was not to be. Nancy was offered a ride home toMrs. Van Brunt's, and a lodging there. They were ready cloakedand shawled, and Ellen was still hunting for Miss Janet'sthings in the moonlit hall, when she heard Nancy close by, ina lower tone than common, say —

"Ellen, will you kiss me?"

Ellen dropped her armful of things, and, taking Nancy's hands, gave her truly the kiss of peace. 

When she went up to undress for the second time, she found onher bed — her letter! And with tears Ellen kneeled down andgave earnest thanks for this blessing, and that she had beenable to gain Nancy's good-will. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Sundry things round a pot of chocolate. 

It was Tuesday, the 22nd of December, and late in the day. Nota pleasant afternoon. The grey snow-clouds hung low; the airwas keen and raw. It was already growing dark, and Alice wassitting alone in the firelight, when two little feet camerunning round the corner of the house; the glass door opened, and Ellen rushed in. 

"I have come! I have come!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear Alice, I'm so glad!"

So was Alice, if her kiss meant anything. 

"But how late, my child! how late you are!"

"Oh, I thought I never was going to get done!" said Ellen, pulling off her things in a great hurry, and throwing them onthe sofa — "but I am here at last. Oh, I'm so glad!"

"Why, what has been the matter?" said Alice, folding up whatEllen laid down. 

"Oh, a great deal of matter! — I couldn't think what Nancymeant last night — I know very well now. I shan't want to seeany more apples all winter. What do you think I have beenabout all to-day, dear Miss Alice?"

"Nothing that has done you much harm, " said Alice, smiling —"if I am to guess from your looks. You are as rosy as a goodSpitzenberg yourself. "

"That's very funny, " said Ellen, laughing, "for Aunt Fortunesaid a while ago that my cheeks were just the colour of twomealy potatoes. "

"But about the apples?" said Alice. 

"Why, this morning I was thinking I would come here so early, when the first thing I knew, Aunt Fortune brought out allthose heaps and heaps of apples into the kitchen, and made mesit down on the floor, and then she gave me a great bigneedle, and set me to stringing them all together; and as fastas I strung them, she hung them up all round the ceiling. Itried very hard to get through before, but I could not; and Iam so tired! I thought I never should get to the bottom ofthat big basket. "

"Never mind, love — come to the fire — we'll try and forgetall disagreeable things while we are together. "

"I have forgotten it almost already, " said Ellen, as she satdown in Alice's lap, and laid her face against hers; "I don'tcare for it at all now. "

But her cheeks were fast fading into the uncomfortable colourMiss Fortune had spoken of; and weariness and weakness kepther for awhile quiet in Alice's arms, overcoming even thepleasure of talking. They sat so till the clock struck half-past five; then Alice proposed they should go into thekitchen, and see Margery, and order the tea made, which shehad no doubt Ellen wanted. Margery welcomed her with greatcordiality. She liked anybody that Alice liked, but she hadbesides declared to her husband that Ellen was "an uncommonwell-behaved child. " She said she would put the tea to draw, and they should have it in a very few minutes. 

"But, Miss Alice, there's an Irish body, out by, waiting tospeak to you. I was just coming in to tell you; will youplease to see her now?"

"Certainly — let her come in. Is she in the cold, Margery?"

"No, Miss Alice — there's a fire there this evening. I'll callher. "

The woman came up from the lower kitchen at the summons. Shewas young, rather pretty, and with a pleasant countenance, butunwashed, uncombed, untidy, — no wonder Margery's nicety hadshrunk from introducing her into her spotless upper kitchen. The unfailing Irish cloak was drawn about her, the hoodbrought over her head, and on the head and shoulders the snowlay white, not yet melted away. 

"Did you wish to speak to me, my friend?" said Alice, pleasantly. 

"If ye plase, Ma’am, it the master I'm wanting, " said thewoman, dropping a courtesy. 

"My father? Margery, will you tell him?"

Margery departed. 

"Come nearer the fire, " said Alice, "and sit down; my fatherwill be here presently. It is snowing again, is it not?"

"It is, Ma’am — a bitter storm. "

"Have you come far?"

"It's a good bit, my lady — it's more nor a mile beyant Carra— just right forgin the ould big hill they call the Catchback;in Jemmy Morrison's woods — where Pat M'Farren's clearing is —it's there I live, my lady. "

"That is a long distance, indeed, for a walk in the snow, "said Alice, kindly; "sit down, and come nearer the fire. Margery will give you something to refresh you. "

"I thank ye, my lady, but I want nothing man can give me thenight; and when one's on an arrant of life and death, it'slittle the cold or the storm can do to put out the heart'sfire. "

"Life and death! who is sick?" said Alice. 

"It's my own child, Ma’am — my own boy — all the child I have— and I'll have none by the morning light. "

"Is he so ill?" said Alice; "what is the matter with him?"

"Myself doesn't know. "

The voice was fainter; the brown cloak was drawn over herface; and Alice and Ellen saw her shoulders heaving with thegrief she kept from bursting out. They exchanged glances. 

"Sit down, " said Alice again presently, laying her hand uponthe wet shoulder; "sit down and rest; my father will be heredirectly. Margery — oh, that's right — a cup of tea will doher good. What do you want with my father?"

"The Lord bless ye! — I'll tell you, my lady. "

She drank off the tea, but refused something more substantialthat Margery offered her. 

"The Lord bless ye! I couldn't. My lady, there wasn't astronger, nor a prettier, nor a swater child, nor couldn't be, nor he was when we left it — it'll be three years come thefifteenth of April next; but I'm thinking the bitter wintersof this cowld country has chilled the life o' him — andtroubles cowlder than all, " she added, in a lower tone. "Iseed him grow waker and waker, an' his dair face grown thinnerand thinner, and the red all left it, only two burning spotswas on it some days; an' I worried the life out o' me for him, an' all I could do, I couldn't do nothing at all to help him, for he just growed waker an' waker. I axed the father wouldn'the see the doctor about him, but he's an aisy kind o' man, mylady, an' he said he would, an' he never did to this day; an'John, he always said it was no use sinding for the doctor, an'looked so swate at me, an' said for me not to fret, for surehe'd be better soon, or he'd go to a better place. An' Ithought he was already like a heavenly angel itself, an'always was, but then more nor ever. Och! it's soon that he'llbe one entirely! — let Father Shannon say what he will. "

She sobbed for a minute, while Alice and Ellen looked on, silent and pitying. 

"An' to-night, my lady, he's very bad, " she went on, wipingaway the tears that came quickly again — "an' I seed he wasgoing fast from me, an' I was breaking my heart wid the lossof him, whin I heard one of the men that was in it say, 'What's this he's saying?' says he. 'An' what is it, thin?'says I. 'About the gintleman that praiches at Carra, ' says he— 'he's a calling for him, ' says he. I knowed there wasn't apraist at all at Carra, an' I thought he was draiming, or outo' his head, or crazy wid his sickness, like; an' I went upclose to him, an' says I, 'John, ' says I, 'what is it youwant, ' says I — 'an' sure, if it's anything in heaven above orin earth beneath that yer own mother can get for ye, ' says I, 'ye shall have it, ' says I. An' he put up his two arms aroundmy neck, an' pulled my face down to his lips, that was hot widthe faver, an' kissed me — he did — 'An', ' says he, 'motherdair, ' says he — 'if ye love me, ' says he, 'fetch me the goodgintleman that praiches at Carra, till I spake to him. ' 'Is itthe praist you want, John, my boy?' says I — 'sure he's init, ' says I'; for Michael had been for Father Shannon, an' hehad come home wid him half an hour before. 'Oh no, mother, 'says he, 'it's not him at all that I mane — it's the gintlemanthat spakes in the little white church at Carra — he's not apraist at all, ' says he. 'An' who is he thin?' says I, gettingup from the bed, 'or where will I find him, or how will I getto him?' 'Ye'll not stir a fut for him, thin, the night, KittyDolan, ' says my husband — 'are ye mad, ' says he; 'sure it'snot his own head the child has at all at all, or it's a littlehiritic he is, ' says he; 'an' ye won't show the disrespect tothe praist in yer own house. ' 'I'm maining none, ' says I —'nor more, he isn't a hiritic; but if he was, he's a bornangel to you, Michael Dolan, anyhow, ' says I; 'an' wid thekiss of his lips on my face, wouldn't I do the arrant of myown boy, an' he a dying? by the blessing, an' I will, iftwenty men stud between me an' it. So tell me where I'll findhim, this praist, if there's the love o' mercy in any sowl o'ye, ' says I. But they wouldn't spake a word for me, not one ofthem; so I axed an' axed at one place an' other, till here Iam. An' now, my lady, will the master go for me to my poorboy? — for he'd maybe be dead while I stand here. "

"Surely I will, " said Mr. Humphreys, who had come in while shewas speaking. "Wait but one moment. "

In a moment he came back ready, and he and the woman set forthto their walk. Alice looked out anxiously after them. 

"It storms very hard, " she said — "and he had not had his tea!But he couldn't wait. Come, Ellen, love, we'll have ours. Howwill he ever get back again? it will be so deep by that time. "

There was a cloud on her fair brow for a few minutes, but itpassed away, and, quiet and calm as ever, she sat down at thelittle tea-table with Ellen. From _her_ face all shadows seemedto have flown for ever. Hungry and happy, she enjoyedMargery's good bread and butter, and the nice honey, and fromtime to time cast very bright looks at the dear face on theother side of the table, which could not help looking brightin reply. Ellen was well pleased, for her part, that the thirdseat was empty. But Alice looked thoughtful sometime as a gustof wind swept by, and once or twice went to the window. 

After tea, Alice took out her work, and Ellen put herselfcontentedly down on the rug, and sat leaning back against her. Silent for very contentment for a while, she sat lookinggravely into the fire; while Alice's fingers drove a littlesteel hook through and through some purse silk in a mysteriousfashion, that no eye could be quick enough to follow, and withsuch skill and steadiness, that the work grew fast under herhand. 

"I had such a funny dream last night, " said Ellen. 

"Had you? what about?"

"It was pleasant, too, " said Ellen, twisting herself round totalk — "but very queer. I dreamed about that gentleman thatwas so kind to me on board the boat — you know? — I told youabout him?"

"Yes, I remember. "

"Well, I dreamed of seeing him somewhere, I don't know where —and he didn't look a bit like himself, only I knew who it was;and I thought I didn't like to speak to him for fear hewouldn't know _me_, but then I thought he did, and came up andtook my hand, and seemed so glad to see me; and he asked me ifI had been _pious_ since he saw me. "

Ellen stopped to laugh. 

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him yes. And then I thought he seemed so verypleased. "

"Dreamers do not always keep close to the truth, it seems. "

"_I_ didn't, " said Ellen. "But then I thought I had, in mydream. "

"Had what? kept close to the truth?"

"No, no — been what he said. "

"Dreams are queer things, " said Alice. 

"I have been far enough from being good to-day, " said Ellen, thoughtfully. 

"How so, my dear?"

"I don't know, Miss Alice — because I never _am_ good, Isuppose. "

"But what has been the matter to-day?"

"Why, those apples! I thought I would come here so early, andthen, when I found I must do all those baskets of applesfirst, I was very ill-humoured; and Aunt Fortune saw I was, and said something that made me worse. And I tried as hard asI could to get through before dinner, and when I found Icouldn't, I said I wouldn't come to dinner; but she made me, and that vexed me more, and I wouldn't eat scarcely anything, and then, when I got back to the apples again, I sewed sohard, that I ran the needle into my finger ever so far — seethere, what a mark it left! — and Aunt Fortune said it servedme right, and she was glad of it, and that made me angry. Iknew I was wrong, afterwards, and I was very sorry. Isn't itstrange, dear Alice, I should do so when I have resolved sohard I wouldn't. "

"Not very, my darling, as long as we have such evil hearts asours are — it _is_ strange they should be so evil. "

"I told Aunt Fortune afterwards I was sorry, but she said'Actions speak louder than words, and words are cheap. ' If sheonly wouldn't say that just as she does! it does worry me so. "

"Patience!" said Alice, passing her hand over Ellen's hair asshe sat looking sorrowfully up at her. "You must try not togive her occasion. Never mind what she says, and overcome evilwith good. "

"That is just what Mamma said!" exclaimed Ellen, rising tothrow her arms around Alice's neck, and kissing her with allthe energy of love, gratitude, repentance, and sorrowfulrecollection. 

"Oh, what do you think!" she said, suddenly, her face changingagain, — "I got my letter last night!"

"Your letter!"

"Yes, the letter the old man brought — don't you know? and itwas written in the ship, and there was only a little bit fromMamma, and a little bit from Papa, but so good! Papa says sheis a great deal better, and he has no doubt he will bring herback in the spring or summer quite well again. Isn't thatgood?"

"Very good, dear Ellen. I am very glad for you. "

"It was, on my bed last night. I can't think how it got there;and I don't care, either, so long as I've got it. What are youmaking?"

"A purse, " said Alice, laying it on the table for herinspection. 

"It will be very pretty. Is the other end to be like this?"

"Yes, and these tassels to finish them off. "

"Oh, that's beautiful, " said Ellen, laying them down to trythe effect; "and these rings to fasten it with. Is it black?"

"No, dark green. I am making it for my brother John. "

"A Christmas present!" exclaimed Ellen. 

"I am afraid not; he will hardly be here by that time. It maydo for New Year. "

"How pleasant it must be to make Christmas and New Yearpresents!" said Ellen, after she had watched Alice's busyfingers for a few minutes. "I wish I could make something forsomebody. Oh! I wonder if I couldn't make something for Mr. Van Brunt! Oh, I should like to, very much. "

Alice smiled at Ellen's very wide-open eyes. 

"What could you make for him?"

"I don't know — that's the thing. He keeps his money in hispocket; and besides, I don't know how to make purses. "

"There are other things besides purses. How would a watch-guard do? Does he wear a watch?"

"I don't know whether he does or not; he doesn't every day, Iam sure, but I don't know about Sundays. "

"Then, we won't venture upon that. You might knit him anightcap. "

"A nightcap? — you're joking, Alice, aren't you? I don't thinka nightcap would be pretty for a Christmas present — do you?"

"Well, what shall we do, Ellen?" said Alice, laughing. "I madea pocket-pincushion for Papa once, when I was a little girl, but I fancy Mr. Van Brunt would not know exactly what use tomake of such a convenience. I don't think you could fail toplease him, though, with anything you should hit upon. "

"I have got a dollar, " said Ellen, "to buy stuff with; it camein my letter last night. If I only knew what!"

Down she went on the rug again, and Alice worked in silence, while Ellen's thoughts ran over every possible and impossiblearticle of Mr. Van Brunt's dress. 

"I have some nice pieces of fine linen, " said Alice; "supposeI cut out a collar for him, and you can make it and stitch it, and then Margery will starch and iron it for you, all ready togive to him. How will that do? Can you stitch well enough?"

"Oh, yes, I guess I can, " said Ellen. "Oh, thank you, dearAlice! you are the best help that ever was. Will he like that, do you think?"

"I am sure he will — very much. "

"Then, that will do nicely, " said Ellen, much relieved. "Andnow, what do you think about Nancy's Bible?"

"Nothing could be better; only that I am afraid Nancy wouldeither sell it for something else, or let it go to destructionvery quickly. I never heard of her spending five minutes overa book, and the Bible, I am afraid, last of all. "

"But I think, " said Ellen slowly, — "I think she would notspoil it, or sell it either, if _I_ gave it to her. "

And she told Alice about Nancy's asking for the kiss lastnight. 

"That's the most hopeful thing I have heard about Nancy for along time, " said Alice. "We will get her the Bible by allmeans, my dear — a nice one — and I hope you will be able topersuade her to read it. "

She rose as she spoke, and went to the glass door. Ellenfollowed her, and they looked out into the night. It was verydark. She opened the door a moment, but the wind drove thesnow into their faces, and they were glad to shut it again. 

"It's almost as bad as the night we were out, isn't it?" saidEllen. 

"Not such a heavy fall of snow, I think, but it is very windyand cold. Papa will be late getting home. "

"I am sorry you are worried, dear Alice. "

"I am not _much_ worried, love. I have often known Papa out latebefore, but this is rather a hard night for a long walk. Come, we'll try to make a good use of the time while we are waiting. Suppose you read to me while I work. "

She took down a volume of Cowper, and found his account of thethree pet hares. Ellen read it, and then several of hissmaller pieces of poetry. Then followed a long talk abouthares and other animals; about Cowper and his friends, and hisway of life. Time passed swiftly away; it was getting late. 

"How weary papa will be!" said Alice. "He has had nothing toeat since dinner. I'll tell you what we'll do, Ellen, " sheexclaimed, as she threw her work down, — "we'll make somechocolate for him — that'll be the very thing. Ellen, dear, run into the kitchen and ask Margery to bring me the littlechocolate-pot and a pitcher of night's milk. "

Margery brought them. The pot was set on the coals, and Alicehad cut up the chocolate that it might melt the quicker. Ellenwatched it with great interest till it was melted, and theboiling water stirred in, and the whole was simmering quietlyon the coals. 

"Is it done now?"

"No, it must boil a little while, and then the milk must beput in, and when that has boiled, the eggs — and then it willbe done. "

With Margery and the chocolate-pot the cat had walked in. Ellen immediately endeavoured to improve his acquaintance;that was not so easy. The Captain chose the corner of the rugfurthest from her, in spite of all her calling and coaxing, paying her no more attention than if he had not heard her. Ellen crossed over to him, and began most tenderly andrespectfully to stroke his head and back, touching his softfur with great care. Parry presently lifted up his headuneasily, as much as to say, "I wonder how long this is goingto last" — and finding there was every prospect of its lastingsome time, he fairly got up and walked over to the other endof the rug. Ellen followed him, and tried again, with exactlythe same effect. 

"Well, cat! you aren't very kind, " said she as length; —"Alice, he won't let me have anything to do with him!"

"I am sorry, my dear, he is so unsociable; he is a cat of verybad taste — that is all I can say. "

"But I never saw such a cat! he won't let me touch him ever sosoftly; he lifts up his head and looks as cross; — and thenwalks off. "

"He don't know you yet, and truth is, Parry has no fancy forextending the circle of his acquaintance. Oh, kitty, kitty!"said Alice, fondly stroking his head, "why don't you behavebetter?"

Parry lifted his head, and opened and shut his eyes, with anexpression of great satisfaction, very different from that hehad bestowed on Ellen. Ellen gave him up for the present as ahopeless case, and turned her attention to the chocolate, which had now received the milk, and must be watched lest itshould run over, which Alice said it would very easily do whenonce it began to boil again. Meanwhile Ellen wanted to knowwhat chocolate was made of — where it came from — where it wasmade best — burning her little face in the fire all the time, lest the pot should boil over while she was not looking. Atlast the chocolate began to gather a rich froth, and Ellencalled out —

"Oh, Alice! look here — quick! here's the shape of the spoonon the top of the chocolate! do look at it. "

An iron spoon was in the pot, and its shape was distinctlyraised on the smooth frothy surface. As they were both bendingforward to watch it, Alice waiting to take the pot off themoment it began to boil, Ellen head a slight click of the lockof the door, and turning her head, was a little startled tosee a stranger there, standing still at the far end of theroom. She touched Alice's arm without looking round. But Alicestarted to her feet with a slight scream, and in anotherminute had thrown her arms round the stranger, and was lockedin his. Ellen knew what it meant now, very well. She turnedaway as if she had nothing to do with what was going on there, and lifted the pot of chocolate off the fire with infinitedifficulty; but it was going to boil over, and she would havebroken her back rather than not do it. And then she stood withher back to the brother and sister, looking into the fire, asif she was determined not to see them till she couldn't helpit. But what she was thinking of, Ellen could not have told, then or afterwards. It was but a few minutes, though it seemedto her a great many, before they drew near the fire. Curiositybegan to be strong, and she looked round to see if the new-comer was like Alice. No, not a bit — how different! — darkerhair and eyes — not a bit like her; handsome enough, too, tobe her brother. And Alice did not look like herself; herusually calm, sweet face was quivering and sparkling now — litup as Ellen had never seen it — oh, how bright! Poor Ellenherself had never looked duller in her life; and when Alicesaid, gaily, "This is my brother, Ellen, " her confusion ofthoughts and feelings resolved themselves into a flood oftears; she sprang and hid her face in Alice's arms. 

Ellen's were not the only eyes that were full just then, butof course she did not know that. 

"Come, Ellen, " whispered Alice, presently, "look up! — whatkind of a welcome is this? come! — we have no business withtears just now. Won't you run into the kitchen for me, love, "she added, more low, "and ask Margery to bring some bread andbutter, and anything else she has that is fit for atraveller?"

Glad of an escape, Ellen darted away that her wet face mightnot be seen. The brother and sister were busily talking whenshe returned. 

"John, " said Alice, "this is my little sister that I wrote youabout — Ellen Montgomery. Ellen, this is your brother as wellas mine, you know. "

"Stop! stop!" said her brother. "Miss Ellen, this sister ofmine is giving us away to each other at a great rate; I shouldlike to know first what you say to it. Are you willing to takea strange brother upon her recommendation?"

Half inclined to laugh, Ellen glanced at the speaker's face, but meeting the grave though somewhat comical look of two verykeen eyes, she looked down again, and merely answered, "yes. "

"Then, if I am to be your brother, you must give me abrother's right, you know, " said he, drawing her gently tohim, and kissing her gravely on the lips. 

Probably Ellen thought there was a difference between JohnHumphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, or the young gentlemen of theapple-paring; for, though she coloured a good deal, she madeno objection, and showed no displeasure. Alice and she nowbusied themselves with getting the cups and saucers out of thecupboard, and setting the table: but all that evening, throughwhatever was doing, Ellen's eyes sought the stranger as if byfascination. She watched him whenever she could without beingnoticed. At first she was in doubt what to think of him; shewas quite sure, from that one looking into his eyes, that hewas a person to be feared; — there was no doubt of that; as tothe rest she didn't know. 

"And what have my two sisters been doing to spend theevening?" said John Humphreys, one time that Alice was goneinto the kitchen on some kind errand for him. 

"Talking, Sir, " — said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"Talking! this whole evening? Alice must have improved. Whathave you been talking about?"

"Hares — and dogs — and about Mr. Cowper — and some otherthings. "

"Private affairs, eh?" said he, with again the look Ellen hadseen before. 

"Yes, Sir, " said Ellen, nodding and laughing. 

"And how came you upon Mr. Cowper?"

"Sir?"

"How came you to be talking about Mr. Cowper?"

"I was reading about his hares, and about John Gilpin; andthen Alice told me about Mr. Cowper and his friends. "

"Well, I don't know, after all, that you have had a pleasanterevening than I have had, " said her questioner, "though I havebeen riding hard, with the cold wind in my face, and thedriving snow doing all it could to discomfort me. I have hadthis very bright fireside before me all the way. "

He fell into a fit of grave musing, which lasted till Alicecame in, then suddenly fell afumbling in his pocket. 

"Here's a note for you, " said he, throwing it into her lap. 

"A note! — Sophia Marshman — where did you get it?"

"From her own hand. Passing there to-day, I thought I muststop a moment to speak to them, and had no notion of doingmore; but Mrs. Marshman was very kind, and Miss Sophia indespair, so the end of it was, I dismounted and went in toawait the preparing of that billet while my poor nag was ledoff to the stables and a fresh horse supplied me — I fancythat tells you on what conditions. "

"Charming!" said Alice — "to spend Christmas — I am very glad;I should like to, very much — with you dear. If I can only getPapa — but I think he will; it will do him a great deal ofgood. To-morrow, she says, we must come; but I doubt theweather will not let us; we shall see. "

"I rode Prince Charlie down. He is a good traveller, and thesleighing will be fine if the snow be not too deep. The oldsleigh is in being yet, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes — in good order. Ellen? what are you looking so graveabout? you are going? too. "

"I?" said Ellen, a great spot of crimson coming in each cheek. 

"To be sure; do you think I am going to leave you behind?"

"But" —

"But what?"

"There won't be room. "

"Room in the sleigh? Then we'll put John on Prince Charlie, and let him ride there, postilion fashion. "

"But — Mr. Humphreys?"

"He always goes on horse-back; he will ride Sharp or oldJohn. "

In great delight, Ellen gave Alice an earnest kiss; and thenthey all gathered round the table to take their chocolate, orrather to see John take his, which his sister would not lethim wait for any longer. The storm had ceased, and through thebroken clouds the moon and stars were looking out, so theywere no more uneasy for Mr. Humphreys, and expected him everymoment. Still the supper was begun and ended without him, andthey had drawn round the fire again before his welcome stepwas at last heard. 

There was new joy then; new embracing, and questioning, andanswering; the little circle opened to let him in; and Alicebrought the corner of the table to his side and poured him outa cup of hot chocolate. But, after drinking half of it, andneglecting the eatables beside him, he sat with one hand inthe other, his arm leaning on his knee, with a kind ofsoftened gravity upon his countenance. 

"Is your chocolate right, Papa?" said Alice, at length. 

"_Very_ good, my daughter. "

He finished the cup, but then went back to his old attitudeand look. Gradually they ceased their conversation, and waitedwith respectful affection and some curiosity for him to speak;something of more than common interest seemed to be in histhoughts. He sat looking earnestly in the fire, sometimes withalmost a smile on his face, and gently striking one hand inthe palm of the other. And sitting so, without moving orstirring his eyes, he said at last, as though the words hadbeen forced from him, "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakablegift!"

As he added no more, Alice said, gently, "What have you seento-night, Papa?"

He roused himself, and pushed the empty cup towards her. 

"A little more, my daughter; — I have seen the fairest sight, almost, a man can see in this world. I have seen a littleransomed spirit go home to its rest. Oh, that 'unspeakablegift!' " He pressed his lips thoughtfully together while hestirred his chocolate; but having drunk it, he pushed thetable from him, and drew up his chair. 

"You had a long way to go, Papa, " observed Alice, again. 

"Yes — a long way there — I don't know what it was cominghome; I never thought of it. How independent the spirit can beof externals! I scarcely felt the storm to-night. "

"Nor I, " said his son. 

"I had a long way to go, " said Mr. Humphreys; "that poor woman— that Mrs. Dolan — she lives in the woods behind the Cat'sBack, a mile beyond Carra-carra, or more — it seemed a longmile to-night; and a more miserable place I never saw yet. Alittle rickety shanty, the storm was hardly kept out of it, and no appearance of comfort or nicety anywhere or inanything. There were several men gathered round the fire, andin a corner, on a miserable kind of bed, I saw the sick child. His eye met mine the moment I went in, and I thought I hadseen him before, but couldn't at first make out where. Do youremember, Alice, a little ragged boy, with a remarkablybright, pleasant face, who has planted himself regularly everySunday morning for some time past in the south aisle of thechurch, and stood there all service time?"

Alice said no. 

"I have noticed him often, and noticed him as paying a mostfixed and steady attention. I have repeatedly tried to catchhim on his way out of the church, to speak to him, but alwaysfailed. I asked him to night, when I first went in, if he knewme. 'I do, Sir, ' he said. I asked him where he had seen me. Hesaid, 'In the church beyant. ' 'So, ' said I, 'you are thelittle boy I have seen there so regularly; what did you comethere for?"

" 'To hear your honor spake the good words. '

" 'What good words?' said I; 'about what?'

"He said, 'About Him that was slain, and washed us from oursins in his own blood. '

" 'And do you think he has washed away yours?' I said. 

"He smiled at me very expressively. I suppose it was somewhatdifficult for him to speak; and, to tell the truth, so it wasfor me, for I was taken by surprise; but the people in the huthad gathered round, and I wished to hear him say more, fortheir sake as well as my own. I asked him why he thought hissins were washed away. He gave me for answer part of theverse, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, ' but did notfinish it. 'Do you think you are very sick, John?' I asked. 

" 'I am, Sir, ' he said — 'I'll not be long here. '

" 'And where do you think you are going, then?' said I. 

"He lifted one little, thin, bony arm from under his coverlid, and, through all the dirt and the pallor of his face, thesmile of heaven I am sure was on it, as he looked and pointedupward, and answered, 'Jesus!'

"I asked him presently, as soon as I could, what he had wishedto see me for. I don't know whether he heard me or not; he laywith his eyes half closed, breathing with difficulty. Idoubted whether he would speak again; and indeed, for myself, I had heard and seen enough to satisfy me entirely; — for thesake of the group around the bed, I could have desiredsomething further. They kept perfect stillness; awed, I think, by a profession of faith such as they had never heard before. They and I stood watching him, and at the end of a fewminutes, not more than ten or fifteen, he opened his eyes, andwith sudden life and strength rose up half-way in bed, exclaiming, 'Thanks to be God for his unspeakable gift!' — andthen fell back — just dead. "

The old gentleman's voice was husky as he finished, for Aliceand Ellen were both weeping, and John Humphreys had coveredhis face with his hands. 

"I have felt, " said the old gentleman, presently, "as if Icould have shouted out his words — his dying words — all theway as I came home. My little girl, " said he, drawing Ellen tohim, "do you know the meaning of those sweet things of whichlittle John Dolan's mind was so full?"

Ellen did not speak. 

"Do you know what it is to be a sinner? — and what it is to bea forgiven child of God?"

"I believe I do, Sir, " Ellen said. 

He kissed her forehand and blessed her; and then said, "Let uspray. "

It was late; the servants had gone to bed, and they werealone. Oh! what a thanksgiving Mr. Humphreys poured forth forthat "unspeakable gift!" — that they, every one there, hadbeen made to know and rejoice in it; for the poor little boy, rich in faith, who had just gone home in the same rejoicing;for their own loved ones who were there already; and for thehope of joining them soon in safety and joy, to sing with themthe "new song" for ever and ever. 

There were no dry eyes in the room. And when they arose, Mr. Humpreys, after giving his daughter the usual kiss for goodnight, gave one to Ellen too, which he had never done before, and then going to his son, and laying both hands on hisshoulders, kissed his cheek also; then silently took hiscandle and went. 

They lingered a little while after he was gone, standing roundthe fire as if loth to part, but in grave silence, each busywith his own thoughts. Alice's ended by fixing on her brother, for, laying her hand and her head carelessly on his shoulder, she said, "And so you have been well all this time, John?"

He turned his face towards her without speaking, but Ellen aswell as his sister saw the look of love with which he answeredher question, rather of endearment than inquiry; and from thatminute Ellen's mind was made up as to the doubt which hadtroubled her. She went to bed quite satisfied that her newbrother was a decided acquisition. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The jingling of sleigh-bells. 

Before Ellen's eyes were open the next morning — almost beforeshe awoke — the thought of the Christmas visit, the sleigh-ride, John Humphreys, and the weather, all rushed into hermind at once, and started her half up in the bed to look outof the window. Well frosted the panes of glass were, but atthe corners and edges, unmistakeable bright gleams of lightcame in. 

"Oh, Alice, it's beautiful!" exclaimed Ellen; "look how thesun is shining! and 'tisn't very cold. Are we going to-day?"

"I don't know yet, Ellie, but we shall know very soon. We'llsettle that at breakfast. "

At breakfast it was settled. They were to go, and set offdirectly. Mr. Humphreys could not go with them, because he hadpromised to bury little John Dolan; the priest had declared _he_would have nothing to do with it; and the poor mother hadapplied to Mr. Humphreys, as being the clergyman her child hadmost trusted and loved to hear. It seemed that little John hadpursuaded her out of half her prejudices by his affectionatetalk and blameless behaviour during some time past. Mr. Humphreys, therefore, must stay at home that day. He promised, however, to follow them the next, and would by no means permitthem to wait for him. He said the day was fine, and they mustimprove it; and he should be pleased to have them with theirfriends as long as possible. 

So the little travelling-bag was stuffed, with more thingsthan it seemed possible to get into it. Among the rest, Ellenbrought her little red Bible, which Alice decided should go inJohn's pocket; the little carpet-bag could not take it. Ellenwas afraid it never would be locked. By dint of much pushingand crowding, however, locked it was; and they made themselvesready. Over Ellen's merino dress and coat went an old furtippet; a little shawl was tied round her neck; her feet werecased in a pair of warm moccassins, which, belonging toMargery, were of course a world too big for her, but "anythingbut cold, " as their owner said. Her nice blue hood wouldprotect her head well, and Alice gave her a green veil to saveher eyes from the glare of the snow. When Ellen shuffled outof Alice's room in this trim, John gave her one of his gravelooks, and saying she looked like Mother Bunch, begged to knowhow she expected to get to the sleigh; he said she would wanta footman indeed to wait upon her, to pick up her slippers, ifshe went in that fashion. However, he ended by picking _her_ up, carried her, and set her down safely in the sleigh. Alicefollowed, and in another minute they were off. 

Ellen's delight was unbounded. Presently they turned round acorner and left the house behind out of sight; and they werespeeding away along a road that was quite new to her. Ellen'sheart felt like dancing for joy. Nobody would have thought it, she sat so still and quiet between Alice and her brother; buther eyes were very bright as they looked joyously about her, and every now and then she could not help smiling to herself. Nothing was wanting to the pleasure of that ride. The day wasof winter's fairest; the blue sky as clear as if clouds hadnever dimmed or crossed it. None crossed it now. It was cold, but not bitterly cold, nor windy; the sleigh skimmed alongover the smooth frozen surface of the snow as if it was notrouble at all to Prince Charlie to draw it; and the sleighbells jingled and rang, the very music for Ellen's thoughts todance to. And then with somebody she liked very much on eachside of her, and pleasures untold in the prospect, no wondershe felt as if her heart could not hold any more. The greenveil could not be kept on, everything looked so beautiful inthat morning's sun. The long, wide slopes of untrodden andunspotted snow, too bright sometimes for the eye to look at;the shadows that here and there lay upon it, of woodland andscattered trees; the very brown fences, and the bare arms andbranches of the leafless trees, showing sharp against thewhite ground and clear bright heaven; — all seemed lovely inher eyes. For

"It is content of heartGives nature power to please. "

She could see nothing that was not pleasant. And, besides, they were in a nice little red sleigh, with a warm buffalorobe, and Prince Charlie was a fine-spirited gray, thatscarcely ever needed to be touched with the whip; at a word ofencouragement from his driver, he would toss his head and setforward with new life, making all the bells jingle again. Tobe sure, she would have been just as happy if they had had thepoorest of vehicles on runners, with old John instead; butstill it was pleasanter so. 

Their road at first was through a fine undulating country, like that between the Nose and Thirlwall; farmhouses andpatches of woodland scattered here and there. It would seemthat the minds of all the party were full of the samethoughts, for, after a very long silence, Alice's first word, almost sigh, was —

"This is a beautiful world, John!"

"Beautiful! — wherever you can escape from the signs of man'spresence and influence. "

"Isn't that almost too strong?" said Alice. 

He shook his head, smiling somewhat sadly, and touched PrinceCharlie, who was indulging himself in a walk. 

"But there are bright exceptions, " said Alice. 

"I believe it; — never so much as when I come home. "

"Are there none around you, then, in whom you can haveconfidence and sympathy?"

He shook his head again. "Not enough, Alice. I long for youevery day of my life. "

Alice turned her head quick away. 

"It must be so, my dear sister, " he said, presently; "we cannever expect to find it otherwise. There are, as you say, bright exceptions — many of them; but in almost all I findsome sad want. We must wait till we join the spirits of thejust made perfect, before we see society that will be all wewish for. "

"What is Ellen thinking of all this while?" said Alice, presently, bending down to see her face. "As grave as a judge!— what are you musing about?"

"I was thinking, " said Ellen, "how men could help the world'sbeing beautiful. "

"Don't trouble your little head with that question, " saidJohn, smiling — "long may it be before you are able to answerit. Look at those snow-birds!"

By degrees the day wore on. About one o'clock they stopped ata farmhouse to let the horse rest, and to stretch their ownlimbs, which Ellen, for her part, was very glad to do. Thepeople of the house received them with great hospitality, andoffered them pumpkin-pies and sweet cider. Alice had brought abasket of sandwiches, and Prince Charlie was furnished with abag of corn Thomas had stowed away in the sleigh for him; sothey were all well refreshed and rested and warmed before theyset off again. 

From home to Ventnor, Mr. Marshman's place, was more thanthirty miles, and the longest, because the most difficult, part of the way was still before them. Ellen, however, soonbecame sleepy, from riding in the keen air; she was contentnow to have the green veil over her face, and sitting down inthe bottom of the sleigh, her head leaning against Alice, andcovered well with the buffalo robe, she slept in happyunconsciousness of hill and dale, wind and sun, and all theremaining hours of the way. 

It was drawing towards four o'clock, when Alice, with somedifficulty, roused her to see the approach to the house, andget wide awake before they should reach it. They turned fromthe road, and entered by a gateway into some pleasure-grounds, through which a short drive brought them to the house. Thesegrounds were fine, but the wide lawns were a smooth spread ofsnow now; the great skeletons of oaks and elms were bare andwintry; and patches of shrubbery offered little but tufts andbunches of brown twigs and stems. It might have looked dreary, but that some well-grown evergreens were clustered round thehouse, and others scattered here and there relieved the eye; —a few holly-bushes, singly and in groups, proudly displayedtheir bright dark leaves and red berries; and one unrivalledhemlock, on the west, threw its graceful shadow quite acrossthe lawn, on which, as on itself, the white chimney-tops, andthe naked branches of oaks and elms, was the faint smile ofthe afternoon sun. 

A servant came to take the horse, and Ellen, being first ridof her moccassins, went with John and Alice up the broadflight of steps, and into the house. They entered a large, handsome square hall, with a blue-and-white stone floor, atone side of which the staircase went winding up. Here theywere met by a young lady, very lively and pleasant-faced, whothrew her arms round Alice, and kissed her a great many times, seeming very glad indeed to see her. She welcomed Ellen, too, with such warmth, that she began to feel almost as if she hadbeen sent for and expected — told Mr. John he had behavedadmirably — and then led them into a large room, where was agroup of ladies and gentlemen. 

The welcome they got here was less lively, but quite as kind. Mr. And Mrs. Marshman were fine, handsome old people, ofstately presence, and most dignified as well as kind in theirdeportment. Ellen saw that Alice was at home here, as if shehad been a daughter of the family. Mrs. Marshman also stoopeddown and kissed her herself, telling her she was very glad shehad come, and that there were a number of young people there, who would be much pleased to have her help them keepChristmas. Ellen could not make out yet who any of the rest ofthe company were. John and Alice seemed to know them all, andthere was a buzz of pleasant voices, and a great bustle ofshaking hands. 

The children had all gone out to walk, and, as they had hadtheir dinner a great while ago, it was decided that Ellenshould take hers that day with the elder part of the family. While they were waiting to be called to dinner, and everybodyelse was talking and laughing, old Mr. Marshman took notice oflittle Ellen, and drawing her from Alice's side to his own, began a long conversation. He asked her a great manyquestions, some of them such funny ones, that she could nothelp laughing, but she answered them all, and now and then sothat she made him laugh too. By the time the butler came tosay dinner was ready, she had almost forgotten she was astranger. Mr. Marshman himself led her to the dining-room, begged the elder ladies would excuse him, but he felt bound togive his attention to the greatest stranger in the company. Heplaced her on his right hand, and took the greatest care ofher all dinner-time; once sending her plate the whole lengthof the table for some particular little thing he thought shewould like. On the other side of Ellen sat Mrs. Chauncey, oneof Mr. Marshman's daughters; a lady with a sweet, gentle, quiet face and manner, that made Ellen like to sit by her. Another daughter, Mrs. Gillespie, had more of her mother'sstately bearing; the third, Miss Sophia, who met them first inthe hall, was very unlike both the others, but lively andagreeable and good-humoured. 

Dinner gave place to the dessert, and that in its turn wasremoved with the cloth. Ellen was engaged in munching almondsand raisins, admiring the brightness of the mahogany, and therichly-cut and coloured glass, and silver decanter-stands, which were reflected in it; when a door at the further end ofthe room half-opened, a little figure came partly in, andholding the door in her hand, stood looking doubtfully alongthe table, as if seeking for some one. 

"What is the matter, Ellen?" said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Mrs. Bland told me, Mamma, " she began, her eye not ceasingits uneasy quest; but then breaking off and springing toAlice's side, she threw her arms round her neck, and gave her, certainly, the warmest of all the warm welcomes she had hadthat day. 

"Hallo!" cried Mr. Marshman, rapping on the table; "that's toomuch for any one's share. Come here, you baggage, and give mejust such another. "

The little girl came near accordingly, and hugged and kissedhim with a very good will, remarking, however, "Ah, but I'veseen you before to-day, Grandpapa!"

"Well, here's somebody you've not seen before, " said he, good-humouredly, pulling her round to Ellen, — "here's a new friendfor you — a young lady from the great city, so you must brushup your country manners. Miss Ellen Montgomery, come from —pshaw! what is it? — come from —"

"London, Grandpapa?" said the little girl, as with a mixtureof simplicity and kindness she took Ellen's hand, and kissedher on the cheek. 

"From Carra-carra, Sir, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"Go along with you, " said he, laughing, and pinching hercheek. "Take her away, Ellen, take her away, and mind you takegood care of her. Tell Mrs. Bland she is one of grandpapa'sguests. "

The two children had not, however, reached the door, whenEllen Chauncey exclaimed, "Wait — oh, wait a minute! I mustspeak to aunt Sophia about the bag. " And, flying to her side, there followed an earnest whispering, and then a nod and smilefrom aunt Sophia; and, satisfied, Ellen returned to hercompanion, and led her out of the dining-room. 

"We have both got the same name, " said she, as they went alonga wide corridor; "how shall we know which is which?"

"Why, " said Ellen, laughing, "when you say 'Ellen, ' I shallknow you mean me; and when I say it you will know I mean you. I shouldn't be calling myself, you know. "

"Yes, but when somebody else calls 'Ellen, ' we shall both haveto run. Do you run when you are called?"

"Sometimes, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"Ah, but I do always; Mamma always makes me. I thought perhapsyou were like Marianne Gillespie — she waits often as much ashalf a minute before she stirs, when anybody calls her. Didyou come with Miss Alice?"

"Yes. "

"Do you love her?"

"Very much! — oh, very much!"

Little Ellen looked at her companion's rising colour, with aglance of mixed curiosity and pleasure, in which lay a strongpromise of growing love. 

"So do I, " she answered, gaily; "I am very glad she is come, and I am very glad you are come, too. "

The little speaker pushed open a door, and led Ellen into thepresence of a group of young people, rather older thanthemselves. 

"Marianne, " said she to one of them, a handsome girl offourteen, "this is Miss Ellen Montgomery — she came withAlice, and she is come to keep Christmas with us — aren't youglad? There'll be quite a parcel of us when what's-her-namecomes — won't there?"

Marianne shook hands with Ellen. 

"She is one of grandpapa's guests, I can tell you, " saidlittle Ellen Chauncey; "and he says we must brush up ourcountry manners — she's come from the great city. "

"Do you think we are a set of ignoramuses, Miss Ellen?"inquired a well-grown boy of fifteen, who looked enough likeMarianne Gillespie to prove him her brother. 

"I don't know what that is, " said Ellen. 

"Well, do they do things better in the great city than we dohere?"

"I don't know how you do them here, " said Ellen. 

"Don't you? Come! Stand out of my way, right and left, all ofyou, will you? and give me a chance. Now then!"

Conscious that he was amusing most of the party, he placedhimself gravely at a little distance from Ellen, and marchingsolemnly up to her, bowed down to her knees — then slowlyraising his head, stepped back. 

"Miss Ellen Montgomery, I am rejoiced to have the pleasure ofseeing you at Ventnor. — Isn't that polite, now? Is that likewhat you have been accustomed to, Miss Montgomery?"

"No, Sir — thank you, " said Ellen, who laughed in spite ofherself. The mirth of the others redoubled. 

"May I request to be informed then, " continued Gillespie, "what is the fashion of making bows in the great city?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen; "I never saw a boy make a bowbefore. "

"Humph! — I guess country manners will do for you, " saidWilliam, turning on his heel. 

"You're giving her a pretty specimen of 'em, Bill, " saidanother boy. 

"For shame, William!" cried little Ellen Chauncey; "didn't Itell you she was one of grandpapa's guests? Come here, Ellen, I'll take you somewhere else. "

She seized Ellen's hand and pulled her towards the door, butsuddenly stopped again. 

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, " she said; "I asked aunt Sophiaabout the bag of moroccoes, and she said she would have 'emearly to-morrow morning, and then we can divide 'em rightaway. "

"We mustn't divide 'em till Maggie comes, " said Marianne. 

"Oh, no — not till Maggie comes, " said little Ellen; and thenran off again. 

"I am so glad you are come!" said she; "the others are all somuch older, and they have all so much to do together — and nowyou can help me think what I will make for Mamma. Hush! don'tsay a word about it!"

They entered the large drawing-room, where old and young weresoon gathered for tea. The children, who had dined early, satdown to a well-spread table, at which Miss Sophia presided;the elder persons were standing or sitting in different partsof the room. Ellen, not being hungry, had leisure to lookabout her, and her eyes soon wandered from the tea-table insearch of her old friends. Alice was sitting by Mrs. Marshman, talking with two other ladies; but Ellen smiled presently, asshe caught her eye from the far end of the room, and got alittle nod of recognition. John came up just then to set downhis coffee-cup, and asked her what she was smiling at. 

"That's city manners, " said William Gillespie, "to laugh atwhat's going on. "

"I have no doubt we shall all follow the example, " said JohnHumphreys, gravely, "if the young gentleman will try to giveus a smile. "

The young gentleman had just accommodated himself with anoutrageously large mouthful of bread and sweetmeats, and ifever so well-disposed, compliance with the request wasimpossible. None of the rest, however, not even his sister, could keep their countenances, for the eye of the speaker hadpointed and sharpened his words; and William, very red in theface, was understood to mumble, as soon as mumbling waspossible, that "he wouldn't laugh unless he had a mind to, "and a threat to "do something" to his tormentor. 

"Only not eat me, " said John, with a shade of expression inhis look and tone which overcame the whole party, himself andpoor William alone retaining entire gravity. 

"What's all this? what's all this? — what's all this laughingabout?" said old Mr. Marshman, coming up. 

"This young gentleman, Sir, " said John, "has been endeavouring— with a mouthful of arguments — to prove to us theinferiority of city manners to those learned in the country. "

"Will, " said the old gentleman, glancing doubtfully atWilliam's discomfited face; then added, sternly, "I don't carewhere your manners were learned, Sir, but I advise you to bevery particular as to the sort you bring with you here. Now, Sophia, let us have some music. "

He set the children a-dancing, and as Ellen did not know how, he kept her by him, and kept her very much amused, too, in hisown way; then he would have her join in the dancing, and badeEllen Chauncey give her lessons. There was a littlebackwardness at first, and then Ellen was jumping away withthe rest, and thinking it perfectly delightful, as MissSophia's piano rattled out merry jigs and tunes, and littlefeet flew over the floor as light as the hearts they belongedto. At eight o'clock the young ones were dismissed, and badegood-night to their elders; and, pleased with the kind kissMrs. Marshman had given her, as well as her littlegranddaughter, Ellen went off to bed very happy. 

The room to which her companion led her was the very pictureof comfort. It was not too large, furnished with plain, old-fashioned furniture, and lighted and warmed by a cheerfulwood-fire. The very old brass-headed hand-irons that stretchedthemselves out upon the hearth with such a look of being athome, seemed to say, "You have come to the right place forcomfort. " A little, dark, mahogany book-case in one place — anodd toilet-table of the same stuff in another; and oppositethe fire an old-fashioned high-post bedstead, with itshandsome Marseilles quilt and ample pillows, looked verytempting. Between this and the far side of the room, in thecorner, another bed was spread on the floor. 

"This is aunt Sophia's room, " said little Ellen Chauncey; —"this is where you are to sleep. "

"And where will Alice be?" said the other Ellen. 

"Oh, she'll sleep here, in this bed, with aunt Sophia; that isbecause the house is so full, you know; — and here is yourbed, here on the floor. Oh, delicious! I wish I was going tosleep here! Don't you love to sleep on the floor? I do. Ithink it's fun. "

Anybody might have thought it fun to sleep on that bed, for, instead of a bedstead, it was luxuriously piled on mattresses. The two children sat down together on the foot of it. 

"This is aunt Sophia's room, " continued little Ellen, "andnext to it, out of that door, is our dressing-room, and nextto that is where Mamma and I sleep. Do you undress and dressyourself?"

"To be sure I do, " said Ellen — "always. "

"So do I; but Marianne Gillespie won't even put on her shoesand stockings for herself. "

"Who does it, then?" said Ellen. 

"Why, Lester — aunt Matilda's maid. Mamma sent away her maidwhen we came here, and she says if she had fifty she wouldlike me to do everything I can for myself. I shouldn't thinkit was pleasant to have any one put on one's shoes andstockings for you, should you?"

"No, indeed, " said Ellen. "Then you live here all the time?"

"Oh, yes — ever since papa didn't come back from that longvoyage — we live here since then. "

"Is he coming back soon?"

"No, " said little Ellen, gravely — "he never will came back —he never will come back any more. "

Ellen was sorry she had asked, and both children were silentfor a minute. 

"I'll tell you what, " said little Ellen, jumping up — "Mammasaid we mustn't sit up too long talking, so I'll run and getmy things and bring 'em here, and we can undress together;won't that be a nice way?"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Scraps of Morocco and talk. 

Left alone in the strange room with the flickering fire, howquickly Ellen's thoughts left Ventnor and flew over the sea!They often travelled that road, it is true, but now perhapsthe very home-look of everything, where yet _she_ was not athome, might have sent them. There was a bitter twinge or two, and for a minute Ellen's head drooped. "To-morrow will beChristmas-eve — _last_ Christmas-eve — oh, Mamma!"

Little Ellen Chauncey soon came back, and sitting down besideher on the foot of the bed, began the business of undressing. 

"Don't you love Christmas time?" said she; "I think it's thepleasantest in all the year; we always have a houseful ofpeople, and such fine times. But then in summer I think _that's_the pleasantest. I s'pose they're all pleasant. Do you hang upyour stocking?"

"No, " said Ellen. 

"Don't you! why, I always did, ever since I can remember. Iused to think, when I was a little girl, you know, " said she, laughing — "I used to think that Santa Claus came down thechimney, and I used to hang up my stocking as near the fire-place as I could; but I know better than that now; I don'tcare where I hang it. You know who Santa Claus is, don't you?"

"He's nobody, " said Ellen. 

"Oh, yes, he is — he's a great many people — he's whoevergives you anything. _My_ Santa Claus is Mamma, and Grandpapa, and Grandmamma, and Aunt Sophia, and Aunt Matilda; and Ithought I should have had Uncle George, too, this Christmas, but he couldn't come. Uncle Howard never gives me anything. Iam sorry Uncle George couldn't come; I like him the best ofall my uncles. "

"I never had anybody but Mamma to give me presents, " saidEllen, "and she never gave me much more at Christmas than atother times. "

"I used to have presents from Mamma and Grandpapa, too, bothChristmas and New Year, but now I have grown so old, Mammaonly gives me something Christmas and Grandpapa only New Year. It would be too much, you know, for me to have both when mypresents are so big. I don't believe a stocking will hold 'emmuch longer. But oh! we've got such a fine plan in our heads, "said little Ellen, lowering her voice, and speaking with openeyes and great energy — "_we_ are going to make presents thisyear! — we children — won't it be fine? — we are going to makewhat we like for anybody we choose, and let nobody knowanything about it; and then New Year's morning, you know, whenthe things are all under the napkins, we will give ours tosomebody to put where they belong, and nobody will knowanything about them till they see them there. Won't it befine? I'm so glad you are here, for I want you to tell me whatI shall make. "

"Who is it for?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, Mamma! you know I can't make for everybody, so I think Ihad rather it should be for Mamma. I _thought_ of making her aneedle-book with white backs, and getting Gilbert Gillespie topaint them — he can paint beautifully — and having her nameand something else written very nicely inside; — how do youthink that would do?"

"I should think it would do very nicely, " said Ellen — "verynicely, indeed. "

"I wish Uncle George was at home, though, to write it for me —he writes so beautifully; I can't do it well enough. "

"I am afraid I can't either, " said Ellen. "Perhaps somebodyelse can. "

"I don't know who. Aunt Sophia scribbles and scratches, — andbesides, I don't want her to know anything about it. Butthere's another thing I don't know how to fix, and that's theedges of the leaves — the leaves for the needles — they mustbe fixed — somehow. "

"I can show you how to do that, " said Ellen, brightening;"Mamma had a needlebook that was given to her that had theedges beautifully fixed; and I wanted to know how it was done, and she showed me. I'll show you that. It takes a good while, but that's no matter. "

"Oh, thank you; how nice that is! Oh no, that's no matter. Andthen it will do very well, won't it? Now, if I can only catchGilbert in a good humour — he isn't my cousin — he'sMarianne's cousin — that big boy you saw down-stairs — he's sobig he won't have anything to say to me, sometimes, but Iguess I'll get him to do this. Don't you want to makesomething for somebody?"

Ellen _had_ had one or two feverish thoughts on this subjectsince the beginning of the conversation, but she only said —

"It's no matter — you know I haven't got anything here; andbesides, I shall not be here till New Year. "

"Not here till New Year! — yes, you shall, " said little Ellen, throwing herself upon her neck; "indeed you aren't going awaybefore that. I know you aren't — I heard Grandmamma and AuntSophia talking about it. Say you will stay here till New Year— do!"

"I should like to, very much indeed, " said Ellen, "if Alicedoes. "

In the midst of half a dozen kisses with which her littlecompanion rewarded this speech, somebody close by said, pleasantly —

"What time of night do you suppose it is?"

The girls started — there was Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Oh, Mamma!" exclaimed her little daughter, springing to herfeet, "I hope you haven't heard what we have been talkingabout?"

"Not a word, " said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling; "but as to-morrowwill be long enough to talk in, hadn't you better go to bednow?"

Her daughter obeyed her immediately, after one more hug toEllen, and telling her she was _so_ glad she had come. Mrs. Chauncey stayed to see Ellen in bed, and press one kind, motherly kiss upon her face, so tenderly that Ellen's eyeswere moistened as she withdrew. But in her dreams that night, the rosy, sweet face, blue eyes, and little plump figure ofEllen Chauncey played the greatest part. 

She slept till Alice was obliged to waken her the nextmorning; and then got up with her head in a charming confusionof, pleasures past and pleasures to come — things known andunknown, to be made for everybody's New Year presents — linencollars and painted needlebooks; and no sooner was breakfastover than she was showing and explaining to Ellen Chauncey aparticularly splendid and mysterious way of embroidering theedges of needlebook leaves. Deep in this, they were still anhour afterwards, and in the comparative merits of purple androse-colour, when a little hubbub arose at the other end ofthe room, on the arrival of a new-comer. Ellen Chauncey lookedup from her work, then dropped it, exclaiming, "There she is!— now for the bag!" — and pulled Ellen along with her towardsthe party. A young lady was in the midst of it, talking sofast, that she had not time to take off her cloak and bonnet. As her eye met Ellen's, however, she came to a sudden pause. It was Margaret Dunscombe. Ellen's face certainly showed nopleasure; Margaret's darkened with a very disagreeablesurprise. 

"My goodness! — Ellen Montgomery! — how on earth did you get_here?_"

"Do you know her?" asked one of the girls, as the two Ellenswent off after "Aunt Sophia. "

"Do I know her? Yes — just enough — exactly. How did she gethere?"

"Miss Humphreys brought her. "

"Who's Miss Humphreys?"

"Hush!" said Marianne, lowering her tone — "that's her brotherin the window. "

"Whose brother? — hers or Miss Humphreys'?"

"Miss Humphreys'. Did you never see her? She is here, or hasbeen here, a great deal of the time. Grandma calls her herfourth daughter; and she is just as much at home as if shewas; and she brought her here. "

"And she's at home, too, I suppose. Well, it's no business ofmine. "

"What do you know of her?"

"Oh, enough — that's just it — don't want to know any more. "

"Well, you needn't; but what's the matter with her?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'll tell you some other time — she's aconceited little piece. We had the care of her coming up theriver — that's how I come to know about her; Ma said it wasthe last child she would be bothered with in that way. "

Presently the two girls came back, bring word to clear thetable, for Aunt Sophia was coming with the moroccoes. As soonas she came, Ellen Chauncey sprang to her neck and whisperedan earnest question. "Certainly!" Aunt Sophia said, as shepoured out the contents of the bag; and her little niecedelightedly told Ellen _she_ was to have her share as well asthe rest. 

The table was now strewn with pieces of morocco, of all sizesand colours, which were hastily turned over and examined witheager hands and sparkling eyes. Some were mere scraps, to besure; but others showed a breadth and length of beauty whichwas declared to be "first-rate, " and "fine;" and one beautifullarge piece of blue morocco in particular was made up inimagination by two or three of the party in as many differentways. Marianne wanted it for a book-cover; Margaret declaredshe could make a lovely reticule with it; and Ellen could nothelp thinking it would make a very pretty needlebox, such aone as she had seen in the possession of one of the girls, andlonged to make for Alice. 

"Well, what's to be done now?" said Miss Sophia— "or am I notto know?"

"Oh, you're not to know — you're not to know, Aunt Sophy, "cried the girls — "you mustn't ask. "

"I'll tell you what they are going to do with 'em, " saidGeorge Walsh, coming up to her with a mischievous face, andadding in a loud whisper, shielding his mouth with his hand —"they're going to make pr —"

He was laid hold of forcibly by the whole party, screaming andlaughing, and stopped short from finishing his speech. 

"Well, then, I'll take my departure, " said Miss Sophia — "buthow will you manage to divide all these scraps!"

"Suppose we were to put them in the bag again, and you holdthe bag, and we were to draw them out without looking, " saidEllen Chauncey — "as we used to do with the sugar-plums. "

As no better plan was thought of, this was agreed upon; andlittle Ellen shutting up her eyes very tight, stuck in herhand and pulled out a little bit of green morocco about thesize of a dollar. Ellen Montgomery came next; then Margaret, then Marianne, then their mutual friend Isabel Hawthorn. Eachhad to take her turn a great many times; and at the end of thedrawing, the pieces were found to be pretty equally dividedamong the party, with the exception of Ellen, who, besidesseveral other good pieces, had drawn the famous blue. 

"That will do very nicely, " said little Ellen Chauncey — "I amglad you have got that, Ellen. Now, Aunt Sophy! — one thingmore — you know the silks and ribbons you promised us?"

"Bless me! I haven't done yet, eh? Well, you shall have them;but we are all going out to walk now; I'll give them to youthis afternoon. Come! put these away, and get on your bonnetsand cloaks. "

A hard measure! but it was done. After the walk came dinner;after dinner, Aunt Sophia had to be found and waited on, tillshe had fairly sought out and delivered to their hands thewished-for bundles of silks and satins. It gave greatsatisfaction. 

"But how shall we do about dividing these?" said little Ellen— "shall we draw lots again?"

"No, Ellen, " said Marianne, "that won't do, because we mightevery one get just the thing we do not want. I want one colouror stuff to go with my morocco, and you want another to gowith yours; and you might get mine and I might get yours. Wehad best each choose in turn what we like, beginning atIsabel. "

"Very well, " said little Ellen — "I'm agreed. "

"Anything for a quiet life, " said George Walsh. 

But this business of choosing was found to be very long andvery difficult, each one was so fearful of not taking theexact piece she wanted most. The elder members of the familybegan to gather for dinner, and several came and stood roundthe table where the children were; little noticed by them, they were so wrapped up in silks and satins. Ellen seemed theleast interested person at table, and had made her selectionswith the least delay and difficulty; and now, as it was nother turn, sat very soberly looking on, with her head restingon her hand. 

"I declare it's too vexatious!" said Margaret Dunscombe —"here I've got this beautiful piece of blue satin, and can'tdo anything with it; it just matches that blue morocco — it'sa perfect match — I could have made a splendid thing of it, and I have got some cord and tassels that would just do — Ideclare it's too bad!"

Ellen's colour changed. 

"Well, choose, Margaret, " said Marianne. 

"I don't know what to choose — that's the thing. What can onedo with red and purple morocco and blue satin? I might as wellgive up. I've a great notion to take this piece of yellowsatin, and dress up a Turkish doll to frighten the next youngone I meet with. "

"I wish you would, Margaret, and give it to me when it'sdone, " cried little Ellen Chauncey. 

" 'Tain't made yet, " said the other dryly. 

Ellen's colour had changed and changed; her hand twitchednervously, and she glanced uneasily from Margaret's store offinery to her own. 

"Come, choose, Margaret, " said Ellen Chauncey; — "I dare sayEllen wants the blue morocco as much as you do. "

"No, I don't!" said Ellen, abruptly, throwing it over thetable to her; — "take it, Margaret, you may have it. "

"What do you mean?" said the other, astounded. 

"I mean you may have it, " said Ellen — "I don't want it. "

"Well, I'll tell you what, " said the other — "I'll give youyellow satin for it — or some of my red morocco!"

"No, I had rather not, " repeated Ellen; "I don't want it — youmay have it. "

"Very generously done, " remarked Miss Sophia; "I hope you'llall take a lesson in the art of being obliging. "

"Quite a noble little girl, " said Mrs. Gillespie. 

Ellen crimsoned. "No, Ma'am, I am not, indeed, " she said, looking at them with eyes that were filling fast; "pleasedon't say so — I don't deserve it. "

"I shall say what I think, my dear, " said Mrs. Gillespie, smiling; "but I am glad you add the grace of modesty to thatof generosity; it is the more uncommon of the two. "

"I am not modest! I am not generous! you mustn't say so, "cried Ellen. She struggled; the blood rushed to the surface, suffusing every particle of skin that could be seen; then leftit, as with eyes cast down she went on — "I don't deserve tobe praised — it was more Margaret's than mine. I oughtn't tohave kept it at all — for I saw a little bit when I put myhand in. I didn't mean to, but I did!"

Raising her eyes hastily to Alice's face, they met those ofJohn, who was standing behind her. She had not counted uponhim for one of her listeners; she knew Mrs. Gillespie, Mrs. Chauncey, Miss Sophia, and Alice, had heard her; but this wasthe one drop too much. Her head sunk; she covered her face amoment, and then made her escape out of the room, before evenEllen could follow her. 

There was a moment's silence. Alice seemed to have somedifficulty not to follow Ellen's example. Margaret pouted;Mrs. Chauncey's eyes filled with tears and her little daughterseemed divided between doubt and dismay. Her first move, however, was to run off in pursuit of Ellen. Alice went afterher. 

"Here's a beautiful example of honour and honesty for you!"said Margaret Dunscombe, at length. 

"I think it is, " observed John, quietly. 

"An uncommon instance, " said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"I am glad everybody thinks so, " said Margaret, sullenly; "Ihope I shan't copy it, that's all. "

"I think you are in no danger, " said John, again. 

"Very well!" said Margaret, who, between her desire ofspeaking and her desire of concealing her vexation, did notknow what to do with herself; — "everybody must judge forhimself, I suppose; I've got enough of her, for my part. "

"Where did you ever see her before?" said Isabel Hawthorn. 

"Oh, she came up the river with us — Mamma had to take care ofher — she was with us two days. "

"And didn't you like her?"

"No, I guess I didn't! she was a perfect plague. All the dayon board the steamboat she scarcely came near us; we couldn'tpretend to keep sight of her; Mamma had to send her maid outto look after her, I don't know how many times. She scrapedacquaintance with some strange man on board, and liked hiscompany better than ours, for she stayed with him the wholeblessed day, waking and sleeping; of course Mamma didn't likeit at all. She didn't go to a single meal with us; you know, of course, that wasn't proper behaviour. "

"No, indeed, " said Isabel. 

"I suppose, " said John, coolly, "she chose the society shethought the pleasantest. Probably Miss Margaret's politenesswas more than she had been accustomed to. "

Margaret coloured, not quite knowing what to make of thespeaker or his speech. 

"It would take much to make me believe, " said gentle Mrs. Chauncey, "that a child of such refined and delicate feelingas that little girl evidently has, could take pleasure inimproper company. "

Margaret had a reply at her tongue's end, but she had also anuneasy feeling that there were eyes not far off too keen ofsight to be baffled; she kept silence till the groupdispersed, and she had an opportunity of whispering inMarianne's ear that "_that_ was the very most disagreeable manshe had ever seen in her life. "

"What a singular fancy you have taken to this little pet ofAlice's, Mr. John!" said Mrs. Marshman's youngest daughter. "You quite surprise me. "

"Did you think me a misanthrope, Miss Sophia?"

"Oh, no, not at all; but I always had a notion you would notbe easily pleased in the choice of favourites. "

"_Easily!_ When a simple, intelligent child of twelve orthirteen is a common character, then I will allow that I ameasily pleased. "

"Twelve or thirteen!" said Miss Sophia; "what are you thinkingabout? Alice says she is only ten or eleven. "

"In years — perhaps. "

"How gravely you take me up!" said the young lady, laughing. "My dear Mr. John, 'in years perhaps, ' you may call yourselftwenty, but in everything else you might much better pass forthirty or forty. "

As they were called to dinner, Alice and Ellen Chauncey cameback; the former looking a little serious, the latter crying, and wishing aloud that all the moroccoes had been in the fire. They had not been able to find Ellen. Neither was she in thedrawing-room when they returned to it after dinner; and asecond search was made in vain. John went to the library, which was separate from the other rooms, thinking she mighthave chosen that for a hiding-place. She was not there; butthe pleasant light of the room, where only the fire wasburning, invited a stay. He sat down in the deep window, andwas musingly looking out into the moonlight, when the doorsoftly opened, and Ellen came in. She stole in noiselessly, sothat he did not hear her, and _she_ thought the room empty, tillin passing slowly down towards the fire she came upon him inthe window. Her start first let him know she was there; shewould have run, but one of her hands was caught, and she couldnot get it away. 

"Running away from your brother, Ellie!" said he, kindly;"what is the matter?"

Ellen shrunk from meeting his eye, and was silent. 

"I know all, Ellie, said he, still very kindly — "I have seenall — why do you shun me?"

Ellen said nothing; the big tears began to run down her faceand frock. 

"You are taking this matter too hardly, dear Ellen, " he said, drawing her close to him; "you did wrong, but you have doneall you could to repair the wrong — neither man nor woman cando more than that. "

But though encouraged by his manner, the tears flowed fasterthan ever. 

"Where have you been? Alice was looking for you, and littleEllen Chauncey was in great trouble. I don't know whatdreadful thing she thought you had done with yourself. Come!lift up your head, and let me see you smile again. "

Ellen lifted her head but could not her eyes, though she triedto smile. 

"I want to talk to you a little about this, " said he. "Youknow you gave me leave to be your brother — will you let meask you a question or two?"

"Oh, yes — whatever he pleased, " Ellen said. 

"Then sit down here, " said he, making room for her on the widewindow-seat, but still keeping hold of her hand and speakingvery gently. "You said you saw when you took the morocco — Idon't quite understand — how was it?"

"Why, " said Ellen, "we were not to look, and we had gone threetimes round, and nobody had got that large piece yet, and weall wanted it; and I did not mean to look at all, but I don'tknow how it was, just before I shut my eyes I happened to seethe corner of it sticking up, and then I took it. "

"With your eyes open?"

"No, no, with them shut. And I had scarcely got it when I wassorry for it, and wished it back. "

"You will wonder at me, perhaps, Ellie, " said John, "but I amnot very sorry this has happened. You are no worse thanbefore; it has only made you see what you are — very, veryweak — quite unable to keep yourself right without constanthelp. Sudden temptation was too much for you — so it has manya time been for me, and so it has happened to the best men onearth. I suppose if you had had a minute's time to think, youwould not have done as you did?"

"No, indeed!" said Ellen. "I was sorry a minute after. "

"And I dare say the thought of it weighed upon your mind eversince?"

"Oh, yes!" said Ellen; "it wasn't out of my head a minute thewhole day. "

"Then let it make you very humble, dear Ellie, and let it makeyou in future keep close to our dear Saviour, without whosehelp we cannot stand a moment. "

Ellen sobbed; and he allowed her to do so for a few minutes, then said —

"But you have not been thinking much about Him, Ellie?"

The sobs ceased; he saw his words had taken hold. 

"Is it right, " he said, softly, "that we should be moretroubled about what people will think of us, than for havingdispleased or dishonoured Him?"

Ellen now looked up, and in her look was all the answer hewished. 

"You understand me, I see, " said he. "Be humbled in the dustbefore him — the more the better; but whenever we are greatlyconcerned, for our own sakes, about other people's opinion, wemay be sure we are thinking too little of God and what willplease him. "

"I am very sorry, " said poor Ellen, from whose eyes the tearsbegan to drop again — "I am very wrong: but I couldn't bear tothink what Alice would think — and you — and all of them. "

"Here's Alice to speak for herself, " said John. 

As Alice came up with a quick step and knelt down before her, Ellen sprang to her neck, and they held each other very fastindeed. John walked up and down the room. Presently he stoppedbefore them. 

"All's well again, " said Alice, "and we are going in to tea. "

He smiled and held out his hand, which Ellen took, but hewould not leave the library, declaring they had a quarter ofan hour still. So they sauntered up and down the long room, talking of different things, so pleasantly, that Ellen nearforgot her troubles. Then came in Miss Sophia to find them, and then Mr. Marshman, and Marianne to call them to tea; sothe going into the drawing-room was not half so bad as Ellenthought it would be. 

She behaved very well; her face was touchingly humble thatnight; and all the evening she kept fast by either Alice orJohn, without budging an inch. And as little Ellen Chaunceyand her cousin George Walsh chose to be where she was, theyoung party was quite divided; and not the least merry portionof it was that mixed with the older people. Little Ellen washalf beside herself with spirits; the secret of which, perhaps, was the fact, which she several times in the courseof the evening whispered to Ellen as a great piece of news, that "it was Christmas eve!"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Stockings, to which the "Bas Bleu" was nothing. 

Christmas morning was dawning gray, but it was still far frombroad daylight, when Ellen was awakened. She found littleEllen Chauncey pulling and pushing at her shoulders, andwhispering "Ellen! Ellen!" in a tone that showed a great fearof waking somebody up. There she was, in nightgown andnightcap, and barefooted, too, with a face brimfull ofexcitement, and as wide awake as possible. Ellen rousedherself in no little surprise, and asked what the matter was. 

"I am going to look at my stocking, " whispered her visitor;"don't you want to get up and come with me? it's just here inthe other room; come! — don't make any noise. "

"But what if you should find nothing in it?" said Ellen, laughingly, as she bounded out of bed. 

"Ah, but I shall, I know; I always do — never fear. Hush! stepever so softly — I don't want to wake anybody. "

"It's hardly light enough for you to see, " whispered Ellen, asthe two little barefooted white figures glided out of theroom. 

"Oh, yes, it is — that's all the fun. Hush! — don't make a bitof noise — I know where it hangs — Mamma always puts it at theback of her big easy-chair; come this way — here it is! Oh, Ellen! there's two of 'em! There's one for you! there's onefor you!"

In a tumult of delight, one Ellen capered about the floor onthe tips of her bare toes, while the other, not less happy, stood still for pleasure. The dancer finished by hugging andkissing her with all her heart, declaring she was so glad, shedidn't know what to do. 

"But how shall we know which is which?"

"Perhaps they are both alike, " said Ellen. 

"No — at any rate, one's for me, and t'other's for you. Stop!here are pieces of paper, with our names, on I guess — let'sturn the chair a little bit to the light — there — yes! —Ellen M-o-n— there, that's yours; my name doesn't begin withan M; and this is mine!"

Another caper round the room, and then she brought up in frontof the chair, where Ellen was still standing. 

"I wonder what's in 'em, " she said; "I want to look, and Idon't want, too. Come, you begin. "

"But that's no stocking of mine, " said Ellen, a smilegradually breaking upon her sober little face; "my leg neverwas as big as that. "

"Stuffed, isn't it?" said Ellen Chauncey. "Oh, do make haste, and see what is in yours. I want to know so, I don't know whatto do. "

"Well, will you take out of yours as fast as I take out ofmine?"

"Well!"

Oh, mysterious delight, and delightful mystery, of the stuffedstocking! Ellen's trembling fingers sought the top, and thenvery suddenly left it. 

"I can't think what it is, " said she, laughing — "it feels sofunny. "

"Oh, never mind! make haste, " said Ellen Chauncey; "it won'thurt you, I guess. "

"No, it won't hurt me, " said Ellen, — "but" —

She drew forth a great bunch of white grapes. 

"Splendid! isn't it?" said Ellen Chauncey. "Now for mine. "

It was the counterpart of Ellen's bunch. 

"So far, so good, " said she. "Now for the next. "

The next thing in each stocking was a large horn of sugar-plums. 

"Well, that's fine, isn't it?" said Ellen Chauncey — "yours istied with white ribbon, and mine with blue; that's all thedifference. Oh! and your paper's red and mine is purple. "

"Yes, and the pictures are different, " said Ellen. 

"Well, I had rather they would be different — wouldn't you? Ithink it's just as pleasant. One's as big as the other at anyrate. Come, what's next?"

Ellen drew out a little bundle, which, being opened, proved tobe a nice little pair of dark kid gloves. 

"Oh, I wonder who gave me this!" she said — "it's just what Iwanted. How pretty! oh, I'm so glad! I guess who it was. "

"Oh, look here, " said the other Ellen, who had been divinginto her stocking — "I've got a ball — this is just what Iwanted, too; George told me if I'd get one he'd show me how toplay. Isn't it pretty? Isn't it funny we should each get justwhat we wanted? Oh, this is a very nice ball. I'm glad I'vegot it. Why, here is another great round thing in my stocking!— what can it be? — they wouldn't give me two balls, " saidshe, chuckling. 

"So there is in mine!" said Ellen. "Maybe they're apples?"

"They aren't! they wouldn't give us apples; besides, it issoft. Pull it out and see. "

"Then they are oranges, " said Ellen laughing. 

"I never felt such a soft orange, " said little Ellen Chauncey. "Come, Ellen! stop laughing, and let's see. "

They were two great scarlet satin pincushions, with E. C. AndE. M. , very neatly stuck in pins. 

"Well, we shan't want pins for a good while, shall we?" saidEllen. "Who gave us these?"

"I know, " said little Ellen Chauncey — "Mrs. Bland. "

"She was very kind to make one for me, " said Ellen. "Now forthe next!"

Her next thing was a little bottle of Cologne water. 

"I can tell who put that in, " said her friend — "Aunt Sophia. I know her little bottles of Cologne water. Do you loveCologne water? Aunt Sophia's is delicious. "

Ellen did like it very much, and was extremely pleased. EllenChauncey had also a new pair of scissors, which gave entiresatisfaction. 

"Now, I wonder what all this toe is stuffed with, " said she, —"raisins and almonds, I declare! — and yours the same, isn'tit? Well, don't you think we have got enough sweet things?Isn't this a pretty good Christmas?"

"What are you about, you monkeys?" cried the voice of AuntSophia, from the dressing-room door. "Alice, Alice! do look atthem. Come right back to bed, both of you. Crazy pates! It islucky it is Christmas day — if it was any other in the year, we should have you both sick in bed; as it is, I suppose youwill go scot free. "

Laughing, and rosy with pleasure, they came back and got intobed together; and for an hour afterwards the two kept up amost animated conversation, intermixed with long chuckles andbursts of merriment, and whispered communications of immenseimportance. The arrangement of the painted needlebook wasentirely decided upon in this consultation; also two or threeother matters; and the two children seemed to have alreadylived a day since day-break by the time they came down tobreakfast. 

After breakfast, Ellen applied secretly to Alice, to know ifshe could write _very_ beautifully — she exceedingly wantedsomething done. 

"I should not like to venture, Ellie, if it must be sosuperfine; but John can do it for you. "

"Can he? Do you think he would?"

"I am sure he will, if you ask him. "

"But I don't like to ask him, " said Ellen, casting a doubtfulglance at the window. 

"Nonsense, he's only reading the newspaper. You won't disturbhim. "

"Well, you won't say anything about it?"

"Certainly not. "

Ellen accordingly went near, and said, gently, "Mr. Humphreys!" — but he did not seem to hear her. "Mr. Humphreys!" — a little louder. 

"He has not arrived yet, " said John, looking round gravely. 

He spoke so gravely, that Ellen could not tell whether he werejoking or serious. Her face of extreme perplexity was too muchfor his command of countenance. 

"Whom do you want to speak to?" said he, smiling. 

"I wanted to speak to you, Sir, " said Ellen, "if you are nottoo busy. "

"_Mr. Humphreys_ is always busy, " said he, shaking his head;"but _Mr. John_ can attend to you at any time, and _John_ will dofor you whatever you please to ask him. "

"Then, Mr. John, " said Ellen, laughing, "if you please, Iwanted to ask you to do something for me, very much indeed, ifyou are not too busy; Alice said I shouldn't disturb you. "

"Not at all; I've been long enough over this stupid newspaper. What is it?"

"I want you, if you will be so good, " said Ellen, "to write alittle bit for me on something, very beautifully. "

" 'Very beautifully!' Well — come to the library; we willsee. "

"But it is a great secret, " said Ellen; "you won't tellanybody?"

"Tortures shan't draw it from me — when I know what it is, "said he, with one of his comical looks. 

In high glee, Ellen ran for the pieces of Bristol board whichwere to form the backs of the needlebook, and brought them tothe library; and explained how room was to be left in themiddle of each for a painting, a rose on one, a butterfly onthe other; the writing to be as elegant as possible, above, beneath, and roundabout, as the fancy of the writer shouldchoose. 

"Well, what is to be inscribed on this most original ofneedlebooks?" said John, as he carefully mended his pen. 

"Stop!" said Ellen — "I'll tell you in a minute. On this one, the front, you know, is to go, 'To my dear mother, many happyNew Years;' — and on this side, 'From her dear littledaughter, Ellen Chauncey. ' You know, " she added, "Mrs. Chauncey isn't to know anything about it till New Year's day;nor anybody else. "

"Trust me, " said John. "If I am asked any questions, theyshall find me as obscure as an oracle. "

"What is an oracle, Sir?"

"Why, " said John, smiling — "this pen won't do yet — the oldheathens believed there were certain spots on earth to whichsome of their gods had more favour than to others, and wherethey would permit mortals to come nearer to them, and wouldeven deign to answer their questions. "

"And did they?" said Ellen. 

"Did they what?"

"Did they answer their questions?"

"Did _who_ answer their questions?"

"The — oh, to be sure, " said Ellen, "there were no such gods. But what made people think they answered them? and how couldthey ask questions?"

"I suppose it was a contrivance of the priests, to increasetheir power and wealth. There was always a temple built near, with priests and priestesses; the questions were put throughthem; and they would not ask them except on great occasions, or for people of consequence, who could pay them well, bymaking splendid gifts to the god. "

"But I should think the people would have thought the priestor priestess had made up the answers themselves. "

"Perhaps they did, sometimes. But people had not the Biblethen, and did not know as much as we know. It was notunnatural to think the gods would care a little for the poorpeople that lived on the earth. Besides, there was a good dealof management and trickery about the answers of the oracle, that helped to deceive. "

"How was it?" said Ellen; — "how could they manage, and whatwas the _oracle?_"

"The oracle was either the answer itself, or the god who wassupposed to give it, or the place where it was given; andthere were different ways of managing. At one place the priesthid himself in the hollow body or among the branches of anoak-tree, and people thought the tree spoke to them. Sometimesthe oracle was delivered by a woman, who pretended to be putinto a kind of fit — tearing her hair and beating her breast. "

"But suppose the oracle made a mistake — what would the peoplethink then?"

"The answers were generally contrived so that they would seemto come true in any event. "

"I don't see how they could do that, " said Ellen. 

"Very well — just imagine that I am an oracle, and come to mewith some question; — I'll answer you. "

"But you can't tell what's going to happen?"

"No matter — you ask me truly, and I'll answer youoracularly. "

"That means, like an oracle, I suppose?" said Ellen. "Well, Mr. John, will Alice be pleased with what I am going to giveher New Year?"

"She will be pleased with what she will receive on that day. "

"Ah, but, " said Ellen, laughing, "that isn't fair; you haven'tanswered me; perhaps somebody else will give her something, and then she might be pleased with that, and not with mine. "

"Exactly — but the oracle never means to be understood. "

"Well, I won't come to you, " said Ellen. "I don't like suchanswers. Now for the needlebook!"

Breathlessly she looked on while the skilful pen did its work;and her exclamations of delight and admiration when the firstcover was handed to her were not loud but deep. 

"It will do, then, will it? Now let us see — 'From her dearlittle daughter' — there; now, 'Ellen Chauncey, ' I suppose, must be in hieroglyphics. "

"In what?" said Ellen. 

"I mean, written in some difficult character. "

"Yes, " said Ellen. "But what was that you said?"

"Hieroglyphics. "

Ellen added no more, though she was not satisfied. He lookedup, and smiled. 

"Do you want to know what that means?"

"Yes, if you please, " said Ellen. 

The pen was laid down while he explained, to a most eagerlittle listener. Even the great business of the moment wasforgotten. From hieroglyphics they went to the pyramids; andEllen had got to the top of one, and was enjoying the prospect(in imagination), when she suddenly came down to tell John ofher stuffed stocking and its contents. The pen went on again, and came to the end of the writing by the time Ellen had gotto the toe of the stocking. 

"Wasn't it very strange they should give me so many things?"said she; — "people that don't know me?"

"Why, no, " said John, smiling — "I cannot say I think it was_very_ strange. Is this all the business you had for my hands?"

"This is all; and I am _very_ much obliged to you, Mr. John. "

Her grateful, affectionate eye said much more, and he feltwell paid. 

Gilbert was next applied to, to paint the rose and thebutterfly, which, finding so excellent a beginning made in thework, he was very ready to do. The girls were then free to setabout the embroidery of the leaves, which was by no means thebusiness of an hour. 

A very happy Christmas day was that. With their needles andthimbles, and rose-coloured silk, they kept by themselves in acorner, or in the library, out of the way; and sweeteningtheir talk with a sugar-plum now and then, neither tongues norneedles knew any flagging. It was wonderful what they found somuch to say, but there was no lack. Ellen Chauncey especiallywas inexhaustible. Several times, too, that day, the Colognebottle was handled, the gloves looked at and fondled, the balltried, and the new scissors extolled as "just the thing fortheir work. " Ellen attempted to let her companion into themystery of oracles and hieroglyphics, but was fain to give itup; little Ellen showed a decided preference for American, notto say Ventnor, subjects, where she felt more at home. 

Then came Mr. Humphreys; and Ellen was glad, both for her ownsake and because she loved to see Alice pleased. Then came thegreat merry Christmas dinner, when the girls had not talkedthemselves out, but tired themselves with working. Young andold dined together to-day, and the children not set bythemselves, but scattered among the grown-up people; and asEllen was nicely placed between Alice and little EllenChauncey, she enjoyed it all very much. The large long tablesurrounded with happy faces; tones of cheerfulness, and looksof kindness, and lively talk; the superb display of plate andglass and china; the stately dinner; and last, but not least, the plum-pudding. There was sparkling wine, too, and a greatdeal of drinking of healths; but Ellen noticed that Alice andher brother smilingly drank all theirs in water; so, when oldMr. Marshman called to her to "hold out her glass, " she heldit out, to be sure, and let him fill it, but she lifted hertumbler of water to her lips instead, after making him a verylow bow. Mr. Marshman laughed at her a great deal, and askedher if she was "a proselyte to the new notions;" and Ellenlaughed with him, without having the least idea what he meant, and was extremely happy. It was very pleasant, too, when theywent into the drawing-room to take coffee. The young ones werepermitted to have coffee to-night as a great favour. Old Mrs. Marshman had the two little ones on either side of her, andwas so kind, and held Ellen's hand in her own, and talked toher about her mother, till Ellen loved her. 

After tea there was a great call for games, and young and oldjoined in them. They played the Old Curiosity Shop; and Ellenthought Mr. John's curiosities could not be matched. Theyplayed the Old Family Coach, Mr. Howard Marshman being themanager, and Ellen laughed till she was tired; she was thecoach door, and he kept her opening and shutting, and swingingand breaking, it seemed all the while, though most of the restwere worked just as hard. When they were well tired, they satdown to rest and hear music, and Ellen enjoyed thatexceedingly. Alice sang, and Mrs. Gillespie, and Miss Sophia, and another lady, and Mr. Howard; sometimes alone, sometimesthree or four, or all together. 

At last came ten o'clock, and the young ones were sent off;and from beginning to end that had been a Christmas day ofunbroken and unclouded pleasure. Ellen's last act was to takeanother look at her Cologne bottle, gloves, pincushion, grapes, and paper of sugar-plums, which were laid side by sidecarefully in a drawer. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Sunday at Ventnor. 

Mr. Humphreys was persuaded to stay over Sunday at Ventnor;and it was also settled that his children should not leave ittill after New Year. This was less their own wish than his; hesaid Alice wanted the change, and he wished she looked alittle fatter. Besides, the earnest pleadings of the wholefamily were not to be denied. Ellen was very glad of this, though there was one drawback to the pleasures of Ventnor —she could not feel quite at home with any of the young people, but only Ellen Chauncey and her cousin George Walsh. Thisseemed very strange to her; she almost thought MargaretDunscombe was at the bottom of it all, but she recollected shehad felt something of this before Margaret came. She tried tothink nothing about it; and in truth it was not able toprevent her from being very happy. The breach, however, wasdestined to grow wider. 

About four miles from Ventnor was a large town calledRandolph. Thither they drove to church Sunday morning, thewhole family; but the hour of dinner and the distanceprevented any one from going in the afternoon. The members ofthe family were scattered in different parts of the house, most in their own rooms. Ellen with some difficulty made herescape from her young companions, whose manner of spending thetime did not satisfy her notions of what was right on thatday, and went to look in the library for her friends. Theywere there, and alone; Alice half reclining on the sofa, halfin her brother's arms; he was reading or talking to her; therewas a book in his hand. 

"Is anything the matter?" said Ellen, as she drew near;"aren't you well, dear Alice? Headache? oh, I am sorry. Oh! Iknow" —

She darted away. In two minutes she was back again with apleased face, her bunch of grapes in one hand, her bottle ofCologne water in the other. 

"Won't you open that, please, Mr. John, " said she; — "I can'topen it; I guess it will do her good, for Ellen says it'sdelicious. Mamma used to have Cologne water for her headaches. And here, dear Alice, won't you eat these? — do! — try one. "

"Hasn't that bottle been open yet?" said Alice, as shesmilingly took a grape. 

"Why, no, to be sure it hasn't. I wasn't going to open it tillI wanted it. Eat them all, dear Alice — please do!"

"But I don't think you have eaten one yourself, Ellen, by thelook of the bunch. And here are a great many too many for me. "

"Yes, I have, I've eaten two; I don't want 'em. I give themall to you and Mr. John. I had a great deal rather!"

Ellen took, however, as precious payment, Alice's look andkiss; and then, with a delicate consciousness that perhaps thebrother and sister might like to be alone, she left thelibrary. She did not know where to go, for Miss Sophia wasstretched on the bed in her room, and she did not want anycompany. At last, with her little Bible, she placed herself onthe old sofa in the hall above-stairs, which was perfectlywell warmed, and for some time she was left there in peace. Itwas pleasant, after all the hubbub of the morning, to have alittle quiet time that seemed like Sunday; and the sweet Biblewords came, as they often now came to Ellen, with a healingbreath. But after half an hour or so, to her dismay she hearda door open, and the whole gang of children come trooping intothe hall below, where they soon made such a noise that readingor thinking was out of the question. 

"What a bother it is that one can't play games on a Sunday!"said Marianne Gillespie. 

"One _can_ play games on a Sunday, " answered her brother. "Where's the odds? It's all Sunday's good for, _I_ think. "

"William! — William!" sounded the shocked voice of littleEllen Chauncey — "you are a real wicked boy!"

"Well, now!" said William, "how am I wicked? Now say — Ishould like to know. How is it any more wicked for us to playgames than it is for Aunt Sophia to lie a-bed and sleep, orfor Uncle Howard to read novels, or for Grandpa to talkpolitics, or for mother to talk about the fashions? — therewere she and Miss What's-her-name for ever so long thismorning doing everything but _make_ a dress. Now which is theworst?"

"Oh, William! William! — for shame! for shame!" said littleEllen again. 

"Do hush, Ellen Chauncey, will you?" said Marianne, sharply; —"and you had better hush too, William, if you know what isgood for yourself. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, Ido get dolefully tired with doing nothing. "

"Oh, so do I!" said Margaret, yawning. "I wish one could sleepall Sunday. "

"I'll tell you what, " said George — "I know a game we canplay, and no harm either, for it's all out of the Bible. "

"Oh, do you? let's hear it, George, " cried the girls. 

"I don't believe it is good for anything if it is out of theBible, " said Margaret. "Now stare, Ellen Chauncey, do!"

"I _ain't_ staring, " said Ellen, indignantly; — "but I don'tbelieve it is right to play it, if it _is_ out of the Bible. "

"Well, it is, though, " said George. "Now listen; — I'll thinkof somebody in the Bible — some man or woman, you know; andyou all may ask me twenty questions about him, to see if youcan find out who it is. "

"What kind of questions?"

"Any kind of questions — whatever you like. "

"That will improve your knowledge of scripture history, " saidGilbert. 

"To be sure; and exercise our memory, " said Isabel Hawthorn. 

"Yes, and then we are thinking of good people and what theydid all the time, " said little Ellen. 

"Or bad people and what they did, " said William. 

"But I don't know enough about people and things in theBible, " said Margaret; "I couldn't guess. "

"Oh, never mind — it will be all the more fun, " said George. "Come! let's begin. Who'll take somebody?"

"Oh, I think this will be fine!" said little Ellen Chauncey; —"but, Ellen — where's Ellen? — we want her. "

"No we don't want her! — we've enough without her — she won'tplay!" shouted William, as the little girl ran upstairs. Shepersevered, however. Ellen had left her sofa before this, andwas found seated on the foot of her bed. As far and as long asshe could, she withstood her little friend's entreaties, andvery unwillingly at last yielded and went with her downstairs. 

"Now we are ready, " said little Ellen Chauncey; "I have toldEllen what the game is; who's going to begin?"

"We have begun, " said William. "Gilbert has thought ofsomebody. Man or woman?"

"Man. "

"Young or old?"

"Why, he was young first, and old afterwards. "

"Pshaw, William! what a ridiculous question, " said his sister. "Besides, you mustn't ask more than one at a time. Rich orpoor, Gilbert?"

"Humph! — why, I suppose he was moderately well off. I daresay I should think myself a lucky fellow if I had as much. "

"Are you answering truly, Gilbert?"

"Upon my honour!"

"Was he in a high or low station of life?" asked MissHawthorn. 

"Neither at the top nor the bottom of the ladder — a veryrespectable person indeed. "

"But we are not getting on, " said Margaret. "According to you, he wasn't anything in particular; what kind of a person washe, Gilbert?"

"A very good man. "

"Handsome or ugly?"

"History don't say. "

"Well, what _does_ it say?" said George — "what did he do?"

"He took a journey once upon a time. "

"What for?"

"Do you mean _why_ he went, or what was the _object_ of hisgoing?"

"Why, the one's the same as the other, ain't it?"

"I beg your pardon. "

"Well, what was the object of his going?"

"He went after a wife. "

"Samson! Samson!" shouted William and Isabel and EllenChauncey. 

"No — it wasn't Samson either. "

"I can't think of anybody else that went after a wife, " saidGeorge. "That king — what's his name? — that married Esther?"

The children screamed. "_He_ didn't go after a wife, George —his wives were brought to him. Was it Jacob?"

"No, he didn't go after a wife, either, " said Gilbert; "hemarried two of them, but he didn't go to his uncle's to findthem. You had better go on with your questions. You have hadeight already. If you don't look out, you won't catch me. Come!"

"Did he get the wife that he went after?" asked EllenChauncey. 

"He was never married that I know of, " said Gilbert. 

"What was the reason he failed?" said Isabel. 

"He did not fail. "

"Did he bring home his wife then? You said he wasn't married. "

"He never was, that I know of; but he brought home a wifenotwithstanding. "

"But how funny you are, Gilbert!" said little Ellen. "He had awife and he hadn't a wife: — what became of her?"

"She lived and flourished. Twelve questions: — take care. "

"Nobody asked what country he was of, " said Margaret, — "whatwas he, Gilbert?"

"He was a Damascene. "

"A _what?_"

"Of Damascus — of Damascus. You know where Damascus is, don'tyou?"

"Fiddle!" said Marianne — "I thought he was a Jew. Did he livebefore or after the Flood?"

"After. I should think you might have known that. "

"Well, I can't make out anything about him, " said Marianne. "We shall have to give it up. "

"No, no — not yet, " said William. "Where did he go after hiswife?"

"Too close a question. "

"Then that don't count. Had he ever seen her before?"

"Never. "

"Was she willing to go with him?"

"Very willing. Ladies always are, when they go to be married. "

"And what became of her?"

"She was married and lived happily, as I told you. "

"But you said _he_ wasn't married?"

"Well, what then? I didn't say she married _him_. "

"Whom did she marry?"

"Ah, that is asking the whole; I can't tell you. "

"Had they far to go?" asked Isabel. 

"Several days' journey — I don't know how far. "

"How did they travel?"

"On camels. "

"Was it the Queen of Sheba?" said little Ellen. 

There was a roar of laughter at this happy thought, and poorlittle Ellen declared she forgot all but about the journey;she remembered the Queen of Sheba had taken a journey, and thecamels in the picture of the Queen of Sheba, and that made herthink of her. 

The children gave up. Questioning seemed hopeless; and Gilbertat last told them his thought. It was Eliezer, Abraham'ssteward, whom he sent to fetch a wife for his son Isaac. 

"Why haven't _you_ guessed, little mumchance?" said Gilbert toEllen Montgomery. 

"I have guessed, " said Ellen; "I knew who it was, some timeago. "

"Then why didn't you say so? and you haven't asked a singlequestion, " said George. 

"No, you haven't asked a single question, " said EllenChauncey. 

"She is a great deal too good for that, " said William; "shethinks it is wicked, and that we are not at all nice, proper-behaved boys and girls to be playing on Sunday; she is verysorry she could not help being amused. "

"_Do_ you think it is wicked, Ellen?" asked her little friend. 

"Do you think it isn't right?" said George Walsh. 

Ellen hesitated; she saw they were all waiting to hear whatshe would say. She coloured, and looked down at her littleBible, which was still in her hand. It encouraged her. 

"I don't want to say anything rude, " she began; "I don't thinkit is quite right to play such plays, or any plays. "

She was attacked with impatient cries of "Why not?" "Why not?"

"Because, " said Ellen, trembling with the effort she made, "Ithink Sunday was meant to be spent in growing better andlearning good things; and I don't think such plays would helpone at all to do that; and I have a kind of feeling that Iought not to do it. "

"Well, I hope you'll act according to your _feeling_, then, "said William; "I am sure nobody has any objection. You hadbetter go somewhere else, though, for we are going on; we havebeen learning to be good long enough for one day. Come! I havethought of somebody. "

Ellen could not help feeling hurt and sorry at the half-sneershe saw in the look and manner of the others, as well as inWilliam's words. She wished for no better than to go away; butas she did so, her bosom swelled, and the tears started, andher breath came quicker. She found Alice lying down andasleep, Miss Sophia beside her; so she stole out again, andwent down to the library. Finding nobody, she took possessionof the sofa, and tried to read again; reading somehow did notgo well, and she fell to musing on what had just passed. Shethought of the unkindness of the children; how sure she was itwas wrong to spend any part of Sunday in such games; whatAlice would think of it, and John, and her mother; and how theSundays long ago used to be spent, when that dear mother waswith her; and then she wondered how _she_ was passing this veryone — while Ellen was sitting here in the library alone, what_she_ was doing in that far-away land; and she thought if thereonly _were_ such things as oracles that could tell truly, howmuch she should like to ask about her. 

"Ellen!" said the voice of John from the window. 

She started up; she had thought she was alone; but there hewas lying in the window-seat. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, " said Ellen. 

"Come here. What are you thinking about? I didn't know youwere there till I heard two or three very long sighs. What isthe matter with my little sister?"

He took her hand and drew her fondly up to him. "What were youthinking about?"

"I was thinking about different things — nothing is thematter, " said Ellen. 

"Then what are those tears in your eyes for?"

"I don't know, " said she, laughing — "there weren't any till Icame here. I was thinking just now about Mamma. "

He said no more — still, however, keeping her beside him. 

"I should think, " said Ellen presently, after a few minutes'musing look out of the window, "it would be very pleasant ifthere were such things as oracles — don't you, Mr. John?"

"No. "

"But wouldn't you like to know something about what's going tohappen?"

"I do know a great deal about it. "

"About what is going to happen!"

He smiled. 

"Yes — a great deal, Ellen — enough to give me work for allthe rest of my life. "

"Oh, you mean from the Bible — I was thinking of otherthings. "

"It is best not to know the other things, Ellie — I am veryglad to know those the Bible teaches us. "

"But is doesn't tell us much, does it? What does it tell us?"

"Go to the window, and tell me what you see. "

"I don't see anything in particular, " said Ellen, after takinga grave look out. 

"Well, what in general?"

"Why, there is the lawn covered with snow, and the trees andbushes; and the sun is shining on everything, just as it didthe day we came; and there's the long shadow of that hemlockacross the snow, and the blue sky. "

"Now look out again, Ellie, and listen. I know that a day isto come, when those heavens shall be wrapped together as ascroll — they shall vanish away like smoke, and the earthshall wax old like a garment — and it, and all the works thatare therein, shall be burned up. "

As he spoke, Ellen's fancy tried to follow — to picture theruin and desolation of all that stood so fair, and seemed tostand so firm before her; but the sun shone on, the brancheswaved gently in the wind, the shadows lay still on the snow, and the blue heaven was fair and cloudless. Fancy was baffled. She turned from the window. 

"Do you believe it?" said John. 

"Yes, " said Ellen — "I know it; but I think it is verydisagreeable to think about it. "

"It would be, Ellie, " said he, bringing her again to his side— "very disagreeable — very miserable indeed, if we knew nomore than that. But we know more — read here. "

Ellen took his little Bible and read at the open place. 

" 'Behold, I create new heavens and a new earth, and theformer shall not be remembered, neither come into mind. ' "

"Why won't they be remembered?" said Ellen — "shall we forgetall about them?"

"No, I do not think that is meant. The new heavens and the newearth will be so much more lovely and pleasant that we shallnot want to think of these. "

Ellen's eyes sought the window again. 

"You are thinking that it is hardly possible?" said John witha smile. 

"I suppose it is _possible_, " said Ellen — "but" —

"But lovely as this world is, Ellie, man has filled it withsin, and sin has everywhere brought its punishment, and underthe weight of both the earth groans. There will be no sin_there;_ sorrow and sighing shall flee away; love to each otherand love to their blessed King will fill all hearts, and hispresence will be with them. Don't you see that, even if thatworld shall be in itself no better than this, it will yet befar, far more lovely than this can ever be, with the shadow ofsin upon it?"

"Oh, yes!" said Ellen. "I know, whenever I feel wrong in anyway, nothing seems pretty or pleasant to me, or not half somuch. "

"Very well, " said John — "I see you understand me. I like tothink of that land, Ellen — very much. "

"Mr. John, " said Ellen — "don't you think people will knoweach other again?"

"Those that love each other here! — I have no doubt of it. "

Before either John or Ellen had broken the long musing fitthat followed these words, they were joined by Alice. Her headwas better; and taking her place in the window-seat, the talkbegan again, between the brother and sister now; Ellen toohappy to sit with them and listen. They talked of that landagain, of the happy company preparing for it; of their deadmother, but not much of her; of the glory of their King, andthe joy of his service even here — till thoughts grew toostrong for words, and silence again stole upon the group. Theshort winter-day came to an end; the sunlight faded away intomoonlight. No shadows lay now on the lawn; and from where shesat Ellen could see the great hemlock all silvered with themoonlight, which began to steal in at the window. It was very, very beautiful — yet she could think now without sorrow thatall this should come to an end; because of that new heaven andnew earth wherein righteousness should dwell. 

"We have eaten up all your grapes, Ellie, " said Alice — "orrather _I_ have, for John didn't help me much. I think I neverate so sweet grapes in my life; John said the reason wasbecause every one tasted of you. "

"I am very glad, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"There is no evil without some good, " Alice went on. "Exceptfor my headache, John would not have held my head by the houras he did; and you couldn't have given me the pleasure youdid, Ellie. Oh, Jack! — there has been many a day lately whenI would gladly have had a headache for the power of laying myhead on your shoulder!"

"And if Mamma had not gone away, I should never have knownyou, " said Ellen. "I wish she never _had_ gone, but I am very, very glad for this!"

She had kneeled upon the window-seat and clasped Alice roundthe neck, just as they were called to tea. The conversationhad banished every disagreeable feeling from Ellen's mind. Shemet her companions in the drawing-room, almost forgetting thatshe had any cause of complaint against them. And this appearedwhen in the course of the evening it came in her way toperform some little office of politeness for Marianne. It wasdone with the gracefulness that could only come from a spiritentirely free from ungrateful feelings. The children felt it, and for the time were shamed into better behaviour. Theevening passed pleasantly, and Ellen went to bed very happy. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Flowers and Thorns. 

The next day it happened that the young people were amusingthemselves with talking in a room where John Humphreys, walking up and down, was amusing _himself_ with thinking. In thecourse of his walk, he began to find their amusement ratherdisturbing to his. The children were all grouped closelyaround Margaret Dunscombe, who was entertaining them with along and very detailed account of a wedding and great party atRandolph, which she had had the happiness of attending. Eagerly fighting her battles over again, and pleased with therapt attention of her hearers, the speaker forgot herself, andraised her voice much more than she meant to do. As every turnof his walk brought John near, there came to his earssufficient bits and scraps of Margaret's story to give him avery fair sample of the whole; and he was sorry to see Ellenamong the rest, and as the rest, hanging upon her lips anddrinking in what seemed to him to be very poor nonsense. "Hergown was all blue satin, trimmed here — and so — you know, with the most exquisite lace, as deep as that — and on theshoulders and here, you know, it was looped up with the mostlovely bunches of" — here John lost the sense. When he camenear again, she had got upon a different topic — " 'MissSimmons, ' says I, 'what did you do that for?' 'Why, ' says she, 'how could I help it? I saw Mr. Payne coming, and I thoughtI'd get behind you, and so' " —. The next time the speaker wassaying with great animation, "And lo and behold, when I was inthe midst of all my pleasure, up comes a little gentleman ofabout his dimensions —. " He had not taken many turns, when hesaw that Margaret's nonsense was branching out right and leftinto worse than nonsense. 

"Ellen!" said he, suddenly — "I want you in the library. "

"My conscience!" said Margaret, as he left the room — "KingJohn the second, and no less. "

"Don't go on till I come back, " said Ellen; "I won't be threeminutes; just wait for me. "

She found John seated at one of the tables in the library, sharpening a pencil. 

"Ellen, " said he, in his usual manner — "I want you to dosomething for me. "

She waited eagerly to hear what; but, instead of telling her, he took a piece of drawing-paper, and began to sketchsomething. Ellen stood by, wondering and impatient to the lastdegree; not caring, however, to show her impatience, thoughher very feet were twitching to run back to her companions. 

"Ellen, " said John, as he finished the old stump of a tree, with one branch left on it, and a little bit of ground at thebottom, "did you ever try your hand at drawing?"

"No, " said Ellen. 

"Then sit down here, " said he, rising from his chair, "and letme see what you can make of that. "

"But I don't know how, " said Ellen. 

"I will teach you. There is a piece of paper, and this pencilis sharp enough. Is that chair too low for you?"

He placed another, and with extreme unwillingness and somedispleasure, Ellen sat down. It was on her tongue to ask ifanother time would not do, but somehow she could not get thewords out. John showed her how to hold her pencil, how toplace her paper, where to begin, and how to go on; and thenwent to the other end of the room, and took up his walk again. Ellen at first felt more inclined to drive her pencil _through_the paper than to make quiet marks upon it. However, necessitywas upon her. She began her work; and once fairly begun, itgrew delightfully interesting. Her vexation went off entirely;she forgot Margaret and her story; the wrinkles on the oldtrunk smoothed those on her brow; and those troublesome leavesat the branch end brushed away all thoughts of everythingelse. Her cheeks were burning with intense interest, when thelibrary door burst open, and the whole troop of childrenrushed in; they wanted Ellen for a round game in which alltheir number were needed; she must come directly. 

"I can't come just yet, " said she; "I must finish this first. "

"Afterwards will do just as well, " said George; — "come, Ellen, do! — you can finish it afterwards. "

"No, I can't, " said Ellen, — "I can't leave it till it's done. Why, I thought Mr. John was here! I didn't see him go out. I'll come in a little while. "

"Did _he_ set you about that precious piece of business?" saidWilliam. 

"Yes. "

"I declare, " said Margaret, "he's fitter to be the Grand Turkthan any one else I know of. "

"I don't know who the Grand Turk is, " said Ellen. 

"I'll tell you, " said William, putting his mouth close to herear, and speaking in a disagreeable loud whisper, — "it's thebiggest gobbler in the yard. "

"Ain't you ashamed, William!" cried little Ellen Chauncey. 

"That's it exactly, " said Margaret — "always strutting about. "

"He isn't a bit, " said Ellen, very angry; "I've seen people agreat deal more like gobblers than he is. "

"Well, " said William, reddening in his turn, "I had rather, atany rate, be a good turkey gobbler, than one of thoseoutlandish birds that have an appetite for stones, and glass, and bits of morocco, and such things. Come, let us leave herto do the Grand Turk's bidding. Come, Ellen Chauncey, youmustn't stay to interrupt her — we want you!"

They left her alone. Ellen had coloured, but William's wordsdid not hit very sore; since John's talk with her about thematter referred to, she had thought of it humbly and wisely;it is only pride that makes such fault-finding very hard tobear. She was very sorry, however, that they had fallen outagain, and that her own passion, as she feared, had been thecause. A few tears had to be wiped away before she could seeexactly how the old tree stood, — then, taking up her pencil, she soon forgot everything in her work. It was finished, andwith head now on one side, now on the other, she was lookingat her picture with very great satisfaction, when her eyecaught the figure of John standing before her. 

"Is it done?" said he. 

"It is done, " said Ellen, smiling, as she rose up to let himcome. He sat down to look at it. 

"It is very well, he said — "better than I expected — it isvery well indeed. Is this your _first_ trial, Ellen?"

"Yes — the first. "

"You found it pleasant work?"

"Oh, very, very pleasant. I like it dearly. "

"Then I will teach you. This shows you have a taste for it, and that is precisely what I wanted to find out. I will giveyou an easier copy next time. I rather expected, when you satdown, " said he, smiling a little, "that the old tree wouldgrow a good deal more crooked under your hands than I meant itto be. "

Ellen blushed exceedingly. "I do believe, Mr. John, " she said, stammering, "that you know everything I am thinking about. "

"I might do that, Ellen, without being as wise as an oracle. But I do not expect to make any very painful discoveries inthat line. "

Ellen thought, if he did not, it would not be her fault. Shetruly repented her momentary anger and hasty speech toWilliam. Not that he did not deserve it, or that it was nottrue; but it was unwise, and had done mischief; and "it wasnot a bit like peace-making, nor meek at all, " Ellen said toherself. She had been reading that morning the fifth chapterof Matthew, and it ran in her head, "Blessed are the meek" —"Blessed are the peace-makers; for they shall be called thechildren of God. " She strove to get back a pleasant feelingtowards her young companions, and prayed that she might not beangry at anything they should say. She was tried again at tea-time. 

Miss Sophia had quitted the table, bidding William hand thedough-nuts to those who could not reach them. Marianne took agreat while to make her choice. Her brother grew impatient. 

"Well, I hope you have suited yourself?" said he. "Come, MissMontgomery, don't you be as long; my arm is tired. Shut youreyes, and then you'll be sure to get the biggest one in thebasket. "

"No, Ellen, " said John, who none of the children thought wasnear — "it would be ungenerous — I wouldn't deprive MasterWilliam of his best arguments. "

"What do you mean by my arguments?" said William, sharply. 

"Generally, those which are the most difficult to take in, "answered his tormentor with perfect gravity. 

Ellen tried to keep from smiling, but could not; and others ofthe party did not try. William and his sister were enraged, the more because John had said nothing they could take holdof, or even repeat. Gilbert made common cause with them. 

"I wish I was grown up for once, " said William. 

"Will you fight _me_, Sir?" asked Gilbert, who was a matter ofthree years older, and well-grown enough. 

His question received no answer, and was repeated. 

"No, Sir. "

"Why not, Sir?"

"I am afraid you'd lay me up with a sprained ankle, " saidJohn, "and I should not get back to Doncaster as quickly as Imust. "

"It is very mean of him, " said Gilbert, as John walked away —"I could whip him, I know. "

"Who's that?" said Mr. Howard Marshman. 

"John Humphreys. "

"John Humphreys! You had better not meddle with him, my dearfellow. It would be no particular proof of wisdom. "

"Why, he is no such great affair, " said Gilbert, "he's tallenough, to be sure, but I don't believe he is heavier than Iam. "

"You don't know, in the first place, how to judge of the sizeof a perfectly well-made man; and, in the second place, _I_ wasnot a match for him a year ago; so you may judge — I do notknow precisely, " he went on to the lady he was walking with, "what it takes to rouse John Humphreys; but when he is roused, he seems to me to have strength enough for twice his bone andmuscle. I have seen him do curious things once or twice!"

"That quiet Mr. Humphreys?"

"Humph!" said Mr. Howard — "gunpowder is pretty quiet stuff, so long as it keeps cool. "

The next day another matter happened to disturb Ellen. Margaret had received an elegant pair of ear-rings as aChristmas present, and was showing them for the admiration ofher young friends. Ellen's did not satisfy her. 

"Ain't they splendid?" said she. "Tell the truth, now, EllenMontgomery, wouldn't you give a great deal if somebody wouldsend you such a pair?"

"They are very pretty, " said Ellen, "but I don't think I caremuch for such things — I would rather have the money. "

"Oh, you avaricious! — Mr. Marshman!" cried Margaret, as theold gentleman was just then passing through the room — "here'sEllen Montgomery says she'd rather have money than anythingelse for her present. "

He did not seem to hear her, and went out without making anyreply. 

"Oh, Margaret!" said Ellen, shocked and distressed — "howcould you! how could you! What will Mr. Marshman think?"

Margaret answered she didn't care what he thought. Ellen couldonly hope he had not heard. 

But a day or two after, when neither Ellen nor her friendswere present, Mr. Marshman asked who it was that had told himEllen Montgomery would like money better than anything elsefor her New Year's present. 

"It was I, Sir, " said Margaret. 

"It sounds very unlike her to say so, " remarked Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Did she say so?" inquired Mr. Marshman. 

"I understood her so, " said Margaret — "I understood her tosay she wouldn't care for anything else. "

"I am disappointed in her, " said the old gentleman; "Iwouldn't have believed it. "

"I do not believe it, " said Mrs. Chauncey, quietly; "there hasbeen some mistake. "

It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she thought right. Disagreeable feelings would rise when she remembered theimpoliteness, the half-sneer, the whole taunt, and the realunkindness of several of the young party. She found herselfready to be irritated, inclined to dislike the sight of those, even wishing to visit some sort of punishment upon them. ButChristian principle had taken strong hold in little Ellen'sheart; she fought her evil tempers manfully. It was not aneasy battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and pride hadroots deep enough to keep her pulling up the shoots for a goodwhile. She used to get alone when she could, to read a verse, if no more, of her Bible, and pray; she could forgive Williamand Margaret more easily then. Solitude and darkness saw manya prayer and tear of hers that week. As she struggled thus toget rid of sin, and to be more like what would please God, shegrew humble and happy. Never was such a struggle carried on byfaith in Him, without success. And after a time, though atwinge of the old feeling might come, it was very slight; shewould bid William and Margaret good morning, and join them inany enterprise of pleasure or business, with a brow asunclouded as the sun. They, however, were too conscious ofhaving behaved unbecomingly towards their little strangerguest to be over fond of her company. For the most part, sheand Ellen Chauncey were left to each other. 

Meanwhile the famous needlebook was in a fair way to befinished. Great dismay had at first been excited in the breastof the intended giver, by the discovery that Gilbert hadconsulted what seemed to be a very extraordinary fancy, inmaking the rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best to comforther. She asked Alice, and found there were such things asyellow roses, and they were very beautiful, too; and, besides, it would match so nicely the yellow butterfly on the otherleaf. 

"I had rather it wouldn't match!" said Ellen Chauncey; — "andit don't match the rose-coloured silk, besides. Are the yellowroses sweet?"

"No, " said Ellen; "but _this_ couldn't have been a sweet rose atany rate, you know. "

"Oh, but, " said the other, bursting out into a fresh passionof inconsolable tears; "I wanted it should be the _picture_ of asweet rose! And I think he might have put a purple butterfly —yellow butterflies are so common! I had a great deal ratherhave had a purple butterfly and a red rose!"

What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. The tears weredried, in course of time, and the needlebook, with its yellowpictures and pink edges, was very neatly finished. Ellen hadbeen busy, too, on her own account. Alice had got a piece offine linen for her from Miss Sophia; the collar for Mr. VanBrunt had been cut out, and Ellen with great pleasure had madeit. The stitching, the strings, and the very buttonhole, afterinfinite pains, were all finished by Thursday night. She hadalso made a needlecase for Alice, not of so much pretension asthe other one; this was green morocco, lined with crimsonsatin; no leaves, but ribbon stitched in to hold papers ofneedles, and a place for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard atthis; it was made with the extremest care, and madebeautifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very much, and anewlamented the uncouth variety of colours in her own. It was agrave question whether pink or yellow ribbon should be usedfor the latter; Ellen Montgomery recommended pink, she herselfinclined to yellow, and, tired of doubting, at last resolvedto split the difference, and put one string of each colour. Ellen thought that did not mend matters, but wisely kept herthoughts to herself. Besides the needlecase for Alice, she hadsnatched the time, whenever she could get away from EllenChauncey, to work at something for her. She had begged Alice'sadvice and help; and between them, out of Ellen's scraps ofmorocco and silk, they had manufactured a little bag of allthe colours of the rainbow, and very pretty and tastefulwithal. Ellen thought it a _chef-d'oeuvre_, and was unbounded inher admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in a lockeddrawer, ready for New Year's day. In addition to all thesepieces of business, John had begun to give her drawinglessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen'sdelight. She would willingly have spent much more time uponthem than he would allow her. It was the most loved employmentof the day. Her teacher's skill was not greater than theperfect gentleness and kindness with which he taught. Ellenthought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder— she could notunderstand it. 

"What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John, one day, as he stood beside her mending a pencil. 

"Why, " said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how _could_ you guesswhat I was thinking about, Mr. John?"

"Not very difficult, when you are eyeing me so hard. "

"I was thinking, " said Ellen, — "I don't know whether it isright in me to tell it — because somebody said you —"

"Well?"

"Were like gunpowder. "

"Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of anexplosion?"

"No — I don't know — I wondered what he meant. "

"Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge foryourself. Look here — that house has suffered from a severegale of wind, I should think — all the uprights are slantingoff to the right — can't you set it up straight?"

Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of the house, asthus pointed out to her, and set about reforming it. 

It was Thursday afternoon that Alice and Ellen were left alonein the library, several of the family having been called outto receive some visitors; Alice had excused herself, andEllen, as soon as they were gone, nestled up to her side. 

"How pleasant it is to be alone together, dear Alice! — Idon't have you even at night now. "

"It is very pleasant, dear Ellie! Home will not lookdisagreeable again, will it, even after all our gaiety here?"

"No indeed! — at least, _your_ home won't — I don't know whatmine will. O me! I had almost forgotten Aunt Fortune!"

"Never mind, dear Ellie! You and I have each something to bear— we must be brave, and bear it manfully. There is a Friendthat sticketh closer than a brother, you know. We shan't beunhappy if we do our duty and love Him. "

"How soon is Mr. John going away?"

"Not for all next week. And so long as he stays, I do not meanthat you shall leave me. "

Ellen cried for joy. 

"I can manage it with Miss Fortune, I know, " said Alice. "These fine drawing lessons must not be interrupted. John isvery much pleased with your performances. "

"Is he?" said Ellen delighted. "I have taken all the pains Icould. "

"That is the sure way to success, Ellie. But, Ellie, I want toask you something. What was that you said to MargaretDunscombe about wanting money for a New Year's present?"

"You know it, then!" cried Ellen, starting up. "Oh, I'm soglad! I wanted to speak to you about it, so I didn't know whatto do, and I thought I oughtn't to. What shall I do about it, dear Alice? How did you know? George said you were not there. "

"Mrs. Chauncey told me; she thought there had been somemistake, or something wrong; — how was it, Ellen?"

"Why, " said Ellen, "she was showing us her ear-rings, andasking us what we thought of them, and she asked me if Iwouldn't like to have such a pair; and I thought I would agreat deal rather have the money they cost, to buy otherthings with, you know, that I would like better; and I saidso; and just then Mr. Marshman came in, and she called out tohim, loud, that I wanted money for a present, or would like itbetter than anything else, or something like that. Oh, Alice, how I felt! I was frightened; — but then I hoped Mr. Marshmandid not hear her, for he did not say anything; but the nextday George told me all about what she had been saying inthere, and oh! it made me so unhappy!" said poor Ellen, looking very dismal. "What _will_ Mr. Marshman think of me? Hewill think I expected a present, and I never _dreamed_ of such athing! It makes me ashamed to speak of it, even; and I _can'tbear_ he should think so — I can't bear it! What shall I do, dear Alice?"

"I don't know what you can do, dear Ellie; but be patient —Mr. Marshman will not think anything very hard of you, I daresay. "

"But I think he does already; he hasn't kissed me since thatas he did before; I know he does, and I don't know what to do. How could Margaret say that! — oh, how could she! — it wasvery unkind. What can I do?" said Ellen, again, after a pause, and wiping away a few tears. "Couldn't Mrs. Chauncey tell Mr. Marshman not to give me anything for that I never expected it, and would a great deal rather not?"

"Why, no, Ellie, I do not think that would be exactly the bestor most dignified way. "

"What then; dear Alice? I'll do just as you say. "

"I would just remain quiet. "

"But Ellen says the things are all put on the plates in themorning; and if there should be money on mine — I don't knowwhat I should do, I should feel so badly. I couldn't keep it, Alice! — I couldn't!"

"Very well, you need not; but remain quiet in the mean while;and if it should be so, then say what you please, only takecare that you say it in the right spirit and in a rightmanner. Nobody can hurt you much, my child, while you keep theeven path of duty; poor Margaret is her own worst enemy. "

"Then, if there should be money in the morning, I may tell Mr. Marshman the truth about it?"

"Certainly — only do not be in haste; speak gently. "

"Oh, I wish everybody would be kind and pleasant always!" saidpoor Ellen, but half comforted. 

"What a sigh was there!" said John, coming in. "What is thematter with my little sister?"

"Some of the minor trials of life, John, " said Alice, with asmile. 

"What is the matter, Ellie?"

"Oh, something you can't help, " said Ellen. 

"And something I mustn't know. Well, to change the scene —suppose you go with me to visit the greenhouse and hothouses. Have you seen them yet?"

"No, " said Ellen, as she eagerly sprang forward to take hishand; — "Ellen promised to go with me, but we have been sobusy. "

"Will you come, Alice?"

"Not I, " said Alice, — "I wish I could, but I shall be wantedelsewhere. "

"By whom, I wonder, so much as by me?" said her brother. "However, after to-morrow I will have you all to myself. "

As he and Ellen were crossing the hall, they met Mrs. Marshman. 

"Where are you going, John?" said she. 

"Where I ought to have been before, Ma'am — to pay my respectsto Mr. Hutchinson. "

"You've not seen him yet! — that is very ungrateful of you. Hutchinson is one of your warmest friends and admirers. Thereare few people he mentions with so much respect, or that he isso glad to see, as Mr. John Humphreys. "

"A distinction I owe, I fear, principally to my Englishblood, " said John, shaking his head. 

"It is not altogether that, " said Mrs. Marshman, laughing;"though I do believe; I am the only Yankee good Hutchinson hasever made up his mind entirely to like. But go and see him —do, he will be very much pleased. "

"Who is Mr. Hutchinson?" said Ellen, as they went on. 

"He is the gardener, or rather the head gardener. He came outwith his master some thirty or forty years ago, but his oldEnglish prejudice will go to the grave with him, I believe. "

"But why don't he like the Americans?"

John laughed. "It would never do for me to attempt to answerthat question, Ellie; fond of going to the bottom of things asyou are. We should just get to hard fighting about tea-time, and should barely make peace by mid-day to-morrow, at the mostmoderate calculation. You shall have an answer to yourquestion, however. "

Ellen could not conceive what he meant, but resolved to waitfor his promised answer. 

As they entered the large and beautifully-kept greenhouse, Hutchinson came from the further end of it to meet them — anold man, of most respectable appearance. He bowed verycivilly, and then slipped his pruning-knife into his lefthand, to leave the right at liberty for John, who shook itcordially. 

"And why 'aven't you been to see me before, Mr. John? I'vethought it rather 'ard of you: Miss h'Alice has come severaltimes. "

"The ladies have more leisure, Mr. Hutchinson. You lookflourishing here. "

"Why, yes, Sir — pretty middling, within doors; but I don'tlike the climate, Mr. John — I don't the climate, Sir. There'sno country like h'England, I believe, for my business. 'Ere'sa fine rose, Sir — if you'll step a bit this way — quite a newkind — I got it over last h'autumn — the Palmerston it is. Those are fine buds, Sir. "

The old man was evidently much pleased to see his visitor, andpresently plunged him deep into English politics, for which heseemed to have lost no interest by forty years' life inAmerica. As Ellen could not understand what they were talkingabout, she quitted John's side, and went wandering about byherself. From the moment the sweet aromatic smell of theplants had greeted her, she had been in a high state ofdelight; and now, lost to all the world beside, from themystery of one beautiful and strange green thing to anothershe went wondering and admiring, and now and then timidlyadvancing her nose to see if something glorious was somethingsweet too. She could hardly leave a superb cactus, in thepetals of which there was such a singular blending of scarletand crimson as almost to dazzle her sight; and if the pleasureof smell could intoxicate, she would have _reeled_ away from aluxuriant daphne odorata in full flower, over which shefeasted for a long time. The variety of green leaves alone wasa marvel to her; some rough and brown-streaked, some shiningas if they were varnished, others of hair-like delicacy ofstructure — all lovely. At last she stood still withadmiration, and almost held her breath before a whitecamellia. 

"What does that flower make you think of, Ellen?" said John, coming up. His friend the gardener had left him to seek anewspaper in which he wished to show him a paragraph. 

"I don't know, " said Ellen — "I couldn't think of anything butitself. "

"It reminds me of what I ought to be — and of what I shall beif I ever see heaven — it seems to me the emblem of a sinless, pure spirit — looking up in fearless spotlessness. Do youremember what was said to the old Church of Sardis? — 'Thouhast a few names that have not defiled their garments; andthey shall walk with me in white, for they are worthy. ' "

The tears rushed to Ellen's eyes, she felt she was so veryunlike this; but Mr. Hutchinson coming back prevented anythingmore from being said. She looked at the white camellia; itseemed to speak to her. 

"That's the paragraph, Sir, " said the old gardener, giving thepaper to John. " 'Ere's a little lady that is fond of flowers, if I don't make a mistake; this is somebody I've not seenbefore? Is this the little lady Miss h'Ellen was telling meabout. "

"I presume so, " said John. "She is Miss Ellen Montgomery — asister of mine, Mr. Hutchinson, and Mr. Marshman's guest. "

"By both names h'entitled to my greatest respect, " said theold man, stepping back, and making a very low bow to Ellen, with his hand upon his heart, at which she could not helplaughing. "I am very glad to see Miss h'Ellen; what can I doto make her remember old 'Utchinson? Would Miss h'Ellen like abouquet?"

Ellen did not venture to say yes, but her blush and sparklingeyes answered him. The old gardener understood her, and was asgood as his word. He began with cutting a beautiful sprig of alarge purple geranium, then a slip of lemon myrtle. Ellenwatched him as the bunch grew in his hand, and could hardlybelieve her eyes as one beauty after another was added to whatbecame a most elegant bouquet. And most sweet, too; to herjoy, the delicious daphne and fragrant lemon blossom went tomake part of it. Her thanks, when it was given her, were madewith few words, but with all her face; the old gardenersmiled, and was quite satisfied that his gift was not thrownaway. He afterwards showed them his hothouses, where Ellen wasastonished and very much interested to see ripe oranges andlemons in abundance, and pines, too, such as she had beeneating since she came to Ventnor, thinking nothing less thanthat they grew so near home. The grapes had all been cut. 

There was to be quite a party at Ventnor in the evening of NewYear's day. Ellen knew this, and destined her precious flowersfor Alice's adornment. How to keep them, in the meanwhile? Sheconsulted Mr. John, and according to his advice, took them toMrs. Bland, the housekeeper, to be put in water, and kept in asafe place for her till the time. She knew Mrs. Bland, forEllen Chauncey and she had often gone to her room to work, where none of the children would find and trouble them. Mrs. Bland promised to take famous care of the flowers, and saidshe would do it with the greatest pleasure. "Mr. Marshman'sguests, " she added, smiling, "must have everything theywanted. "

"What does that mean, Mrs. Bland?" said Ellen. 

"Why, you see, Miss Ellen, there's a deal of company alwayscoming, and some is Mrs. Gillespie's friends, and some Mr. Howard's, and some to see Miss Sophia more particularly, andsome belong to Mrs. Marshman, or the whole family, maybe; butnow and then _Mr. _ Marshman, has an old English friend or so, that he sets the greatest store by; and then he calls _his_guests; and the best in the house is hardly good enough forthem, or the country either. "

"And so I am one of Mr. Marshman's guests?" said Ellen, "Ididn't know what it meant. "

She saved out one little piece of rose-geranium from herflowers for the gratification of her own nose; and skippedaway through the hall to rejoin her companions, very light-hearted indeed. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The Bank-Note and George Washington. 

New Year's morning dawned. 

"How I wish breakfast was over!" thought Ellen as she wasdressing. However, there is no way of getting _over_ this lifebut by going through it; so when the bell rang she went downas usual. Mr. Marshman had decreed that he would not have aconfusion of gifts at the breakfast table; other people mightmake presents in their own way; they must not interfere withhis. Needlecases, bags, and so forth, must therefore waitanother opportunity; and Ellen Chauncey decided it would justmake the pleasure so much longer, and was a great improvementon the old plan. "Happy New Years" and pleasant greetings wereexchanged, as the party gathered in the breakfast-room;pleasure sat on all faces, except Ellen's, and many a one worea broad smile as they sat down to table. For the napkins werein singular disarrangement this morning; instead of beingneatly folded up on the plates, in their usual fashion, theywere in all sorts of disorder — sticking up in curious angles, some high, some low, some half-folded, some quite unfolded, according to the size and shape of that which they covered. Itwas worth while to see that long tableful, and the faces ofthe company, before yet a napkin was touched. An anxiousglance at her own, showed Ellen that it lay quite flat;Alice's, which was next, had an odd little rising in themiddle, as if there were a small dumpling under it. Ellen wasin an agony for this pause to come to an end. It was broken bysome of the older persons, and then in a trice every plate wasuncovered. And then, what a buzz! — pleasure, and thanks, andadmiration, and even laughter. Ellen dreaded at first to lookat her plate; she bethought her, however, that if she waitedlong, she would have to do it with all eyes upon her; shelifted the napkin slowly; — yes — just as she feared — therelay a clean bank-note — of what value she could not see, forconfusion covered her; the blood rushed to her cheeks and thetears to her eyes. She could not have spoken, and happily itwas no time then; everybody else was speaking — she could nothave been heard. She had time to cool and recollect herself;but she sat with her eyes cast down, fastened upon her plateand the unfortunate bank-bill, which she detested with all herheart. She did not know what Alice had received; sheunderstood nothing that was going on, till Alice touched her, and said gently, "Mr. Marshman is speaking to you, Ellen. "

"Sir!" said Ellen, starting. 

"You need not look so terrified, " said Mr. Marshman, smiling;"I only asked you if your bill was a counterfeit — somethingseems to be wrong about it. "

Ellen looked at her plate and hesitated. Her lip trembled. 

"What is it?" continued the old gentleman. "Is anything thematter. "

Ellen desperately took up the bill, and with burning cheeks, marched to his end of the table. 

"I am very much obliged to you, Sir, but I had a great dealrather not — if you please — if you will please to be so goodas to let me give it back to you — I should be very glad. "

"Why, hoity-toity!" said the old gentleman — "what's all this?what's the matter? don't you like it? I thought I was doingthe very thing that would please you best of all. "

"I am very sorry you should think so, Sir, " said Ellen, whohad recovered a little breath, but had the greatest difficultyto keep back her tears; "I never thought of such a thing asyour giving me anything, Sir, till somebody spoke of it; and Ihad rather never have anything in the world than that youshould think what you thought about me. "

"What _did_ I think about you?"

"George told me that somebody told you, Sir, I wanted moneyfor my present. "

"And didn't you say so?"

"Indeed I didn't, Sir!" said Ellen, with a sudden fire. "Inever thought of such a thing!"

"What did you say then?"

"Margaret was showing us her ear-rings, and she asked me if Iwouldn't like to have some like them; and I couldn't helpthinking I would a great deal rather have the money they wouldcost to buy something for Alice; and just when I said so, youcame in, Sir, and she said what she did. I was very muchashamed. I wasn't thinking of you, Sir, at all, nor of NewYear. "

"Then you would like something else better than money. "

"No, Sir, nothing at all, if you please. If you'll only be sogood as not to give me this, I will be very much obliged toyou indeed; and please not to think I could be so shameful asyou thought I was. "

Ellen's face was not to be withstood. The old gentleman tookthe bill from her hand. 

"I will never think anything of you, " said he, "but what isthe very tip-top of honourable propriety. But you make _me_ashamed now — what am I going to do with this? here have youcome and made me a present, and I feel very awkward indeed. "

"I don't care what you do with it, Sir, " said Ellen, laughing, though in imminent danger of bursting into tears! — "I am veryglad it is out of _my_ hands. "

"But you needn't think I am going to let you off so, " said he— "you must give me half a dozen kisses at least, to provethat you have forgiven me for making so great a blunder. "

"Half a dozen is too many at once, " said Ellen, gaily; —"three now, and three to-night. "

So she gave the old gentleman three kisses, but he caught herin his arms and gave her a dozen at least; after which hefound out that the waiter was holding a cup of coffee at hiselbow, and Ellen went back to her place with a very goodappetite for her breakfast. 

After breakfast the needlecases were delivered. Both gave themost entire satisfaction. Mrs. Chauncey assured her daughterthat she would quite as lief have a yellow as a red rose onthe cover, and that she liked the inscription extremely; whichthe little girl acknowledged to have been a joint device ofher own and Ellen's. Ellen's bag gave great delight, and wasparaded all over the house. 

After the bustle of thanks and rejoicing was at last over, andwhen she had a minute to herself, which Ellen Chauncey did notgive her for a good while, Ellen bethought her of her flowers—a sweet gift still to be made. Why not make it now? why shouldnot Alice have the pleasure of them all day? A bright thought!Ellen ran forthwith to the house-keeper's room, and after along, admiring look at her treasures, carried them, glass andall, to the library, where Alice and John often were in themorning alone. Alice thanked her in the way she liked best, and then the flowers were smelled and admired afresh. 

"Nothing could have been pleasanter to me, Ellie, except Mr. Marshman's gift. "

"And what was that, Alice? I haven't seen it yet. "

Alice pulled out of her pocket a small, round, morocco case, the very thing that Ellen had thought looked like a dumplingunder the napkin, and opened it. 

"It's Mr. John!" exclaimed Ellen. "Oh, how beautiful!"

Neither of her hearers could help laughing. 

"It is very fine, Ellie, " said Alice; "you are quite right. Now I know what was the business that took John to Randolphevery day, and kept him there so long, while I was wonderingat him unspeakably. Kind, kind Mr. Marshman!"

"Did Mr. John get anything?"

"Ask him, Ellie. "

"Did you get anything, Mr. John?" said Ellen, going up to himwhere he was reading on the sofa. 

"I got this, " said John, handing her a little book which laybeside him. 

"What is this! Wime's — Wiem's — Life of Washington —Washington? he was — may I look at it?"

"Certainly!"

She opened the book, and presently sat down on the floor whereshe was, by the side of the sofa. Whatever she had foundwithin the leaves of the book, she had certainly lost herself. An hour passed. Ellen had not spoken or moved except to turnover leaves. 

"Ellen!" said John. 

She looked up — her cheeks coloured high. 

"What have you found there?" said he, smiling. 

"Oh, a great deal! But — did Mr. Marshman give you this?"

"No. "

"O!" said Ellen, looking puzzled, "I thought you said you gotthis this morning. "

"No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie. "

"For me!" said Ellen, her colour deepening very much; "for me!did you? Oh, thank you! — oh, I'm so much obliged to you, Mr. John!"

"It is only an answer to one of your questions. "

"This! is it? I don't know what, I am sure. Oh, I wish I coulddo something to please you, Mr. John!"

"You shall, Ellie; you shall give me a brother's right again. "

Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive one of hisgrave kisses; and then, not at all displeased, went down onthe floor, and was lost in her book. 

Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day! — how shall it betold? The pleasure of that delightful book, in which she waswrapped the whole day — even when called off, as she oftenwas, by Ellen Chauncey, to help her in fifty little matters ofbusiness or pleasure. These were attended to, and faithfullyand cheerfully, but _the book_ was in her head all the while. And this pleasure was mixed with Alice's pleasure, the flowersand the miniature, and Mr. Marshman's restored kindness. Shenever met John's or Alice's eye that day without a smile. Evenwhen she went to be dressed, her book went with her, and waslaid on the bed within sight, ready to be taken up the momentshe was at liberty. Ellen Chauncey lent her a white frock, which was found to answer very well with a tuck let out; andAlice herself dressed her. While this was doing, MargaretDunscombe put her head in at the door to ask Anne, MissSophia's maid, if she was almost ready to come and curl herhair. 

"Indeed I can't say that I am, Miss Margaret, " said Anne. "I've something to do for Miss Humphreys, and Miss Sophiahasn't so much as done the first thing towards beginning toget ready yet. It'll be a good hour, and more. "

Margaret went away, exclaiming, impatiently, that she couldget nobody to help her, and would have to wait till everybodywas downstairs. 

A few minutes after, she heard Ellen's voice at the door ofher room, asking if she might come in. 

"Yes — who's that? — what do you want?"

"I'll fix your hair if you'll let me, " said Ellen. 

"You? I don't believe you can. "

"Oh, yes, I can; I used to do Mamma's very often; I am notafraid, if you'll trust me. "

"Well, thank you, I don't care if you try, then, " saidMargaret, seating herself; "it won't do any harm, at any rate;and I want to be downstairs before anybody gets here; I thinkit's half the fun to see them come in. Bless me! you'redressed and all ready. "

Margaret's hair was in long, thick curls; it was not atrifling matter to dress them. Ellen plodded through itpatiently and faithfully, taking great pains, and doing thework well, and then went back to Alice. Margaret's thanks, notvery gracefully given, would have been a poor reward for theloss of three-quarters of an hour of pleasure. But Ellen wasvery happy in having done right. It was no longer time toread; they must go downstairs. 

The New Year's party was a nondescript — young and oldtogether; a goodly number of both were gathered from Randolphand the neighbouring country. There were games for the young, dancing for the gay, and a superb supper for all; and the big, bright rooms were full of bright faces. It was a very happyevening to Ellen. For a good part of it, Mr. Marshman tookpossession of her, or kept her near him; and his extremekindness would alone have made the evening pass pleasantly;she was sure he was her firm friend again. 

In the course of the evening, Mrs. Chauncey found occasion toask her about her journey up the river, without at allmentioning Margaret, or what she had said. Ellen answered thatshe had come with Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter. 

"Did you have a pleasant time?" asked Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Why, no, Ma'am. " Said Ellen — "I don't know — it was partlypleasant, and partly unpleasant. "

"What made it so, love?"

"I had left Mamma that morning, and that made me unhappy. "

"But you said it was partly pleasant?"

"Oh, that was because I had such a good friend on board, " saidEllen, her face lighting up, as his image came before her. 

"Who was that?"

"I don't know, Ma'am, who he was. "

"A stranger to you?"

"Yes, Ma'am — I never saw him before — I wish I could see himagain. "

"Where did you find him?"

"I didn't find him — he found me, when I was sitting up on thehighest part of the boat. "

"And your friends with you?"

"What friends?"

"Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter. "

"No, Ma'am — they were down in the cabin. "

"And what business had you to be wandering about the boatalone?" said Mr. Marshman, good-humouredly. 

"They were strangers, Sir, " said Ellen, colouring a little. 

"Well, so was this man — your friend — a stranger, too, wasn'the?"

"Oh, he was a very different stranger, " said Ellen, smiling, —"and he wasn't a stranger long, besides. "

"Well, you must tell me more about him — come, I'm curious; —what sort of a strange friend was this?"

"He wasn't a _strange_ friend, " said Ellen, laughing; — "he wasa very, very good friend; he took care of me the whole day; hewas very good and very kind. "

"What kind of a man?" said Mrs. Chauncey; — "a gentleman?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am!" said Ellen, looking surprised at thequestion. "I am sure he was. "

"What did he look like?"

Ellen tried to tell, but the portrait was not very distinct. 

"What did he wear? Coat or cloak?"

"Coat — dark brown, I think. "

"This was the end of October, wasn't it?"

Ellen thought a moment and answered, "yes. "

"And you don't know his name?"

"No, Ma'am; I wish I did. "

"I can tell you, " said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling; — "he is one ofmy best friends, too, Ellen; it is my brother, Mr. GeorgeMarshman. "

How Ellen's face crimsoned! Mr. Marshman asked how she knew. 

"It was then he came up the river, you know, Sir; and don'tyou remember his speaking of a little girl on board the boat, who was travelling with strangers, and whom he endeavoured tobefriend? I had forgotten it entirely till a minute or twoago. "

"Miss Margaret Dunscombe!" cried George Walsh, "what kind of aperson was that you said Ellen was so fond of when you came upthe river?"

"I don't know, nor care, " said Margaret. "Somebody she pickedup somewhere. "

"It was Mr. George Marshman!"

"It wasn't. "

"Uncle George!" exclaimed Ellen Chauncey, running up to thegroup her cousin had quitted; — "_my_ uncle George? Do you knowuncle George, Ellen?"

"Very much — I mean — yes, " said Ellen. 

Ellen Chauncey was delighted. So was Ellen Montgomery. Itseemed to bring the whole family nearer to her, and they feltit, too. Mrs. Marshman kissed her when she heard it, and saidshe remembered very well her son's speaking of her, and wasvery glad to find who it was. And now, Ellen thought, shewould surely see him again some time. 

The next day they left Ventnor. Ellen Chauncey was very sorryto lose her new friend, and begged she would come again "assoon as she could. " All the family said the same. Mr. Marshmantold her she must give him a large place in her heart, or heshould be jealous of her "strange friend;" and Alice wascharged to bring her whenever she came to see them. 

The drive back to Carra-carra was scarcely less pleasant thanthe drive out had been; and home, Ellen said, looked lovely; —that is, Alice's home, which she began to think more her ownthan any other. The pleasure of the past ten days, thoughgreat, had not been unmixed; the week that followed was one ofperfect enjoyment. In Mr. Humphreys' household there was anatmosphere of peace and purity, that even a child could feel, and in which such a child as Ellen throve exceedingly. Thedrawing lessons went on with great success; other lessons werebegun; there were fine, long walks, and charming sleigh-rides, and more than one visit to Mrs. Vawse; and what Ellen, perhaps, liked the best of all, the long evenings ofconversation, and reading aloud, and bright fire-lights, andbrighter sympathy, and intelligence, and affection. That weekdid them all good, and no one more than Ellen. 

It was a little hard to go back to Miss Fortune's, and beginher old life there. She went on the evening of the day Johnhad departed. They were at supper. 

"Well!" said Miss Fortune, as Ellen entered, "have you gotenough of visiting? I should be ashamed to go where I wasn'twanted, for my part. "

"I haven't, Aunt Fortune, " said Ellen. 

"She's been nowhere but what's done her good, " said Mr. VanBrunt; "she's reely growed handsome since she's been away. "

"Grown a fiddlestick!" said Miss Fortune. 

"She couldn't grow handsomer than she was before, " said theold grandmother, hugging and kissing her little grand-daughterwith great delight; — "the sweetest posie in the garden shealways was!"

Mr. Van Brunt looked as if he entirely agreed with the oldlady. That, while it made some amends for Miss Fortune'sdryness, perhaps increased it. She remarked, that "she thankedHeaven she could always make herself contented at home;" whichEllen could not help thinking was a happiness for the rest ofthe world. 

In the matter of the collar, it was hard to say whether thegiver or receiver had the most satisfaction. Ellen had beggedhim not to speak of it to her aunt; and accordingly, oneSunday, when he came there with it on, both he and she were ina state of exquisite delight. Miss Fortune's attention was atlast aroused; she made a particular review of him, and endedit by declaring, that "he looked uncommonly dandified, but shecould not make out what he had done to himself;" a remarkwhich transported Mr. Van Brunt and Ellen beyond all bounds ofprudence. 

Nancy's Bible, which had been purchased for her at Randolph, was given to her the first opportunity. Ellen anxiouslywatched her as she slowly turned it over, her face showing, however, very decided approbation of the style of the gift. She shook her head once or twice, and then said —

"What did you give this to me for, Ellen?"

"Because I wanted to give you something for New Year, " saidEllen — "and I thought that would be the best thing — if youwould only read it — it would make you so happy and good. "

"_You_ are good, I believe, " said Nancy, "but I don't expectever to be, myself — I don't think I _could_ be. You might aswell teach a snake not to wriggle. "

"I am not good at all, " said Ellen — "we're none of us good;"and the tears rose to her eyes; "but the Bible will teach ushow to be. If you'll only read it! — please, Nancy, do! sayyou will read a little every day. "

"You don't want me to make a promise I shouldn't keep, Iguess, do you?"

"No, " said Ellen. 

"Well, I shouldn't keep that, so I won't promise it; but Itell you what I will do, — I'll take precious fine care of itand keep it always for your sake. "

"Well, " said Ellen, sighing — "I am glad you will even do somuch as that. But, Nancy, before you begin to read the Bible, you may have to go where you never can read it, nor be happynor good neither. "

Nancy made no answer, but walked away, Ellen thought, rathermore soberly than usual. 

This conversation had cost Ellen some effort. It had not beenmade without a good deal of thought and some prayer. She couldnot hope she had done much good, but she had done her duty. And it happened that Mr. Van Brunt, standing behind the angleof the wall, had heard every word. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A gathering cloud in the spring weather. 

Ellen's life had nothing to mark it for many months. The restof the winter passed quietly away, every day being full ofemployment. At home the state of matters was rather bettered. Either Miss Fortune was softened by Ellen's gentle, inoffensive ways and obedient usefulness, or she had resolvedto bear what could not be helped, and make the best of thelittle inmate she could not get rid of. She was certainlyresolved to make the _most_ of her. Ellen was kept on the jump agreat deal of the time: she was runner of errands and maid ofall work — to set the table and clear it was only a trifle inthe list of her every-day duties — and they were not endedtill the last supper dish was put away and the hearth sweptup. Miss Fortune never spared herself, and never spared Ellen, so long as she had any occasion for her. 

There were, however, long pieces of time that were left free —these Ellen seized for her studies and used most diligently;urged on by a three or four-fold motive; for the love of them, and for her own sake, that John might think she had done well— that she might presently please and satisfy Alice — aboveall, that her mother's wishes might be answered. This thought, whenever it came, was a spur to her efforts — so was each ofthe others; and Christian feeling added another, and kept allthe rest in force. Without this, indolence might haveweakened, or temptation surprised her resolution; little Ellenwas open to both; but if ever she found herself growingcareless from either cause, conscience was sure to smite her;and then would rush in all the motives that called upon her topersevere. Soon faithfulness began to bring its reward. Withdelight she found herself getting the better of difficulties, beginning to see a little through the mists of ignorance, making some sensible progress on the long road of learning. Study grew delightful — her lessons with Alice one of hergreatest enjoyments. And as they were a labour of love to bothteacher and scholar, and as it was the aim of each to seequite to the bottom of every matter, where it was possible, and to leave no difficulties behind them on the road whichthey had not cleared away, no wonder Ellen went forwardsteadily and rapidly. Reading also became a wonderfulpleasure. Weems' _Life of Washington_ was read, and read, andread over again, till she almost knew it by heart; and fromthat she went to Alice's library, and ransacked it for whatwould suit her. Happily it was a well-picked one, and Ellencould not light upon many books that would do her mischief. For those, Alice's wish was enough — she never opened them. Furthermore, Alice insisted that when Ellen had once fairlybegun a book she should go through with it — not capriciouslyleave it for another, nor have half a dozen about at a time. But when Ellen had read it once she commonly wanted to go overit again, and seldom laid it aside until she had sucked thesweetness all out of it. 

As for drawing, it could not go on very fast while the coldweather lasted. Ellen had no place at home where she couldspread out her paper and copies without danger of beingdisturbed. Her only chance was at the parsonage. John had putall her pencils in order before he went, and had left her anabundance of copies, marked as she was to take them. They, orsome of them, were bestowed in Alice's desk; and wheneverEllen had a spare hour or two, of a fine morning or afternoon, she made the best of her way to the mountain; it made nodifference whether Alice were at home or not — she went in, coaxed up the fire, and began her work. It happened many atime that Alice, coming home from a walk or a run in thewoods, saw the little hood and cloak on the settee before sheopened the glass door, and knew very well how she should findEllen, bending intently over her desk. These runs to themountain were very frequent; sometimes to draw, sometimes torecite, always to see Alice and be happy. Ellen grew rosy, andhardy, and in spite of her separation from her mother, she wasvery happy, too. Her extreme and varied occupation made thispossible. She had no time to indulge useless sorrow; on thecontrary, her thoughts were taken up with agreeable matters, either doing or to be done; and at night, she was far tootired and sleepy to lie awake musing. And besides she hopedthat her mother would come back in the spring, or the summerat farthest. It is true Ellen had no liking for the kind ofbusiness her aunt gave her — it was often-times a trial oftemper and patience. Miss Fortune was not the pleasantestwork-mistress in the world, and Ellen was apt to wish to bedoing something else; but, after all, this was not amiss. Besides, the discipline of character, these trials made thepleasant things with which they were mixed up seem doublypleasant — the disagreeable parts of her life relished theagreeable wonderfully. After spending the whole morning withMiss Fortune in the depths of house-work, how delightful itwas to forget all in drawing some nice little cottage, with abit of stone wall, and a barrel in front! or to go with Alice, in thought, to the south of France, and learn how the peasantsmanage their vines, and make the wine from them; or run overthe Rock of Gibraltar with the monkeys; or, at another time, seated on a little bench in the chimney corner, when the fireblazed up well, before the candles were lighted, to forget thekitchen, and the supper, and her bustling aunt, and sail roundthe world with Captain Cook. Yes — these things were all thesweeter for being tasted by snatches. 

Spring brought new occupation; household labours began toincrease in number and measure; her leisure times wereshortened. But pleasures were increased too. When the snowwent off, and spring-like days began to come, and birds' noteswere heard again, and the trees put out their young leaves, and the brown mountains were looking soft and green, Ellen'sheart bounded at the sight. The springing grass was lovely tosee; dandelions were marvels of beauty; to her each wild wood-flower was a never to be enough admired and loved wonder. Sheused to take long rambles with Mr. Van Brunt when business ledhim to the woods, sometimes riding part of the way on the ox-sled. Always a basket for flowers went along; and when thesled stopped, she would wander all around seeking among thepiled-up dead leaves for the white wind-flower, and prettylittle hang-head uvularia, and delicate blood-root, and thewild geranium and columbine; and many others, the names ofwhich she did not know. They were like friends to Ellen; shegathered them affectionately as well as admiringly into herlittle basket, and seemed to purify herself in their purecompanionship. Even Mr. Van Brunt came to have an indistinctnotion that Ellen and flowers were made to be together. Afterhe found what a pleasure it was to her to go on theseexpeditions, he made it a point, whenever he was bound to thewoods of a fine day, to come to the house for her. MissFortune might object as she pleased; he always found ananswer; and at last Ellen, to her great joy, would be told, "Well! go get your bonnet and be off with yourself. " Onceunder the shadow of the big trees, the dried leaves cracklingbeneath her feet, and alone with her kind conductor — and MissFortune and all in the world that was disagreeable wasforgotten — forgotten, no more to be remembered till the walkshould come to an end. And it would have surprised anybody tohear the long conversations she and Mr. Van Brunt kept up —he, the silentest man in Thirlwall! Their talk often ran upontrees, among which Mr. Van Brunt was at home. Ellen wanted tobecome acquainted with them, as well as with the littleflowers that grew at their feet; and he tried to teach her howto know each separate kind by the bark and leaf and manner ofgrowth. The pine and hemlock and fir were easily learnt; thewhite birch, too; beyond those, at first, she was perpetuallyconfounding one with another. Mr. Van Brunt had to go over andover his instructions — never weary, always vastly amused. Pleasant lessons these were! Ellen thought so, and Mr. VanBrunt thought so too. 

Then there were walks with Alice, pleasanter still, if thatcould be. And even in the house, Ellen managed to keep a tokenof spring-time. On her toilet-table, the three uncouth legs ofwhich were now hidden by a neat dimity cover, there alwaysstood a broken tumbler with a supply of flowers. The supplywas very varied, it is true; sometimes only a handful ofdandelions, sometimes a huge bunch of lilac flowers, whichcould not be persuaded to stay in the glass without the helpof the wall, against which it leaned in very undignifiedstyle; sometimes the bouquet was of really delicate andbeautiful wild-flowers. All were charming in Ellen's eyes. 

As the days grew long and the weather warm, Alice and shebegan to make frequent trips to the Cat's Back, and Frenchcame very much into fashion. They generally took Sharp to easethe long way, and rested themselves with a good stay on themountain. Their coming was always a joy to the old lady. Shewas dearly fond of them both, and delighted to hear from theirlips the language she loved best. After a time they spokenothing else when with her. She was well qualified to teachthem; and, indeed, her general education had been far fromcontemptible, though nature had done more for her. As thelanguage grew familiar to them, she loved to tell and they tohear long stories of her youth and native country — scenes andpeople so very different from all Ellen had ever seen or heardof; and told in a lively, simple style, which she could nothave given in English, and with a sweet colouring of Christianthought and feeling. Many things made these visits good andpleasant. It was not the least of Alice's and Ellen's joy tocarry their old friend something that might be for her comfortin her lonely way of life. For even Miss Fortune now and thentold Ellen "she might take a piece of that cheese along withher;" or, "she wondered if the old lady would like a littlefresh meat; — she guessed she'd cut her a bit of that nicelamb; she wouldn't want but a little piece. " A singulartestimony this was to the respect and esteem of Mrs. Vawse hadfrom everybody. Miss Fortune very, very seldom was known totake a bit from her own comforts to add to those of another. The ruling passion of this lady was thrift; her next, goodhousewifery. First, to gather to herself and heap up of whatthe world most esteems; after that, to be known as the mostthorough housekeeper and the smartest woman in Thirlwall. 

Ellen made other visits she did not like so well. In thecourse of the winter and summer she became acquainted withmost of the neighbourhood. She sometimes went with her aunt toa formal tea-drinking, one, two, three, or four miles off, asthe case might be. They were not very pleasant. To some placesshe was asked by herself; and though the people invariablyshowed themselves very kind, and did their best to please her, Ellen seldom cared to go a second time — liked even home andMiss Fortune better. There were a few exceptions; JennyHitchcock was one of her favourites, and Jane Huff wasanother; and all of their respective families came in, withgood reason, for a share of her regard — Mr. Juniper, indeed, excepted. Once they went to a quilting at Squire Dennison's;the house was spotlessly neat and well-ordered; the people allkind; but Ellen thought they did not seem to know how to bepleasant. Dan Dennison alone had no stiffness about him. MissFortune remarked with pride, that even in this family ofpretension, as she thought it, the refreshments could bear nocomparison with hers. Once they were invited to tea at theLawsons'; but Ellen told Alice, with much apparent disgust, that she never wanted to go again. Mrs. Van Brunt she sawoften. To Thirlwall, Miss Fortune never went. 

Twice in the course of the summer Ellen had a very greatpleasure in the company of little Ellen Chauncey. Once MissSophia brought her, and once her mother; and the last timethey made a visit of two weeks. On both occasions Ellen wassent for to the parsonage, and kept while they stayed; and thepleasure that she and her little friend had together cannot betold. It was unmixed now. Rambling about through the woods andover the fields, no matter where, it was all enchanting;helping Alice garden; helping Thomas make hay, and themischief they did his haycocks by tumbling upon them, and thepatience with which he bore it; the looking for eggs; thehelping Margery to churn, and the helping each other to settables; the pleasant mornings, and pleasant evenings, andpleasant mid-days — it cannot be told. Long to be remembered, sweet and pure, was the pleasure of those summer days, unclouded by a shade of discontent or disagreement on eitherbrow. Ellen loved the whole Marshman family now, for the sakeof one, the one she had first known; and little Ellen Chaunceyrepeatedly told her mother in private that Ellen Montgomerywas the very nicest girl she had ever seen. They met with joy, and parted with sorrow, entreating and promising if possible, a speedy meeting again. 

Amidst all the improvement and enjoyment of these summermonths — and they had a great deal of both for Ellen — therewas one cause of sorrow she could not help feeling, and itbegan to press more and more. Letters — they came slowly — andwhen they came, they were not at all satisfactory. Those inher mother's hand dwindled and dwindled, till at last therecame only mere scraps of letters from her; and sometimes, after a long interval, one from Captain Montgomery would comealone. Ellen's heart sickened with long-deferred hope. Shewondered what could make her mother neglect a matter sonecessary for her happiness; sometimes she fancied they weretravelling about, and it might be inconvenient to write;sometimes she thought, perhaps they were coming home withoutletting her know, and would suddenly surprise her some day, and make her half lose her wits with joy. But they did notcome, nor write; and, whatever was the reason, Ellen felt itwas very sad, and sadder and sadder as the summer went on. Herown letters became pitiful in their supplications for letters;they _had_ been very cheerful, and filled with encouragingmatter, and in part they were still. 

For a while her mind was diverted from this sad subject, andher brow cleared up, when John came home in August. As before, Alice gained Miss Fortune's leave to keep her at the parsonagethe whole time of his stay, which was several weeks. Ellenwondered that it was so easily granted, but she was much toohappy to spend time in thinking about it. Miss Fortune hadseveral reasons. She was unwilling to displease MissHumphreys, and conscious that it would be a shame to her tostand openly in the way of Ellen's good. Besides, thoughEllen's services were lost for a time, yet she said she gottired of setting her to work; she liked to dash round thehouse alone, without thinking what somebody else was doing orought to be doing. In short, she liked to have her out of theway for a while. Furthermore, it did not please her that Mr. Van Brunt and her little handmaid were, as she expressed it, "so thick. " His first thought, and his last thought, she said, she believed, were for Ellen, whether she came in or went out;and Miss Fortune was accustomed to be chief, not only in herown house, but in the regards of all who came to it. At anyrate, the leave was granted and Ellen went. 

And now was repeated the pleasure of the first week inJanuary. It would have been increased, but that increase wasnot possible. There was only the difference between lovelywinter and lovely summer weather; it was seldom very hot inThirlwall. The fields and hills were covered with greeninstead of white; fluttering leaves had taken the place ofsnow-covered sprays and sparkling icicles; and for the keennorth and brisk northwester, soft summer airs were blowing. Ellen saw no other difference — except that, perhaps, if itcould be, there was something more of tenderness in the mannerof Alice and her brother towards her. No little sister couldhave been more cherished and cared for. If there was a change, Mr. Humphreys shared it. It is true, he seldom took much partin the conversation, and seldomer was with them in any oftheir pursuits or pleasures. He generally kept by himself inhis study. But whenever he did speak to Ellen, his tone wasparticularly gentle, and his look kind. He sometimes calledher "My little daughter, " which always gave Ellen greatpleasure; she would jump at such times with double zeal, to doanything he asked her. 

Now drawing went on with new vigour under the eye of hermaster. And many things beside. John took a great deal ofpains with her in various ways. He made her read to him; hehelped her and Alice with their French; he went with them toMrs. Vawse's; and even Mr. Humphreys went there too, oneafternoon to tea. How much Ellen enjoyed that afternoon! Theytook with them a great basket of provisions, for Mrs. Vawsecould not be expected to entertain so large a party; andborrowed Jenny Hitchcock's pony, which, with old John andSharp, mounted three of the company; they took turns inwalking. Nobody minded that. The fine weather, the beautifulmountain-top, the general pleasure, Mr. Humphreys' uncommonspirits and talkableness, the oddity of their way oftravelling, and of a tea-party up on the "Cat's Back, " and, furthermore, the fact that Nancy stayed at home and behavedvery well the whole time, all together filled Ellen's cup ofhappiness, for the time, as full as it could hold. She neverforgot that afternoon. And the ride home was the best of all. The sun was low by the time they reached the plain; longshadows lay across their road; the soft air just stirred theleaves on the branches; stillness and loveliness were over allthings; and down the mountain and along the roads, through theopen country, the whole way, John walked at her bridle; sokind in his care of her, so pleasant in his talk to her, teaching her how to sit in the saddle, and hold the reins andwhip, and much more important things, too, that Ellen thoughta pleasanter thing could not be than to ride so. After thatthey took a great many rides, borrowing Jenny's pony or someother, and explored the beautiful country far and near. Andalmost daily, John had up Sharp and gave Ellen a regularlesson. She often thought, and sometimes looked, what she hadonce said to him, "I wish I could do something for _you_, Mr. John;" but he smiled at her, and said nothing. 

At last he was gone. And in all the week he had been at home, and in many weeks before, no letter had come for Ellen. Thethought had been kept from weighing upon her by the thousandpleasures that filled up every moment of his stay; she couldnot be sad then, or only for a minute; hope threw off thesorrow as soon as it was felt; and she forgot how time flew. But when his visit was over, and she went back to her oldplace and her old life at her aunt's, the old feeling cameback in greater strength. She began again to count the daysand the weeks; to feel the bitter unsatisfied longing. Tearswould drop down upon her Bible; tears streamed from her eyeswhen she prayed that God would make her mother well and bringher home to her quickly — oh! quickly! — and little Ellen'sface began to wear once more something of its old look. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The cloud overhead. 

One day in the early part of September, she was standing infront of the house at the little wicket that opened on theroad. With her back against the open gate, she was gentlymoving it to and fro, half-enjoying the weather and the scene, half-indulging the melancholy mood which drove her from thepresence of her bustling aunt. The gurgling sound of the brooka few steps off was a great deal more soothing to her ear thanMiss Fortune's sharp tones. By-and-by a horseman came in sightat the far end of the road, and the brook was forgotten. Whatmade Ellen look at him so sharply? Poor child! she was alwaysexpecting news. At first she could only see that the man rodea white horse; then, as he came nearer, an odd looped-up hatshowed itself — and something queer in his hand — what was it?who is it? — the old newsman! Ellen was sure. Yes — she couldnow see the saddle-bags, and the white horsetail set in ahandle, with which he was brushing away the flies from hishorse; the tin trumpet was in his other hand, to blow withal. He was a venerable old figure, with all his oddities; clad ina suit of snuff brown, with a neat, quiet look about him, heand the saddle-bags and the white horse jogged on together asif they belonged to nothing else in the world but each other. In an ecstasy of fear and hope, Ellen watched the pace of theold horse to see if it gave any sign of slackening near thegate. Her breath came short, she hardly breathed at all, shewas trembling from head to foot. _Would_ he stop, or was hegoing on? Oh! the long agony of two minutes! He stopped. Ellenwent towards him. 

"What little gal is this?" said he. 

"I am Ellen Montgomery, Sir, " said Ellen, eagerly, "MissFortune's niece — I live here. "

"Stop a bit, " said the old man, taking up his saddle-bags;"Miss Fortune's niece, eh? Well, I believe as I've gotsomethin' for her — somethin' here. Aunt well, eh?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"That's more than you be, ain't it?" said he, glancingsideways at Ellen's face. "How do you know but I've got aletter for you here, eh?"

The colour rushed to that face, and she clasped her hands. 

"No, dear, no, " said he; "I han't got any for you — it's forthe old lady; there, run in with it, dear. "

But Ellen knew before she touched it that it was a foreignletter, and dashed into the house with it. Miss Fortune coollysent her back to pay the postage. 

When she came in again, her aunt was still reading the letter. But her look, Ellen _felt_, was unpromising. She did not ventureto speak — expectation was chilled. She stood till MissFortune began to fold up the paper. 

"Is there nothing for me?" she said then, timidly. 

"No. "

"Oh! why don't she write to me?" cried Ellen, bursting intotears. 

Miss Fortune stalked about the room, without any particularpurpose as far as could be seen. 

"It is very strange, " said Ellen, sorrowfully; "I am afraidshe is worse. Does papa say she is worse?"

"No. "

"Oh! if she had only sent me a message! I should think shemight — oh! I wish she had! — three words! — does papa say whyshe don't write?"

"No. "

"It is very strange!" repeated poor Ellen. 

"Your father talks of coming home, " said Miss Fortune, after afew minutes, during which Ellen had been silently weeping. 

"Home! — then she must be better!" said Ellen, with new life;"does papa say she is better?"

"No. "

"But what does he mean?" said Ellen, uneasily; "I don't seewhat he means; he doesn't say she is worse, and he doesn't sayshe is better; what does he say?"

"He don't say much about anything. "

"Does he say when they are coming home?"

Miss Fortune mumbled something about "spring, " and whisked offto the buttery; Ellen thought no more was to be got out ofher. She felt miserable. Her father and her aunt both seemedto act strangely; and where to find comfort she scarcely knew. She had one day been telling her doubts and sorrows to John. He did not try to raise her hopes, but said —

"Troubles will come in this world, Ellie; the best is to trustthem and ourselves to our dear Saviour, and let trials driveus to him. Seek to love him more, and to be patient under hiswill; the good Shepherd means nothing but kindness to any lambin his flock — you may be sure of that, Ellie. "

Ellen remembered his words, and tried to follow them now, butshe could not be "patient under his will" yet — not quite. Itwas very hard to be patient in such uncertainty. With swimmingeyes she turned over her Bible in search of comfort, and foundit. Her eye lit upon words she knew very well, but that werelike the fresh sight of a friend's face for all that, — "Letnot your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also inme. In my Father's house are many mansions. " There is noparting there, thought little Ellen. She cried a long time, but she was comforted, nevertheless. The heart that rests onthe blessed One who said those words can never be quitedesolate. 

For several days things went on in the old train, only heraunt, she thought, was sometimes rather queer — not quite asusual in her manner towards her. Mr. Van Brunt was not _rather_, but _very_ queer; he scarce spoke or looked at Ellen; bolteddown his food, and was off without a word; and even stayedaway entirely from two or three meals. She saw nobody else. Weather and other circumstances prevented her going to themountain. 

One afternoon, she was giving her best attention to a Frenchlesson, when she heard herself called. Miss Fortune was in thelower kitchen, dipping candles. Ellen ran down. 

"I don't know what's got into these candles, " said MissFortune. — "I can't make 'em hang together; the tallow ain'tgood, I guess. Where's the nearest place they keep bees?"

"They have got bees at Mrs. Hitchcock's, " said Ellen. 

"So they have in Egypt, for anything I know, " said her aunt;"one would be about as much good now as t'other. Mrs. Lowndes— that ain't far off. Put on your bonnet, Ellen, and run overthere, and ask her to let me have a little bees'-wax. I'll payher in something she likes best. "

"Does Mrs. Lowndes keep bee-hives?" said Ellen, doubtfully. 

"No; she makes the bees'-wax herself, " said Miss Fortune, inthe tone she always took when anybody presumed to suppose shemight be mistaken in anything. 

"How much shall I ask for?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, I don't know — a pretty good piece. "

Ellen was not very clear what quantity this might mean. However, she wisely asked no more questions, and set out uponher walk. It was hot and disagreeable; just the time of daywhen the sun had most power, and Mrs. Lowndes' house was abouthalf-way on the road to Alice's. It was not a place whereEllen liked to go, though the people always made much of her;she did not fancy them, and regularly kept out of their waywhen she could. Miss Mary Lawson was sitting with Mrs. Lowndesand her daughter, when Ellen came in and briefly gave heraunt's message. 

"Bees'-wax, " said Mrs. Lowndes — "well, I don't know — Howmuch does she want?"

"I don't know, Ma'am, exactly: she said a pretty good piece. "

"What's it for, do you know, honey?"

"I believe it's to put in some tallow for candles, " saidEllen; "the tallow was too soft, she said. "

"I didn't know Miss Fortune's tallow was ever anything but thehardest, " said Sarah Lowndes. 

"You had better not let your aunt know you've told on her, Ellen, " remarked Mary Lawson; "she won't thank you. "

"Had she a good lot of taller to make up?" inquired themother, preparing to cut her bees'-wax. 

"I don't know, Ma'am; she had a big kettle, but I don't knowhow full it was. "

"You may as well send a good piece, Ma, while you are aboutit, " said the daughter — "and ask her to let us have a pieceof her sage cheese, will you?"

"Is it worth while to weigh it?" whispered Mrs. Lowndes. 

Her daughter answered in the same tone, and Miss Mary joiningthem, a conversation of some length went on over the bees'-wax, which Ellen could not hear. The tones of the speakersbecame lower and lower; till at length her own name and anincautious sentence were spoken more distinctly, and reachedher. 

"Shouldn't you think Miss Fortune might put a black ribbon atleast on her bonnet?"

"Anybody but her would. "

"Hush!" They whispered again under breath. 

The words entered Ellen's heart like cold iron. She did notmove hand or foot; she sat motionless with pain and fear, yetwhat she feared she dared not think. When the bees'-wax wasgiven her, she rose up from her chair, and stood gazing intoMrs. Lowndes' face as if she had lost her senses. 

"My goodness, child, how you look!" said that lady. "What ailsyou, honey?"

"Ma'am, " said Ellen — "what was that you said, about —"

"About what, dear?" said Mrs. Lowndes, with a startled look atthe others. 

"About — a ribbon?" said Ellen, struggling to get the wordsout of white lips. 

"My goodness!" said the other; — "did you ever hear anythinglike that? — I didn't say nothing about a ribbon, dear. "

"Do you suppose her aunt han't told her?" said Miss Mary in anunder tone. 

"Told me what?" cried Ellen; — "Oh! what? — what?"

"I wish I was a thousand miles off!" said Mrs. Lowndes; — "Idon't know, dear — I don't know what it is — Miss Aliceknows. "

"Yes, ask Miss Alice, " said Mary Lawson; "she knows betterthan we do. "

Ellen looked doubtfully from one to the other; then, as "Goask Miss Alice, " was repeated on all sides, she caught up herbonnet, and flinging the bees'-wax from her hand, darted outof the house. Those she had left, looked at each other aminute in silence. 

"Ain't that too bad now!" exclaimed Mrs. Lowndes, crossing theroom to shut the door. "But what could I say?"

"Which way did she go?"

"I don't know I am sure — I had no head to look, or anythingelse. I wonder if I had ought to ha' told her. But I couldn'tha' done it. "

"Just look at her bees'-wax!" said Sarah Lowndes. 

"She will kill herself if she runs up the mountain at thatrate, " said Mary Lawson. 

They all made a rush to the door to look after her. 

"She ain't in sight, " said Mrs. Lowndes; — "if she's gone theway to the Nose, she's got as far as them big poplars already, or she'd be somewhere this side of 'em, where we could seeher. "

"You hadn't ought to ha' let her go, Ma'am, in all this sun, "said Miss Lowndes. 

"I declare, " said Mrs. Lowndes, "she scared me so, I hadn'tthree idees left in my head. I wish I knew where she was, though, poor little soul!"

Ellen was far on her way to the mountain, pressed forward by afear that knew no stay of heat or fatigue: they were little toher that day. She saw nothing on her way; all within andwithout were swallowed up in that one feeling; yet she darednot think what it was she feared. She put that by. Alice knew:Alice would tell her; on that goal her heart fixed, to thatshe pressed on; but oh! the while, what a cloud was gatheringover her spirit, and growing darker and darker! Her hurry ofmind and hurry of body made each other worse; it must be so;and when she at last ran round the corner of the house andburst in at the glass door, she was in a frightful state. 

Alice started up and faced her as she came in, but with a lookthat stopped Ellen short. She stood still; the colour in hercheeks, as her eyes read Alice's, faded quite away; words, andthe power to speak them were gone together. Alas! the need toutter them was gone too. Alice burst into tears, and held outher arms, saying only, "My poor child!" Ellen reached herarms, and strength and spirit seemed to fail there. Alicethought she had fainted; she laid her on the sofa, calledMargery, and tried the usual things, weeping bitterly herselfas she did so. It was not fainting, however; Ellen's sensessoon came back; but she seemed like a person stunned with agreat blow, and Alice wished grief had had any other effectupon her. It lasted for days. A kind of stupor hung over her;tears did not come; the violent strain of every nerve andfeeling seemed to have left her benumbed. She would sleeplong, heavy sleeps the greater part of the time, and seemed tohave no power to do anything else. 

Her adopted sister watched her constantly, and for those dayslived but to watch her. She had heard all Ellen's story fromMary Lawson and Mr. Van Brunt, who had both been to theparsonage — one on Mrs. Lowndes' part, the other on his own —to ask about her; and she dreaded that a violent fit ofillness might be brought on by all Ellen had undergone. Shewas mistaken, however. Ellen was not ill; but her whole mindand body bowed under the weight of the blow that had come uponher. As the first stupor wore off, there were, indeed, morelively signs of grief; she would weep till she wept her eyesout, and that often, but it was very quietly; no passionatesobbing, no noisy crying; sorrow had taken too strong hold tobe struggled with, and Ellen meekly bowed her head to it. Alice saw this with the greatest alarm. She had refused to lether go back to her aunt's; it was impossible to do otherwise;yet it may be that Ellen would have been better there. Thebusy industry to which she would have been forced at homemight have roused her; as it was, nothing drew her, andnothing could be found to draw her from her own thoughts. Herinterest in everything seemed to be gone. Books had lost theircharm. Walks and drives and staying at home were all one —except, indeed, that she rather liked best the latter. Appetite failed; her cheek grew colourless; and Alice began tofear that if a stop were not soon put to this gradual sinking, it would at last end with her life. But all her efforts werewithout fruit; and the winter was a sorrowful one not to Ellenalone. 

As it wore on, there came to be one thing in which Ellen againtook pleasure, and that was her Bible. She used to get aloneor into a corner with it, and turn the leaves over and over;looking out its gentle promises, and sweet comforting words tothe weak and the sorrowing. She loved to read about Christ —all he said and did; all his kindness to his people, andtender care of them; the love shown them here and the joysprepared for them hereafter. She began to cling more to thatone unchangeable Friend from whose love neither life nor deathcan sever those that believe in him; and her heart, tossed andshaken as it had been, began to take rest again in that happyresting-place with stronger affection, and even with greaterjoy, than ever before. Yet for all that, this joy often keptcompany with bitter weeping; the stirring of anything likepleasure roused sorrow up afresh, and though Ellen's look ofsadness grew less dark, Alice could not see that her face wasat all less white and thin. She never spoke of her mother, after once hearing when and where she had died; she neverhinted at her loss, except exclaiming in an agony, "I shallget no more letters!" and Alice dared not touch upon what thechild seemed to avoid so carefully: though Ellen sometimeswept on her bosom, and often sat for hours still and silent, with her head in her lap. 

The time drew nigh when John was expected home for theholidays. In the meanwhile they had had many visits from otherfriends. Mr. Van Brunt had come several times, enough to setthe whole neighbourhood a-wondering, if they had only knownit; his good old mother oftener still; Mrs. Vawse as often aspossible; Miss Fortune once; and that because, as she said toherself, "Everybody would be talking about what was none oftheir business if she didn't. " As neither she nor Ellen knewin the least what to say to each other, the visit was rather adull one, spite of all Alice could do. Jenny Hitchcock, andthe Huffs, and the Dennisons and others, came now and then;but Ellen did not like to see any of them all but Mrs. Vawse. Alice longed for her brother. 

He came at last, just before New Year. It was the middle of afine afternoon, and Alice and her father had gone in thesleigh to Carra-carra. Ellen had chosen to stay behind, butMargery did not know this, and of course did not tell John. After paying a visit to her in the kitchen, he had come backto the empty sitting-room, and was thoughtfully walking up anddown the floor, when the door of Alice's room slowly opened, and Ellen appeared. It was never her way, when she could helpit, to show violent feeling before other people; so she hadbeen trying to steel herself to meet John without crying, andnow came in with her little grave face, prepared not to giveway. His first look had like to overset it all. 

"Ellie!" said he; "I thought everybody was gone. My dearEllie!"

Ellen could hardly stand the tone of these three words, andshe bore with the greatest difficulty the kiss that followedthem; it took but a word or two more, and a glance at the oldlook and smile, to break down entirely all her guard. According to her usual fashion, she was rushing away; but Johnheld her fast, and, though gently, drew her close to him. 

"I will not let you forget that I am your brother, Ellie, "said he. 

Ellen hid her face on his shoulder, and cried as if she hadnever cried before. 

"Ellie, " said he after a while, speaking low and tenderly, "the Bible says, 'We have known and believed the love that Godhath towards us;' — have you remembered and believed thislately?"

Ellen did not answer. 

"Have you remembered that God loves every sinner that hasbelieved in his dear Son? — and loves them so well, that Hewill let nothing come near them to harm them? — and loves themnever better than when He sends bitter trouble on them? It iswonderful! but it is true. Have you thought of this, Ellie?"

She shook her head. 

"It is not in anger He does it; it is not that He hasforgotten you: it is not that He is careless of your tremblinglittle heart — never, never! If you are his child, all is donein love, and shall work good for you; and if we often cannotsee how, it is because we are weak and foolish, and can seebut a very little way. "

Ellen listened with her face hid on his shoulder. 

"Do you love Christ, Ellen?"

She nodded, weeping afresh. 

"Do you love him less since he has brought you into this greatsorrow?"

"No, " sobbed Ellen, "_more!_"

He drew her closer to his breast, and was silent a littlewhile. 

"I am very glad to hear you say that! — then all will be well. And haven't you the best reason to think that all _is_ well withyour dear mother?"

Ellen almost shrieked. Her mother's name had not been spokenbefore her in a great while, and she could hardly bear to hearit now. Her whole frame quivered with hysterical sobs. 

"Hush, Ellie!" said John, in a tone that, low as it was, somehow found its way through all her agitation, and calmedher like a spell; — "have you not good reason to believe thatall is well with her?"

"Oh, yes! — oh, yes!"

"She loved and trusted Him, too; and now she is with Him — shehas reached that bright home where there is no more sin, norsorrow, nor death. "

"Nor parting either, " sobbed Ellen, whose agitation wasexcessive. 

"Nor parting! — and though _we_ are parted from them, it is butfor a little; let us watch, and keep our garments clean, andsoon we shall be all together, and have done with tears forever. _She_ has done with them now. — Did you hear from heragain?"

"Oh, no! — not a word!"

"That is a hard trial. — But, in it all, believe, dear Ellie, the love that God hath towards us; — remember that our dearSaviour is near us, and feels for us, and is the same at alltimes. — And don't cry so, Ellie!"

He kissed her once or twice, and begged her to calm herself. For it seemed as if Ellen's very heart was flowing away in hertears; yet they were gentler and softer far than at thebeginning. The conversation had been a great relief. Thesilence between her and Alice on the thing always in her mind— a silence neither of them dared to break — had grownpainful. The spell was taken off; and though, at first, Ellen's tears knew no measure, she was easier even then; asJohn soothed her, and went on with his kind talk, graduallyleading it away from their first subject to other things, shegrew not only calm, but more peaceful at heart than months hadseen her. She was quite herself again before Alice came home. 

"You have done her good already, " exclaimed Alice, as soon asEllen was out of the room; — "I knew you would; I saw it inher face as soon as I came in. "

"It is time, " said her brother. "She is a dear little thing!"

The next day, in the middle of the morning, Ellen, to hergreat surprise, saw Sharp brought before the door, with theside-saddle on, and Mr. John carefully looking to the girth, and shortening the stirrup. 

"Why, Alice, " she exclaimed, "what is Mr. John going to do?"

"I don't know, Ellie, I am sure; he does queer thingssometimes. What makes you ask?"

Before she could answer, he opened the door. 

"Come, Ellen, go and get ready. Bundle up well, for it israther frosty. Alice, has she a pair of gloves that are warmenough? Lend her yours, and I'll see if I can find some atThirlwall. "

Ellen thought she would rather not go; to anybody else shewould have said so. Half a minute she stood still — then wentto put on her things. 

"Alice, you will be ready by the time we get back? — in halfan hour. "

Ellen had an excellent lesson, and her master took care itshould not be an easy one. She came back, looking as she hadnot done all winter. Alice was not quite ready; while waitingfor her, John went to the book-case and took down the firstvolume of Rollin's _Ancient History;_ and giving it to Ellen, hesaid he would talk with her to-morrow about the first twentypages. The consequence was, the hour and a half of theirabsence, instead of being moped away, was spent in hard study. A pair of gloves was bought at Thirlwall; Jenny Hitchcock'spony was sent for; and, after that, every day, when theweather would at all do, they took a long ride. By degrees, reading, and drawing, and all her studies, were added to thehistory, till Ellen's time was well filled with businessagain. Alice had endeavoured to bring this about before, butfruitlessly. What she asked of her, Ellen indeed _tried_ to do;what John told her, _was done_. She grew a different creature. Appetite came back; the colour sprang again to her cheek; hope— meek and sober as it was — re-lighted her eye. In hereagerness to please and satisfy her teacher, her whole soulwas given to the performance of whatever he wished her to do. The effect was all that he looked for. 

The second evening after he came, John called Ellen to hisside, saying he had something he wanted to read to her. It wasbefore candles were brought, but the room was full of lightfrom the blazing wood fire. Ellen glanced at his book as shecame to the sofa; it was a largish volume, in a black leathercover, a good deal worn; it did not look at all interesting. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"It is called, " said John, "_The Pilgrim's Progress from thisWorld to a better_. "

Ellen thought it did not _sound_ at all interesting. She hadnever been more mistaken in her life, and that she foundalmost as soon as he begun. Her attention was nailed; thelistless, careless mood in which she sat down was changed forone of rapt delight; she devoured every word that fell fromthe reader's lips; indeed they were given their fullest effectby a very fine voice and singularly fine reading. Wheneveranything might not be quite clear to Ellen, John stopped tomake it so; and with his help, and without it, many a lessonwent home. Next day she looked a long time for the book; itcould not be found; she was forced to wait until evening. Then, to her great joy, it was brought out again, and Johnasked her if she wished to hear some more of it. After that, every evening while he was at home, they spent an hour withthe "Pilgrim. " Alice would leave her work and come to thesofa, too; and with her head on her brother's shoulder, herhand in his, and Ellen's face leaning against his other arm, that was the common way they placed themselves to see andhear. No words can tell Ellen's enjoyment of those readings. They made her sometimes laugh and sometimes cry; they had muchto do in carrying on the cure which John's wisdom and kindnesshad begun. 

They came to the place where Christian loses his burden at thecross; and as he stood looking and weeping, three shining onescame to him. "The first said to him, 'Thy sins be forgiventhee;' the second stripped him of his rags, and clothed himwith a change of raiment; the third also set a mark on hisforehead. "

John explained what was meant by the rags and the change ofraiment. 

"And the mark in his forehead?" said Ellen. 

"That is the mark of God's children — the change wrought inthem by the Holy Spirit — the change that makes them differentfrom others, and different from their old selves. "

"Do all Christians have it?"

"Certainly. None can be a Christian without it. "

"But how can one tell whether one has it or no?" said Ellen, very gravely. 

"Carry your heart and life to the Bible, and see how theyagree. The Bible gives a great many signs and descriptions, bywhich Christians may know themselves — know both what they areand what they ought to be. If you find your own feelings andmanner of life at one with these Bible words, you may hopethat the Holy Spirit has changed you, and set his mark uponyou. "

"I wish you would tell me of one of those places, " said Ellen. 

"The Bible is full of them. 'To them that believe _Christ isprecious_, ' — there is one. 'If ye love me, _keep mycommandments;_' — 'He that saith he abideth in him, oughthimself also _so to walk even as he walked_' — 'O how _love I thylaw!_' The Bible is full of them, Ellie; but you have need toask for great help when you go to try yourself by them; theheart is deceitful. "

Ellen looked sober all the rest of the evening, and the nextday she pondered the matter a good deal. 

"I think I am changed, " she said to herself, at last. "Ididn't use to like to read the Bible, and now I do very much;— I never liked praying in old times, and now, oh! what shouldI do without it! I didn't love Jesus at all, but I am sure Ido now. I don't keep his commandments, but I do _try_ to keepthem; — I _must_ be changed a little. Oh! I wish Mamma had knownit before!"

Weeping with mixed sorrow and thankful joy, Ellen bent herhead upon her little Bible to pray that she might be _more_changed; and then, as she often did, raised the cover to lookat the texts in the beloved handwriting. 

"I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shallfind me. "

Ellen's tears were blinding her. "That has come true, " shethought. 

"I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee. "

"That has come true, too!" she said, almost in surprise — "andMamma believed it would. " — And then, as by a flash, came backto her mind the time it was written; she remembered how, whenit was done, her mother's head had sunk upon the open page —she seemed to see again the thin fingers tightly clasped — shehad not understood it then — she did now. "She was praying forme, " thought Ellen — "she was praying for me; she believedthat would come true. "

The book was dashed down, and Ellen fell upon her knees, in aperfect agony of weeping. 

Even this, when she was calm again, served to steady her mind. There seemed to be a link of communion between her mother andher that was wanting before. The promise, written and believedin by the one, realized and rejoiced in by the other, was adear something in common, though one had in the meanwhileremoved to heaven, and the other was still a lingerer on theearth. Ellen bound the words upon her heart. 

Another time, when they came to the last scene of Christian'sjourney, Ellen's tears ran very fast. John asked if he shouldpass it over, if it distressed her? She said, "Oh, no, it didnot distress her;" she wanted him to go on, and he went on, though himself much distressed, and Alice was near as bad asEllen. But the next evening, to his surprise, Ellen beggedthat before he went on to the second part, he would read thatpiece over again. And when he lent her the book, with only thecharge that she should not go further than he had been, shepored over that scene with untiring pleasure, till she almosthad it by heart. In short, never was a child more comfortedand contented with a book than Ellen was with the _Pilgrim'sProgress_. That was a blessed visit of John's. Alice said hehad come like a sunbeam into the house; she dreaded to thinkwhat would be when he went away. 

She wrote, him, however, when he had been gone a few weeks, that his will seemed to carry all before it, present orabsent. Ellen went on steadily mending — at least she did notgo back any. They were keeping up their rides, also theirstudies, most diligently; Ellen was untiring in her efforts todo whatever he had wished her, and was springing forward, Alice said, in her improvement. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

"This working-day world. "

The spring had come; and Alice and Ellen were looking forwardto pleasanter rides and walks, after the sun should have got alittle warmth, and the snow should be gone; when one morning, in the early part of March, Mr. Van Brunt made his appearance. Miss Fortune was not well, and had sent him to beg that Ellenwould come back to her. He was sorry, he said; — he knew Ellenwas in the best place; but her aunt wanted her, and "hes'posed she'd have to go. " He did not know what was the matterwith Miss Fortune; it was a little of one thing and a littleof another; "he s'posed she'd overdid, and it was a wonder, for he didn't know she _could_ do it. _She_ thought she was astough as a piece of shoe-leather, but even that could be woreout. "

Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set herself to gether things together; and, with Alice's help, in half an hourshe was ready to go. The parting was hard. They held eachother fast a good while, and kissed each other many times, without speaking. 

"Good-bye, dear Ellie, " whispered Alice at last — "I'll comeand see you soon. Remember what John said when he went away. "

Ellen did not trust herself to speak. She pulled herself awayfrom Alice, and turned to Mr. Van Brunt, saying, by hermanner, that she was ready. He took her bundle, and they wentout of the house together. 

Ellen made a manful effort, all the way down the hill, tostifle the tears that were choking her. She knew they wouldgreatly disturb her companion, and she did succeed, thoughwith great difficulty, in keeping them back. Luckily for her, he said hardly anything during the whole walk; she could nothave borne to answer a question. It was no fault of Mr. VanBrunt's that he was so silent — he was beating his brains thewhole way to think of something it would do to say, and couldnot suit himself. His single remark was, "that it was like tobe a fine spring for the maple, and he guessed they'd make aheap of sugar. "

When they reached the door, he told her she would find heraunt upstairs, and himself turned off to the barn. Ellenstopped a minute upon the threshold to remember the last timeshe had crossed it — and the _first_ time: how changedeverything now! — and the thought came, was _this_ now to be herhome for ever? She had need again to remember John's words. When bidding her good-bye, he had said, "My little pilgrim, Ihope you will keep the straight road, and win the praise ofthe servant who was faithful over a few things. " "I will try!"thought poor Ellen; and then she passed through the kitchen, and went up to her own room. Here, without stopping to think, she took off her things, gave one strange look at the oldfamiliar place, and her trunk in the corner, fell on her kneesfor one minute, and then went to her aunt's room. 

"Come in, " cried Miss Fortune when Ellen had knocked. "Well, Ellen, there you are. I am thankful it is you; I was afraid itmight be Mimy Lawson, or Sarah Lowndes, or some of the rest ofthe set; I know they'll all come scampering here as soon asthey hear I'm laid up. "

"Are you very sick, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen. 

"La! no, child — I shall be up again to-morrow; but I feltqueer this morning, somehow, and I thought I'd try lying down. I expect I've caught some cold. "

There was no doubt of this; but this was not all. Besidescatching cold, and doing her best to bring it about, MissFortune had overtasked her strength, and by dint of economy, housewifery, and _smartness_, had brought on herself the severepunishment of lying idle and helpless for a much longer timethan she at first reckoned on. 

"What can I do for you, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, nothing as I know, " said Miss Fortune — "only let mealone, and don't ask me anything, and keep people out of thehouse. Mercy! my head feels as if it would go crazy! Ellen, look here, " said she, raising herself on her elbow — "I won'thave anybody come into this house — if I lie here tilldoomsday, I won't! Now, you mind me. I ain't agoing to haveMimy Lawson, nor nobody else, poking all round into every holeand corner, and turning every cheese upside down to see what'sunder it. There ain't one of 'em too good for it, and theyshan't have a chance. They'll be streaking here, a dozen of'em, to help take care of the house; but I don't care whatbecomes of the house; I won't have anybody in it. Promise meyou won't let Mr. Van Brunt bring any one here to help; I knowI can trust you to do what I tell you; promise me!"

Ellen promised, a good deal gratified at her aunt's lastwords; and once more asked if she could do anything for her. 

"Oh, I don't know!" said Miss Fortune, flinging herself backon her pillow; — "I don't care what you do, if you only keepthe house clear. There's the clothes in the basket under thetable downstairs — you might begin to iron 'em; they're onlyrough dry. But don't come asking me about anything; I can'tbear it. — Ellen, don't let a soul go into the buttery exceptyourself. — And, Ellen! I don't care if you make me a littlecatnip-tea: the catnip's up in the store-room — the furthestdoor in the back attic — here's the keys. Don't go to fussingwith anything else there. "

Ellen thought the prospect before her rather doleful when shereached the kitchen. It was in order, to be sure, and clean;but it looked as if the mistress was away. The fire had goneout, the room was cold; even so little a matter as catnip-teaseemed a thing far off and hard to come by. While she stoodlooking at the great logs in the fireplace, which she couldhardly move, and thinking it was rather a dismal state ofthings, in came Mr. Van Brunt with his good-natured face, andwanted to know if he could do anything for her. The very roomseemed more comfortable as soon as his big figure was in it. He set about kindling the fire forthwith, while Ellen went upto the store-room. A well-filled store-room! Among otherthings, there hung at least a dozen bunches of dried herbsfrom one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew catnip, butafter smelling of two or three, she became utterly puzzled, and was fain to carry a leaf of several kinds down to Mr. VanBrunt to find out which was which. When she came down again, she found he had hung on the kettle for her, and swept up thehearth; so Ellen, wisely thinking it best to keep busy, putthe ironing blanket on the table, and folded the clothes, andset the irons to the fire. By this time the kettle boiled. Howto make catnip-tea Ellen did not exactly know, but supposed itmust follow the same rules as black tea, in the making ofwhich she felt herself very much at home. So she put a pinchor two of catnip leaves into the pot, poured a little water onthem, and left it to draw. Meanwhile came in kind Mr. VanBrunt with an armful or two of small short sticks for thefire, which Ellen could manage. 

"I wish I could stay here and take care of you all the while, "said he; "but I'll be round. If you want anything, you mustcome to the door and holler. "

Ellen began to thank him. 

"Just don't say anything about that, " said he, moving hishands as if he were shaking her thanks out of them; "I'd backall the wood you could burn every day for the pleasure ofhaving you hum again, if I didn't know you was better whereyou was; but I can't help that. Now, who am I going to get tostay with you? Who would you like to have. "

"Nobody, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen; "AuntFortune don't wish it, and I had rather not, indeed. "

He stood up and looked at her in amazement. 

"Why, you don't mean to say, " said he, "that you are thinking, or she is thinking, you can get along here without help?"

"I'll get along somehow, " said Ellen. "Never mind, please letme, Mr. Van Brunt; it would worry Aunt Fortune very much tohave anybody; don't say anything about it. "

"Worry her!" said he; and he muttered something Ellen did notquite understand, about "bringing the old woman to reason. "

However, he went off for the present; and Ellen filled up herteapot and carried it upstairs. Her old grandmother was awake;before, when Ellen was in the room, she had been napping; nowshe showed the greatest delight at seeing her — fondled her, kissed her, cried over her, and finally insisted on getting updirectly and going downstairs. Ellen received and returned hercaresses with great tenderness, and then began to help herrise and dress. 

"Yes, do, " said Miss Fortune; "I shall have a little betterchance of sleeping. My stars! Ellen, what do you call this?"

"Isn't it catnip?" said Ellen, alarmed. 

"Catnip! it tastes of nothing but the tea-kettle. It's as weakas dishwater. Take it down and make some more. How much didyou put in? — you want a good double-handful, stalks and all;make it strong. I can't drink such stuff as that. I think if Icould get into a sweat I should be better. "

Ellen went down, established her grandmother in her oldcorner, and made some more tea. Then her irons being hot, shebegan to iron; doing double duty at the same time, for Mrs. Montgomery had one of her talking fits on, and it wasnecessary to hear and answer a great many things. Presentlythe first visitor appeared in the shape of Nancy. 

"Well, Ellen!" said she, "so Miss Fortune is really sick foronce, and you are keeping house. Ain't you grand?"

"I don't feel very grand, " said Ellen. "I don't know what isthe matter with these clothes; I _cannot_ make 'em look smooth. "

"Irons ain't hot, " said Nancy. 

"Yes they are — too hot; I've scorched a towel already. "

"My goodness, Ellen! I guess you have. If Miss Fortune wasdown, you'd get it. Why, they're bone dry!" said Nancy, plunging her hand into the basket: "you haven't sprinkled 'em, have you?"

"To be sure, " said Ellen, with an awakened face, "I forgotit!"

"Here, get out of the way, _I'll_ do it for you, " said Nancy, rolling up her sleeves, and pushing Ellen from the table; "youjust get me a bowl of water, will you? and we'll have 'em donein no time. Who's a-coming to help you?"

"Nobody. "

"Nobody! you poor chicken; do you think you're a-going to doall the work of the house yourself?"

"No, " said Ellen, "but I can do a good deal, and the rest willhave to go. "

"You ain't going to do no such thing; I'll stay myself. "

"No, you can't, Nancy, " said Ellen, quietly. 

"I guess I will, if I've a mind to. I should like to know howyou'd help it: Miss Fortune's a-bed. "

"I could help it, though, " said Ellen; "but I am sure youwon't, when I ask you not. "

"I'll do anything you please, " said Nancy, "if you'll get MissFortune to let me stay. Come do, Ellen! It will be splendid!and I'll help you finely, and I won't bother you neither. Come, go ask her; if you don't, I will. "

"I can't, Nancy; she don't want anybody; and it worries her totalk to her. I can't go and ask her. "

Nancy impatiently flung down the cloth she was sprinkling, andran up stairs. In a few minutes she came down with atriumphant face, and bade Ellen go up to her aunt. 

"Ellen, " said Miss Fortune, "if I let Nancy stay will you takecare of the keys, and keep her out of the buttery?"

"I'll try to, Ma'am, as well as I can. "

"I'd as lief have her as anybody, " said Miss Fortune, "ifshe'd behave. She was with me a little in the winter. She issmart, and knows the ways. If I was sure she would behaveherself — but I am afraid she will go rampaging about thehouse like a wild cat. "

"I think I could prevent that, " said Ellen; who, to say truth, was willing to have anybody come to share what she felt wouldbe a very great burden. "She knows I could tell Mr. Van Bruntif she didn't do right, and she would be afraid of that. "

"Well, " said Miss Fortune, disconsolately, "let her stay, then. O, dear, to lie here! — but tell her if she don't dojust what you tell her, I'll have Mr. Van Brunt turn her outby the ears. And don't let her come near me, for she drives memad. And, Ellen, put the keys in your pocket. Have you got apocket in that dress?"

"Yes, Ma'am. "

"Put 'em in there, and don't take 'em out. Now, go. "

Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee; and the littlehousekeeper felt her mind a good deal easier; for though Nancyherself was somewhat of a charge, she was strong, and willing, and ready, and, if she liked anybody, liked Ellen. Mr. VanBrunt privately asked Ellen if she chose to have Nancy stay;and told her, if she gave her any trouble, to let him know, and he would make short work with her. The young lady herselfalso had a hint on the subject. 

"I'll tell you what, " said Nancy, when this business wassettled, — "we'll let the men go off to Mrs. Van Brunt's tomeals; we'll have enough to do without 'em. That's how MissFortune has fixed herself— she would have Sam and Johnny in toboard; they never used to, you know, afore this winter. "

"The men may go, " said Ellen, "but I had a great deal ratherMr. Van Brunt would stay than not — if we can only manage tocook things for him; we should have to do it, at any rate, forourselves, and for grandma. "

"Well — _I_ ain't as fond of him as all that, " said Nancy, "butit'll have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed himsomehow. "

Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the housefor supper. Ellen told him "plenty, " and would have him comein just as usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea;cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all in thebuttery; so that evening went off very quietly. 

When she came down the next morning, the fire was burningnicely, and the kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr. Van Brunt had slept in the kitchen; whether on the table, thefloor, or the chairs, was best known to himself; and beforegoing to his work, had left everything he could think of readydone to her hand; — wood for the fire, pails of water broughtfrom the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got outof the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when itsuddenly darted into her head that it was milking time. Inanother minute she had thrown open the door and was runningacross the chip-yard to the barn. There, in the old place, were all her old friends, both four-legged and two-legged; andwith great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf, andStreaky another superb one, brindled just like herself. Ellenlonged to get near enough to touch their little innocentheads, but it was impossible; and recollecting the business onher hands, she too danced away. 

"Whew!" said Nancy, when Ellen told her of the new inmates ofthe barn-yard; — "there'll be work to do! Get your milk-pansready, Ellen; in a couple of weeks we'll be making butter. "

"Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I hope, " said Ellen. 

"She won't, then, so you may just make up your mind to it. Dr. Gibson was to see her yesterday forenoon, and he stopped atMiss Lowndes' on his way back; and he said it was a chance ifshe got up again in a month and more. So, that's what it is, you see. "

"A month, and more. " It was all that. Miss Fortune was notdangerously ill; but part of the time in a low nervous fever, part of the time encumbered with other ailments, she lay fromweek to week, bearing her confinement very ill, and making itas disagreeable and burdensome as possible for Ellen to attendupon her. Those were weeks of trial. Ellen's patience andprinciple and temper were all put to the proof. She had nolove, in the first place, for household work, and now herwhole time was filled up with it. Studies could not be thoughtof. Reading was only to be had by mere snatches. Walks andrides were at an end. Often, when already very tired, she hadto run up and down stairs for her aunt, or stand and bathe herface and hands with vinegar, or read the paper to her, whenMiss Fortune declared she was so nervous she should fly out ofher skin if she didn't hear something besides the wind. Andvery often, when she was not wanted upstairs, her oldgrandmother would beg her to come and read to _her_ — perhaps atthe very moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best. Miss Fortune never could be put off; her old mother sometimescould, with a kiss and a promise — but not always; and then, rather than she should fret, Ellen would leave everything, andgive half an hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved todo this at other times; now it was sometimes burdensome. Nancycould not help her at all in these matters, for neither MissFortune nor the old lady would let her come near them. Besidesall this, there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen'smind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about thehouse; and under the effort to meet the charge, joined to theunceasing bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She wastired with Nancy's talk; she longed to be reading and studyingagain; she longed — oh! how she longed! — for Alice's andJohn's company again; and it was no wonder if she sometimescast very sad, longing looks further back still. Now and thenan old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John'swords; and often in the midst of her work, stopping short witha sort of pang of sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty ofdoing right, she would press her hands together and say toherself, "I will try to be a good pilgrim!" Her morning hourof prayer was very precious now; and her Bible grew more andmore dear. Little Ellen found its words a mighty refreshment;and often when reading it she loved to recall what Alice hadsaid at this and the other place, and John, and Mr. Marshman, and before them her mother. The passages about heaven, whichshe well remembered reading to her one particular morning, became great favourites; they were joined with her mother inEllen's thoughts; and she used to go over and over them tillshe nearly knew them by heart. 

"What _do_ you keep reading that for, the whole time?" saidNancy, one day. 

"Because I like to, " said Ellen. 

"Well, if you do, you're the first one ever I saw that did. "

"Oh, Nancy!" said Ellen, — "your grandma?"

"Well, she does, I believe, " said Nancy; "for she's always atit; but all the rest of the folks that ever I saw are happy toget it out of their hands, _I_ know. They think they must read alittle, and so they do, and they are too glad if somethinghappens to break 'em off. You needn't tell _me_ — I've seen'em. "

"I wish _you_ loved it, Nancy, " said Ellen. 

"Well, what do you love it for? Come, let's hear; maybe you'llconvert me. "

"I love it for a great many reasons, " said Ellen, who had somedifficulty in speaking of what she felt Nancy could notunderstand. 

"Well — I ain't any wiser yet. "

"I like to read it because I want to go to heaven, and ittells me how. "

"But what's the use?" said Nancy — "you ain't going to die yet— you are too young — you've time enough. "

"Oh, Nancy! — little John Dolan, and Eleanor Parsons, and MaryHuff — all younger than you and I; how can you say so?"

"Well, " said Nancy — "at any rate, that ain't reading itbecause you love it — it's because you must, like otherfolks. "

"That's only one of my reasons, " said Ellen, hesitating, andspeaking gravely; — "I like to read about the Saviour, andwhat he has done for me, and what a friend he will be to me, and how he forgives me. I had rather have the Bible, Nancy, than all the other books in the world. "

"That ain't saying much, " said Nancy — "but how come you to beso sure you are forgiven?"

"Because the Bible says, 'He that believeth on him shall notbe ashamed, ' and I believe in him — and that he will not castout any one that comes to him, and I have come to him — andthat he loves those that love him, and I love him. If it didnot speak so very plainly, I should be afraid, but it makes mehappy to read such verses as these. I wish you knew, Nancy, how happy it makes me. "

This profession of faith was not spoken without startingtears. Nancy made no reply. 

As Miss Fortune had foretold, plenty of people came to thehouse with proffers of service. Nancy's being there made iteasy for Ellen to get rid of them all. Many were the marvelsthat Miss Fortune should trust her house to "two girls likethat, " and many the guesses that she would rue it when she gotup again. People were wrong. Things went on very steadily, andin an orderly manner; and Nancy kept the peace as she wouldhave done in few houses. Bold and insolent as she sometimeswas to others, she regarded Ellen with a mixed notion ofrespect and protection, which led her at once to shun doinganything that would grieve her, and to thrust her aside fromevery heavy or difficult job, taking the brunt herself. Nancymight well do this, for she was at least twice as strong asEllen; but she would not have done it for everybody. 

There were visits of kindness as well as visits ofofficiousness. Alice and Mrs. Van Brunt and Margery, one orthe other every day. Margery would come in and mix up a batchof bread; Alice would bring a bowl of butter or a basket ofcake; and Mrs. Van Brunt sent whole dinners. Mr. Van Brunt wasthere always at night, and about the place as much as possibleduring the day; when obliged to be absent, he stationed SamLarkens to guard the house, also to bring wood and water, anddo whatever he was bid. All the help, however, that was givenfrom abroad could not make Ellen's life an easy one; Mr. VanBrunt's wishes that Miss Fortune would get up again began tocome very often. The history of one day may serve for thehistory of all those weeks. 

It was in the beginning of April. Ellen came downstairs early, but come when she would, she found the fire made and thekettle on. Ellen felt a little as if she had not quite sleptoff the remembrance of yesterday's fatigue; however, that wasno matter, she set to work. She swept up the kitchen, got hermilk-strainer and pans ready upon the buttery shelf, and beganto set the table. By the time this was half done, in came SamLarkens with two great pails of milk, and Johnny Low followedwith another. They were much too heavy for Ellen to lift, buttrue to her charge, she let no one come into the buttery butherself; she brought the pans to the door, where Sam filledthem for her, and as each was done she set it in its place onthe shelf. This took some time, for there were eight of them. She had scarce wiped up the spilt milk and finished settingthe table, when Mr. Van Brunt came in. 

"Good morning!" said he. "How d'ye do to-day?"

"Very well, Mr. Van Brunt. "

"I wish you'd look a little redder in the face. Don't you betoo busy. Where's Nancy?"

"Oh, she's busy, out with the clothes. "

"Same as ever upstairs? — What are you going to do forbreakfast, Ellen?"

"I don't know, Mr. Van Brunt; there isn't anything cooked inthe house; we have eaten everything up. "

"Cleaned out, eh? Bread and all?"

"Oh, no, not bread; there's plenty of that, but there'snothing else. "

"Well never mind; — you bring me a ham and a dozen of eggs, and I'll make you a first-rate breakfast. "

Ellen laughed, for this was not the first time Mr. Van Brunthad acted as cook for the family. While she got what he hadasked for, and bared a place on the table for his operations, he went to the spout and washed his hands. 

"Now, a sharp knife, Ellen, and the frying-pan and a dish —and that's all I want of you. "

Ellen brought them, and while he was busy with the ham, shemade the coffee, and set it by the side of the fire to boil;got the cream and butter, and set the bread on the table; andthen set herself down to rest, and amuse herself with Mr. VanBrunt's cookery. He was no mean hand: his slices of ham werevery artist-like, and frying away in the most unexceptionablemanner. Ellen watched him, and laughed at him, till the hamwas taken out and all the eggs broke in; then, after seeingthat the coffee was right, she went upstairs to dress hergrandmother — always the last thing before breakfast. 

"Who's frying ham and eggs downstairs?" inquired Miss Fortune. 

"Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen. 

This answer was unexpected. Miss Fortune tossed her head overin a dissatisfied kind of way, and told Ellen to "tell him tobe careful. "

"Of what?" thought Ellen; and wisely concluded with herselfnot to deliver the message, very certain she should laugh ifshe did, and she had running in her head an indistinct notionof the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother. "

Breakfast was ready, but no one there when she got down-stairs. She placed her grandmother at table, and called Nancy, who all this time had been getting the clothes out of therinsing water and hanging them out on the line to dry; saidclothes having been washed the day before by Miss SarahLowndes, who came there for the purpose. Ellen poured out thecoffee, and then in came Mr. Van Brunt with a head of earlylettuce, which he had pulled in the garden and washed at thespout. Ellen had to jump up again to get the salt and pepperand vinegar; but she always jumped willingly for Mr. VanBrunt. The meals were pleasanter during those weeks than inall the time Ellen had been in Thirlwall before; or shethought so. That sharp eye at the head of the table waspleasantly missed. They with one accord sat longer at meals;more talking and laughing went on; nobody felt afraid of beingsnapped up. Mr. Van Brunt praised Ellen's coffee (he hadtaught her how to make it), and she praised his ham and eggs. Old Mrs. Montgomery praised everything, and seemed to be inparticular comfort; talked as much as she had a mind, and wasrespectfully attended to. Nancy was in high feather; and theclatter of knives and forks and tea-cups went on verypleasantly. But at last, chairs were pushed from the table, and work began again. 

Nancy went back to her tubs. Ellen supplied her grandmotherwith her knitting, and filled her snuff-box; cleared thetable, and put up the dishes ready for washing. Then she wentinto the buttery to skim the cream. This was a part of thework she liked. It was heavy lifting the pans of milk to theskimming shelf before the window, but as Ellen drew her spoonround the edge of the cream, she liked to see it wrinkle up inthick, yellow, leathery folds, showing how deep and rich itwas — it looked half butter already. She knew how to take itoff now, very nicely. The cream was set by in a vessel forfuture churning, and the milk, as each pan was skimmed, waspoured down the wooden trough, at the left of the window, through which it went into a great hogshead at the lowerkitchen door. 

This done, Ellen went up stairs to her aunt. Dr. Gibson alwayscame early, and she and her room must be put in apple-pieorder first. It was a long, wearisome job. Ellen brought thebasin for her, to wash her face and hands; then combed herhair, and put on her clean cap. That was always the firstthing. The next was to make the bed; and for this MissFortune, weak or strong, wrapped herself up and tumbled outupon the floor. When she was comfortably placed again, Ellenhad to go through a laborious dusting of the room and all thethings in it, even taking a dustpan and brush to the floor, ifany speck of dust or crumbs could be seen there. Every rung ofevery chair must be gone over, though never so clean; everyarticle put up or put out of the way; Miss Fortune made themost of the little province of housekeeping that was left her;and a fluttering tape, escaping through the crack of the door, would have put her whole spirit topsy-turvy. When all was toher mind, and not before, she would have her breakfast, — onlygruel and biscuit, or toast and tea, or some such trifle, butEllen must prepare it, and bring it up stairs, and wait tillit was eaten. And very particularly it must be prepared, andvery faultlessly it must be served, or, with an impatientexpression of disgust, Miss Fortune would send it down again. On the whole, Ellen always thought herself happy when thispart of her day was well over. 

When she got down this morning she found the kitchen in niceorder, and Nancy standing by the fire in a little sort ofpause, having just done the breakfast dishes. 

"Well!" said Nancy — "what are you going to do now?"

"Put away these dishes, and then churn, " said Ellen. 

"My goodness! so you are. What's going to be for dinner, Ellen?"

"That's more than I know, " said Ellen, laughing. "We haveeaten up Mrs. Van Brunt's pie, and washed the dish — there'snothing but some cold potatoes. "

"_That_ won't do, " said Nancy. "I tell you what, Ellen — we'lljust boil pot for to-day; somebody else will send us somethingby to-morrow most likely. "

"I don't know what you mean by 'boil pot, ' " said Ellen. 

"Oh, you don't know everything yet, by half. _I_ know — I'll fixit. You just give me the things, Miss Housekeeper, that's allyou've got to do; I want a piece of pork and a piece of beef, and all the vegetables you've got. "

"All?" said Ellen. 

"Every soul on 'em. Don't be scared, Ellen; you shall see whatI can do in the way of cookery — if you don't like it youneedn't eat it. What have you got in the cellar?"

"Come and see, and take what you want, Nancy; there is plentyof potatoes and carrots and onions, and beets, I believe — theturnips are all gone. "

"Parsnips out in the yard, ain't there?"

"Yes, but you'll have to do with a piece of pork, Nancy; Idon't know anything about beef. "

While Nancy went round the cellar, gathering in her apron thevarious roots she wanted, Ellen uncovered the pork barrel, and, after looking a minute at the dark pickle she never lovedto plunge into, bravely bared her arm, and fished up a pieceof pork. 

"Now, Nancy, just help me with this churn out of the cellar, will you? and then you may go. "

"My goodness! it is heavy, " said Nancy. "You'll have a time ofit, Ellen; but I can't help you. "

She went off to the garden for parsnips, and Ellen quietly putin the dasher and the cover, and began to churn. It wastiresome work. The churn was pretty full, as Nancy had said;the cream was rich and cold, and at the end of half an hourgrew very stiff. It splattered and sputtered up on Ellen'sface and hands, and frock and apron, and over the floor; legsand arms were both weary; but still that pitiless dasher mustgo up and down, hard as it might be to force it either way —she must not stop. In this state of matters she heard a pairof thick shoes come clumping down the stairs, and beheld Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Here you are!" said he. "Churning! — Been long at it?"

"A good while, " said Ellen, with a sigh. 

"Coming?"

"I don't know when. "

Mr. Van Brunt stepped to the door, and shouted for SamLarkens. He was ordered to take the churn and bring thebutter; and Ellen, very glad of a rest, went out to amuseherself with feeding the chickens, and then up stairs to seewhat Nancy was doing. 

"Butter come?" said Nancy. 

"No, Sam has taken it. How are you getting on? Oh, I amtired!"

"I'm getting on first-rate; I've got all the things in. "

"In what?"

"Why, in the pot! — in a pot of water, boiling away as fast asthey can; we'll have dinner directly. Hurra! who comes there?"

She jumped to the door. It was Thomas, bringing Margery'srespects, and a custard-pie for Ellen. 

"I declare, " said Nancy, "it's a good thing to have friends, ain't it? I'll try and get some. Hollo? what's wanting? — Mr. Van Brunt's calling you, Ellen. "

Ellen ran down. 

"The butter's come, " said he. "Now, do you know what to dowith it?"

"Oh, yes, " said Ellen, smiling; "Margery showed me nicely. "

He brought her a pail of water from the spout, and stood bywith a pleased kind of look, while she carefully lifted thecover and rinsed down the little bits of butter which stuck toit and the dasher; took out the butter with her ladle into alarge wooden bowl, washed it, and finally salted it. 

"Don't take too much pains, " said he; "the less of the hand itgets, the better. That will do very well. "

"Now, are you ready?" said Nancy, coming down stairs, — "causedinner is. My goodness! ain't that a fine lot of butter?there's four pounds, ain't there?"

"Five, " said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"And as sweet as it can be, " said Ellen. "Beautiful, isn't it?Yes, I'm ready as soon as I set this in the cellar and coverit up. "

Nancy's dish — the pork, potatoes, carrots, beets, andcabbage, all boiled in the same pot together — was found verymuch to everybody's taste, except Ellen's. She made her dinneroff potatoes and bread, the former of which she declared, laughing, were very porky and cabbagy; her meal would havebeen an extremely light one, had it not been for the custard-pie. 

After dinner, new labours began. Nancy had forgotten to hangon a pot of water for the dishes; so, after putting away theeatables in the buttery, while the water was heating, Ellenwarmed some gruel, and carried it, with a plate of biscuit, upstairs to her aunt. But Miss Fortune said she was tired ofgruel, and couldn't eat it; she must have some milk porridge;and she gave Ellen very particular directions how to make it. Ellen sighed only once as she went down with her despised dishof gruel, and set about doing her best to fulfil her aunt'swishes. The first dish of milk she burnt; — another sigh andanother trial; — better care this time had better success, andEllen had the satisfaction to see her aunt perfectly suitedwith her dinner. 

When she came down with the empty bowl, Nancy had a pile ofdishes ready washed, and Ellen took the towel to dry them. Mrs. Montgomery, who had been in an uncommonly quiet fit allday, now laid down her knitting, and asked if Ellen would notcome and read to her. 

"Presently, Grandma, — as soon as I have done here. "

"I know somebody that's tired, " said Nancy. "I tell you what, Ellen, — you had better take to liking pork; you can't work onpotatoes. I ain't tired a bit. There's somebody coming to thedoor again! Do run and open it, will you? my hands are wet. Iwonder why folks can't come in without giving so muchtrouble. "

It was Thomas again, with a package for Ellen, which had justcome, he said, and Miss Alice thought she would like to haveit directly. Ellen thanked her, and thanked him, with a facefrom which all signs of weariness had fled away. The parcelwas sealed up, and directed in a hand she was pretty sure sheknew. Her fingers burned to break the seal; but she would notopen it there, neither leave her work unfinished; she went onwiping the dishes, with trembling hands and a beating heart. 

"What's that?" said Nancy; "what did Thomas Grimes want? —what have you got there?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, smiling; "something good, Iguess. "

"Something good? is it something to eat?"

"No, " said Ellen — "I didn't mean anything to eat when I saidsomething good; I don't think those are the best things. "

To Ellen's delight, she saw that her grandmother had forgottenabout the reading, and was quietly taking short naps, with herhead against the chimney. So she put away the last dish, andthen seized her package and flew up-stairs. She was sure ithad come from Doncaster; she was right. It was a beautifulcopy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, — on the first leaf written, "To my little sister Ellen Montgomery, from J. H. ;" and withinthe cover lay a letter. This letter Ellen read in the courseof the next six days, at least twice as many times; and neverwithout crying over it. 

"Alice has told me, " said John, "about your new troubles. There is said to be a time 'when the clouds return after therain. ' I am sorry, my little sister, this time should come toyou so early. I often think of you, and wish I could be nearyou. Still, dear Ellie, the good Husbandman knows what hisplants want; do you believe that, and can you trust him? Theywould have nothing but sunshine if that was good for them. Heknows it is not; so there come clouds and rains, and 'stormywind fulfilling his will. ' And what is it all for? — 'Hereinis my Father glorified, _that ye bear much fruit;_' do notdisappoint his purpose, Ellie. We shall have sunshine enoughby-and-by — but I know it is hard for so young a one as mylittle sister to look much forward; so do not look forward, Ellie; look up! look off unto Jesus from all your duties, troubles, and wants; he will help you in them all. The moreyou look up to him, the more he will look down to you; and heespecially said, 'Suffer _little children_ to come unto me;' yousee you are particularly invited. "

Ellen was a long time upstairs, and when she came down, it waswith red eyes. 

Mrs. Montgomery was now awake, and asked for the readingagain; and for three-quarters of an hour Ellen and she werequietly busy with the Bible. Nancy, meanwhile, was downstairswashing the dairy things. When her grandmother released her, Ellen had to go up to wait upon her aunt; after which, shewent into the buttery, and skimmed the cream, and got the pansready for the evening milk. By this time it was five o'clock, and Nancy came in with the basket of dry clothes; at whichEllen looked with the sorrowful consciousness that they mustbe sprinkled and folded by-and-by, and ironed to-morrow. Ithappened, however, that Jane Huff came in just then, with aquantity of hot short-cake for tea; and seeing the basket, shevery kindly took the business of sprinkling and folding uponherself. This gave Ellen spirits to carry out a plan she hadlong had, to delight the whole family with some eggs, scrambled in Margery's fashion; after the milk was strainedand put away, she went about it, while Nancy set the table. Anice bed of coals was prepared; the spider set over them; theeggs broken in, peppered and salted; and she began carefullyto stir them as she had seen Margery do. But instead of actingright, the eggs maliciously stuck fast to the spider andburned. Ellen was confounded. 

"How much butter did you put in?" said Mr. Van Brunt, who hadcome in, and stood looking on. 

"Butter!" said Ellen, looking up; "oh, I forgot all about it —I ought to have put that in, oughtn't I? — I'm sorry!"

"Never mind, " said Mr. Van Brunt— " 'tain't worth your beingsorry about. Here Nancy — clean us off this spider, and we'lltry again. "

At this moment Miss Fortune was heard screaming; Ellen ran up. 

"What did she want?" said Mr. Van Brunt, when she came downagain. 

"She wanted to know what was burning. "

"Did you tell her?"

"Yes. "

"Well, what did she say?"

"Said I mustn't use any more eggs without asking her. "

"That ain't fair play, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "you and I are thehead of the house now, I take it. You just use as many on 'emas you've a mind; and all you spile, I'll fetch you again fromhum. That's you, Nancy! Now, Ellen, here's the spider; try itagain; let's have plenty of butter in this time, and plenty ofeggs, too. "

This time the eggs were scrambled to a nicety, and the suppermet with great favour from all parties. 

Ellen's day was done when the dishes were. The whole familywent early to bed. She was weary — but she could rest well. She had made her old grandmother comfortable; she had kept thepeace with Nancy; she had pleased Mr. Van Brunt; she hadfaithfully served her aunt. Her sleep was uncrossed by adream, untroubled by a single jar of conscience. And herawaking to another day of labour, though by no means joyful, was yet not unhopeful or unhappy. 

She had a hard trial a day or two after. It was in the end ofthe afternoon; she had her big apron on, and was in thebuttery skimming the milk, when she heard the kitchen dooropen, and footsteps enter the kitchen. Out went little Ellento see who it was, and there stood Alice and old Mr. Marshman!He was going to take Alice home with him the next morning, andwanted Ellen to go too; and they had come to ask her. Ellenknew it was impossible — that is, that it would not be right, and she said so; and in spite of Alice's wistful look, and Mr. Marshman's insisting, she stood her ground. Not without somedifficulty, and some glistening of the eyes. They had to giveit up. Mr. Marshman then wanted to know what she meant byswallowing herself up in an apron in that sort of way? soEllen had him into the buttery, and showed him what she hadbeen about. He would see her skim several pans, and laughed ather prodigiously; though there was a queer look about hiseyes, too, all the time. And when he went away, he held her inhis arms, and kissed her again and again; and said that "someof these days he would take her away from her aunt, and sheshould have her no more. " Ellen stood and looked after themtill they were out of sight, and then went upstairs and had agood cry. 

The butter-making soon became quite too much for Ellen tomanage; so Jane Huff and Jenny Hitchcock were engaged to comeby turns, and do the heavy part of it; all within the butterybeing still left to Ellen, for Miss Fortune would have no oneelse go there. It was a great help to have them take even somuch off her hands; and they often did some other little oddjobs for her. The milk, however, seemed to increase as fast asthe days grew longer, and Ellen could not find that she wasmuch less busy. The days were growing pleasant, too; soft airsbegan to come; the grass was of a beautiful green; the buds onthe branches began to swell, and on some trees to put out. When Ellen had a moment of time she used to run across thechip-yard to the barn, or round the garden, or down to thebrook, and drink in the sweet air, and the lovely sights, which never had seemed quite so lovely before. If once in awhile she could get half an hour before tea, she used to takeher book and sit down on the threshold of the front door, oron the big log under the apple-tree, in the chip-yard. Inthose minutes the reading was doubly sweet; or else, theloveliness of earth and sky was such, that Ellen could nottake her eyes from them, till she saw Sam or Johnny coming outof the cow-house door with the pails of milk, or heard theirheavy tramp over the chips — then she had to jump and run. Those were sweet half-hours. Ellen did not at first know howmuch reason she had to be delighted with her _Pilgrim'sProgress:_ she saw, to be sure, that it was a fine copy, well-bound, with beautiful cuts. But when she came to look further, she found all through the book, on the margin, or at thebottom of the leaves, in John's beautiful hand-writing, agreat many notes; simple, short, plain, exactly what wasneeded to open the whole book to her, and make it of thegreatest possible use and pleasure. Many things she rememberedhearing from his lips when they were reading it together;there was a large part of the book where all was new; the parthe had not had time to finish. How Ellen loved the book andthe giver, when she found these beautiful notes, it isimpossible to tell. She counted it her greatest treasure, nextto her little red Bible. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Brownie. 

In the course of time Miss Fortune showed signs of mending;and at last, towards the latter end of April, she was able tocome downstairs. All parties hailed this event, for differentreasons; even Nancy was growing tired of her regular life, andwilling to have a change. Ellen's joy was, however, soondiminished by the terrible rummaging which took place. MissFortune's hands were yet obliged to lie still, but her eyesdid double duty; _they_ were never known to be idle in the bestof times, and it seemed to Ellen now as if they were takingamends for all their weeks of forced rest. Oh, those eyes!Dust was found where Ellen never dreamed of looking for any —things were said to be dreadfully "in the way" where she hadnever found it out — disorder and dirt were groaned over, where Ellen did not know the fact, or was utterly ignorant howto help it — waste was suspected where none had been, andcarelessness charged where rather praise was due. Impatient tohave things to her mind, and as yet unable to do anythingherself, Miss Fortune kept Nancy and Ellen running, till bothwished her back in bed; and even Mr. Van Brunt grumbled, that"to pay Ellen for having grown white and poor, her aunt wasgoing to work the little flesh she had left off her bones. " Itwas rather hard to bear, just when she was looking for ease, too — her patience and temper were more tried than in allthose weeks before. But if there was small pleasure inpleasing her aunt, Ellen did earnestly wish to please God: shestruggled against ill-temper, prayed against it, and, thoughshe often blamed herself in secret, she did so go through thatweek as to call forth Mr. Van Brunt's admiration, and even tostir a little the conscience of her aunt. Mr. Van Bruntcomforted her with the remark, that "it is darkest just beforeday;" and so it proved. Before the week was at an end, MissFortune began, as she expressed it, to "take hold:" JennyHitchcock and Jane Huff were excused from any more butter-making; Nancy was sent away; Ellen's labours were muchlightened; and the house was itself again. 

The third of May came. For the first time in near two months, Ellen found in the afternoon she could be spared awhile; therewas no need to think twice what she would do with her leisure. Perhaps Margery could tell her something of Alice! Hastily andjoyfully she exchanged her working frock for a merino, put onnice shoes and stockings, and ruffle again, and taking herbonnet and gloves to put on out of doors, away she ran. Whocan tell how pleasant it seemed, after so many weeks, to beable to walk abroad again, and to walk to the mountain! Ellensnuffed the sweet air, skipped on the green sward, pickednosegays of grass and dandelions, and at last, unable tocontain herself, set off to run. Fatigue soon brought this toa stop; then she walked more leisurely on, enjoying. It was alovely spring day. Ellen's eyes were gladdened by it; she feltthankful in her heart that God had made everything sobeautiful; she thought it was pleasant to think _He_ had madethem, pleasant to see in them everywhere so much of thewisdom, and power, and goodness, of Him she looked up to withjoy as her best friend. She felt quietly happy, and sure Hewould take care of her. Then a thought of Alice came into herhead; she set off to run again, and kept it up this time tillshe got to the old house and ran round the corner. She stoppedat the shed door, and went through into the lower kitchen. 

"Why, Miss Ellen, dear!" exclaimed Margery — "if that isn'tyou! Aren't you come in the _very_ nick of time! How _do_ you do?I am very glad to see you — uncommon glad, to be sure. Whatwitch told you to come here just now? Run in; run into theparlour, and see what you'll find there. "

"Has Alice come back?" cried Ellen. But Margery only laughedand said — "Run in!"

Up the steps, through the kitchen, and across the hall, Ellenran — burst open the parlour door — and was in Alice's arms. There were others in the room, but Ellen did not seem to knowit, clinging to her, and holding her in a fast, glad embrace, till Alice bade her look up, and attend to somebody else. Andthen she was seized round the neck by little Ellen Chauncey!and then came her mother, and then Miss Sophia. The twochildren were overjoyed to see each other, while their joy wastouching to see, from the shade of sorrow in the one, and ofsympathy in the other. Ellen was scarcely less glad to seekind Mrs. Chauncey; Miss Sophia's greeting, too, was veryaffectionate. But Ellen returned to Alice, and rested herselfin her lap, with one arm round her neck, the other hand beingin little Ellen's grasp. 

"And now you are happy, I suppose?" said Miss Sophia, whenthey were thus placed. 

"Very, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"Ah, but you'll be happier by-and-by, " said Ellen Chauncey. 

"Hush, Ellen!" said Miss Sophia; — "what curious thingschildren are! — You didn't expect to find us all here, didyou, Ellen Montgomery?"

"No, indeed, Ma'am, " said Ellen, drawing Alice's cheek nearerfor another kiss. 

"We have but just come, Ellie, " said her sister. "I should nothave been long in finding you out. My child, how thin you havegot. "

"Oh, I'll grow fat again now, " said Ellen. 

"How is Miss Fortune?"

"Oh, she is up again and well. "

"Have you any reason to expect your father home, Ellen?" saidMrs. Chauncey. 

"Yes, Ma'am; — aunt Fortune says perhaps he will be here in aweek. "

"Then you are very happy in looking forward, aren't you?" saidMiss Sophia, not noticing the cloud that had come over Ellen'sbrow. 

Ellen hesitated— coloured — coloured more — and finally, witha sudden motion, hid her face against Alice. 

"When did he sail, Ellie?" said Alice, gravely. 

"In the _Duc d'Orleans_ — he said he would —"

"_When?_"

"The fifth of April. — Oh, I can't help it!" exclaimed Ellen, failing in the effort to control herself; she clasped Alice asif she feared even then the separating hand. Alice bent herhead down, and whispered words of comfort. 

"Mamma!" said little Ellen Chauncey, under her breath, andlooking solemn to the last degree — "don't Ellen want to seeher father?"

"She's afraid that he may take her away where she will not bewith Alice any more; and you know she has no mother to go to. "

"Oh!" said Ellen, with a very enlightened face; — "but hewon't, will he?"

"I hope not; I think not. "

Cheered again, the little girl drew near, and silently tookone of Ellen's hands. 

"We shall not be parted, Ellie, " said Alice — "you need notfear. If your father takes you away from your aunt Fortune, Ithink it will be only to give you to me. You need not fearyet. "

"Mamma says so too, Ellen, " said her little friend. 

This was strong consolation. Ellen looked up and smiled. 

"Now come with me, " said Ellen Chauncey, pulling her hand — "Iwant you to show me something; let's go down to the garden—come, exercise is good for you. "

"No, no, " said her mother smiling — "Ellen has had exerciseenough lately; you mustn't take her down to the garden now;you would find nothing there. Come here!"

A long whisper followed, which seemed to satisfy little Ellen, and she ran out of the room. Some time passed in pleasant talkand telling all that had happened since they had seen eachother; then little Ellen came back and called Ellen Montgomeryto the glass door, saying she wanted her to look at something. 

"It is only a horse we brought with us, " said Miss Sophia. "Ellen thinks it is a great beauty, and can't rest till youhave seen it. "

Ellen went accordingly to the door. There, to be sure, wasThomas before it, holding a pony bridled and saddled. He wascertainly a very pretty, little creature; brown all overexcept one white forefoot; his coat shone, it was so glossy;his limbs were fine; his eye gentle and bright; his tail longenough to please the children. He stood as quiet as a lamb, whether Thomas held him or not. 

"Oh, what a beauty!" said Ellen — "what a lovely littlehorse!"

"Ain't he!" said Ellen Chauncey — "and he goes so beautifullybesides, and never starts nor nothing; and he is as good-natured as a little dog. "

"As a _good-natured_ little dog, she means, Ellen, " said MissSophia — "there are little dogs of very various character. "

"Well, he looks good-natured, " said Ellen. "What a prettyhead! — and what a beautiful new side-saddle, and all! I neversaw such a dear little horse in my life. Is it yours, Alice?"

"No, " said Alice, "it is a present to a friend of Mr. Marshman's. "

"She'll be a very happy friend, I should think, " said Ellen. 

"That's what I said, " said Ellen Chauncey, dancing up and down— "that's what I said. I said you'd be happier by-and-by, didn't I?"

"I?" said Ellen, colouring. 

"Yes, you — you are the friend it is for; it's for you, it'sfor you! You are Grandpa's friend, aren't you?" she repeated, springing upon Ellen, and hugging her up in an ecstasy ofdelight. 

"But it isn't really for me, is it?" said Ellen, now lookingalmost pale — "oh, Alice!"

"Come, come, " said Miss Sophia — "what will Papa say if I tellhim you received his present so? — come, hold up your head!Put on your bonnet and try him — come, Ellen! let's see you. "

Ellen did not know whether to cry or laugh — till she mountedthe pretty pony; that settled the matter. Not Ellen Chauncey'sunspeakable delight was as great as her own. She rode slowlyup and down before the house, and once a-going would not haveknown how to stop if she had not recollected that the pony hadtravelled thirty miles that day, and must be tired. Ellen tooknot another turn after that. She jumped down, and beggedThomas to take the tenderest care of him; patted his neck; raninto the kitchen to beg of Margery a piece of bread to givehim from her hand; examined the new stirrup and housings, andthe pony all over a dozen times; and after watching him asThomas led him off, till he was out of sight, finally cameback into the house with a face of marvellous contentment. Shetried to fashion some message of thanks for the kind giver ofthe pony; but she wanted to express so much that no wordswould do. Mrs. Chauncey, however, smiled, and assured her sheknew exactly what to say. 

"That pony has been destined for you, Ellen, " she said, "thisyear and more; but my father waited to have him thoroughlywell broken. You need not be afraid of him! he is perfectlygentle and well-trained; if he had not been sure of that, myfather would never have sent him — though Mr. John is makingsuch a horsewoman of you. "

"I wish I could thank him, " said Ellen, "but I don't knowhow. "

"What will you call him, Ellen, " said Miss Sophia. "My fatherhas dubbed him 'George Marshman;' — he says you will likethat, as my brother is such a favourite of yours. "

"He didn't _really_, did he?" said Ellen, looking from Sophia toAlice. "I needn't call him that, need I?"

"Not unless you like, " said Miss Sophia, laughing — "you maychange it, but what _will_ you call him?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, very gravely — "he must have aname, to be sure. "

"But why don't you call him that?" said Ellen Chauncey;"George is a very pretty name — I like that. I should call him'Uncle George. ' "

"Oh, I couldn't!" said Ellen — "I couldn't call him so; Ishouldn't like it at all. "

"George Washington?" said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"No, indeed!" said Ellen. "I guess I wouldn't!"

"Why, is it too good, or not good enough?" said Miss Sophia. 

"Too good! A great deal too good for a horse. I wouldn't foranything. "

"How would Brandywine do, then, since you are so patriotic?"said Miss Sophia, looking amused. 

"What is 'patriotic?' " said Ellen. 

"A patriot, Ellen, " said Alice, smiling — "is one who has astrong and true love for his country. "

"I don't know whether I am patriotic, " said Ellen, "but Iwon't call him Brandywine. Why, Miss Sophia?"

"No, I wouldn't either, " said Ellen Chauncey; — "it isn't apretty name. Call him Seraphine! — like Miss Angell's pony —_that's_ pretty. "

"No, no — 'Seraphine!' nonsense!" said Miss Sophia; — "callhim Benedict Arnold, Ellen; and then it will be a relief toyour mind to whip him. "

"Whip him!" said Ellen; "I don't want to whip him, I am sure;and I should be afraid too, besides. "

"Hasn't John taught you that lesson, yet?" said the younglady; "he is perfect in it himself. Do you remember, Alice, the chastising he gave that fine black horse of ours we calledthe 'Black Prince' — a beautiful creature he was — more that ayear ago? My conscience! he frightened me to death. "

"I remember, " said Alice; "I remember I could not look on. "

"What did he do that for?" said Ellen. 

"What's the matter, Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Sophia, laughing; "where did you get that long face? Are you thinkingof John or the horse?"

Ellen's eyes turned to Alice. 

"My dear Ellen, " said Alice, smiling, though she spokeseriously — "it was necessary; it sometimes is necessary to dosuch things. You do not suppose John would do it cruelly orunnecessarily?"

Ellen's face shortened considerably. 

"But what had the horse been doing?"

"He had not been doing anything; he would _not_ do — that wasthe trouble; he was as obstinate as a mule. "

"My dear Ellen, " said Alice, "it was no such terrible matteras Sophia's words have made you believe. It was a clear caseof obstinacy. The horse was resolved to have his own way, andnot do what his rider required of him; it was necessary thateither the horse or the man should give up; and as John has nofancy for giving up, he carried his point — partly bymanagement, partly, I confess, by a judicious use of the whipand spur; but there was no such furious flagellation as Sophiaseems to mean, and which a good horse-man would scarce beguilty of. "

"A very determined 'use, ' " said Miss Sophia. "I advise you, Ellen, not to trust your pony to Mr. John; he will have nomercy on him. "

"Sophia is laughing, Ellen, " said Alice. "You and I know John, do we not?"

"Then he did right?" said Ellen. 

"Perfectly right — except in mounting the horse at all, whichI never wished him to do. No one on the place would ride him. "

"He carried John beautifully all the day after that though, "said Miss Sophia, "and I dare say he might have ridden him tothe end of the chapter if you would have let papa give him tohim. But he was of no use to anybody else. Howard couldn'tmanage him — I suppose he was too lazy. Papa was delightedenough that day to have given John anything. And I can tellyou, Black Prince the second is spirited enough; I am afraidyou won't like him. "

"John has a present of a horse, too, Ellen, " said Alice. 

"Has he? — from Mr. Marshman?"

"Yes. "

"I'm very glad! Oh, what rides we can take now, can't we, Alice? We shan't want to borrow Jenny's pony any more. Whatkind of a horse is Mr. John's?"

"Black — perfectly black. "

"Is he handsome?"

"Very. "

"Is his name Black Prince?"

"Yes. "

Ellen began to consider the possibility of calling her ponythe Brown Princess, or by some similar title — the name ofJohn's two chargers seeming the very most striking a horsecould be known by. 

"Don't forget, Alice, " said Mrs. Chauncey, "to tell John tostop for him on his way home. It will give us a chance ofseeing him, which is not a common pleasure, in any sense ofthe term. "

They went back to the subject of the name, which Ellenpondered with uneasy visions of John and her poor ponyflitting through her head. The little horse was very hard tofit, or else Ellen's taste was very hard to suit; a great manynames were proposed, none of which were to her mind, Charley, and Cherry, and Brown, and Dash, and Jumper — but she saidthey had "John" and "Jenny" already in Thirlwall, and shedidn't want a "Charley. " "Brown" was not pretty, and she hopedhe wouldn't "dash" at anything, nor be a "jumper" when she wason his back. "Cherry" she mused awhile about, but it wouldn'tdo. 

"Call him Fairy, " said Ellen Chauncey — "that's a pretty name. Mamma says she used to have a horse called Fairy. Do, Ellen!call him Fairy. "

"No, " said Ellen; "he can't have a lady's name — that's thetrouble. "

"I have it, Ellen!" said Alice — "I have a name for you — callhim the Brownie. "

" 'The Brownie?' " said Ellen. 

"Yes — brownies are male fairies; and brown is his colour; sohow will that do?"

It was soon decided that it would do very well. It was simple, descriptive, and not common: Ellen made up her mind that 'TheBrownie' should be his name. No sooner given, it began to growdear. Ellen's face quitted its look of anxious gravity, andcame out into the broadest and fullest satisfaction. She nevershowed joy boisterously; but there was a light in her eyewhich brought many a smile into those of her friends as theysat round the tea-table. 

After tea it was necessary to go home, much to the sorrow ofall parties. Ellen knew, however, it would not do to stay;Miss Fortune was but just got well, and perhaps alreadythinking herself ill-used. She put on her things. 

"Are you going to take your pony home with you?" said MissSophia. 

"Oh, no, Ma'am, not to-night. I must see about a place forhim; and, besides, poor fellow, he is tired, I dare say. "

"I do believe you would take more care of his legs than ofyour own, " said Miss Sophia. 

"But you'll be here to-morrow early, Ellie?"

"Oh, won't I?" exclaimed Ellen, as she sprang to Alice's neck— "as early as I can, at least; I don't know when Aunt Fortunewill have done with me. "

The way home seemed as nothing. If she was tired, she did notknow it. The Brownie! the Brownie! — the thought of himcarried her as cleverly over the ground as his very back wouldhave done. She came running into the chip-yard. 

"Hollo!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, who was standing under theapple-tree, cutting a piece of wood for the tongue of the ox-cart, which had been broken — "I'm glad to see you _can_ run. Iwas afeard you'd hardly be able to stand by this time; butthere you come like a young deer!"

"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, coming close up to him, andspeaking in an undertone— "you don't know what a present Ihave had! What do you think, Mr. Marshman has sent me fromVentnor?"

"Couldn't guess, " said Mr. Van Brunt, resting the end of hispole on the log, and chipping at it with his hatchet — "neverguessed anything in my life — what is it?"

"He has sent me the most beautiful little horse you ever saw!— for my own — for me to ride; and a beautiful saddle andbridle; you never saw anything so beautiful, Mr. Van Brunt; heis all brown, with one white fore-foot, and I've named him the'Brownie;' and oh, Mr. Van Brunt! Do you think Aunt Fortunewill let him come here?"

Mr. Van Brunt chipped away at his pole, looking very good-humoured. 

"Because you know I couldn't have half the good of him if hehad to stay away from me up on the mountain. I shall want toride him every day. Do you think aunt Fortune will let him bekept here, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"I guess she will, " said Mr. Van Brunt, soberly, and his tonesaid to Ellen, "_I_ will, if she don't. "

"Then will you ask her and see about it, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt! I'd rather you would. And you won't have him put toplough or anything, will you, Mr. Van Brunt? Miss Sophia saysit would spoil him. "

"I'll plough myself first, " said Mr. Van Brunt, with his half-smile; — "there shan't be a hair of his coat turned the wrongway. _I'll_ see to him — as if he was a prince. "

"Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Van Brunt! How good you are! Then Ishall not speak about him at all till you do, remember. I am_very_ much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt!"

Ellen ran in. She got a chiding for her long stay, but it fellupon ears that could not hear. The Brownie came like a shieldbetween her and all trouble. She smiled at her aunt's hardwords as if they had been sugar-plums. And her sleep thatnight might have been prairie land, for the multitude ofhorses of all sorts that chased through it. 

"Have you heerd the news?" said Mr. Van Brunt, when he had gothis second cup of coffee at breakfast next morning. 

"No, " said Miss Fortune. "What news?"

"There ain't as much news as there used to be when I wasyoung, " said the old lady; "seems to me I don't hear nothingnow-a-days. "

"You might if you'd keep your ears open, mother. _What_ news, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Why, here's Ellen's got a splendid little horse sent her apresent from some of her great friends — Mr. Marshchalk—"

"Mr. Marshman, " said Ellen. 

"Mr. Marshman. There ain't the like in the country, as I'veheerd tell; and I expect next thing she'll be flying over allthe fields and fences like smoke. "

There was a meaning silence. Ellen's heart beat. 

"What's going to be done with him, do you suppose?" said MissFortune. Her look said, "If you think I am coming round, youare mistaken. "

"Humph!" said Mr. Van Brunt, slowly — "I s'pose he'll eatgrass in the meadow, and there'll be a place fixed for him inthe stables. "

"Not in _my_ stables, " said the lady, shortly. 

"No — in mine, " said Mr. Van Brunt, half-smiling; "and I'llsettle with you about it by-and-by — when we square up ouraccounts. "

Miss Fortune was very much vexed, Ellen could see that; butshe said no more, good or bad, about the matter; so theBrownie was allowed to take quiet possession of meadow andstables, to his mistress's unbounded joy. 

Anybody that knew Mr. Van Brunt would have been surprised tohear what he said that morning; for he was thought to be quiteas keen a looker after the main chance as Miss Fortuneherself, only somehow it was never laid against him as it wasagainst her. However that might be, it was plain he tookpleasure in keeping his word about the pony. Ellen herselfcouldn't have asked more careful kindness for her favouritethan the Brownie had from every man and boy about the farm. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Timothy and his master. 

Captain Montgomery did _not_ come the next week, nor the weekafter; and what is more, the _Duck Dorleens_, as his sistercalled the ship in which he had taken passage, was never heardof from that time. She sailed duly on the fifth of April, asthey learnt from the papers; but whatever became of her, shenever reached port. It remained a doubt whether CaptainMontgomery had actually gone in her; and Ellen had many weeksof anxious watching, first for herself and then for news ofhim, in case he were still in France. None ever came. Anxietygradually faded into uncertainty; and by midsummer, no doubtof the truth remained in any mind. If Captain Montgomery hadbeen alive, he would certainly have written, if not before, onlearning the fate of the vessel in which he had told hisfriends to expect him home. 

Ellen rather felt that she was an orphan, than that she hadlost her father. She had never learned to love him, he hadnever given her much cause. Comparatively a small portion ofher life had been passed in his society, and she looked backto it as the least agreeable of all; and it had not beenpossible for her to expect with pleasure his return toAmerica, and visit to Thirlwall — she dreaded it. Life hadnothing now worse for her than a separation from Alice andJohn Humphreys; she feared her father might take her away, andput her in some dreadful boarding-school, or carry her aboutthe world wherever he went, a wretched wanderer fromeverything good and pleasant. The knowledge of his death hadless pain for her than the removal of this fear broughtrelief. 

Ellen felt sometimes, soberly and sadly, that she was thrownupon the wide world now. To all intents and purposes so shehad been a year and three-quarters before; but it wassomething to have a father and mother living, even on theother side of the world. Now, Miss Fortune was her soleguardian and owner. However, she could hardly realize that, with Alice and John so near at hand. Without reasoning muchabout it, she felt tolerably secure that they would take careof her interests, and make good their claim to interfere ifever need were. 

Ellen and her little horse grew more and more fond of eachother. This friendship, no doubt, was a comfort to theBrownie; but to his mistress it made a large part of thepleasure of her every-day life. To visit him was her delight, at all hours, early and late; and it is to the Brownie'scredit that he always seemed as glad to see her as she was tosee him. At any time Ellen's voice would bring him from thefar end of the meadow where he was allowed to run. He wouldcome trotting up at her call, and stand to have her scratchhis forehead or pat him and talk to him; and though theBrownie could not answer her speeches, he certainly seemed tohear them with pleasure. Then throwing up his head he wouldbound off, take a turn in the field, and come back again tostand as still as a lamb as long as she stayed there herself. Now and then, when she had a little more time, she would crossthe fence and take a walk with him; and there, with his nosejust at her elbow, wherever she went the Brownie went afterher. After a while there was no need that she should call him;if he saw or heard her at a distance it was enough; he wouldcome running up directly. Ellen loved him dearly. 

She gave him more proof of it than words and caresses. Manywere the apples and scraps of bread hoarded up for him; and ifthese failed, Ellen sometimes took him a little salt, to showhim that he was not forgotten. There were not, certainly, manyscraps left at Miss Fortune's table; nor apples to be had athome for such a purpose, except what she gathered up from thepoor ones that were left under the trees for the hogs; butEllen had other sources of supply. Once she had begged fromJenny Hitchcook a waste bit that she was going to throw away;Jenny found what she wanted to do with it, and after that, many a basket of apples and many a piece of cold short-cakewas set by for her. Margery, too, remembered the Brownie whendisposing of her odds and ends; likewise did Mrs. Van Brunt;so that among them all, Ellen seldom wanted something to givehim. Mr. Marshman did not know what happiness he was bestowingwhen he sent her that little horse. Many, many were the hoursof enjoyment she had upon his back. Ellen went nowhere butupon the Brownie. Alice made her a riding-dress of darkgingham; and it was the admiration of the country to see hertrotting or cantering by, all alone, and always looking happy. Ellen soon found that if the Brownie was to do her much good, she must learn to saddle and bridle him herself. This was veryawkward at first, but there was no help for it. Mr. Van Bruntshowed her how to manage, and after a while it became quiteeasy. She used to call the Brownie to the bar-place, put thebridle on, and let him out; and then he would stand motionlessbefore her while she fastened the saddle on; looking roundsometimes, as if to make sure that it was herself, and givinga little kind of satisfied neigh when he saw that it was. Ellen's heart began to dance as soon as she felt him movingunder her; and once off and away on the docile and spiritedlittle animal, over the roads, through the lanes, up and downthe hills, her horse her only companion, but having the mostperfect understanding with him, both Ellen and the Browniecast care to the winds. "I do believe, " said Mr. Van Brunt, "that critter would a _leetle_ rather have Ellen on his backthan not. " He was the Brownie's next best friend. Miss Fortunenever said anything to him or of him. 

Ellen, however, reaped a reward for her faithful steadiness toduty while her aunt was ill. Things were never after that asthey had been before. She was looked on with a different eye. To be sure, Miss Fortune tasked her as much as ever, spoke assharply, was as ready to scold if anything went wrong; — allthat was just as it used to be; but beneath all that, Ellenfelt with great satisfaction that she was trusted andbelieved. She was no longer an interloper, in everybody's way;she was not watched and suspected; her aunt treated her as oneof the family, and a person to be depended on. It was a verygreat comfort to little Ellen's life. Miss Fortune even ownedthat "she believed she was an honest child, and meant to doright" — a great deal from her; Miss Fortune was never overforward to give any one the praise of _honesty_. Ellen now wentout and came in without feeling she was an alien. And thoughher aunt was always bent on keeping herself and everybody elseat work, she did not now show any particular desire forbreaking off Ellen from her studies; and was generallywilling, when the work was pretty well done up, that sheshould saddle the Brownie, and be off to Alice or Mrs. Vawse. 

Though Ellen was happy, it was a sober kind of happiness — thesun shining behind a cloud. And if others thought her so, itwas not because she laughed loudly or wore a merry face. 

"I can't help but think, " said Mrs. Van Brunt, "that thatchild has something more to make her happy that what she getsin this world. "

There was a quilting party gathered that afternoon at Mrs. VanBrunt's house. 

"There is no doubt of that, neighbour, " said Mrs. Vawse;"nobody ever found enough here to make him happy yet. "

"Well, I don't want to see a prettier girl that that, " saidMrs. Lowndes; "you'll never catch her, working at home orriding along on that handsome little critter of her'n, thatshe han't a pleasant look and a smile for you, and as prettybehaved as can be. I never see her look sorrowful but once. "

"Ain't that a pretty horse?" said Mimy Lawson. 

"_I've_ seen her look sorrowful, though, " said Sarah Lowndes;"I've been up at the house when Miss Fortune was hustlingeverybody round, and as sharp as vinegar, and you'd think itwould take Job's patience to stand it — and for all therewouldn't be a bit of crossness in that child's face — she'd goround, and not say a word that wasn't just so; you'd a thoughther bread was all spread with honey, and everybody knows itain't. I don't see how she could do it, for my part: I know _I_couldn't. "

"Ah, neighbour, " said Mrs. Vawse, "Ellen looks higher than toplease her aunt; she tries to please her God; and one can bearpeople's words or looks, when one is pleasing Him. She is adear child!"

"And there's 'Brahm, " said Mrs. Van Brunt; "he thinks the hullworld of her. I never see him take so to any one. There ain'tan airthly thing he wouldn't do to please her. If she was hisown child, I've no idee he could set her up more than hedoes. "

"Very well!" said Nancy, coming up — "good reason! Ellen don'tset him up any, does she? I wish you'd just seen her once, thetime when Miss Fortune was a-bed — the way she'd look out forhim! Mr. Van Brunt's as good as at home in that house, sureenough; whoever's down-stairs. "

"Bless her dear little heart!" said his mother. 

"A good name is better than precious ointment. "

August had come, and John was daily expected home. One morningMiss Fortune was in the lower kitchen, up to the elbows inmaking a rich fall cheese; Ellen was busy upstairs, when heraunt shouted to her to "come and see what was all thatsplashing and crashing in the garden. " Ellen ran out. 

"Oh, Aunt Fortune, " said she — "Timothy has broken down thefence, and got in. "

"Timothy!" said Miss Fortune — "what Timothy?"

"Why, Timothy, the near ox, " said Ellen, laughing; "he hasknocked down the fence over there where it was low, you know. "

"The near ox?" said Miss Fortune — "I wish he warn't quite, sonear this time. Look! he'll be at the corn, and over everything. Run and drive him into the barnyard, can't you?"

But Ellen stood still, and shook her head. "He wouldn't stirfor me, " she said; "and besides, I am as afraid of that ox ascan be. If it was Clover, I wouldn't mind. "

"But he'll have every bit of the corn eaten up in fiveminutes! Where's Mr. Van Brunt?"

"I heard him say he was going home till noon, " said Ellen. 

"And Sam Larkens is gone to the mill — and Johnny Low is laidup with the shakes. Very careless of Mr. Van Brunt!" said MissFortune, drawing her arms out of the cheese-tub, and wringingoff the whey — "I wish he'd mind his own oxen. There was nobusiness to be a low place in the fence! Well come along! youain't afraid with me, I suppose. "

Ellen followed, at a respectful distance. Miss Fortune, however, feared the face of neither man nor beast; she pulledup a bean pole, and made such a show of fight, that Timothy, after looking at her a little, fairly turned tail, and marchedout at the breach he had made. Miss Fortune went after, andrested not till she had driven him quite into the meadow; —get him into the barnyard she could not. 

"You ain't worth a straw, Ellen!" said she, when she cameback; "couldn't you ha' headed him, and driv' him into thebarnyard? Now that plaguy beast will just be back again by thetime I get well to work. He han't done much mischief yet —there's Mr. Van Brunt's salary he's made a pretty mess of —I'm glad on't! He should ha' put potatoes, as I told him. Idon't know what's to be done — I can't be leaving my cheese torun and mind the garden every minute, if it was full ofTimothys; and _you'd_ be scared if a mosquito flew at you; youhad better go right off for Mr. Van Brunt, and fetch himstraight home — serve him right! he has no business to leavethings so. Run along, and don't let the grass grow under yourfeet!"

Ellen wisely thought her pony's feet would do the businessquicker. She ran and put on her gingham dress, and saddled andbridled the Brownie in three minutes; but, before setting off, she had to scream to her aunt that Timothy was just cominground the corner of the barn again; and Miss Fortune rushedout to the garden as Ellen and the Brownie walked down to thegate. 

The weather was fine, and Ellen thought with herself, it wasan ill wind that blew no good. She was getting a nice ride inthe early morning, that she would not have had but forTimothy's lawless behaviour. To ride at that time wasparticularly pleasant and rare; and, forgetting how she hadleft poor Miss Fortune, between the ox and the cheese-tub, Ellen and the Brownie cantered on in excellent spirits. 

She looked in vain, as she passed his grounds, to see Mr. VanBrunt in the garden or about the barn. She went on to thelittle gate of the courtyard, dismounted, and led the Browniein. Here she was met by Nancy, who came running from the wayof the barnyard. 

"How d'ye do, Nancy?" said Ellen; — "where's Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Goodness, Ellen! — what do you want?"

"I want Mr. Van Brunt — where is he?"

"Mr. Van Brunt! he's out in the barn; but he's used himselfup. "

"Used himself up; what do you mean?"

"Why, he's fixed himself in fine style — he's fell though thetrapdoor, and broke his leg. "

"Oh, Nancy!" screamed Ellen — "he hasn't! How could he?"

"Why, easy enough, if he didn't look where he was going —there's so much hay on the floor. But it's a pretty bad placeto fall. "

"How do you know his leg is broken?"

" 'Cause he says so, and anybody with eyes can see it must be. I'm going over to Hitchcock's to get somebody to come and helpin with him; for you know me and Mrs. Van Brunt ain'tSamsons. "

"Where is Mrs. Van Brunt?"

"She 's out there, in a terrible to-do. "

Nancy sped on to the Hitchcock's; and, greatly frightened anddistressed, Ellen ran over to the barn, trembling like anaspen. Mr. Van Brunt was lying in the lower floor, just wherehe had fallen, one leg doubled under him in such a way as leftno doubt it must be broken. He had lain there some time beforeany one found him; and on trying to change his position, whenhe saw his mother's distress, he had fainted from pain. Shesat by, weeping most bitterly. Ellen could bear but one lookat Mr. Van Brunt — that one sickened her. She went up to hispoor mother, and, getting down on her knees by her side, putboth arms round her neck. 

"_Don't_ cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt" (Ellen was crying so shecould hardly speak herself), — "pray don't do so! — he'll bebetter — oh, what shall we do?"

"Oh, ain't it dreadful!" said poor Mrs. Van Brunt; —"oh, 'Brahm, 'Brahm! My son, my son! — the best son that everwas to me — oh, to see him there; ain't it dreadful? he'sdying!"

"Oh, no, he isn't, " said Ellen — "oh, no, he isn't! what shallwe do, Mrs. Van Brunt? — what shall we do?"

"The doctor!" said Mrs. Van Brunt — "he said 'send for thedoctor;' — but I can't go, and there's nobody to send. Oh, he'll die! Oh, my dear 'Brahm! I wish it was me!"

"What doctor?" said Ellen — "I'll find somebody to go — whatdoctor?"

"Dr. Gibson, he said; but he's away off to Thirlwall; and he'sbeen lying here all the morning a'ready! — nobody found him —he couldn't make us hear. Oh, isn't it dreadful!"

"Oh, don't cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, pressingher cheek to the poor old lady's; — "he'll be better — hewill! I've got the Brownie here and I'll ride over to Mrs. Hitchcock's and get somebody to go right away for the doctor. I won't be long — we'll have him here in a little while! _don't_feel so bad!"

"You're a dear blessed darling!" said the old lady, huggingand kissing her — "if ever there was one. Make haste, dear, ifyou love him! — he loves you. "

Ellen stayed but to give another kiss. Trembling so that shecould hardly stand, she made her way back to the house, ledout the Brownie again, and set off, full speed for Mrs. Hitchcock's. It was well her pony was sure-footed, for, letting the reins hang, Ellen bent over his neck, cryingbitterly, only urging him now and then to greater speed; tillat length the feeling that she had something to do came to herhelp. She straightened herself, gathered up her reins, and bythe time she reached Mrs. Hitchcock's, was looking calm again, though very sad and very earnest. She did not alight, butstopped before the door, and called Jenny. Jenny came out, expressing her pleasure. 

"Dear Jenny, " said Ellen — "isn't there somebody here thatwill go right off to Thirlwall for Dr. Gibson? Mr. Van Brunthas broken his leg, I am afraid, and wants the doctordirectly. "

"Why, dear Ellen, " said Jenny, "the men have just gone offthis minute to Mrs. Van Brunt's. Nancy was here for them tocome and help move him in a great hurry. How did it happen? Icouldn't get anything out of Nancy. "

"He fell down through the trap-door. But, dear Jenny, isn'tthere _anybody_ about? Oh, " said Ellen, clasping her hands — "Iwant somebody to go for the doctor _so_ much!"

"There ain't a living soul!" said Jenny; "two of the men andall the teams are 'way on the other side of the hill, ploughing, and pa, and June, and Black Bill have gone over, asI told you; but I don't believe they'll be enough. Where's hisleg broke?"

"I didn't meet them, " said Ellen; "I came away only a littlewhile after Nancy. "

"They went 'cross lots, I guess — that's how it was; andthat's the way Nancy got the start of you. "

"What shall I do?" said Ellen. She could not bear to wait tillthey returned; if she rode back she might miss them again, besides the delay; and then a man on foot would make a longjourney of it. Jenny told her of a house or two where shemight try for a messenger; but they were strangers to her —she could not make up her mind to ask such a favour of them. Her friends were too far out of the way. 

"I'll go myself!" she said, suddenly. "Tell 'em, dear Jenny, will you, that I have gone for Dr. Gibson, and that I'll bringhim back as quick as ever I can. I know the road toThirlwall. "

"But Ellen! you mustn't, " said Jenny; "I am afraid to have yougo all that way alone. Wait till the men come back — theywon't be long. "

"No, I can't, Jenny, " said Ellen, — "I can't wait; I must go. You needn't be afraid. Tell 'em I'll be as quick as I can. "

"But see, Ellen!" cried Jenny as she was moving off, — "Idon't like to have you!"

"I must, Jenny. Never mind. "

"But see, Ellen!" cried Jenny again, — "if you _will_ go — ifyou don't find Dr. Gibson, just get Dr. Marshchalk — he'severy bit as good, and some folks think he's better; — he'lldo just as well. Good-bye!"

Ellen nodded and rode off. There was a little fluttering ofthe heart at taking so much upon herself; she had never beento Thirlwall but once since the first time she saw it. But shethought of Mr. Van Brunt, suffering for help which could notbe obtained, and it was impossible for her to hesitate. "I amsure I am doing right, " she thought; "and what is there to beafraid of? If I ride two miles alone, why shouldn't I four?And I am doing right — God will take care of me. " Ellenearnestly asked him to do so; and after that she felt prettyeasy. "Now, dear Brownie, " said she, patting his neck, — "youand I have work to do to-day; behave like a good little horseas you are. " The Brownie answered with a little cheerful kindof neigh, as much as to say, Never fear me! — They trotted onnicely. 

But nothing could help that's being a disagreeable ride. Dowhat she would, Ellen felt a little afraid when she foundherself on a long piece of road where she had never been alonebefore. There were not many houses on the way; the few therewere looked strange. Ellen did not know exactly where she was, or how near the end of her journey; it seemed a long one. Shefelt rather lonely; a little shy of meeting people, and yet alittle unwilling to have the intervals between them so verylong. She repeated to herself, "I am doing right — God willtake care of me. " Still there was a nervous trembling atheart. Sometimes she would pat her pony's neck, and say, "Troton, dear Brownie, we'll soon be there!" — by way of cheeringherself: for certainly the Brownie needed no cheering, and wastrotting on bravely. Then the thought of Mr. Van Brunt, as shehad seen him lying on the barn floor, made her feel sick andmiserable; many tears fell during her ride, when sheremembered him. "Heaven will be a good place, " thought littleEllen, as she went; "there will be no sickness, no pain, nosorrow; but Mr. Van Brunt — I wonder if he is fit to go toheaven?" This was a new matter of thought and uneasiness, notnow for the first time, in Ellen's mind; and so the timepassed, till she crossed the bridge over the little river, andsaw the houses of Thirlwall stretching away in the distance. Then she felt comfortable. 

Long before, she had bethought her that she did not know whereto find Dr. Gibson, and had forgotten to ask Jenny. For oneinstant Ellen drew bridle, but it was too far to go back, andshe recollected anybody could tell her where the doctor lived. When she got to Thirlwall, however, Ellen found that she didnot like to ask _anybody_. She remembered her old friend Mrs. Forbes, of the Star inn, and resolved she would go there, inthe first place. She rode slowly up the street, lookingcarefully till she came to the house. There was no mistakingit; there was the very same big star over the front door, thathad caught her eye from the coach-window, and there was thevery same boy or man, Sam, lounging on the sidewalk. Ellenreigned up, and asked him to ask Mrs. Forbes if she would beso good as to come out to her for one minute. Sam gave her along Yankee look and disappeared, coming back again directlywith the landlady. 

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Forbes?" said Ellen, holding out her hand;"don't you know me? I am Ellen Montgomery — that you were sokind to, and gave me bread and milk when I first came here —Miss Fortune's —"

"Oh, bless your dear little heart!" cried the landlady; "don'tI know you! and ain't I glad to see you! I must have a kiss. Bless you! I couldn't mistake you in Jerusalem; but the sunwas in my eyes, in that way I was a'most blind. But ain't yougrown, though! Forget you? I guess I han't! There's one o'your friends wouldn't let me do that in a hurry. If I han'tseen you, I've heered on you. But what are you sitting therein the sun for? Come in — come in — and I'll give yousomething better than bread and milk this time. Come! jumpdown. "

"Oh, I can't, Mrs. Forbes, " said Ellen, "I am in a greathurry; Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, and I want to findthe doctor. "

"Mr. Van Brunt!" cried the landlady. "Broken his leg! Theland's sakes! how did he do that? _he_, too!"

"He fell down through the trap-door in the barn; and I want toget Dr. Gibson, as soon as I can, come to him. Where does helive, Mrs. Forbes?"

"Dr. Gibson? you won't catch him to hum, dear; he's flyinground somewheres. But how come the trap-door to be open? andhow happened Mr. Van Brunt not to see it afore he put his footin it? Dear! I declare I'm real sorry to hear you tell. Howhappened it, darlin'? I'm cur'ous to hear. "

"I don't know, Mrs. Forbes, " said Ellen, "but oh, where shallI find Dr. Gibson? Do tell me! — he ought to be there now; —oh, help me! where shall I go for him?"

"Well, I declare, " said the landlady, stepping back a pace, "Idon't know as I can tell — there ain't no sort o' likelihoodthat he's to hum this time o' day. Sam! you lazy feller, youhan't got nothing to do but gape at folks — ha' you seen thedoctor go by this forenoon?"

"I seen him go down to Mis' Perriman's, " said Sam, — "Mis'Perriman was a-dyin', Jim Barstow said. "

"How long since?" said his mistress. 

But Sam shuffled and shuffled, looked every way but at Ellenor Mrs. Forbes, and "didn' know. "

"Well, then, " said Mrs. Forbes, turning to Ellen, "I don' knowbut you might about as well go down to the post-office; but, if _I_ was you, I'd just get Dr. Marshchalk instead. He's asmarter man than Dr. Gibson any day in the year; and he ain'tquite so awful high neither, and that's something. _I'd_ get Dr. Marshchalk; they say there ain't the like o' him in thecountry for settin' bones; it's quite a gift; he takes to itnatural like. "

But Ellen said Mr. Van Brunt wanted Dr. Gibson, and if shecould she must find him. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Forbes, "every one has their fancies; Iwouldn't let Dr. Gibson come near me with a pair of tongs; butanyhow, if you must have him, your best way is to go rightstraight down to the post-office, and ask for him there, maybeyou'll catch him. "

"Thank you, Ma'am, " said Ellen; "where is the post-office?"

"It's that white-faced house down street, " said the landlady, pointing with her finger where Ellen saw no lack of white-faced houses; "you see that big red store, with the manstanding out in front? — the next white house below that isMis' Perriman's; just run right in and ask for Dr. Gibson. Good-bye, dear — I'm real sorry you can't come in — that firstwhite house. "

Glad to get free, Ellen rode smartly down to the post-office. Nobody before the door; there was nothing for it but to getoff here and go in; she did not know the people either. "Nevermind, wait for me a minute, dear Brownie, like a good littlehorse as you are!"

No fear of the Brownie. He stood as if he did not mean tobudge again in a century. At first going in, Ellen saw nobodyin the post-office; presently, at an opening in a kind ofboxed-up place in one corner, a face looked out and asked whatshe wanted. 

"Is Dr. Gibson here?"

"No, " said the owner of the face, with a disagreeable kind ofsmile. 

"Isn't this Miss Perriman's house?"

"You are in the right box, my dear, and no mistake, " said theyoung man; "but then it ain't Dr. Gibson's house, you know. "

"Can you tell me, Sir, where I can find him?"

"Can't indeed; the doctor never tells me where he is going, and I never ask him. I am sorry I didn't this morning, foryour sake. "

The way, and the look, made the words extremely disagreeable;and, furthermore, Ellen had an uncomfortable feeling thatneither was new to her. Where _had_ she seen the man before? shepuzzled herself to think. Where but in a dream had she seenthat bold, ill-favoured face, that horrible smile, that sandyhair? She knew! It was Mr. Saunders, the man who had sold herthe merino at St. Clair and Fleury's. She knew him; and shewas very sorry to see that he knew her. All she desired now, was to get out of the house and away; but on turning she sawanother man, older and respectable-looking, whose faceencouraged her to ask again if Dr. Gibson was there. He wasnot, the man said; he had been there and gone. 

"Do you know where I should be likely to find him, Sir?"

"No, I don't, " said he; "who wants him?"

"I want to see him, Sir. "

"For yourself?"

"No, Sir; Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, and wants Dr. Gibson to come directly and set it. "

"Mr. Van Brunt!" said he — "Farmer Van Brunt that lives downtowards the Cat's Back? I'm very sorry! How did it happen?"

Ellen told as shortly as possible, and again begged to knowwhere she might look for Dr. Gibson. 

"Well, " said he, "the best plan I can think of, will be foryou — how did you come here?"

"I came on horseback, Sir. "

"Ah — well — the best plan will be for you to ride up to hishouse; maybe he'll have left word there, and anyhow _you_ canleave word for him to come down as soon as he gets home. Doyou know where the doctor lives?"

"No, Sir. "

"Come here, " said he, pulling her to the door — "you can't seeit from here; but you must ride up the street till you havepassed two churches, one on the right hand first, and then, agood piece beyond, you'll come to another red brick one on theleft hand — and Dr. Gibson lives in the next block but oneafter that, on the other side — anybody will tell you thehouse. Is that your horse?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm very much obliged to you. "

"Well, I will say! — if you han't the prettiest fit out inThirlwall — shall I help you? will you have a cheer?"

"No, I thank you Sir; I'll bring him up to this step; it willdo just as well. I am _very_ much obliged to you, Sir. "

He did not seem to hear her thanks; he was all eyes; and, withhis clerk, stood looking after her till she was out of sight. 

Poor Ellen found it a long way up to the doctor's. The post-office was near the lower end of the town, and the doctor'shouse was near the upper; she passed one church, and then theother, but there was a long distance between, or what shethought so. Happily, the Brownie did not seem tired at all;his little mistress _was_ tired, and disheartened too. Andthere, all this time, was poor Mr. Van Brunt, lying without adoctor! She could not bear to think of it. 

She jumped down when she came to the block she had been toldof, and easily found the house where Dr. Gibson lived. Sheknocked at the door. A grayhaired woman with a very ill-favoured countenance presented herself. Ellen asked for thedoctor. 

"He ain't to hum. "

"When will he be at home?"

"Couldn't say. "

"Before dinner?"

The woman shook her head. 

"Guess not till late in the day. "

"Where is he gone?"

"He is gone to Babcock — gone to attend a 'consummation, ' Iguess, he told me — Babcock is a considerable long way. "

Ellen thought a minute. 

"Can you tell me where Dr. Marshchalk lives?"

"I guess you'd better wait till Dr. Gibson comes back, han'tyou?" said the woman coaxingly; — "he'll be along by-and-by. If you'll leave your name I'll give it to him. "

"I cannot wait, " said Ellen, — "I am in a dreadful hurry. Willyou be so good as to tell me where Dr. Marshchalk lives?"

"Well — if so be you're in such a takin' you can't wait — youknow where Mis' Forbes lives?"

"At the inn? — the Star! — yes. "

"He lives a few doors this side o' her'n; you'll know it thefirst minute you set your eyes on it — it's painted a brightyaller. "

Ellen thanked her, once more mounted, and rode down thestreet. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Wherein the black Prince arrives opportunely. 

The yellow door, as the old woman had said, was not to bemistaken. Again Ellen dismounted and knocked; then she heard aslow step coming along the entry, and the pleasant, kind faceof Miss Janet appeared at the open door. It was a realrefreshment, and Ellen wanted one. 

"Why, it's dear little — ain't it? — her that lives down toMiss Fortune Emerson's? — yes, it is; — come in, dear; I'mvery glad to see you. How's all at your house?"

"Is the doctor at home, Ma'am?"

"No, dear, he ain't to home just this minute, but he'll be indirectly; Come in; — is that your horse? — just hitch him tothe post there, so he won't run away, and come right in. Whodid you come along with?"

"Nobody, Ma'am — I came alone, " said Ellen, while she obeyedMiss Janet's directions. 

"Alone! — on that 'ere little skittish creeter? — he's ashandsome as a picture, too — why, do tell if you warn'tafraid? it a'most scares me to think of it. "

"I was a little afraid, " said Ellen, as she followed MissJanet along the entry — "but I couldn't help that. You thinkthe doctor will soon be in, Ma'am?"

"Yes, dear, sure of it, " said Miss Janet, kissing Ellen andtaking off her bonnet; — "he won't be five minutes, for it'sa'most dinner time. What's the matter, dear? is Miss Fortunesick again?"

"No, Ma'am, " said Ellen, sadly, "Mr. Van Brunt has fallenthrough the trap-door in the barn and broken his leg. "

"Oh!" cried the old lady, with a face of real horror — "youdon't tell me! Fell through the trap-door! and he ain't alight weight neither; — oh, that is a lamentable event! Andhow is the poor old mother, dear?"

"She is very much troubled, Ma'am, " said Ellen, crying at theremembrance; — "and he has been lying ever since early thismorning without anybody to set it; I have been going round andround for a doctor this ever so long. "

"Why, warn't there nobody to come but you, you poor lamb?"said Miss Janet. 

"No, Ma'am; nobody quick enough; and I had the Brownie there, and so I came. "

"Well, cheer up, dear! the doctor will be here now, and we'llsend him right off; he won't be long about his dinner, I'llengage. Come and set in this big cheer — do! — it'll rest you;I see you're a'most tired out, and it ain't a wonder. There —don't that feel better? now I'll give you a little sup ofdinner, for you won't want to swallow it at the rate Leanderwill his'n. Dear! dear! — to think of poor Mr. Van Brunt! He'sa likely man, too; I'm very sorry for him and his poor mother. A kind body she is, as ever the sun shined upon. "

"And so is he, " said Ellen. 

"Well, so I dare say, " said Miss Janet; "but I don't know somuch about him; — hows'ever, he's got everybody's good word asfar as I know; — he's a likely man. "

The little room in which Miss Janet had brought Ellen was veryplainly furnished indeed, but as neat as hands could make it. The carpet was as crumbless and lintless as if meals werenever taken there, nor work seen; and yet a little table readyset for dinner forbade the one conclusion, and a huge basketof naperies in one corner showed that Miss Janet's industrydid not spend itself in housework alone. Before the fire stooda pretty good-sized kettle, and a very appetizing smell camefrom it to Ellen's nose. In spite of sorrow and anxiety, herride had made her hungry. It was not without pleasure that shesaw her kind hostess arm herself with a deep plate and a tindipper, and carefully taking off the pot cover, so that nodrops might fall on the hearth, proceed to ladle out a goodlysupply of what Ellen knew was that excellent country dishcalled pot-pie. Excellent it is when well made, and that wasMiss Janet's. The pieces of crust were white and light likenew bread; the very tit-bits of the meat she culled out forEllen; and the soup-gravy, poured over all, would have meteven Miss Fortune's wishes, from its just degree of richnessand exact seasoning. Smoking hot, it was placed before Ellen, on a little stand by her easy-chair, with some nice bread andbutter; and presently Miss Janet poured her out a cup of tea;"for, " she said, "Leander never could take his dinner withoutit. " Ellen's appetite needed no silver fork. Tea and pot-piewere never better liked; yet Miss Janet's enjoyment wasperhaps greater still. She sat talking and looking at herlittle visitor with secret but immense satisfaction. 

"Have you heard what fine doings we're a going to have hereby-and-by?" said she. "The doctor's tired of me; he's going toget a new housekeeper; he's going to get married some of thesedays. "

"Is he?" said Ellen. "Not to Jenny?"

"Yes, indeed he is — to Jenny — Jenny Hitchcock; and a nicelittle wife she'll make him. You're a great friend of Jenny, Iknow. "

"How soon?" said Ellen. 

"Oh, not just yet — by-and-by — after we get a little smartedup, I guess; — before a great while. Don't you think he'll bea happy man?"

Ellen could not help wondering, as the doctor just then camein and she looked up at his unfortunate three-cornered face, whether Jenny would be a happy woman. But as people often do, she only judged from the outside; Jenny had not made such abad choice after all. 

The doctor said he would go directly to Mr. Van Brunt after hehad been over to Mrs. Sibnorth's; it wouldn't be a minute. Ellen meant to ride back in his company; and having finishedher dinner, waited now only for him. But the one minute passed— two minutes — ten — twenty — she waited impatiently, but hecame not. 

"I'll tell you how it must be, " said his sister, — "he's goneoff without his dinner calculating to get it at MissHitchcock's — he'd be glad of the chance. That's how it is, dear; and you'll have to ride home alone; I'm real sorry. S'pose you stop till evening, and I'll make the doctor goalong with you. But, oh dear! maybe he wouldn't be able toneither; he's got to go up to that tiresome Mrs. Robin's; it'stoo bad. Well, take good care of yourself, darling; — couldn'tyou stop till it's cooler? — well, come and see me as soon asyou can again, but don't come without some one else along!Good-bye! I wish I could keep you. "

She went to the door to see her mount, and smiled and noddedher off. 

Ellen was greatly refreshed with her rest and her dinner; itgrieved her that the Brownie had not fared as well. All therefreshment that kind words and patting could give him, shegave; promised him the freshest of water, and the sweetest ofhay, when he should reach home; and begged him to keep up hisspirits and hold on for a little longer. It may be doubtedwhether the Brownie understood the full sense of her words, but he probably knew what the kind tones and gentle handmeant. He answered cheerfully; threw up his head and gave alittle neigh, as much as to say, _he_ wasn't going to mind a fewhours of sunshine; and trotted on as if he knew his face wastowards home — which no doubt he did. Luckily it was not avery hot day; for August, it was remarkably cool andbeautiful; indeed, there was little very hot weather everknown in Thirlwall. Ellen's heart felt easier, now that herbusiness was done; and when she had left the town behind her, and was again in the fields, she was less timid than she hadbeen before; she was going towards home; that makes a greatdifference; and every step was bringing her nearer. "I am gladI came, after all, " she thought; — "but I hope I shall neverhave to do such a thing again. But I am glad I came. "

She had no more than crossed the little bridge, however, whenshe saw what brought her heart into her mouth. It was Mr. Saunders, lolling under a tree. What could he have come therefor, at that time of day? A vague feeling crossed her mind, that if she could only get past him she should pass a danger;she thought to ride by without seeming to see him, and quietlygave the Brownie a pat to make him go faster. But as she drewnear, Mr. Saunders rose up, came to the middle of the road, and taking hold of her bridle, checked her pony's pace so thathe could walk alongside — to Ellen's unspeakable dismay. 

"What's kept you so long?" said he — "I've been looking outfor you this great while. Had hard work to find the doctor?"

"Won't you please to let go of my horse, " said Ellen, herheart beating very fast — "I am in a great hurry to get home —please don't keep me. "

"Oh, I want to see you a little, " said Mr. Saunders — "youain't in such a hurry to get away from me as that comes to, are you?"

Ellen was silent. 

"It's quite a long time since I saw you last, " said he — "howhave the merinoes worn?"

Ellen could not bear to look at his face, and did not see theexpression which went with these words; yet she _felt_ it. 

"They have worn very well, " said she; "but I want to get homevery much — _please_ let me go. "

"Not yet, not yet, " said he — "oh no, not yet. I want to talkto you; why, what are you in such a devil of a hurry for? Icame out on purpose; do you think I am going to have all mylong waiting for nothing?"

Ellen did not know what to say, her heart sprang with anameless pang to the thought, if she ever got free from this!Meanwhile she was not free. 

"Whose horse is that you're on?"

"Mine, " said Ellen. 

"Your'n! that's a likely story. I guess he ain't your'n, andso you won't mind if I touch him up a little; I want to seehow well you can sit on a horse. "

Passing his arm through the bridle as he said these words, Mr. Saunders led the pony down to the side of the road where grewa clump of high bushes, and, with some trouble, cut off along, stout sapling. Ellen looked in every direction while hewas doing this, despairing, as she looked, of aid from anyquarter of the broad, quiet, open country. Oh, for wings! Butshe could not leave the Brownie if she had them. 

Returning to the middle of the road, Mr. Saunders amusedhimself, as they walked along, with stripping off all theleaves and little twigs from his sapling, leaving it, whendone, a very good imitation of an ox-whip in size and length, with a fine lash-like point. Ellen watched him in an ecstasyof apprehension, afraid alike to speak or to be silent. 

"There! what do you think of that?" said he, giving it two orthree switches in the air to try its suppleness and toughness;— "don't that look like a whip? Now we'll see how he'll go!"

"Please don't do anything with it, " said Ellen, earnestly — "Inever touch him with the whip — he doesn't need it — he isn'tused to it — pray, pray do not!"

"Oh, we'll just tickle him a little with it, " said Mr. Saunders, coolly — "I want to see how well you'll sit him —just make him caper a little bit. "

He accordingly applied the switch lightly to the Brownie'sheels, enough to annoy, without hurting him. The Brownieshowed signs of uneasiness, quitted his quiet pace, and lookto little starts and springs, and whisking motions, mostunpleasing to his rider. 

"Oh, do not!" cried Ellen, almost beside herself — "he's veryspirited, and I don't know what he will do if you troublehim. "

"You let me take care of that, " said Mr. Saunders; "if hetroubles me, I'll give it to him! If he rears up, only youcatch hold of his mane and hold on tight, and you won't falloff; — I want to see him rear. "

"But you'll give him bad tricks!" said Ellen. "Oh, pray, don'tdo so! It's very bad for him to be teased. I am afraid he willkick if you do so, and he'd be ruined if he got a habit ofkicking. Oh, _please_ let us go!" said she, with the most acuteaccent of entreaty — "I want to be home. "

"You keep quiet, " said Mr. Saunders, coolly; "if he kicks, I'll give him such a lathering as he never had yet; he won'tdo it but once. I ain't agoing to hurt him, but I am agoing tomake him rear — no, I won't — I'll make him leap over a rail, the first bar-place we come to — that'll be prettier. "

"Oh, you mustn't do that. " said Ellen — "I have not learned toleap yet — I couldn't keep on — you musn't do that if youplease. "

"You just hold fast, and hold your tongue. Catch hold of hisears, and you'll stick on fast enough; if you can't, you mayget down, for I am going to make him take the leap, whetheryou will or no. "

Ellen feared still more to get off and leave the Brownie toher tormentor's mercy, than to stay where she was, and takeher chance. She tried in vain, as well as she could, to sootheher horse; the touches of the whip coming now in one place, and now in another, and some of them pretty sharp, he began togrow very frisky indeed; and she began to be very muchfrightened, for fear she should suddenly be jerked off. With agood deal of presence of mind, though wrought up to a terriblepitch of excitement and fear, Ellen gave her best attention tokeeping her seat as the Brownie sprang, and started, andjumped, to one side and the other; Mr. Saunders holding thebridle as loose as possible, so as give him plenty of room. For some little time he amused himself with this game, thehorse growing more and more irritated. At length a smartstroke of the whip upon his haunches, made the Brownie springin a way that brought Ellen's heart into her mouth and almostthrew her off. 

"Oh, don't!" cried Ellen, bursting into tears for the firsttime — she had with great effort commanded them back untilnow; — "poor Brownie! — How can you! Oh, please let us go! —please let us go!"

For one minute she dropped her face in her hands. 

"Be quiet!" said Mr. Saunders. "Here's a bar-place — now forthe leap!"

Ellen wiped away her tears, forced back those that werecoming, and began the most earnest remonstrance and pleadingwith Mr. Saunders that she knew how to make. He paid her nosort of attention. He led the Brownie to the side of the road, let down all the bars but the lower two, let go the bridle, and stood a little off, prepared with his whip to force thehorse to take the spring. 

"I tell you I shall fall, " said Ellen, reining him back. "Howcan you be so cruel! — I want to go home!"

"Well, you ain't agoing home yet. Get off, if you are afraid. "

But, though trembling in every nerve from head to foot, Ellenfancied the Brownie was safer so long as he had her on hisback; she would not leave him. She pleaded her best, which Mr. Saunders heard as if it was amusing, and without making anyanswer, kept the horse capering in front of the bars, pretending every minute he was going to whip him up to takethe leap. His object, however, was merely to gratify thesmallest of minds by teasing a child he had a spite against;he had no intention to risk breaking her bones by a fall fromher horse; so in time he had enough of the bar-place; took thebridle again, and walked on. Ellen drew breath a little morefreely. 

"Did you hear how I handled your old gentleman after thattime?" said Mr. Saunders. 

Ellen made no answer. 

"No one ever affronts me that don't hear news of itafterwards, and so he found to his cost. _I_ paid him off, to myheart's content. I gave the old fellow a lesson to behave infuture. I forgive him now entirely. By the way, I've a littleaccount to settle with you — didn't you ask Mr. Perriman thismorning if Dr. Gibson was in the house?"

"I don't know who it was, " said Ellen. 

"Well, hadn't I told you just before he warn't there?"

Ellen was silent. 

"What did you do that for, eh? Didn't you believe me?"

Still she did not speak. 

"I say!" said Mr. Saunders, touching the Brownie as he spoke —"did you think I told you a lie about it? — eh?"

"I didn't know but he might be there, " Ellen forced herself tosay. 

"Then you didn't believe me?" said he, always with that samesmile upon his face; Ellen knew that. 

"Now that warn't handsome of you — and I'm agoing to punishyou for it, somehow or 'nother; but it ain't pretty to quarrelwith ladies, so Brownie and me'll settle it together. Youwon't mind that, I dare say. "

"What are you going to do?" said Ellen, as he once more drewher down to the side of the fence. 

"Get off and you'll see, " said he, laughing — "get off andyou'll see. "

"What do you want to do?" repeated Ellen, though scarce ableto speak the words. 

"I'm just going to tickle Brownie a little, to teach you tobelieve honest folks when they speak the truth; get off!"

"No, I won't, " said Ellen, throwing both arms round the neckof her pony; — "poor Brownie! — you shan't do it. He hasn'tdone any harm, nor I either; you are a bad man!"

"Get off!" repeated Mr. Saunders. 

"I will not!" said Ellen, still clinging fast. 

"Very well, " said he, coolly — "then I will take you off; itdon't make much difference. We'll go along a little furthertill I find a nice stone for you to sit down upon. If you hadgot off then, I wouldn't ha' done much to him, but I'll giveit to him now! If he hasn't been used to a whip he'll knowpretty well what it means by the time I have done with him;and then you may go home as fast as you can. "

It is very likely Mr. Saunders would have been as good, or asbad, as his word. His behaviour to Ellen in the store at NewYork, and the measures taken by the old gentleman who hadbefriended her, had been the cause of his dismissal from theemploy of Messrs. St. Clair and Fleury. Two or three otherattempts to get into business had come to nothing, and he hadbeen obliged to return to his native town. Ever since, Ellenand the old gentleman had lived in his memory as objects ofthe deepest spite, — the one for interfering, the other forhaving been the innocent cause; and he no sooner saw her inthe post-office, than he promised himself revenge, suchrevenge as only the meanest and most cowardly spirit couldhave taken pleasure in. His best way of distressing Ellen, hefound, was through her horse; he had almost satisfied himself;but very naturally his feeling of spite had grown stronger andblunter with indulgence, and he meant to wind up with such atreatment of her pony, real or seeming, as he knew would givegreat pain to the pony's mistress. He was prevented. 

As they went slowly along, Ellen still clasping the Brownie'sneck, and resolved to cling to him to the last, Mr. Saundersmaking him caper in a way very uncomfortable to her, one wastoo busy, and the other too deafened by fear, to notice thesound of fast-approaching hoofs behind them. It happened thatJohn Humphreys had passed the night at Ventnor; and having anerrand to do for a friend at Thirlwall, had taken that road, which led him but a few miles out of his way, and was now atfull speed on his way home. He had never made the Brownie'sacquaintance, and did not recognise Ellen as he came up; butin passing them, some strange notion crossing his mind hewheeled his horse round directly in front of the astonishedpair. Ellen quitted her pony's neck, and stretching out botharms towards him, exclaimed, almost shrieked, "Oh, John! John!send him away! make him let me go!"

"What are you about, Sir?" said the new-comer, sternly. 

"It's none of your business!" answered Mr. Saunders, in whomrage for the time overcame cowardice. 

"Take your hand off the bridle!" — with a slight touch of theriding-whip upon the hand in question. 

"Not for you, brother, " said Mr. Saunders, sneeringly; — "I'llwalk with any lady I've a mind to. Look out for yourself!"

"We will dispense with your further attendance, " said John, coolly. "Do you hear me? do as I order you!"

The speaker did not put himself in a passion, and Mr. Saunders, accustomed for his own part to make bluster serveinstead of prowess, despised a command so calmly given. Ellen, who knew the voice, and still better could read the eye, drewconclusions very different. She was almost breathless withterror. Saunders was enraged and mortified at an interferencethat promised to baffle him; he was a stout young man, andjudged himself the stronger of the two, and took notice, besides, that the stranger had nothing in his hand but aslight riding-whip. He answered very insolently, and with anoath; and John saw that he was taking the bridle in his lefthand and shifting his sapling whip so as to bring the club endof it uppermost. The next instant he aimed a furious blow athis adversary's horse. The quick eye and hand of the riderdisappointed that with a sudden swerve. In another moment —and Ellen hardly saw how, it was so quick — John haddismounted, taken Mr. Saunders by the collar, and hurled himquite over into the gulley at the side of the road, where helay at full length without stirring. 

"Ride on, Ellen!" said her deliverer. 

She obeyed. He stayed a moment to say to his fallen adversarya few words of pointed warning as to ever repeating hisoffence; then remounted and spurred forward to join Ellen. Allher power of keeping up was gone, now that the necessity wasover. Her head was once more bowed on her pony's neck, herwhole frame shaking with convulsive sobs; she could scarcewith great effort keep from crying out aloud. 

"Ellie!" said her adopted brother, in a voice that couldhardly be known for the one that had last spoken. She had nowords, but as he gently took one of her hands, the convulsivesqueeze it gave him showed the state of nervous excitement shewas in. It was very long before his utmost efforts couldsoothe her, or she could command herself enough to tell himher story. When at last told, it was with many tears. 

"Oh, how could he! how could he!" said poor Ellen — "how couldhe do so! — it was very hard!"

An involuntary touch of the spurs made John's horse start. 

"But what took you to Thirlwall alone?" said he — "you havenot told me that yet. "

Ellen went back to Timothy's invasion of the cabbages, andgave him the whole story of the morning. 

"I thought when I was going for the doctor, at first, " saidshe, "and then afterwards when I had found him, what a goodthing it was that Timothy broke down the garden fence and gotin this morning; for if it had not been for that, I should nothave gone to Mr. Van Brunt's — and then again, after that Ithought, if he only hadn't!"

"Little things often draw after them long trains ofcircumstances, " said John — "and that shows the folly of thosepeople who think that God does not stoop to concern himselfabout trifles; — life, and much more than life, may hang uponthe turn of a hand. But, Ellen, you must ride no more alone. Promise me that you will not. "

"I will not to Thirlwall, certainly, " said Ellen — "but mayn'tI to Alice's? — how can I help it?"

"Well — to Alice's — that is a safe part of the country; but Ishould like to know a little more of your horse beforetrusting you even there. "

"Of the Brownie?" said Ellen — "oh, he is as good as he canbe; you need not be afraid of him; he has no trick at all;there never was such a good little horse. "

John smiled. "How do you like mine?" said he. 

"Is that your new one? Oh, what a beauty! — Oh me, what abeauty! I didn't look at him before. Oh, I like him very much!he's handsomer than the Brownie — do you like him?"

"Very well! — this is the first trial I have made of him. Iwas at Mr. Marshman's last night, and they detained me thismorning, or I should have been here much earlier. I am verywell satisfied with him, so far. "

"And if you had _not_ been detained!" said Ellen. 

"Yes, Ellie — I should not have fretted at my late breakfastand having to try Mr. Marshman's favourite mare, if I hadknown what good purpose the delay was to serve. I wish I couldhave been here half an hour sooner, though. "

"Is his name the Black Prince?" said Ellen, returning to thehorse. 

"Yes, I believe so; but you shall change it, Ellie, if you canfind one you like better. "

"Oh, I cannot! — I like that very much. How beautiful he is!Is he good?"

"I hope so, " said John, smiling — "if he is not, I shall be atthe pains to make him so. We are hardly acquainted yet. "

Ellen looked doubtfully at the black horse and his rider, andpatting the Brownie's neck, observed with great satisfactionthat he was very good. 

John had been riding very slowly on Ellen's account; they nowmended their pace. He saw, however, that she still lookedmiserably, and exerted himself to turn her thoughts fromeverything disagreeable. Much to her amusement, he rode roundher two or three times, to view her horse and show her hisown; commended the Brownie; praised her bridle hand; correctedseveral things about her riding; and by degrees engaged her ina very animated conversation. Ellen roused up; the colour cameback to her cheeks; and when they reached home, and rode roundto the glass door, she looked almost like herself. 

She sprang off as usual without waiting for any help. Johnscarce saw that she had done so, when Alice's cry of joybrought him to the door, and from that together they went into their father's study. Ellen was left alone on the lawn. Something was the matter; for she stood with swimming eyes anda trembling lip, rubbing her stirrup, which really needed nopolishing, and forgetting the tired horses, which would havehad her sympathy at any other time. What was the matter? Only— that Mr. John had forgotten the kiss he always gave her ongoing or coming. Ellen was jealous of it as a pledge ofsistership, and could not want it; and though she tried ashard as she could to get her face in order, so that she mightgo in and meet them, somehow it seemed to take a great while. She was still busy with her stirrup, when she suddenly felttwo hands on her shoulders, and looking up, received the verykiss the want of which she had been lamenting. But John sawthe tears in her eyes, and asked her, she thought withsomewhat a comical look, what the matter was. Ellen wasashamed to tell, but he had her there by the shoulders, andbesides, whatever that eye demanded, she never knew how tokeep back; so with some difficulty she told him. 

"You are very foolish child, Ellie, " said he, gently, andkissing her again. "Run in out of the sun, while I see to thehorses. "

Ellen ran in, and told her long story to Alice; and then, feeling very weary and weak, she sat on the sofa, and layresting in her arms in a state of the most entire andunruffled happiness. Alice, however, after a while, transferred her to bed, thinking, with good reason, that along sleep would be the best thing for her. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Halcyon days. 

When Ellen came out of Alice's room again, it was late in theafternoon. The sun was so low that the shadow of the house hadcrossed the narrow lawn and mounted up near to the top of thetrees; but on them he was still shining brightly, and on thebroad landscape beyond, which lay open to view through the gapin the trees. The glass door was open; the sweet summer airand the sound of birds and insects and fluttering leavesfloated into the room, making the stillness musical. On thethreshold pussy sat crouched, with his forefeet doubled underhis breast, watching, with intense gravity, the operations ofMargery, who was setting the table on the lawn, just beforehis eyes. Alice was paring peaches. 

"Oh, we are going to have tea out of doors, aren't we!" saidEllen. "I'm very glad. What a lovely evening! isn't it? Justlook at pussy, will you, Alice? don't you believe he knowswhat Margery is doing? Why didn't you call me to go along withyou after peaches?"

"I thought you were doing the very best thing you possiblycould, Ellie, my dear. How do you do?"

"Oh, nicely now! where's Mr. John? I hope he won't ask for mylast drawing to-night; I want to fix the top of that treebefore he sees it. "

"_Fix_ the top of your tree, you little Yankee!" said Alice; —"what do you think John would say to that? — _un_fix it, youmean; it is too stiff already, isn't it?"

"Well, what _shall_ I say?" said Ellen, laughing. "I am sorrythat is Yankee, for I suppose one must speak English. — I wantto do something to my tree, then. Where is he, Alice?"

"He is gone down to Mr. Van Brunt's, to see how he is, and tospeak to Miss Fortune about you on his way back. "

"Oh, how kind of him! — he's _very_ good; that is just what Iwant to know; but I am sorry, after this long ride —"

"He don't mind _that_, Ellie. He'll be home presently. "

"How nice those peaches look! they are as good as strawberries— don't you think so? — better— I don't know which is best —but Mr. John likes these best, don't he? Now you've done —shall I set them on the table? — and here's a pitcher ofsplendid cream, Alice!"

"You had better not tell John so, or he will make you define_splendid_. "

John came back in good time, and brought word that Mr. VanBrunt was doing very well, so far as could be known; also, that Miss Fortune consented to Ellen's remaining where shewas. He wisely did not say, however, that her consent had beenslow to gain, till he had hinted at his readiness to provide asubstitute for Ellen's services; on which Miss Fortune hadinstantly declared she did not want her, and she might stay aslong as she pleased. This was all that was needed to completeEllen's felicity. 

"Wasn't your poor horse too tired to go out again thisafternoon, Mr. John?"

"I did not ride him, Ellie; I took yours. "

"The Brownie! — did you? — I'm very glad! How did you likehim? But perhaps _he_ was tired a little, and you couldn't tellso well to-day. "

"He was not tired with any work you had given him, Ellie —perhaps he may be a little, now. "

"Why?" said Ellen, somewhat alarmed. 

"I have been trying him; and instead of going quietly alongthe road, we have been taking some of the fences in our way. As I intend practising you at the bar, I wished to make sure, in the first place, that he knew his lesson. "

"Well, how did he do?"

"Perfectly well — I believe he is a good little fellow. Iwanted to satisfy myself if he was fit to be trusted with you;and I rather think Mr. Marshman has taken care of that. "

The whole wall of trees was in shadow when the little familysat down to table; but there was still the sunlit picturebehind; and there was another kind of sunshine in every faceat the table. Quietly happy the whole four, or at least thewhole three, were — first, in being together — after that, inall things beside. Never was tea so refreshing, or bread andbutter so sweet, or the song of birds so delightsome. When thebirds were gone to their nests, the cricket and grasshopper, and tree-toad and katydid, and nameless other songsters, keptup a concert — nature's own — in delicious harmony with woodsand flowers, and summer breezes and evening light. Ellen's cupof enjoyment was running over. From one beautiful thing toanother her eye wandered — from one joy to another herthoughts went — till her full heart fixed on the God who hadmade and given them all, and that Redeemer whose blood hadbeen their purchase-money. From the dear friends beside her, the best loved she had in the world, she thought of the onedearer, yet from whom death had separated her; — yet livingstill — and to whom death would restore her, thanks to Him whohad burst the bonds of death, and broken the gates of thegrave, and made a way for his ransomed to pass over. And thethought of Him was the joyfullest of all. 

"You look happy, Ellie, " said her adopted brother. 

"So I am, " said Ellen, smiling a very bright smile. 

"What are you thinking about?"

But John saw it would not do to press his question. 

"You remind me, " said he, "of some old fairy story that mychildish ears received, in which the fountains of the sweetand bitter waters of life were said to stand very near eachother, and to mingle their streams but a little way from theirsource. Your tears and smiles seem to be brothers and sisters;whenever we see one we may be sure the other is not far off. "

"My dear Jack, " said Alice, laughing — "what an unhappysimile! Are brothers and sisters always found like that?"

"I wish they were, " said John, sighing and smiling; "but mylast words had nothing to do with my simile, as you call it. "

When tea was over, and Margery had withdrawn the things, andtaken away the table, they still lingered in their places. Itwas far too pleasant to go in. Mr. Humphreys moved his chairto the side of the house, and throwing a handkerchief over hishead to defend him from the mosquitoes, a few of which werebuzzing about, he either listened, meditated, or slept; mostprobably one of the two latter, for the conversation was notvery loud nor very lively; it was happiness enough merely tobreathe so near each other. The sun left the distant fieldsand hills; soft twilight stole through the woods, down thegap, and over the plain; the grass lost its green; the wall oftrees grew dark and dusky; and very faint and dim showed thepicture that was so bright a little while ago. As they satquite silent, listening to what nature had to say to them, orletting fancy and memory take their way, the silence wasbroken — hardly broken — by the distinct far-off cry of awhip-poor-will. Alice grasped her brother's arm, and theyremained motionless, while it came nearer, nearer, then quitenear, with its clear, wild, shrill, melancholy note soundingclose by them again and again — strangely, plaintively — thenleaving the lawn, it was heard further and further off, tillthe last faint "whip-poor-will, " in the far distance, endedits pretty interlude. It was almost too dark to read faces, but the eyes of the brother and sister had sought each other, remained fixed till the bird was out of hearing; then Alice'shand was removed to his, and her head found its old place onher brother's shoulder. 

"Sometimes, John, " said Alice, "I am afraid I have one tie toostrong to this world. I cannot bear — as I ought — to have youaway from me. "

Her brother's lips were instantly pressed to her forehead. 

"I may say to you, Alice, as Colonel Gardiner said to hiswife, 'we have an eternity to spend together!' "

"I wonder, " said Alice, after a pause, "how those can bear tolove or be loved, whose affection can see nothing but a blankbeyond the grave. "

"Few people, I believe, " said her brother, "would come exactlyunder that description; most flatter themselves with a vaguehope of reunion after death. "

"But that is a miserable hope — very different from ours. "

"Very different indeed! and miserable; for it can onlydeceive; but ours is sure. 'Them that sleep in Jesus will Godbring with him. ' "

"Precious!" said Alice. "How exactly fitted to every want andmood of the mind are the sweet Bible words!"

"Well!" said Mr. Humphreys, rousing himself — "I am going in!These musquitoes have half eaten me up. Are you going to sitthere all night?"

"We are thinking of it, Papa, " said Alice, cheerfully. 

He went in, and was heard calling Margery for a liglit. 

They had better lights on the lawn. The stars began to peepout through the soft blue, and as the blue grew deeper, theycame out more and brighter, till all heaven was hung withlamps. But that was not all. In the eastern horizon, justabove the low hills that bordered the far side of the plain, awhite light, spreading, and growing, and brightening, promisedthe moon, and promised that she would rise very splendid; andeven before she came, began to throw a faint lustre over thelandscape. All eyes were fastened and exclamations burst, asthe first silver edge showed itself, and the moon, rapidlyrising, looked on them with her whole, broad, bright face:lighting up not only their faces and figures, but the widecountry view that was spread out below, and touching mostbeautifully the trees in the edge of the gap, and faintly thelawn; while the wall of wood stood in deeper and blackershadow than ever. 

"Isn't that beautiful!" said Ellen. 

"Come round here, Ellie, " said John; "Alice may have you allthe rest of the year, but when I am at home you belong to me. What was your little head busied upon a while ago?"

"When?" said Ellen. 

"When I asked you —"

"Oh, I know — I remember. I was thinking —"

"Well?"

"I was thinking — do you want me to tell you?"

"Unless you would rather not. "

"I was thinking about Jesus Christ, " said Ellen, in a lowtone. 

"What about him, dear Ellie?" said her brother, drawing hercloser to his side. 

"Different things; — I was thinking of what he said aboutlittle children; and about what he said, you know — 'In myFather's house are many mansions;' — and I was thinking thatMamma was there: and I thought — that we all —"

Ellen could get no further. 

" 'He that believeth in him shall not be ashamed, ' " saidJohn, softly. " 'This is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life; and who shall separate us from the love ofChrist? Not death, nor things present, nor things to come. Buthe that hath this hope in him, purifieth himself, even as heis pure;' — let us remember that too. "

"Mr. John, " said Ellen, presently — "don't you like some ofthe chapters in the Revelation very much?"

"Yes — very much. Why? — do you?"

"Yes. I remember reading parts of them to Mamma, and that isone reason, I suppose; but I like them very much. There is agreat deal I can't understand, though. "

"There is nothing finer in the Bible than parts of that book, "said Alice. 

"Mr. John, " said Ellen — "what is meant by the 'white stone?'"

" 'And in the stone a new name written?' "

"Yes — that I mean. "

"Mr. Baxter says it is the sense of God's love in the heart;and, indeed, that is it 'which no man knoweth saving him thatreceiveth it. ' This, I take it, Ellen, was Christian'scertificate, which he used to comfort himself with reading in, you remember?"

"Can a child have it?" said Ellen, thoughtfully. 

"Certainly — many children have had it — you may have it. Onlyseek it faithfully. 'Thou meetest him that rejoiceth andworketh righteousness, those that remember thee in thy ways. '— And Christ said, 'He that loveth me shall be loved of myFather, and I will love him, and I will manifest myself tohim. ' There is no failure in these promises, Ellie; he thatmade them is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. "

For a little while each was busy with his own meditations. Themoon, meanwhile, rising higher and higher, poured a flood oflight through the gap in the woods before them, and stealingamong the trees, here and there, lit up a spot of ground undertheir deep shadow. The distant picture lay in mazy brightness. All was still, but the ceaseless chirrup of insects, andgentle flapping of leaves; the summer air just touched theircheeks with the lightest breath of a kiss, sweet from distanthayfields, and nearer pines and hemlocks, and other ofnature's numberless perfume boxes. The hay harvest had beenremarkably late this year. 

"This is higher enjoyment, " said John, "than half those whomake their homes in rich houses and mighty palaces have anynotion of. "

"But can not rich people look at the moon?" said Ellen. 

"Yes, but the taste for pure pleasures is commonly gone, whenpeople make a trade of pleasure. "

"Mr. John" — Ellen began. 

"I will forewarn you, " said he, "that Mr. John has made up hismind he will do nothing more for you. So if you have anythingto ask, it must lie still — unless you will begin again. "

Ellen drew back. He looked grave, but she saw Alice smiling. 

"But what shall I do?" said she, a little perplexed, and half-laughing. "What do you mean, Mr. John? What does he mean, Alice?"

"You could speak without a 'Mr. ' to me this morning, when youwere in trouble. "

"Oh, " said Ellen laughing, "I forgot myself then. "

"Have the goodness to forget yourself permanently for thefuture. "

"Was that man hurt this morning, John?" said his sister. 

"What man?"

"That man you delivered Ellen from. "

"Hurt? no — nothing material; I did not wish to hurt him. Herichly deserved punishment, but it was not for me to give it. "

"He was in no hurry to get up, " said Ellen. 

"I do not think he ventured upon that till we were well out ofthe way. He lifted his head and looked after us as we rodeoff. "

"But I wanted to ask something, " said Ellen — "oh — what isthe reason the moon looks so much larger when she first getsup, than she does afterwards?"

"Whom are you asking?"

"You. "

"And who is you? Here are two people in the moonlight. "

"Mr. John Humphreys, Alice's brother, and that Thomas calls'the young master, ' " said Ellen, laughing. 

"You are more shy of taking a leap than your little horse is, "said John, smiling; "but I shall bring you up to it yet. Whatis the cause of the sudden enlargement of my thumb?"

He had drawn a small magnifying-glass from his pocket, andheld it between his hand and Ellen. 

"Why, it is not enlarged, " said Ellen — "it is onlymagnified. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, the glass makes it look larger. "

"Do you know how, or why?"

"No. "

He put up the glass again. 

"But what do you mean by that?" said Ellen, "there is nomagnifying-glass between us and the moon to make _her_ looklarger. "

"You are sure of that?"

"Why, yes, " said Ellen, "I am perfectly sure; there is nothingin the world. There she is, right up there, looking straightdown upon us, and there is nothing between. "

"What is it that keeps up that pleasant fluttering of leavesin the wood?"

"Why, the wind. "

"And what is the wind?"

"It is air — air moving, I suppose. "

"Exactly. Then there _is_ something between us and the moon?"

"The air? But, Mr. John, one can see quite clearly through theair; it doesn't make things look larger or smaller. "

"How far do you suppose the air reaches from us towards themoon?"

"Why, all the way — don't it?"

"No — only about forty miles. If it reached all the way, therewould indeed be no magnifying-glass in the case. "

"But how is it?" said Ellen. "I don't understand. "

"I cannot tell you to-night, Ellie. There is a long ladder ofknowledge to go up before we can get to the moon, but we willbegin to mount to-morrow, if nothing happens. Alice, you havethat little book of _Conversations on Natural Philosophy_, whichyou and I used to delight ourselves with in old time. "

"Safe and sound in the book-case, " said Alice. "I have thoughtof giving it to Ellen before, but she has been busy enoughwith what she had already. "

"I have done Rollin, now, though, " said Ellen; "that is lucky, I am ready for the moon. "

This new study was begun the next day, and Ellen took greatdelight in it. She would have run on too fast in hereagerness, but for the steady hand of her teacher; he obligedher to be very thorough. This was only one of her items ofbusiness. The weeks of John's stay were, as usual, not merelyweeks of constant and varied delight, but of constant andswift improvement too. 

A good deal of time was given to the riding-lessons. Johnbusied himself one morning in preparing a bar for her on thelawn, so placed that it might fall if the horse's heelstouched it. Here Ellen learned to take first standing, andthen running leaps. She was afraid at first, but habit worethat off; and the bar was raised higher and higher, tillMargery declared she "couldn't stand and look at her goingover it. " Then John made her ride without the stirrup, andwith her hands behind her, while he, holding the horse by along halter, made him go round in a circle, slowly at first, and afterwards trotting and cantering, till Ellen felt almostas secure on his back as in a chair. It took a good manylessons, however, to bring her to this, and she trembled verymuch at the beginning. Her teacher was careful and gentle, butdetermined; and whatever he said she did, tremble or notremble; and, in general, loved her riding lessons dearly. 

Drawing, too, went on finely. He began to let her draw thingsfrom nature; and many a pleasant morning the three went outtogether with pencils and books and work, and spent hours inthe open air. They would find a pretty point of view, or anice shady place where the breeze came, and where there wassome good old rock with a tree beside it, or a piece of fence, or the house or barn in the distance, for Ellen to sketch; andwhile she drew and Alice worked, John read aloud to them. Sometimes he took a pencil too, and Alice read; and often, often, pencils, books, and work were all laid down; and talk —lively, serious, earnest, always delightful — took the placeof them. When Ellen could not understand the words, at leastshe could read the faces; and that was a study she was neverweary of. At home there were other studies and much reading;many tea-drinkings on the lawn, and even breakfastings, whichshe thought pleasanter still. 

As soon as it was decided that Mr. Van Brunt's leg was doingwell, and in a fair way to be sound again, Ellen went to seehim; and after that rarely let two days pass without goingagain. John and Alice used to ride with her so far, and takinga turn beyond while she made her visit, call for her on theirway back. She had a strong motive for going in the pleasureher presence always gave, both to Mr. Van Brunt and hismother. Sam Larkens had been to Thirlwall and seen Mrs. Forbes, and from him they had heard the story of her riding upand down the town in search of the doctor; neither of themcould forget it. Mrs. Van Brunt poured out her affection inall sorts of expressions whenever she had Ellen's ear; her sonwas not a man of many words; but Ellen knew his face andmanner well enough without them, and read there, whenever shewent into his room, what gave her great pleasure. 

"How do you do, Mr. Van Brunt?" she said, on one of theseoccasions. 

"Oh, I'm getting along, I s'pose, " said he — "getting along aswell as a man can that's lying on his back from morning tonight; — prostrated, as Squire Dennison said his corn wast'other day. "

"It is very tiresome, isn't it?" said Ellen. 

"It's the tiresomest work that ever was, for a man that hastwo arms to be a-doing nothing, day after day. And whatbothers me is the wheat in the ten-acre lot, that _ought_ to beprostrated too, and ain't, nor ain't like to be, as I know, unless the rain comes and does it. Sam and Johnny'll make noheadway at all with it — I can tell as well as if I see 'em. "

"But Sam is good, isn't he?" said Ellen. 

"Sam's as good a boy as ever was; but then Johnny Low ismischievous, you see, and he gets Sam out of his tracks oncein a while. I never see a finer growth of wheat. I had a sightrather cut and harvest the hull of it than to lie here andthink of it getting spoiled. I'm a'most out o' conceit o'trap-doors, Ellen. "

Ellen could not help smiling. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"There ain't nothing, " said he; — "I wish there was. How areyou coming along at home?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen — "I am not there just now, youknow; I am staying up with Miss Alice again. "

"Oh, ay! while her brother's at home. He's a splendid man, that young Mr. Humphreys, ain't he?"

"Oh, _I_ knew that a great while ago, " said Ellen, the brightcolour of pleasure overspreading her face. 

"Well, _I_ didn't, you see, till the other day, when he camehere, very kindly, to see how I was getting on. I wishsomething would bring him again. I never heerd a man talk Iliked to hear so much. "

Ellen secretly resolved something _should_ bring him; and wenton with a purpose she had had for some time in her mind. 

"Wouldn't it be pleasant, while you are lying there and can donothing — wouldn't you like to have me read something to you, Mr. Van Brunt? _I_ should like to, very much. "

"It's just like you, " said he, gratefully — "to think of that;but I wouldn't have you be bothered with it. "

"It wouldn't, indeed. I should like it very much. "

"Well, if you've a mind, " said he — "I can't say but it wouldbe a kind o' comfort to keep that grain out o' my head awhile. Seems to me I have cut and housed it all three timesover already. Read just whatever you have a mind to. If youwas to go over a last year's almanac it would be as good as afiddle to me. "

"I'll do better for you than that, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, laughing in high glee at having gained her point. She hadsecretly brought her _Pilgrim's Progress_ with her, and now withmarvellous satisfaction drew it forth. 

"I han't been as much of a reader as I had ought to, " said Mr. Van Brunt, as she opened the book and turned to the firstpage; "but, however, I understand my business pretty well; anda man can't be everything to once. Now let's hear what you'vegot there. "

With a throbbing heart, Ellen began; and read, notes and all, till the sound of tramping hoofs and Alice's voice made herbreak off. It encouraged and delighted her to see that Mr. VanBrunt's attention was perfectly fixed. He lay still, withoutmoving his eyes from her face, till she stopped; then thankingher, he declared that was a "first-rate book, " and he "shouldlike mainly to hear the hull on it. "

From that time Ellen was diligent in her attendance on him. That she might have more time for reading than the old plangave her, she set off by herself alone some time before theothers, of course riding home with them. It cost her a little, sometimes, to forego so much of their company; but she neversaw the look of grateful pleasure with which she was welcomedwithout ceasing to regret her self-denial. How Ellen blessedthose notes as she went on with her reading! They said exactlywhat she wanted Mr. Van Brunt to hear, and in the best way, and were too short and simple to interrupt the interest of thestory. After a while she ventured to ask if she might read hima chapter in the Bible. He agreed very readily; owning "hehadn't ought to be so long without reading one as he hadbeen. " Ellen then made it a rule to herself, without askingany more questions, to end every reading with a chapter in theBible; and she carefully sought out those that might be mostlikely to take hold of his judgment or feelings. They tookhold of her own very deeply, by the means; what was strong ortender, before, now seemed to her too mighty to be withstood;and Ellen read not only with her lips, but with her wholeheart, the precious words, longing that they might come withtheir just effect upon Mr. Van Brunt's mind. 

Once as she finished reading the tenth chapter of John, afavourite chapter, which, between her own feeling of it, andher strong wish for him, had moved her even to tears, she casta glance at his face to see how he took it. His head was alittle turned to one side, and his eyes closed; she thought hewas asleep. Ellen was very much disappointed. She sank herhead upon her book, and prayed that a time might come when hewould know the worth of those words. The touch of his handstartled her. 

"What is the matter?" said he. "Are you tired?"

"No, " said Ellen, looking hastily up; — "oh, no — I'm nottired. "

"But what ails you?" said the astonished Mr. Van Brunt; "whathave you been a-crying for? what's the matter?"

"Oh, never mind, " said Ellen, brushing her hand over her eyes— "it's no matter. "

"Yes, but I want to know, " said Mr. Van Brunt; — "you shan'thave anything to vex you that _I_ can help; what is it?"

"It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt, " said Ellen, bursting intotears again — "only I thought you were asleep — I — I thoughtyou didn't care enough about the Bible to keep awake — I want_so_ much that you should be a Christian!"

He half groaned, and turned his head away. 

"What makes you wish that so much?" said he, after a minute ortwo. 

"Because I want you to be happy, " said Ellen — "and I know youcan't without. "

"Well, I am pretty tolerable happy, " said he; — "as happy asmost folks, I guess. "

"But I want you to be happy when you die, too, " said Ellen —"I want to meet you in heaven"

"I hope I will go there, surely, " said he, gravely — "when thetime comes. "

Ellen was uneasily silent, not knowing what to say. 

"I ain't as good as I ought to be, " said he presently, with ahalf sigh: — "I ain't good enough to go to heaven — I wish Iwas. _You_ are, I do believe. "

"I! Oh no, Mr. Van Brunt, do not say that; I am not good atall — I am full of wrong things. "

"Well, I wish I was full of wrong things, too, in the sameway, " said he. 

"But I am, " said Ellen — "whether you will believe it or not. Nobody is good, Mr. Van Brunt. But Jesus Christ has died forus, and if we ask him, he will forgive us, and wash away oursins, and teach us to love him, and make us good, and take usto be with him in heaven. Oh! I wish you would ask him!" sherepeated, with an earnestness that went to his heart. "I don'tbelieve any one can be very happy that doesn't love him. "

"Is that what makes _you_ happy?" said he. 

"I have a great many things to make me happy, " said Ellen, soberly — "but that is the greatest of all. It always makes mehappy to think of him, and it makes everything else a thousandtimes pleasanter. I wish you knew how it is, Mr. Van Brunt!"

He was silent for a little, and disturbed, Ellen thought. 

"Well!" said he at length — " 'taint the folks that thinksthemselves the best that _is_ the best always — if you ain'tgood, I should like to know what goodness is. _There's_ somebodythat thinks you be, " said he, a minute or two afterwards, asthe horses were heard coming to the gate, "No, she knows me better than that, " said Ellen. 

"It isn't any _she_ that I mean, " said Mr. Van Brunt. "There'ssomebody else out there, ain't there?"

"Who?" said Ellen — "Mr. John? Oh no, indeed he don't. It wasonly this morning he was telling me of something I did thatwas wrong. " Her eyes watered as she spoke. 

"He must have mighty sharp eyes, then, " said Mr. Van Brunt —"for it beats all _my_ powers of seeing things. "

"And so he has, " said Ellen, putting on her bonnet; "he alwaysknows what I am thinking of just as well as if I told him. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, " said he — "I han't forgotten what you've beensaying, and I don't mean to. "

How full of sweet pleasure was the ride home!

The "something wrong, " of which Ellen had spoken, was this. The day before, it happened that Mr. John had broken her offfrom a very engaging book to take her drawing lesson; and ashe stooped down to give a touch or two to the piece she was tocopy, he said, "I don't want you to read any more of that, Ellie; it is not a good book for you. " Ellen did not for amoment question that he was right, nor wish to disobey; butshe had become very much interested, and was a good dealannoyed at having such a sudden stop put to her pleasure. Shesaid nothing, and went on with her work. In a little whileAlice asked her to hold a skein of cotton for her while shewound it. Ellen was annoyed again at the interruption; theharpstrings were jarring yet, and gave fresh discord to everytouch. She had, however, no mind to let her vexation be seen;she went immediately and held the cotton, and, as soon as itwas done, set down again to her drawing. Before ten minuteshad passed, Margery came to set the table for dinner; Ellen'spapers and desk must move. 

"Why, it is not dinner-time yet, this great while, Margery, "said she — "it isn't much after twelve. "

"No, Miss Ellen, " said Margery, under her breath, for John wasin one corner of the room reading— "but by-and-by I'll be busywith the chops and frying the salsify, and I couldn't leavethe kitchen — if you'll let me have the table now. "

Ellen said no more, and moved her things to a stand before thewindow, where she went on with her copying till dinner wasready. Whatever the reason was, however, her pencil did notwork smoothly; her eye did not see true; and she lacked herusual steady patience. The next morning, after an hour andmore's work and much painstaking, the drawing was finished. Ellen had quite forgotten her yesterday's trouble. But whenJohn came to review her drawing, he found several faults withit; pointed out two or three places in which it had sufferedfrom haste and want of care; and asked her how it hadhappened. Ellen knew it happened yesterday. She was vexedagain, though she did her best not to show it; she stoodquietly and heard what he had to say. He then told her to getready for her riding lesson. 

"Mayn't I just make this right first?" said Ellen — "it won'ttake me long. "

"No, " said he; "you have been sitting long enough; I mustbreak you off. The Brownie will be here in ten minutes. "

Ellen was impatiently eager to mend the bad places in herdrawing, and impatiently displeased at being obliged to ridefirst. Slowly and reluctantly she went to get ready; John wasalready gone; she would not have moved so leisurely if he hadbeen anywhere within seeing distance. As it was, she found itconvenient to quicken her movements, and was at the door readyas soon as he and the Brownie. She was soon thoroughly engagedin the management of herself and her horse; a little smartriding shook all the ill-humour out of her, and she wasentirely herself again. At the end of fifteen or twentyminutes they drew up under the shade of a tree to let theBrownie rest a little. It was a warm day, and John had takenoff his hat and stood resting too, with his arm leaning on theneck of the horse. Presently he looked round to Ellen, andasked her, with a smile, if she felt right again. 

"Why?" said Ellen, the crimson of her cheeks mounting to herforehead. But her eye sunk immediately at the answering glanceof his. He then, in a very few words, set the matter beforeher, with such a happy mixture of pointedness and kindness, that while the reproof coming from him went to the quick, Ellen yet joined with it no thought of harshness or severity. She was completely subdued, however; the rest of the ridinglesson had to be given up, and for an hour Ellen's tears couldnot be stayed. But it was, and John had meant it should be, astrong check given to her besetting sin. It had a long andlasting effect. 

CHAPTER XL. 

"Prodigious!"

In due time, Mr. Van Brunt was on his legs again, much toeverybody's joy, and much to the advantage of fields, fences, and grain. Sam and Johnny found they must "spring to, " astheir leader said; and Miss Fortune declared she was thankfulshe could draw a long breath again, for, do what she would, she couldn't be everywhere. Before this John and the BlackPrince had departed, and Alice and Ellen were left aloneagain. 

"How long will it be, dear Alice, " said Ellen, as they stoodsorrowfully looking down the road by which he had gone, "before he will be through that — before he will be able toleave Doncaster?"

"Next summer. "

"And what will he do then?"

"Then he will be ordained. "

"Ordained! what is that?"

"He will be solemnly set apart for the work of the ministry, and appointed to it by a number of clergymen. "

"And then will he come and stay at home, Alice?"

"I don't know what then, dear Ellen, " said Alice, sighing; "hemay for a little; but Papa wishes very much that before he issettled anywhere, he should visit England and Scotland, andsee our friends there; though I hardly think John will do it, unless he sees some further reason for going. If he do not, hewill probably soon he called somewhere; Mr. Marshman wants himto come to Randolph. I don't know how it will be. "

"Well!" said Ellen, with a kind of acquiescing sigh, — "at anyrate now we must wait until next Christmas. "

The winter passed with little to mark it except the usualvisits to Ventnor; which, however, by common consent, Aliceand Ellen had agreed should not be when John was at home. Atall other times they were much prized and enjoyed. Every twoor three months Mr. Marshman was sure to come for them, or Mr. Howard, or perhaps the carriage only with a letter; and it wasbargained for, that Mr. Humphreys should follow to see themhome. It was not always that Ellen could go, but thedisappointments were seldom; she, too, had become quitedomesticated at Ventnor, and was sincerely loved by the wholefamily. Many as were the times she had been there, it hadoddly happened that she had never met her old friend of theboat again; but she was very much attached to old Mr. And Mrs. Marshman, and Mrs. Chauncey and her daughter; the latter ofwhom reckoned all the rest of her young friends as nothingcompared with Ellen Montgomery. Ellen, in her opinion, dideverything better than any one else of her age. 

"She has good teachers, " said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Yes, indeed! I should think she had. Alice — I should thinkanybody would learn well with her; and Mr. John — I supposehe's as good, though I don't know so much about him; but hemust be a great deal better teacher than Mr. Sandford, Mamma, for Ellen draws _ten times_ as well as I do!"

"Perhaps that is your fault, and not Mr. Sandford's, " said hermother; "though I rather think you overrate the difference. "

"I am sure I take pains enough, if that's all, " said thelittle girl; "what more can I do, Mamma? But Ellen is sopleasant about it always; she never seems to think she doesbetter than I; and she is always ready to help me, and takeever so much time to show me how to do things; — she is _so_pleasant, isn't she, Mamma? I know I have heard you say she isvery polite. "

"She is certainly that, " said Mrs. Gillespie; "and there is agrace in her politeness that can only proceed from greatnatural delicacy and refinement of character. How she can havesuch manners, living and working in the way you say she does, I confess is beyond my comprehension. "

"One would not readily forget the notion of good-breeding inthe society of Alice and John Humphreys, " said Miss Sophia. 

"And Mr. Humphreys, " said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"There is no society about him, " said Miss Sophia; "he don'tsay two dozen words a day. "

"But she is not with them, " said Mrs. Gillespie. 

"She is with them a great deal, aunt Matilda, " said EllenChauncey, "and they teach her everything, and she does learn!She must be very clever; don't you think she is, Mamma? Mamma, she beats me entirely in speaking French, and she knows allabout English history; and arithmetic! — and did you ever hearher sing, Mamma?"

"I do not believe she beats you, as you call it, in generousestimation of others, " said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling, andbending forward to kiss her daughter; "but what is the reasonEllen is so much better read in history than you?"

"I don't know, Mamma, unless — I wish I wasn't so fond ofreading stories. "

"Ellen Montgomery is just as fond of them, I'll warrant, " saidMiss Sophia. 

"Yes — oh, I know she is fond of them; but then Alice and Mr. John don't let her read them, except now and then one. "

"I fancy she does it, though, when their backs are turned, "said Mrs. Gillespie. 

"She! oh, aunt Matilda! she wouldn't do the least thing theydon't like for the whole world. I know she never reads a storywhen she is here, unless it is my Sunday books, without askingAlice first. "

"She is a most extraordinary child!" said Mrs. Gillespie. 

"She is a _good_ child!" said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Yes, Mamma, and that is what I wanted to say. I do not thinkEllen is so polite because she is so much with Alice and John, but because she is so sweet and good. I don't think she could_help_ being polite. "

"It is not that, " said Mrs. Gillespie; "mere sweetness andgoodness would never give so much elegance of manner. As faras I have seen, Ellen Montgomery is a _perfectly_ well-behavedchild. "

"That she is, " said Mrs. Chauncey; "but neither would anycultivation or example be sufficient for it without Ellen'sthorough good principle and great sweetness of temper. "

"That's exactly what _I_ think, Mamma, " said Ellen Chauncey. 

Ellen's sweetness of temper was not entirely born with her; itwas one of the blessed fruits of religion and discipline. Discipline had not done with it yet. When the winter came on, and the house-work grew less, and with renewed vigour she wasbending herself to improvement in all sorts of ways, itunluckily came into Miss Fortune's head, that some of Ellen'sspare time might be turned to account in a new line. With thislady, to propose and to do were two things always very neartogether. The very next day Ellen was summoned to help herdown-stairs with the big spinning-wheel. Most unsuspiciously, and with her accustomed pleasantness, Ellen did it. But whenshe was sent up again for the rolls of wool, and Miss Fortune, after setting up the wheel, put one of them into her hand andinstructed her how to draw out and twist the thread of yarn, she saw all that was coming. She saw it with dismay. So muchyarn as Miss Fortune might think it well she should spin, somuch time must be taken daily from her beloved reading andwriting, drawing, and studying; her very heart sunk with her. She made no remonstrance, unless her disconsolate face mightbe thought one; she stood half a day at the big spinning-wheel, fretting secretly, while Miss Fortune went round withan inward chuckle visible in her countenance, that in spite ofherself increased Ellen's vexation. And this was not theannoyance of a day; she must expect it day after day throughthe whole winter. It was a grievous trial. Ellen cried for agreat while when she got to her own room, and a long hardstruggle was necessary before she could resolve to do herduty. "To be patient and quiet! — and spin nobody knows howmuch yarn — and my poor history and philosophy and drawing andFrench and reading!" — Ellen cried very heartily. But she knewwhat she ought to do; she prayed long, humbly, earnestly, that"her little rushlight might shine bright;" — and her aunt hadno cause to complain of her. Sometimes, if over-pressed, Ellenwould ask Miss Fortune to let her stop; saying, as Alice hadadvised her, that she wished to have her do such and suchthings; Miss Fortune never made any objection; and the hoursof spinning that wrought so many knots of yarn for her aunt, wrought better things yet for the little spinner: patience andgentleness grew with the practice of them; this wearisome workwas one of the many seemingly untoward things which in realitybring out good. The time Ellen _did_ secure to herself was heldthe more precious, and used the more carefully. After all itwas a very profitable and pleasant winter to her. 

John's visit came as usual at the holidays, and was enjoyed asusual; only that every one seemed to Ellen more pleasant thanthe last. The only other event that broke the quiet course ofthings (besides the journeys to Ventnor) was the death of Mrs. Van Brunt. This happened very unexpectedly and after a shortillness, not far from the end of January. Ellen was verysorry, both for her own sake and Mr. Van Brunt's, who she wassure felt much, though, according to his general custom, hesaid nothing. Ellen felt for him none the less. She littlethought what an important bearing this event would have uponher own future well-being. 

The winter passed and the spring came. One fine, mild, pleasant afternoon, early in May, Mr. Van Brunt came into thekitchen and asked Ellen if she wanted to go with him and seethe sheep salted. Ellen was seated at the table with a largetin pan in her lap, and before her a huge heap of white beans, which she was picking over for the Saturday's favourite dishof pork and beans. She looked up at him with a hopeless face. 

"I should like to go very much indeed, Mr. Van Brunt, but yousee I can't. All these to do!"

"Beans, eh?" said he, putting one or two in his mouth. "Where's your aunt?"

"Here, Ma'am!" said he — "can't you let this child go with me?I want her along to help feed the sheep. "

To Ellen's astonishment, her aunt called to her through theclosed door to "go along, and leave the beans till she cameback. " Joyfully Ellen obeyed. She turned her back upon thebeans, careless of the big heap which would still be there topick over when she returned, and ran to get her bonnet. In allthe time she had been at Thirlwall, something had alwaysprevented her seeing the sheep fed with salt, and she wenteagerly out of the door with Mr. Van Brunt to a new pleasure. 

They crossed two or three meadows back of the barn, to a lowrocky hill covered with trees. On the other side of this, theycame to a fine field of spring wheat. Footsteps must not goover the young grain; Ellen and Mr. Van Brunt coastedcarefully round by the fence to another piece of rockywoodland, that lay on the far side of the wheat-field. It wasa very fine afternoon. The grass was green in the meadow; thetrees were beginning to show their leaves; the air was softand spring-like. In great glee Ellen danced along, luckilyneeding no entertainment from Mr. Van Brunt, who was devotedto his salt-pan. His natural taciturnity seemed greater thanever; he amused himself all the way over the meadow, withturning over his salt and tasting it, till Ellen laughinglytold him, she believed he was as fond of it as the sheep were;and then he took to chucking little bits of it right and left, at anything he saw that was big enough to serve for a mark. Ellen stopped him again, by laughing at his wastefulness; andso they came to the wood. She left him then to do as he liked, while she ran hither and thither to search for flowers. It wasslow getting through the wood. He was fain to stop and waitfor her. 

"Aren't these lovely?" said Ellen, as she came up with herhands full of anemones — "and look — there's the liverwort. Ithought it must be out before now — the dear little thing! —but I can't find any blood-root, Mr. Van Brunt. "

"I guess they're gone, " said Mr. Van Brunt. 

"I suppose they must, " said Ellen. "I am sorry; I like them somuch. Oh, I believe I did get them earlier than this two yearsago, when I used to take so many walks with you. Only think ofmy not having been to look for flowers before, this spring. "

"It hadn't ought to ha' happened so, that's a fact, " said Mr. Van Brunt; "I don't know how it has. "

"Oh! there are my yellow bells!" exclaimed Ellen — "oh, youbeauties! Aren't they, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"I won't say but what I think an ear of wheat's handsomer, "said he, with his half smile. 

"Why, Mr. Van Brunt! How can you? — but an ear of wheat'spretty, too. Oh, Mr. Van Brunt, what _is_ that? Do you get mesome of it, will you, please? Oh, how beautiful! — what isit?"

"That's black birch, " said he; " '_tis_ kind o' handsome; —stop, I'll find you some oak blossoms directly. There's someSolomon's seal — do you want some of that?"

Ellen sprang to it with exclamations of joy, and, before shecould rise from her stooping posture, discovered some cowslipsto be scrambled for. Wild columbine, the delicate corydalis, and more uvularias, which she called yellow bells, were addedto her handful, till it grew a very elegant bunch indeed. Mr. Van Brunt looked complacently on, much as Ellen would at akitten running round after its tail. 

"Now, I won't keep you any longer, Mr. Van Brunt, " said she, when her hands were as full as they could hold; — "I have keptyou a great while; you are very good to wait for me. "

They took up their line of march again, and after crossing thelast piece of rocky woodland, came to an open hill-side, sloping gently up, at the foot of which were several largeflat stones. 

"But where are the sheep, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen. 

"I guess they ain't fur, " said he. "You keep quiet, 'causethey don't know you; and they are mighty scary. Just standstill there by the fence. — Ca-nan! ca-nan! ca-nan, nan, nan, nan, nan, nan, nan!"

This was the sheep-call, and raising his voice, Mr. Van Bruntmade it sound abroad far over the hills. Again and again itsounded; and then Ellen saw the white nose of a sheep, at theedge of the woods, on the top of the hill. On the call'ssounding again, the sheep set forward, and in a long trainthey came running along a narrow footpath, down towards whereMr. Van Brunt was standing with his pan. The soft tramp of amultitude of light hoofs in another direction, turned Ellen'seyes that way, and there were two more single files of sheeprunning down the hill from different points in the woodland. The pretty things came scampering along, seeming in a greathurry, till they got very near; then the whole multitude cameto a sudden halt, and looked very wistfully and doubtfullyindeed at Mr. Van Brunt, and the strange little figurestanding so still by the fence. They seemed in great doubt, every sheep of them, whether Mr. Van Brunt were not a traitor, who had put on a friend's voice, and lured them down therewith some dark evil intent, which he was going to carry out bymeans of that same dangerous-looking stranger by the fence. Ellen almost expected to see them turn about and go as fast asthey had come. But Mr. Van Brunt, gently repeating his call, went quietly up to the nearest stone, and began to scatter thesalt upon it, full in their view. Doubt was at an end; he hadhung out the white flag; they flocked down to the stones, nolonger at all in fear of double-dealing, and crowded to get atthe salt; the rocks where it was strewn were covered with moresheep than Ellen would have thought it possible could standupon them. They were like pieces of floating ice, heaped upwith snow, or queen-cakes with an immoderately thick frosting. It was one scene of pushing and crowding — those which had nothad their share of the feast forcing themselves up to get atit, and shoving others off in consequence. Ellen waswonderfully pleased. It was a new and pretty sight, — the busyhustling crowd of gentle creatures, with the soft noise oftheir tread upon grass and stones, and the eager devouring ofthe salt. She was fixed with pleasure, looking and listening, and did not move till the entertainment was over, and the bodyof the flock were carelessly scattering here and there, whilea few that had perhaps been disappointed of their part, stilllingered upon the stones, in the vain hope of yet licking alittle saltness from them. 

"Well, " said Ellen, "I never knew what salt was worth before. How they do love it! Is it good for them, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Good for them!" said he — "to be sure it is good for them. There ain't a critter that walks, as I know, that it ain'tgood for— 'cept chickens, and, it's very queer, it killsthem. "

They turned to go homeward. Ellen had taken the empty pan tolay her flowers in, thinking it would be better for them thanthe heat of her hand; and, greatly pleased with what she hadcome to see, and enjoying her walk as much as it was possible, she was going home very happy, yet she could not help missingMr. Van Brunt's old sociableness. He was uncommonly silent, even for him, considering that he and Ellen were alonetogether; and she wondered what had possessed him with adesire to cut down all the young saplings he came to that werelarge enough for walking-sticks. He did not want to make anyuse of them — that was certain, for as fast as he cut andtrimmed out one he threw it away and cut another. Ellen wasglad when they got out into the open fields where there werenone to be found. 

"It is just about this time a year ago, " said she, "that AuntFortune was getting well of her long fit of sickness. "

"Yes!" said Mr. Van Brunt, with a very profound air; —"something is always happening most years. "

Ellen did not know what to make of this philosophical remark. 

"I am very glad nothing is happening this year, " said she; "Ithink it is a great deal pleasanter to have things go onquietly. "

"Oh, something might happen without hindering things going onquietly, I s'pose — mightn't it?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, wonderingly. "Why, Mr. Van Brunt, what is going to happen?"

"I declare, " said he, half-laughing, "you're as 'cute as arazor; I didn't say there was anything going to happen, didI?"

"But is there?" said Ellen. 

"Han't your aunt said nothing to you about it?"

"Why, no, " said Ellen — "she never tells me anything; what isit?"

"Why, the story is, " said Mr. Van Brunt — "at least I know, for I've understood as much from herself, that — I believeshe's going to be married before long. "

"She!" exclaimed Ellen. "Married! — Aunt Fortune!"

"I believe so, " said Mr. Van Brunt, making a lunge at a tuftof tall grass, and pulling off two or three spears of it, which he carried to his mouth. 

There was a long silence, during which Ellen saw nothing inearth, air, or sky, and knew no longer whether she was passingthrough woodland or meadow. To frame words into anothersentence was past her power. They came in sight of the barn atlength. She would not have much more time. 

"Will it be soon, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"Why pretty soon — as soon as next week, I guess; so I thoughtit was time you ought to be told. Do you know to who?"

"I don't _know_, " said Ellen, in a low voice; — "I couldn't helpguessing. "

"I reckon you've guessed about right, " said he, withoutlooking at her. 

There was another silence, during which it seemed to Ellenthat her thoughts were tumbling head over heels, they were insuch confusion. 

"The short and the long of it is, " said Mr. Van Brunt, as theyrounded the corner of the barn — "we have made up our minds todraw in the same yoke; and we're both on us pretty go-aheadfolks, so I guess we'll contrive to pull the cart along. I hadjust as lief tell you, Ellen, that all this was as good assettled a long spell back — afore ever you came to Thirlwall;but I was never a-going to leave my old mother without a home, so I stuck to her, and would, to the end of time, if I hadnever been married. But now she is gone, and there is nothingto keep me to the old place any longer. So now you know thehull on it, and I wanted you should. "

With this particularly cool statement of his matrimonialviews, Mr. Van Brunt turned off into the barnyard, leavingEllen to go home by herself. She felt as if she were walkingon air while she crossed the chip-yard, and the very house hada seeming of unreality. Mechanically she put her flowers inwater, and sat down to finish the beans; but the beans mighthave been flowers, and the flowers beans, for all thedifference Ellen saw in them. Miss Fortune and she shunnedeach other's faces most carefully for a long time — Ellen feltit impossible to meet her eyes; and it is a matter of greatuncertainty which, in fact, did first look at the other. Otherthan this there was no manner of difference in anythingwithout or within the house. Mr. Van Brunt's being absolutelyspeechless was not a _very_ uncommon thing. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

"The clouds return after the rain. "

As soon as she could, Ellen carried this wonderful news toAlice, and eagerly poured out the whole story, her walk andall. She was somewhat disappointed at the calmness of herhearer. 

"But you don't seem half as surprised as I expected, Alice; Ithought you would be so much surprised. "

"I am not surprised at all, Ellie. "

"Not! aren't you? why, did you know anything of this before?"

"I did not _know_, but I suspected. I thought it was verylikely. I am very glad it is so. "

"Glad! are you glad? I am so sorry. Why are you glad, Alice?"

"Why are you sorry, Ellie?"

"Oh because — I don't know — it seems so queer! — I don't likeit at all. I am very sorry, indeed. "

"For your aunt's sake, or for Mr. Van Brunt's sake?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think he or she will be a loser by thebargain?"

"Why, he to be sure — I think he will — I don't think shewill. I think he is a great deal too good. And, besides — Iwonder if he wants to, really — it was settled so long ago —maybe he has changed his mind since. "

"Have you any reason to think so, Ellie?" said Alice, smiling. 

"I don't know — I don't think he seemed particularly glad. "

"It will be safest to conclude that Mr. Van Brunt knows hisown mind, my dear; and it is certainly pleasanter for us tohope so. "

"But then, besides, " said Ellen, with a face of greatperplexity and vexation — "I don't know — it don't seem right!How can I ever — must I — do you think I shall have to callhim anything but Mr. Van Brunt?"

Alice could not help smiling again. 

"What is your objection, Ellie?"

"Why, because I _can't!_ — I couldn't do it, somehow. It wouldseem so strange. Must I, Alice? Why in the world are you glad, dear Alice?"

"It smooths my way for a plan I have had in my head; you willknow by-and-by why I am glad, Ellie. "

"Well, I am glad if you are glad, " said Ellen, sighing; "Idon't know why I was so sorry, but I couldn't help it. Isuppose I shan't mind it after a while. "

She sat for a few minutes, musing over the possibility orimpossibility of ever forming her lips to the words "UncleAbraham, " "Uncle Van Brunt, " or barely "uncle;" her soulrebelled against all three. "Yet, if he should think meunkind, then I must — oh! rather fifty times over than that!"Looking up, she saw a change in Alice's countenance, andtenderly asked —

"What is the matter, dear Alice? what are you thinking about?"

"I am thinking, Ellie, how I shall tell you something thatwill give you pain. "

"Pain! you needn't be afraid of giving me pain, " said Ellen, fondly, throwing her arms around her. "Tell me, dear Alice; isit something I have done that is wrong? what is it?"

Alice kissed her, and burst into tears. 

"What is the matter; oh, dear Alice!" said Ellen, encirclingAlice's head with both her arms, "oh, don't cry! do tell mewhat it is!"

"It is only sorrow for you, dear Ellie. "

"But why?" said Ellen, in some alarm; "why are you sorry forme? I don't care if it don't trouble you, indeed I don't?Never mind me; is it something that troubles you, dear Alice?"

"No, except for the effect it may have on others. "

"Then I can bear it, " said Ellen; "you need not be afraid totell me, dear Alice; — what is it? don't be sorry for me!"

But the expression of Alice's face was such that she could nothelp being afraid to hear: she anxiously repeated, "what isit?"

Alice fondly smoothed back the hair from her brow, lookingherself somewhat anxiously and somewhat sadly upon theuplifted face. 

"Suppose Ellie, " she, said at length, "that you and I weretaking a journey together — a troublesome, dangerous journey —and that _I_ had a way of getting at once safe to the end of it;— would you be willing to let me go, and you do without me forthe rest of the way?"

"I would rather you should take me with you, " said Ellen, in akind of maze of wonder and fear; "why, where are you going, Alice?"

"I think I am going home, Ellie — before you. "

"Home?" said Ellen. 

"Yes, home, I feel it to be; it is not a strange land; I thankGod it is my home I am going to. "

Ellen sat looking at her, stupefied. 

"It is your home, too, love, I trust, and believe, " said Alicetenderly; "we shall be together at last. I am not sorry formyself; I only grieve to leave you alone — and others — butGod knows best. We must both look to Him. "

"Why, Alice, " said Ellen, starting up suddenly; "what do youmean? what do you mean? — I don't understand you — what do youmean?"

"Do you not understand me, Ellie?"

"But, Alice! — but Alice — _dear_ Alice! — what makes you sayso? is there anything the matter with you?"

"Do I look well, Ellie?"

With an eye sharpened to painful keenness, Ellen sought inAlice's face for the tokens of what she wished and what shefeared. It _had_ once or twice lately flitted through her mindthat Alice was very thin, and seemed to want her old strength, whether in riding or walking or any other exertion; and it _had_struck her that the bright spots of colour in Alice's facewere just like what her mother's cheeks used to wear in herlast illness. These thoughts had just come and gone; but now, as she recalled them, and was forced to acknowledge thejustness of them, and her review of Alice's face pressed themhome anew— hope for a moment faded. She grew white, even toher lips. 

"My poor Ellie! my poor Ellie!" said Alice, pressing herlittle sister to her bosom — "it must be! We _must_ say 'theLord's will be done;' — we must not forget he does all thingswell. "

But Ellen rallied; she raised her head again: she could notbelieve what Alice had told her. To her mind, it seemed anevil _too great to happen;_ it could not be! Alice saw this inher look, and again sadly stroked her hair from her brow. "Itmust be, Ellie, " she repeated. 

"But have you seen somebody? — have you asked somebody?" saidEllen — "some doctor?"

"I have seen, and I have asked, " said Alice; — "it was notnecessary, but I have done both. They think as I do. "

"But these Thirlwall doctors —"

"Not them; I did not apply to them. I saw an excellentphysician at Randolph, the last time I went to Ventnor. "

"And he said —"

"As I have told you. "

Ellen's countenance fell — fell. 

"It is easier for me to leave you than for you to be left — Iknow that, my dear little Ellie! You have no reason to besorry for me — I _am_ sorry for you; but the hand that is takingme away is one that will touch neither of us but to do usgood; — I know that, too. We must both look away to our dearSaviour, and not for a moment doubt his love. I do not — youmust not. Is it not said that 'he loved Martha, and hersister, and Lazarus?' "

"Yes, " said Ellen, who never stirred her eyes from Alice's. 

"And might he not — did it not rest with a word of his lips, to keep Lazarus from dying, and save his sisters from all thebitter sorrow his death caused them?"

Again Ellen said, "Yes, " or her lips seemed to say it. 

"And yet there were reasons, good reasons, why he should not, little as poor Martha and Mary could understand it. — But hadhe at all ceased to _love them_ when he bade all that troublecome? Do you remember, Ellie — oh, how beautiful those wordsare! — when at last he arrived near the place, and first onesister came to him with the touching reminder that he mighthave saved them from this, and then the other, weeping, andfalling at his feet, and repeating 'Lord, if thou hadst beenhere!' — when he saw their tears, and more, saw the tornhearts that tears could not ease — he even wept with them too!Oh, I thank God for those words! He saw reason to strike, andhis hand did not spare; but his love shed tears for them! andhe is just the same now. "

Some drops fell from Alice's eyes, not sorrowful ones; Ellenhad hid her face. 

'Let us never doubt His love, dear Ellie, and surely then wecan bear whatever that love may bring upon us. I do trust it. I do believe it shall be well with them that fear God. Ibelieve it will be well for me when I die — well for you, mydear, dear Ellie — well even for my father —"

She did not finish the sentence, afraid to trust herself. Butoh! Ellen knew what it would have been; and it suddenlystartled into life all the load of grief that had beensettling heavily on her heart. Her thoughts had not lookedthat way before; now, when they did, this new vision of miserywas too much to bear. Quite unable to contain herself, andunwilling to pain Alice more than she could help, with asmothered burst of feeling she sprang away, out of the door, into the woods, where she would be unseen and unheard. 

And there, in the first burst of her agony, Ellen almostthought she should die. Her grief had not now, indeed, thegoading sting of impatience: she knew the hand that gave theblow, and did not raise her own against it; she believed, too, what Alice had been saying, and the sense of it was, in amanner, present with her in her darkest time. But her spiritdied within her; she bowed her head as if she were never tolift it up again; and she was ready to say with Job, "Whatgood is my life to me?"

It was long, very long after, when slowly and mournfully shecame in again to kiss Alice before going back to her aunt's. She would have done it hurriedly and turned away; but Aliceheld her, and looked sadly for a minute into the woe-begonelittle face, then clasped her close, and kissed her again andagain. 

"Oh! Alice, " sobbed Ellen, on her neck, "aren't you mistaken?maybe you are mistaken!"

"I am not mistaken, my dear Ellie — my own Ellie, " saidAlice's clear, sweet voice; — "nor sorry, except for others. Iwill talk with you more about this. You will be sorry for meat first, and then I hope you will be glad. It is only that Iam going home a little before you. Remember what I was sayingto you a while ago. Will you tell Mr. Van Brunt I should liketo see him for a few minutes, some time when he has leisure? —And come to me early to-morrow, love. "

Ellen could hardly get home. Her blinded eyes could not seewhere she was stepping; and again and again her fulness ofheart got the better of everything else, and, unmindful of thegrowing twilight, she sat down on a stone by the wayside, orflung herself on the ground, to let sorrows have full sway. Inone of these fits of bitter struggling with pain, there cameon her mind, like a sunbeam across a cloud, the thought ofJesus weeping at the grave of Lazarus. It came with singularpower. Did He love them so well? thought Ellen, and is Helooking down upon us with the same tenderness even now? — Shefelt that the sun was shining still, though the cloud might bebetween; her broken heart crept to His feet, and laid itsburden there, and after a few minutes she rose up and went onher way, keeping that thought still close to her heart. Theunspeakable tears that were shed during those few minutes werethat softened out-pouring of the heart that leaves it eased. Very, very sorrowful as she was, she went on calmly now, andstopped no more. 

It was getting dark, and a little way from the gate, on theroad, she met Mr. Van Brunt. 

"Why, I was beginning to get scared about you, " said he. "Iwas coming to see where you was. How come you so late?"

Ellen made no answer, and as he now came nearer, and he couldsee more distinctly, his tone changed. 

"What's the matter?" said he; "you han't been well! what hashappened? what ails you, Ellen?"

In astonishment, and then in alarm, he saw that she was unableto speak, and anxiously and kindly begged her to let him knowwhat was the matter, and if he could do anything. Ellen shookher head. 

"Ain't Miss Alice well?" said he; "you han't heerd no bad newsup there on the hill, have you?"

Ellen was not willing to answer this question with yea or nay. She recovered herself enough to give him Alice's message. 

"I'll be sure and go, " said he; "but you han't told me yetwhat's the matter. Has anything happened?"

"No, " said Ellen; "don't ask me — she'll tell you — don't askme. "

"I guess I'll go up the first thing in the morning then, " saidhe — "before breakfast. "

"No, " said Ellen — "better not; perhaps she wouldn't be up soearly. "

"After breakfast, then; I'll go up right after breakfast. Iwas a-going with the boys up into that 'ere wheat lot, butanyhow I'll do that first. They won't have a chance to do muchbad or good before I get back to them, I reckon. "

As soon as possible, she made her escape from Miss Fortune'seye and questions of curiosity, which she could not bear toanswer, and got to her own room. There, the first thing shedid was to find the eleventh chapter of John. She read it asshe never had read it before; she found in it what she neverhad found before; one of those cordials that none but thesorrowing drink. On the love of Christ, as there shown, littleEllen's heart fastened; and with that one sweetening thought, amid all its deep sadness, her sleep that night might havebeen envied by many a luxurious roller in pleasure. 

At Alice's wish, she immediately took up her quarters at theparsonage, to leave her no more. But she could not see muchdifference in her from what she had been for several weekspast; and with the natural hopefulness of childhood, her mindpresently almost refused to believe the extremity of the evilwhich had been threatened. Alice herself was constantlycheerful, and sought by all means to further Ellen'scheerfulness; though careful, at the same time, to forbid, asfar as she could, the rising of the hope she saw Ellen wasinclined to cherish. 

One evening they were sitting together at the window, lookingout upon the same old lawn and distant landscape, now in allthe fresh greenness of the young spring. The woods were notyet in full leaf; and the light of the setting sun upon thetrees bordering the other side of the lawn, showed them in themost exquisite and varied shades of colour. Some had thetender green of the new leaf, some were in the red or yellowbrowns of the half-opened bud; others in various stages offorwardness, mixing all the tints between, and the evergreensstanding dark as ever, setting off the delicate hues of thesurrounding foliage. This was all softened off in thedistance; the very light of the spring was mild and tendercompared with that of other seasons; and the air that stoleround the corner of the house and came in at the open windowwas laden with aromatic fragrance. Alice and Ellen had beenfor some time silently breathing it, and gazing thoughtfullyon the loveliness that was abroad. 

"I used to think, " said Alice, "that it must be a very hardthing to leave such a beautiful world. Did you ever think so, Ellie?"

"I don't know, " said Ellen, faintly — "I don't remember. "

"I used to think so, " said Alice, "but I do not now, Ellie; myfeeling has changed. Do _you_ feel so now, Ellie?"

"Oh, why do you talk about it, dear Alice?"

"For many reasons, dear Ellie. Come here and sit in my lapagain. "

"I am afraid you cannot bear it. "

"Yes, I can. Sit here, and let your head rest where it usedto;" and Alice laid her cheek upon Ellen's forehead; "you area great comfort to me, dear Ellie. "

"Oh, Alice, don't say so — you'll kill me!" exclaimed Ellen, in great distress. 

"Why should I not say so, love?" said Alice, soothingly. "Ilike to say it, and you will be glad to know it by-and-by. Youare a _great_ comfort to me. "

"And what have you been to me?" said Ellen, weeping bitterly. 

"What I cannot be much longer; and I want to accustom you tothink of it, and to think of it rightly. I want you to knowthat, if I am sorry at all in the thought, it is for the sakeof others, not myself. Ellie, you yourself will be glad for mein a little while; you will not wish me back. "

Ellen shook her head. 

"I know you will not, after a while; — and I shall leave youin good hands — I have arranged for that, my dear littlesister!"

The sorrowing child neither knew nor cared what she meant, buta mute caress answered the _spirit_ of Alice's words. 

"Look up, Ellie — look out again. Lovely, lovely! all that is;but I know heaven is a great deal more lovely. Feasted as oureyes are with beauty, I believe that eye has not seen norheart imagined the things that God has prepared for them thatlove him. _You_ believe that, Ellie; you must not be so verysorry that I have gone to see it a little before you. "

Ellen could say nothing. 

"After all, Ellie, it is not beautiful things nor a beautifulworld that make people happy — it is loving and being loved;and that is the reason why I am happy in the thought ofheaven. I shall, if he receives me, I shall be with mySaviour; I shall see him and know him, without any of theclouds that come between here. I am often forgetting anddispleasing him now— never serving him well nor loving himright. I shall be glad to find myself where all that will bedone with for ever. I shall be like him! — Why do you cry so, Ellie?" said Alice, tenderly. 

"I can't help it, Alice. "

"It is only my love for you — and for two more — that couldmake me wish to stay here— nothing else; — and I give all thatup, because I do not know what is best for you or myself. AndI look to meet you all again before long. Try to think of itas I do, Ellie. "

"But what shall I do without you?" said poor Ellen. 

"I will tell you, Ellie. You must come here and take my place, and take care of those I leave behind; will you? — and theywill take care of you. "

"But, " said Ellen, looking up eagerly — "Aunt Fortune" —

"I have managed all that. Will you do it, Ellen? I shall feeleasy and happy about you, and far easier and happier about myfather, if I leave you established here, to be to him, as faras you can, what I have been. Will you promise me, Ellie?"

In words it was not possible; but what silent kisses and theclose pressure of the arms round Alice's neck could say, wassaid. 

"I am satisfied, then, " said Alice, presently. "My father willbe your father — think him so, dear Ellie — and I know Johnwill take care of you. And my place will not be empty. I amvery, very glad. "

Ellen felt her place surely would be empty, but she could notsay so. 

"It was for this I was so glad of your aunt's marriage, Ellie, " Alice soon went on. "I foresaw she might raise somedifficulties in my way — hard to remove, perhaps; — but now Ihave seen Mr. Van Brunt, and he has promised me that nothingshall hinder your taking up your abode, and making your homeentirely here. Though I believe, Ellie, he would truly haveloved to have you in his own house. "

"I am sure he would, " said Ellen — "but oh, how much rather!"

"He behaved very well about it the other morning — in a verymanly, frank, kind way — showed a good deal of feeling, Ithink, too. He gave me to understand that for his own sake heshould be extremely sorry to let you go; but he assured methat nothing over which he had any control should stand in theway of your good. "

"He is _very_ kind — he is _very_ good — he is always so, " saidEllen. "I love Mr. Van Brunt very much. He always was as kindto me as he could be. "

They were silent for a few minutes, and Alice was looking outof the window again. The sun had set, and the colouring of allwithout was graver. Yet it was but the change from one beautyto another. The sweet air seemed still sweeter than before thesun went down. 

"You must be happy, dear Ellie, in knowing that I am. I amhappy now. I enjoy all this, and I love you all — but I canleave it and can leave you — yes, both — for I would seeJesus! He who has taught me to love him, will not forsake menow. Goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of mylife, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Ithank him! Oh, I thank him!"

Alice's face did not belie her words, though her eyes shonethrough tears. 

"Ellie, dear — you must love Him with all your heart, and liveconstantly in his presence. I know if you do, he will make youhappy, in any event. He can always give more than he takesaway. Oh, how good he is! — and what wretched returns we makehim! I was miserable when John first went away to Doncaster; Idid not know how to bear it. But now, Ellie, I think I can seeit has done me good, and I can even be thankful for it. Allthings are ours — all things — the world, and life, and deathtoo. "

"Alice, " said Ellen, as well as she could — "you know what youwere saying to me the other day?"

"About what, love?"

"That about — you know — that chapter. "

"About the death of Lazarus?"

"Yes. It has comforted me very much. "

"So it has me, Ellie. It has been exceeding sweet to me atdifferent times. Come, sing to me — 'How firm a foundation. ' "

From time to time, Alice led to this kind of conversation, both for Ellen's sake and her own pleasure. Meanwhile she madeher go on with her usual studies and duties; and but for thesetalks Ellen would have scarce known how to believe that itcould be true which she feared. 

The wedding of Miss Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt was a very quietone. It happened at far too busy a time of the year, and theywere too cool calculators, and looked upon their union in muchtoo business-like a point of view, to dream of such a wildthing as a wedding-tour, or even resolve upon so troublesome athing as a wedding-party. Miss Fortune would not have left hercheese and butter-making to see all the New Yorks and Bostonsthat ever were built; and she would have scorned a trip toRandolph. And Mr. Van Brunt would as certainly have wishedhimself all the while back among his furrows and crops. So oneday they were quietly married at home, the Rev. Mr. Clarkhaving been fetched from Thirlwall for the purpose. Mr. VanBrunt would have preferred that Mr. Humphreys should performthe ceremony; but Miss Fortune was quite decided in favour ofthe Thirlwall gentleman, and of course he it was. 

The talk ran high all over the country on the subject of thismarriage, and opinions were greatly divided; somecongratulating Mr. Van Brunt on having made himself one of therichest landholders "in town, " by the junction of another fatfarm to his own; some pitying him for having got more than hismatch within doors, and "guessing he'd missed his reckoningfor once. "

"If he has, then, " said Sam Larkens, who heard some of thesecondoling remarks, "it's the first time in his life, I cantell you. If _she_ ain't a little mistaken, I wish I mayn't geta month's wages in a year to come. I tell you, you don't knowVan Brunt; he's as easy as anybody as long as he don't careabout what you're doing; but if he once takes a notion, youcan't make him gee nor haw no more than you can our near oxTimothy when he's out o' yoke — and he's as ugly a beast tomanage as ever I see when he ain't yoked up. Why, bless you!there han't been a thing done on the farm this five years butjust what he liked — _she_ don't know it. I've heerd her, " saidSam chucking — "I've heerd her a-telling him how she wantedthis thing done and t'other, and he'd just not say a word, andgo and do it right t'other way. It'll be a wonder if somebodyain't considerably startled in her calculations afore summer'sout. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

One less in the wide, wide world. 

It was impossible at first to make Mr. Humphreys believe thatAlice was right in her notion about her health. The greatnessof the evil was such that his mind refused to receive it, muchas Ellen's had done. His unbelief, however, lasted longer thanhers. Constantly with Alice as she was, and talking to her onthe subject, Ellen slowly gave up the hope she had clung to;though, still, bending all her energies to the presentpleasure and comfort of her adopted sister, her mind shrankfrom looking at the end. Daily and hourly, in every way, shestrove to be what Alice said she was, a comfort to her, andshe succeeded. Daily and hourly Alice's look and smile andmanner said the same thing over and over. It was Ellen'sprecious reward, and in seeking to earn it, she half the timeearned another in forgetting herself. It was different withMr. Humphreys. He saw much less of his daughter; and when hewas with her, it was impossible for Alice, with all herefforts, to speak to him as freely and plainly as she was inthe habit of speaking to Ellen. The consequences were such asgrieved her, but could not be helped. 

As soon as it was known that her health was failing, SophiaMarshman came and took up her abode at the parsonage. Ellenwas almost sorry; it broke up in a measure the sweet andpeaceful way of life she and Alice had held together eversince her own coming. Miss Sophia could not make a third intheir conversations. But as Alice's strength grew less, andshe needed more attendance and help, it was plain her friend'sbeing there was a happy thing for both Alice and Ellen. MissSophia was active, cheerful, untiring in her affectionatecare, always pleasant in manner and temper; a very usefulperson in a house where one was ailing. Mrs. Vawse was oftenthere, too, and to her Ellen clung, whenever she came, as to apillar of strength. Miss Sophia could do nothing to help _her;_Mrs. Vawse could, a great deal. 

Alice had refused to write or allow others to write to herbrother. She said he was just finishing his course of study atDoncaster; she would not have him disturbed or broken off bybad news from home. In August he would be quite through; thefirst of August he would be home. 

Before the middle of June, however, her health began to failmuch more rapidly than she had counted upon. It became toolikely that, if she waited for his regular return at the firstof August, she would see but little of her brother. She atlast reluctantly consented that Mrs. Chauncey should write tohim; and from that moment counted the days. 

Her father had scarcely till now given up his old confidencerespecting her. He came into her room one morning when justabout to set out for Carra-carra to visit one or two of hispoor parishioners. 

"How are you to day, my daughter?" he asked, tenderly. 

"Easy, Papa — and happy, " said Alice. 

"You are looking better, " said he. "We shall have you wellagain among us yet. "

There was some sorrow for him in Alice's smile, as she lookedup at him and answered, "Yes, Papa — in the land where theinhabitant shall no more say, 'I am sick. ' "

He kissed her hastily, and went out. 

"I almost wish I was in your place, Alice, " said Miss Sophia. "I hope I may be half as happy when my time comes. "

"What right have you to hope so, Sophia?" said Alice, rathersadly. 

"To be sure, " said the other, after a pause, "you have beenten times as good as I. I don't wonder you feel easy when youlook back and think how blameless your life has been. "

"Sophia, Sophia!" said Alice — "you know it is not that. Inever did a good thing in all my life that was not mixed andspoiled with evil. I never came up to the full measure of dutyin any matter. "

"But surely, " said Miss Sophia, "if one does the best one can, it will be accepted?"

"It won't do to trust to that, Sophia. God's law requiresperfection; and nothing less than perfection will be receivedas payment of its demand. If you owe a hundred dollars, andyour creditor will not hold you quit for anything less thanthe whole sum, it is of no consequence whether you offer himten or twenty. "

"Why, according to that, " said Miss Sophia. "it makes nodifference what kind of life one leads. "

Alice sighed, and shook her head. 

"The fruit shows what the tree is. Love to God _will_ strive toplease him — always. "

"And is it of no use to strive to please him?"

"Of no manner of use, if you make that your _trust_. "

"Well, I don't see what one _is_ to trust to, " said Miss Sophia, "if it isn't a good life. "

"I will answer you, " said Alice, with a smile in which therewas no sorrow, "in some words that I love very much, of an oldScotchman, I think; — 'I have taken all my good deeds and allmy bad, and have cast them together in a heap before the Lord;and from them all I have fled to Jesus Christ, and in himalone I have sweet peace. ' "

Sophia was silenced for a minute by her look. 

"Well, " said she, "I don't understand it; that is what Georgeis always talking about; but I can't understand him. "

"I am _very_ sorry you cannot, " said Alice, gravely. 

They were both silent for a little while. 

"If all Christians were like you, " said Miss Sophia, "I mightthink more about it; but they are such a dull set; there seemsto be no life nor pleasure among them. "

Alice thought of these lines, —

"Their pleasures rise to things unseen, Beyond the bounds of time:Where neither eyes nor ears have been, Nor thoughts of mortals climb. "

"You judge, " said she, "like the rest of the world, of thatwhich they see not. After all, _they_ know best whether they arehappy. What do you think of Mrs. Vawse?

"I don't know what to think of her; she is wonderful to me;she is past my comprehension entirely. Don't make _her_ anexample. "

"No, religion has done that for me. What do you think of yourbrother?"

"George? _He_ is happy, there is no doubt of that; he is thehappiest person in the family, by all odds; but then — I thinkhe has a natural knack at being happy; — it is impossible foranything to put him out. "

Alice smiled, and shook her head again. 

"Sophistry, Sophia. What do you think of _me?_"

"I don't see what reason you have to be anything but happy. "

"What have I to make me so?"

Sophia was silent. Alice laid her thin hand upon hers. 

"I am leaving all I love in this world. Should I be happy if Iwere not going to somewhat I love better? Should I be happy ifI had no secure prospect of meeting with them again? — or if Iwere doubtful of my reception in that place whither I hope togo?"

Sophia burst into tears. 

"Well, I don't know, " said she; "I suppose you are right; butI don't understand it. "

Alice drew her face down to hers, and whispered something inher ear. 

Undoubtedly Alice had much around, as well as within her, tomake a declining life happy. Mrs. Vawse and Miss Marshman weretwo friends and nurses not to be surpassed in their differentways. Margery's motherly affection, her zeal, and her skill, left nothing for heart to wish in her line of duty. And allthat affection, taste, and kindness, which abundant means, could supply, was at Alice's command. Still her greatestcomfort was Ellen; her constant, thoughtful care; the thousandtender attentions, from the roses daily gathered for hertable, to the chapters she read and the hymns she sung to her;the smile that often covered a pang; the pleasant words andtone that many a time came from a sinking heart; they wereAlice's daily and nightly cordial. Ellen had learned self-command in more than one school; affection, as once before, was her powerful teacher now, and taught her well. Sophiaopenly confessed that Ellen was the best nurse; and Margery, when nobody heard her, muttered blessings on the child's head. 

Mr. Humphreys came in often to see his daughter, but neverstayed long. It was plain he could not bear it. It might havebeen difficult, too, for Alice to bear, but she wished for herbrother. She reckoned the time from Mrs. Chauncey's letter tothat when he might be looked for; but some irregularities inthe course of the post-office made it impossible to count withcertainty upon the exact time of his arrival. Meanwhile, herfailure was very rapid. Mrs. Vawse began to fear he would notarrive in time. 

The weeks of June ran out; the roses, all but a few latekinds, blossomed and died; July came. 

One morning, when Ellen went into her room, Alice drew herclose to her and said —

"You remember, Ellie, in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, whenChristiana and her companions were sent to go over the river?— I think the messenger has come for me. You mustn't cry, love; — listen — this is the token he seems to bring me — 'Ihave loved thee with an everlasting love. ' I am sure of it, Ellie; I have no doubt of it; — so don't cry for me. You havebeen my dear comfort, my blessing — we shall love each otherin heaven, Ellie. "

Alice kissed her earnestly several times, and then Ellenescaped from her arms and fled away. It was long before shecould come back again. But she came at last, and went onthrough all that day as she had done for weeks before. The dayseemed long, for every member of the family was on the watchfor John's arrival, and it was thought his sister would notlive to see another. It wore away; hour after hour passedwithout his coming, and the night fell. Alice showed noimpatience, but she evidently wished and watched for him; andEllen — whose affection read her face and knew what to make ofthe look at the opening door, the eye turned towards thewindow, the attitude of listening — grew feverish with herintense desire that she should be gratified. 

From motives of convenience, Alice had moved upstairs to aroom that John generally occupied when he was at home, directly over the sitting-room, and with pleasant windowstowards the east. Mrs. Chauncey, Miss Sophia, and Mrs. Vawse, were all there. Alice was lying quietly on the bed, and seemedto be dozing; but Ellen noticed, after lights were brought, that every now and then she opened her eyes and gave aninquiring look round the room. Ellen could not bear it;slipping softly out, she went downstairs and seated herself onthe threshold of the glass door, as if by watching there shecould be any nearer the knowledge of what she wished for. 

It was a perfectly still summer night. The moon shone brightlyon the little lawn, and poured its rays over Ellen, just as ithad done one well-remembered evening near a year ago. Ellen'sthoughts went back to it. How like and how unlike! All aroundwas just the same as it had been then; the cool moonlight uponthe distant fields — the trees in the gap lit up, as then —the lawn a flood of brightness. But there was no happy partygathered there now; — they were scattered. One was away; one asorrowful watcher alone in the moonlight; — one waiting to begone where there is no need of moon or stars for evermore. Ellen almost wondered they could shine so bright upon thosethat had no heart to rejoice in them; she thought they lookeddown coldly and unfeelingly upon her distress. She rememberedthe whip-poor-will; none was heard to-night, near or far; shewas glad of it; it would have been too much; — and there wereno fluttering leaves; the air was absolutely still. Ellenlooked up again at the moon and stars. They shone calmly on, despite the reproaches she cast upon them; and as she stillgazed up towards them in their purity and steadfastness, otherthoughts began to come into her head of that which was morepure still, and more steadfast. How long they have beenshining! thought Ellen; — going on just the same, from nightto night, and from year to year — as if they never would cometo an end. But they _will_ come to an end — the time _will_ comewhen they stop shining, bright as they are; and then, when allthey are swept away, then heaven will be only begun; that willnever end! — never! And in a few years, we who were so happy ayear ago, and are so sorry now, shall be all glad togetherthere— this will be all over! And then as she looked, and thetears sprang to her thoughts, a favourite hymn of Alice's cameto her remembrance: —

"Ye stars are but the shining dustOf my divine abode;The pavements of those heavenly courtsWhere I shall see my God. 

"The Father of eternal lightsShall there his beams display;And not one moment's darkness mixWith that unvaried day. 

" 'Not one moment's darkness?' Oh, " thought little Ellen, "there are a great many here!" — Still gazing up at thebright, calm heavens, while the tears ran fast down her face, and fell into her lap, there came trooping through Ellen'smind many of those words she had been in the habit of readingto her mother and Alice, and which she knew and loved so well. 

"And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light:and they shall reign for ever and ever. And there shall be nomore curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be init; and his servants shall serve him; and they shall see hisface; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And God shallwipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be nomore death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there beany more pain: for the former things have passed away. "

"And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come againand receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may bealso. "

While Ellen was yet going over and over these precious things, with a strong sense of their preciousness in all her throbbinggrief, there came to her ear, through the perfect stillness ofthe night, the faint, far-off, not to be mistaken sound ofquick-coming horses' feet — nearer and nearer every second. Itcame with a mingled pang of pain and pleasure, both veryacute; she rose instantly to her feet, and stood pressing herhand to her heart, while the quick-measured beat of hoofs grewlouder and louder, until it ceased at the very door. Theminutes were few; but they were moments of intense bitterness. The tired horse stooped his head, as the rider flung himselffrom the saddle, and came to the door, where Ellen stoodfixed. A look asked, and a look answered, the question thatlips could not speak. Ellen only pointed the way and utteredthe words, "upstairs, " and John rushed thither. He checkedhimself, however, at the door of the room, and opened it, andwent in as calmly as if he had but come from a walk. But hiscaution was very needless. Alice knew his step, she knew _hishorse's step_ too well; she had raised herself up, andstretched out both arms towards him before he entered. Inanother moment they were round his neck, and she was supportedin his. There was a long, long silence. 

"Are you happy, Alice?" whispered her brother. 

"Perfectly. This was all I wanted. Kiss me, dear John!"

As he did so again and again, she felt his tears on her cheek, and put up her hands to his face to wipe them away; kissed himthen, and then once again laid her head on his breast. Theyremained so a little while without stirring; except that somewhispers were exchanged too low for others to hear, and oncemore she raised her face to kiss him. A few minutes after, those who could look saw his colour change; he felt the armsunclasp their hold, and, as he laid her gently back on thepillow, they fell languidly down — the will and the power thathad sustained them were gone. _Alice_ was gone; but thedeparting spirit had left a ray of brightness on its earthlyhouse; there was a half-smile on the sweet face, of mostentire peace and satisfaction. Her brother looked for a moment— closed the eyes — kissed once and again the sweet lips— andleft the room. 

Ellen saw him no more that night, nor knew how he passed it. For her, wearied with grief and excitement, it was spent inlong, heavy slumber. From the pitch to which her spirits hadbeen wrought by care, sorrow, and self-restraint, they nowsuddenly and completely sank down; naturally, and happily, shelost all sense of trouble in sleep. 

When sleep at last left her, and she stole downstairs into thesitting-room in the morning, it was rather early. Nobody wasstirring about the house but herself. It seemed deserted; theold sitting-room looked empty and forlorn — the stillness wasoppressive. Ellen could not bear it. Softly opening the glassdoor, she went out upon the lawn, where everything wassparkling in the early freshness of the summer morning. Howcould it look so pleasant without, when all pleasantness wasgone within? It pressed upon Ellen's heart. With a restlessfeeling of pain, she went on, round the corner of the house, and paced slowly along the road till she came to the footpaththat led up to the place on the mountain John had called theBridge of the Nose. Ellen took that path, often travelled andmuch loved by her; and slowly, with slow-dripping tears, madeher way up over moss wet with the dew, and the stones androcks with which the rough way was strewn. She passed theplace where Alice had first found her — she remembered itwell; — there was the very stone beside which they had kneeledtogether, and where Alice's folded hands were laid. Ellenknelt down beside it again, and for a moment laid her cheek tothe cold stone, while her arms embraced it, and a second timeit was watered with tears. She rose up again quickly, and wenton her way, toiling up the steep path beyond, till she turnedthe edge of the mountain, and stood on the old place, whereshe and Alice that evening had watched the setting sun. Many asetting sun they had watched from thence; it had been afavourite pleasure of them both to run up there for a fewminutes, before or after tea, and see the sun go down at thefar end of the long valley. It seemed to Ellen one of Alice'shaunts — she missed her there — and the thought went keenlyhome that there she would come with her no more. She sat downon the stone she called her own, and leaning her head onAlice's, which was close by, she wept bitterly. Yet not verylong — she was too tired and subdued for bitter weeping; sheraised her head again, and wiping away her tears, lookedabroad over the beautiful landscape — never more beautifulthan then. 

The early sun filled the valley with patches of light andshade. The sides and tops of the hills looking towards theeast were bright with the cool brightness of the morning;beyond and between them deep shadows lay. The sun could notyet look at that side of the mountain where Ellen sat, nor atthe long reach of ground it screened from his view, stretchingfrom the mountain foot to the other end of the valley; but tothe left, between that and the Cat's Back, the rays of the sunstreamed through, touching the houses of the village, showingthe lake, and making every tree and barn and clump of wood inthe distance stand out in bright relief. Deliciously cool, both the air and the light, though a warm day was promised. The night had swept away all the heat of yesterday. Now, theair was fresh with the dew, and sweet from hayfield andmeadow; and the birds were singing merrily all around. Therewas no answering echo in the little human heart that lookedand listened. Ellen loved all things too well not to noticethem even now; she felt their full beauty, but she felt itsadly. "_She_ will look at it no more!" she said to herself. Butinstantly came an answer to her thought — "Behold I create newheavens, and a new earth; and the former shall not beremembered, nor come into mind. Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the Lord shall bethine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall beended. "

"She is there now, " thought Ellen; "she is happy; why should Ibe sorry for her? I am not; but oh! I must be sorry for myself— Oh! Alice! — dear Alice!"

She wept; but then again came sweeping over her mind the wordswith which she was so familiar, "the days of thy mourningshall be ended;" and again with her regret mingled theconsciousness that it must be for herself alone. And forherself, — "Can I not trust Him whom she trusted?" shethought. Somewhat soothed and more calm, she sat still lookingdown into the brightening valley, or off to the hills thatstretched away on either hand of it; when up through the stillair the sound of the little Carra-carra church bell came toher ear. It rang for a minute and then stopped. 

It crossed Ellen's mind to wonder what it could be ringing forat that time of day; but she went back to her musings and hadentirely forgotten it, when again, clear and full through thestillness, the sound came pealing up. 

"One — two!"

Ellen knew now! It went through her very heart. 

It is the custom in the country to toll the church bell uponoccasion of the death of any one in the township or parish. Afew strokes are rung by way of drawing attention; these arefollowed, after a little pause, by a single one, if the knellis for man, or two for a woman. Then another short pause. Thenfollows the number of the years the person has lived, told inshort, rather slow strokes, as one would count them up. Afterpausing once more, the tolling begins, and is kept up for sometime; the strokes following in slow and sad succession, eachone being permitted to die quite away before another breaksupon the ear. 

Ellen had been told of this custom, but habit had never madeit familiar. Only once she had happened to hear this notice ofdeath given out; and that was long ago; the bell could not beheard at Miss Fortune's house. It came upon her now with allthe force of novelty and surprise. As the number of the yearsof Alice's life was sadly tolled out, every stroke was to heras if it fell upon a raw nerve. Ellen hid her face in her lap, and tried to keep from counting, but she could not; and as thetremulous sound of the last of the twenty-four died away uponthe air, she was shuddering from head to foot. A burst oftears relieved her when the sound ceased. 

Just then a voice close beside her said low, as if the speakermight not trust its higher tones — "I will lift up mine eyesunto the hills, from whence cometh my help. "

How differently _that_ sound struck upon Ellen's ear! With anindescribable air of mingled tenderness, weariness, andsorrow, she slowly rose from her seat, and put both her armsround the speaker's neck. Neither said a word; but to Ellenthe arm that held her was more than all words; it was thedividing line between her and the world — on this sideeverything, on that side nothing. 

No word was spoken for many minutes. 

"My dear, Ellen, " said her brother, softly, "how came youhere?"

"I don't know, " whispered Ellen; "there was nobody there — Icouldn't stay in the house. "

"Shall we go home now?"

"Oh, yes— whenever you please. "

But neither moved yet. Ellen had raised her head; she stillstood with her arm upon her brother's shoulder; the eyes ofboth were on the scene before them — the thoughts of neither. He presently spoke again. 

"Let us try to love our God better, Ellie, the less we haveleft to love in this world; — that is His meaning — let sorrowbut bring us closer to him. Dear Alice is well — she is well, — and if we are made to suffer, we know and we love the handthat has done it; do we not, Ellen?"

Ellen put her hand to her face; she thought her heart wouldbreak. He gently drew her to a seat on the stone beside him, and still keeping his arm round her, slowly and soothinglywent on —

"Think that she is happy; — think that she is safe; — thinkthat she is with that blessed One whose face we seek at adistance — satisfied with His likeness instead of wearilystruggling with sin; think that sweetly and easily she has gothome; and it is our home, too. We must weep, because we areleft alone; but for her — 'I heard a voice from heaven sayingunto me, Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!' "

As he spoke in low and sweet tones, Ellen's tears calmed andstopped; but she still kept her hands to her face. 

"Shall we go home, Ellie?" said her brother, after anothersilence. She rose up instantly, and said, "Yes. " But he heldher still, and looking for a moment at the tokens of watchingand grief and care in her countenance, he gently kissed thepale little face, adding a word of endearment, which almostbroke Ellen's heart again. Then taking her hand, they wentdown the mountain together. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

Those that were left. 

The whole Marshman family arrived to-day from Ventnor; some tosee Alice's loved remains, and all to follow them to thegrave. The parsonage could not hold so many; the two Mr. Marshmans, therefore, with Major and Mrs. Gillespie, madetheir quarters at Thirlwall. Margery's hands were full enoughwith those that were left. 

In the afternoon, however, she found time for a visit to theroom — the room. She was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing on the sweet face she loved so dearly, when Mrs. Chauncey and Mrs. Vawse came up for the same purpose. Allthree stood some time in silence. 

The bed was strewn with flowers, somewhat singularly disposed. Upon the pillow, and upon and about the hands, which were onthe breast, were scattered some of the rich late roses — rosesand rose-buds, strewn with beautiful and profuse carelessness. A single stem of white lilies lay on the side of the bed; therest of the flowers, a large quantity, covered the feet, seeming to have been flung there without any attempt atarrangement. They were of various kinds, chosen, however, withexquisite taste and feeling. Besides the roses, there werenone that were not either white or distinguished for theirfragrance. The delicate white verbena, the pure feverfew, mignonette, sweet geranium, white myrtle, the rich-scentedheliotrope, were mingled with the late-blossoming damask andpurple roses; no yellow flowers, no purple, except thosementioned; even the flaunting petunia, though white, had beenleft out by the nice hand that had culled them. But thearranging of these beauties seemed to have been little morethan attempted; though indeed it might be questioned whetherthe finest heart could have bettered the effect of what theovertasked hand of affection had left half done. Mrs. Chauncey, however, after a while, began slowly to take aflower or two from the foot, and place them on other parts ofthe bed. 

"Will Mrs. Chauncey pardon my being so bold, " said Margerythen, who had looked on with no pleasure while this was doing, "but if she had seen when those flowers had been put there, itwouldn't be her wish, I am sure it wouldn't be her wish, tostir one of them. "

Mrs. Chauncey's hand, which was stretched out for a fourth, drew back. 

"Why, who put them there?" she asked. 

"Miss Ellen, Ma'am. "

"Where is Ellen?"

"I think she is sleeping, Ma'am. Poor child! she's the mostwearied of us all, with sorrow and watching, " said Margery, weeping. 

"You saw her bring them up, did you?"

"I saw her, Ma'am. Oh, will I ever forget it as long as Ilive!"

"Why?" said Mrs. Chauncey, gently. 

"It's a thing one should have seen, Ma'am, to understand. Idon't know as I can tell in well. "

Seeing, however, that Mrs. Chauncey still looked her wish, Margery went on half under her breath —

"Why, Ma'am, the way it was — I had come up to get some linenout of the closet, for I had watched my time; Mrs. Chaunceysees, I was afeard of finding Mr. John here, and I knew he waslying down just then, so —"

"Lying down was he?" said Mrs. Vawse. "I did not know he hadtaken any rest to-day. "

"It was very little he took, Ma'am, indeed — though there wasneed enough I am sure; — he had been up with his father thelive-long blessed night. And then the first thing this morninghe was away after Miss Ellen, poor child! wherever she hadbetaken herself to; I happened to see her before anybody wasout, going round the corner of the house, and so I knew whenhe asked me for her. "

"Was she going after flowers _then?"_ said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"Oh, no, Ma'am — it was a long time after; it was this morningsome time. — I had come up to the linen closet, knowing Mr. John was in his room, and I thought I was safe; and I had justtaken two or three pieces on my arm, you know, Ma'am, whensomehow I forgot myself, and forgot what I had come for; andleaving what I should ha' been a-doing, I was standing there, looking out this way at the dear features I never thought tosee in death — and I had entirely forgotten what I was therefor, Ma'am — when I heard Miss Ellen's little footstep comingsoftly upstairs. I didn't want her to catch sight of me justthen, so I had just drew myself back a bit, so as I could seeher without her seeing me — back in the closet where I was. But it had like to have got the better of me entirely, Ma'am, when I see her come in with a lapful of them flowers, andlooking so as she did too! but with much trouble I kept quiet. She went up and stood by the side of the bed, just where Mrs. Chauncey is standing, with her sweet, sad, little face — it'sthe hardest thing to see a child's face look so — and theflowers all gathered up in her frock. It was odd to see her, she didn't cry — not at all — only once I saw her browwrinkle, but it seemed as if she had a mind not to, for sheput her hand up to her face and held it a little, and then shebegan to take out the flowers one by one, and she'd lay a rosehere and a rosebud there, and so; and then she went round tothe other side and laid the lilies, and two or three moreroses on the pillow. But I could see all the while it wasgetting too much for her; I see very soon she wouldn't getthrough; she just placed two or three more, and one rose therein that hand, and that was the last. I could see it working inher face; she turned as pale as her lilies all at once, andjust tossed all the flowers out of her frock on the bed-footthere — that's just as they fell — and down she went on herknees, and her face in her hands on the side of the bed. Ithought no more about my linen, " said Margery, weeping — "Icouldn't do anything but look at that child kneeling there, and her flowers — and all beside her she used to call hersister, and that couldn't be a sister to her no more; andshe's without a sister now, to be sure, poor child!"

"She has a brother, unless I am mistaken, " said Mrs. Chauncey, when she could speak. 

"And that's just what I was trying to tell you, Ma'am. She hadbeen there five or ten minutes without moving, or more — I amsure I don't know how long it was, I didn't think how timewent — when the first thing I knew I heard another step, andMr. John came in. I thought, and expected, he was taking somesleep; but I suppose, " said Margery, sighing, "he couldn'trest. I knew his step, and just drew myself back further. Hecame just where you are, Ma'am, and stood with his arms foldeda long time, looking. I don't know how Miss Ellen didn't hearhim come in; but, however, she didn't; — and they were both asstill as death, one on one side, and the other on the otherside. And I wondered he didn't see her; but her white dressand all — and I suppose he had no thought but for one thing. Iknew the first minute he did see her, when he looked over andspied her on the other side of the bed. I see his colourchange; and then his mouth took the look it always didwhenever he sets himself to do anything. He stood a minute, and then he went round, and knelt down beside her, and softlytook away one of her hands from under her face, and held it inboth of his own, and then he made such a prayer! Oh, " saidMargery, her tears falling fast at the recollection, "I neverheard the like! I never did. He gave thanks for Miss Alice —and he had reason enough, to be sure — and for himself andMiss Ellen — I wondered to hear him — and he prayed for themtoo, and others — and — oh! I thought I couldn't stand andhear him; and I was afeard to breathe the whole time, lest hewould know I was there. It was the beautifullest prayer I didever hear. "

"And how did Ellen behave?" said Mrs. Chauncey, when she couldspeak. 

"She didn't stir, nor make the least motion nor sound, till hehad done, and spoke to her. They stood a little while then, and Mr. John put the rest of the flowers up there round herhands and the pillow — Miss Ellen hadn't put more than half adozen; — I noticed how he kept hold of Miss Ellen's hand allthe time. I heard her begin to tell him how she didn't finishthe flowers, and he told her — 'I saw it all, Ellie, ' he said;and he said, 'it didn't want finishing. ' I wondered how heshould see it, but I suppose he did, however. _I_ understood itvery well. They went away downstairs after that. "

"He is beautifully changed, " said Mrs. Vawse. 

"I don't know, Ma'am, " said Margery; "I've heard that saidafore, but I can't say as I ever could see it. He always wasthe same to me — always the honourablest, truest, noblest — myhusband says he was a bit fiery, but I never could tell thatthe one temper was sweeter than the other; only everybodyalways did whatever Mr. John wanted, to be sure; but he wasthe perfectest gentleman always. "

"I have not seen either Mr. John or Ellen since my mothercame, " said Mrs. Chauncey. 

"No, Ma'am, " said Margery, "they were out reading under thetrees for a long time; and Miss Ellen came in the kitchen waya little while ago, and went to lie down. "

"How is Mr. Humphreys?"

"Oh, I can't tell you, Ma'am — he is worse than any one knowsof, I am afraid, unless Mr. John; you will not see him, Ma'am;he has not been here once, nor don't mean to, I think. It willgo hard with my poor master, I am afraid, " said Margery, weeping; "dear Miss Alice said Miss Ellen was to take herplace; but it would want an angel to do that. "

"Ellen will do a great deal, " said Mrs. Vawse; "Mr. Humphreysloves her well now, I know. "

"So do I, Ma'am, I am sure; and so does every one; but still —"

Margery broke off her sentence, and sorrowfully wentdownstairs. Mrs. Chauncey moved no more flowers. 

Late in the afternoon of the next day Margery came softly intoEllen's room. 

"Miss Ellen, dear, you are awake, aren't you?"

"Yes, Margery, " said Ellen, sitting up in bed; "come in. Whatis it?"

"I came to ask Miss Ellen if she _could_ do me a great favour?There's a strange gentleman come, and nobody has seen him yet, and it don't seem right. He has been here this some time. "

"Have you told Mr. John?"

"No, Miss Ellen; he's in the library with my master; andsomehow I durstn't go to the door; mayhap they wouldn't bebest pleased. _Would_ Miss Ellen mind telling Mr. John of thegentleman's being here?"

Ellen would mind it very much, there was no doubt of that;Margery could hardly have asked her to put a greater forceupon herself; she did not say so. 

"You are sure he is there, Margery?"

"I am quite sure, Miss Ellen. I am very sorry to disturb you;but if you wouldn't mind — I am ashamed to have the gentlemanleft to himself so long. "

"I'll do it, Margery. "

She got up, slipped on her shoes, and mechanically smoothingher hair, set off to the library. On the way, she almostrepented her willingness to oblige Margery; the errand wasmarvellously disagreeable to her. She had never gone to thatroom except with Alice — never entered it uninvited. She couldhardly make up her mind to knock at the door. But she hadpromised; it must be done. 

The first fearful tap was too light to arouse any mortal ears. At the second, though not much better, she heard some onemove, and John opened the door. Without waiting to hear herspeak, he immediately drew her in, very unwillingly on herpart, and led her silently up to his father. The old gentlemanwas sitting in his great study-chair, with a book open at hisside. He turned from it as she came up, took her hand in his, and held it for a few moments without speaking. Ellen darednot raise her eyes. 

"My little girl, " said he, very gravely, though not without atone of kindness, too — "are you coming here to cheer myloneliness?"

Ellen in vain struggled to speak an articulate word; it wasimpossible; she suddenly stooped down and touched her lips tothe hand that lay on the arm of the chair. He put the handtenderly upon her head. 

"God bless you, " said he, "abundantly, for all the love youshowed her. Come— if you will — and be, as far as a witheredheart will let you, all that she wished. All is yours — exceptwhat will be buried with her. "

Ellen was awed and pained very much. Not because the words andmanner were sad and solemn; it was the _tone_ that distressedher. There was no tearfulness in it; it trembled a little; itseemed to come indeed from a withered heart. She shook withthe effort she made to control herself. John asked herpresently what she had come for. 

"A gentleman, " said Ellen — "there's a gentleman, a stranger. "

He went immediately out to see him, leaving her standingthere. Ellen did not know whether to go too, or stay; shethought, from his not taking her with him, he wished her tostay; she stood doubtfully. Presently she heard steps comingback along the hall — steps of two persons — the door opened, and the strange gentleman came in. No stranger to Ellen! sheknew him in a moment — it was her old friend, her friend ofthe boat — Mr. George Marshman. 

Mr. Humphreys rose up to meet him, and the two gentlemen shookhands in silence. Ellen at first had shrunk out of the way, tothe other side of the room, and now, when she saw heropportunity, she was going to make her escape; but John gentlydetained her; and she stood still by his side, though with akind of feeling that it was not there the best place or timefor her old friend to recognise her. He was sitting by Mr. Humphreys, and for the present quite occupied with him. Ellenthought nothing of what they were saying; with her eyeseagerly fixed upon Mr. Marshman, she was reading memory's longstory over again. The same pleasant look and kind tone thatshe remembered so well came to comfort her in her first sorrow— the old way of speaking, and even of moving an arm or hand —the familiar figure and face; how they took Ellen's thoughtsback to the deck of that steamboat, the hymns, the talks! thelove and kindness that led and persuaded her so faithfully andeventually to do her duty — it was all present again; andEllen gazed at him as at a picture of the past, forgetting forthe moment everything else. The same love and kindness wereendeavouring now to say something for Mr. Humphreys' relief;it was a hard task. The old gentleman heard and answered, forthe most part briefly, but so as to show that his friendlaboured in vain; the bitterness and hardness of grief wereunallayed yet. It was not till John made some slight remark, that Mr. Marshman turned his head that way; he looked for amoment in some surprise, and then said, his countenancelightening, "Is that Ellen Montgomery?"

Ellen sprang across at that word to take his outstretchedhand. But as she felt the well-remembered grasp of it, and metthe old look, the thought of which she had treasured up foryears — it was too much. Back as in a flood to her heartseemed to come at once all the thoughts and feelings of thetime since then; — the difference of this meeting from thejoyful one she had so often pictured to herself; the sorrow ofthat time mixed with the sorrow now; and the sense that thevery hand that had wiped those first tears away, was the onenow laid in the dust by death. All thronged on her heart atonce; and it was too much. She had scarce touched Mr. Marshman's hand when she hastily withdrew her own, and gaveway to an overwhelming burst of sorrow. It was infectious. There was such an utter absence of all bitterness or hardnessin the tone of this grief; there was so touching an expressionof submission mingled with it, that even Mr. Humphreys wasovercome. Ellen was not the only subdued weeper there — notthe only one whose tears came from a broken-up heart. For afew minutes the silence of stifled sobs was in the room, tillEllen recovered enough to make her escape, and then the colourof sorrow was lightened, in one breast at least. 

"Brother, " said Mr. Humphreys, "I can hear you now better thanI could a little while ago. I had almost forgotten that God isgood. 'Light in the darkness, ' — I see it now. That child hasgiven me a lesson. "

Ellen did not know what had passed around her, nor what hadfollowed her quitting the room. But she thought when John cameto the tea-table he looked relieved. If his general kindnessand tenderness of manner towards herself could have beengreater than usual, she might have thought it was that night;but she only thought he felt better. 

Mr. Marshman was not permitted to leave the house. He was agreat comfort to everybody. Not himself overburdened withsorrow, he was able to make that effort for the good of therest which no one yet had been equal to. The whole family, except Mr. Humphreys, were gathered together at this time; andhis grave, cheerful, and unceasing kindness, made that by farthe most comfortable meal that had been taken. It wasexceeding grateful to Ellen to see and hear him, from the oldremembrance as well as the present effect. And he had notforgotten his old kindness for her; she saw it in his look, his words, his voice, shown in every way; and the feeling thatshe had got her old friend again, and should never lose him, now gave her more deep pleasure than anything else couldpossibly have done at that time. His own family, too, had notseen him in a long time, so his presence was matter of generalsatisfaction. 

Later in the evening, Ellen was sitting beside him on thesofa, looking and listening — he was like a piece of old musicto her — when John came to the back of the sofa and said hewanted to speak to her. She went with him to the other side ofthe room. 

"Ellie, " he said, in a low voice, "I think my father wouldlike to hear you sing a hymn — do you think you could?"

Ellen looked up, with a peculiar mixture of uncertainty andresolution in her countenance, and said, "Yes. "

"Not if it will pain you too much — and not unless you thinkyou can surely go through with it, Ellen, " he said, gently. 

"No, " said Ellen — "I will try. "

"Will it not give you too much pain? do you think you can?"

"No — I will try, " she repeated. 

As she went along the hall she said and resolved to herselfthat she _would_ do it. The library was dark; coming from thelight, Ellen at first could see nothing. John placed her in achair and went away himself to a little distance, where heremained perfectly still. She covered her face with her handsfor a minute, and prayed for strength; she was afraid to try. 

Alice and her brother were remarkable for beauty of voice andutterance. The latter, Ellen in part caught from them; in theformer she thought herself greatly inferior. Perhaps sheunderrated herself: her voice, though not indeed powerful, waslow and sweet, and very clear; and the entire simplicity andfeeling with which she sang hymns, was more effectual than anyhigher qualities of tone and compass. She had been very muchaccustomed to sing with Alice, who excelled in beautiful truthand simplicity of expression; listening with delight, as sheoften had done, and often joining with her, Ellen had caughtsomething of her manner. 

She thought nothing of all this now; she had a trying task togo through. Sing! — then and there! And what should she sing?All that class of hymns that bore directly on the subject oftheir sorrow must be left on one side; she hardly dared thinkof them. Instinctively she took up another class, that withoutbaring the wound would lay the balm close to it. A few minutesof deep stillness were in the dark room; then very low, and intones that trembled a little, rose the words —

"How sweet the name of Jesus soundsIn a believer's ear!It smoothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear. "

The tremble in her voice ceased, and she went on —

"It makes the wounded spirit whole, And calms the troubled beast;'T is manna to the hungry soul, And to the weary, rest. 

"By Him my prayers acceptance gain, Although with sin defiled;Satan accuses me in vain, And I am own'd a child. 

Weak is the effort of my heart, And cold my warmest thought —But when I see thee as thou art, I'll praise thee as I ought. 

Till then, I would thy love proclaimWith every lab'ring breath;And may the music of thy nameRefresh my soul in death. "

Ellen paused a minute. There was not a sound to be heard inthe room. She thought of the hymn, "Loving Kindness;" but thetune, and the spirit of the words was too lively. Her mother'sfavourite, " 'T is my happiness below, " but Ellen could notventure that; she strove to forget it as fast as possible. Shesang clearly and sweetly as ever now —

"Hark, my soul, it is the Lord, 'T is thy Saviour, hear his word, —Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee:'Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?

" 'I deliver'd thee when bound, And when bleeding heal'd thy wound;Sought thee wandering, set thee rightTurn'd thy darkness into light. 

" 'Can a mother's tender careCease toward the child she bare?Yea — _she_ may forgetful be, Yet will I remember thee. 

" 'Mine is an unchanging love;Higher than the heights above, Deeper than the depths beneath, Free and faithful, strong as death. 

" 'Thou shalt see my glory soon, When the work of life is done, Partner of my throne shalt be —Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?

"Lord, it is my chief complaintThat my love is weak and faint;Yet I love thee and adore —Oh for grace to love thee more!"

Ellen's task was no longer painful, but most delightful. Shehoped she was doing some good; and that hope enabled her, after the first trembling beginning, to go on without anydifficulty. She was not thinking of herself. It was very wellshe could not see the effect upon her auditors. Through thedark, her eyes could only just discern a dark figure stretchedupon the sofa, and another standing by the mantle-piece. Theroom was profoundly still, except when she was singing. Thechoice of hymns gave her the greatest trouble. She thought of"Jerusalem, my happy home;" but it would not do; she and Alicehad too often sung it in strains of joy. Happily came to hermind the beautiful —

"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, " &c. 

She went through all seven long verses. Still when Ellenpaused at the end of this, the breathless silence seemed toinvite her to go on. She waited a minute to gather breath. Theblessed words had gone down into her very heart; did they everseem half so sweet before? She was cheered and strengthened, and thought she could go through with the next hymn, though ithad been much loved and often used, both by her mother andAlice: —

"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly, While the billows near me roll, While the tempest still is nigh. Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life be past —Safe into the haven guide, Oh, receive my soul at last!

"Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee —Leave, ah! leave me not alone!Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stay'd, All my help from thee I bring; —Cover my defenceless headBeneath the shadow of thy wing. 

"Thou, O Christ, art all I want;More than all in thee I find;Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind. Just and holy is thy name, I am all unrighteousness;Vile and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace. "

Still silence; — "silence that spoke!" Ellen did not know whatit said, except that her hearers did not wish her to stop. Hernext was a favourite hymn of them all —

"What are these in bright array?" &c. 

Ellen had allowed her thoughts to travel too far along withthe words, for in the last lines her voice was unsteady andfaint. She was fain to make a longer pause than usual torecover herself. But in vain; the tender nerve was touched;there was no stilling its quivering. 

"Ellen!" said Mr. Humphreys then, after a few minutes. Sherose and went to the sofa. He folded her close to his breast. 

"Thank you, my child, " he said, presently — "you have been acomfort to me. Nothing but a choir of angels could have beensweeter. "

As Ellen went away back through the hall, her tears almostchoked her; but for all that there was a strong throb ofpleasure at her heart. 

"I have been a comfort to him, " she repeated. "Oh, dear Alice!— so I will. "

CHAPTER XLIV. 

The little spirit that haunted the big house. 

The whole Marshman family returned to Ventnor immediatelyafter the funeral, Mr. George excepted; he stayed with Mr. Humphreys over the Sabbath, and preached for him, and, much toevery one's pleasure, lingered still a day or two longer; thenhe was obliged to leave them. John also must go back toDoncaster for a few weeks; he would not be able to get homeagain before the early part of August. For the month between, and as much longer, indeed, as possible, Mrs. Marshman wishedto have Ellen at Ventnor; assuring her that it was to be herhome always whenever she chose to make it so. At first, neither Mrs. Marshman nor her daughters would take any denial;and old Mr. Marshman was fixed upon it. But Ellen begged withtears that she might stay at home and begin at once, as far asshe could, to take Alice's place. Her kind friends insistedthat it would do her harm to be left alone for so long at sucha season. Mr. Humphreys at the best of times kept very much tohimself, and now he would more than ever; she would be verylonely. "But how lonely he will be if I go away!" said Ellen —"I can't go. " Finding that her heart was set upon it, and thatit would be a real grief to her to go to Ventnor, John at lastjoined to excuse her; and he made an arrangement with Mrs. Vawse instead, that she should come and stay with Ellen at theparsonage till he came back. This gave Ellen greatsatisfaction; and her kind Ventnor friends were obligedunwillingly to leave her. 

The first few days after John's departure were indeed sad days— very sad to every one; it could not be otherwise. Ellendrooped miserably. She had, however, the best possiblecompanion in her old Swiss friend. Her good sense, her steadycheerfulness, her firm principle, were always awake forEllen's good — ever ready to comfort her, to cheer her, toprevent her from giving undue way to sorrow, to urge her touseful exertion. Affection and gratitude to the living and thedead, gave powerful aid to these efforts. Ellen rose up in themorning, and lay down at night, with the present pressing wishto do and be, for the ease and comfort of her adopted fatherand brother, all that it was possible for her. Very soon, sosoon as she could rouse herself to anything, she began to turnover in her mind all manner of ways and means for this end. And in general, whatever Alice would have wished, what Johndid wish, was law to her. 

"Margery, " said Ellen, one day, "I wish you would tell me allthe things Alice used to do; so that I may begin to do them, you know, as soon as I can. "

"What things, Miss Ellen?"

"I mean the things she used to do about the house, or to helpyou — don't you know? — all sorts of things. I want to knowthem all, so that I may do them as she did. I want to verymuch. "

"Oh, Miss Ellen, dear, " said Margery, tearfully, "you are toolittle and tender to do them things — I'd be sorry to see you, indeed!"

"Why, no, I am not, Margery, " said Ellen; "don't you know howI used to do at Aunt Fortune's? Now, tell me, please, dearMargery! If I can't do it, I won't, you know. "

"Oh, Miss Ellen, she used to see to various things about thehouse — I don't know as I can tell 'em all directly; some wasto help me; and some to please her father, or Mr. John, if hewas at home; she thought of every one before herself, sureenough. "

"Well, what, Margery? what are they? Tell me all you canremember. "

"Why, Miss Ellen — for one thing — she used to go into thelibrary every morning, to put it in order, and dust the booksand papers and things; in fact, she took the charge of thatroom entirely: I never went into it at all, unless once ortwice in the year, or to wash the windows. "

Ellen looked grave; she thought with herself there might be adifficulty in the way of her taking this part of Alice's dailyduties; she did not feel that she had the freedom of thelibrary. 

"And then, " said Margery, "she used to skim the cream for me, most mornings, when I'd be busy; and wash up the breakfastthings —"

"Oh, I forgot all about the breakfast things!" exclaimed Ellen— "how could I! I'll do them to be sure, after this. I neverthought of them, Margery. And I'll skim the cream too. "

"Dear Miss Ellen, I wouldn't want you to: I didn't mention itfor that, but you was wishing me to tell you — I don't wantyou to trouble your dear little head about such work. It wasmore the thoughtfulness that cared about me than the help ofall she could do, though that wasn't a little — I'll get alongwell enough. "

"But I should like to — it would make me happier; and don'tyou think I want to help you too, Margery?"

"The Lord bless you, Miss Ellen, " said Margery, in a sort ofdesperation, setting down one iron and taking up another;"don't talk in that way, or you'll upset me entirely. I ain'ta bit better than a child, " said she, her tears falling faston the sheet she was hurriedly ironing. 

"What else, dear Margery?" said Ellen presently. "Tell me whatelse?"

"Well, Miss Ellen, " said Margery, dashing away the water fromeither eye, "she used to look over the clothes when they wentup from the wash; and put them away; and mend them if therewas any places wanted mending. "

"I am afraid I don't know how to manage that, " said Ellen, very gravely. "There is one thing I can do — I can darnstockings very nicely: but that's only one kind of mending. Idon't know much about the other kinds. "

"Ah, well, but _she_ did, however, " said Margery, searching inher basket of clothes for some particular pieces. "A beautifulmender she was, to be sure! look here, Miss Ellen — just seethat patch — the way it is put on — so evenly by a thread allround; and the stitches, see — and see the way this rent isdarned down — oh, that was the way she did everything!"

"I can't do it so, " said Ellen, sighing — "but I can learn —that I can do. You will teach me, Margery — won't you?"

"Indeed, Miss Ellen, dear, it's more than I can myself; but Iwill tell you who will, and that's Mrs. Vawse. I am thinkingit was her she learned of in the first place, but I ain'tcertain. Anyhow, she's a first-rate hand. "

"Then I'll get her to teach me, " said Ellen: "that will dovery nicely. And now Margery, what else?"

"Oh, dear, Miss Ellen, I don't know; there was a thousandlittle things that I'd only recollect at the minute; she'd setthe table for me when my hands was uncommon full: and oftenshe'd come out and make some little thing for the master whenI wouldn't have the time to do the same myself; and I can'ttell — one can't think of those things but just at the minute. Dear Miss Ellen, I'd be sorry, indeed, to see you a-tryingyour little hands to do all that she done. "

"Never mind, Margery, " said Ellen — and she threw her armsround the kind old woman as she spoke — "I won't trouble you —and you won't be troubled if I am awkward about anything atfirst, will you?"

Margery could only throw down her holder to return mostaffectionately as well as respectfully Ellen's caress, andpress a very hearty kiss upon her forehead. 

Ellen next went to Mrs. Vawse, to beg her help in the mendingand patching line. Her old friend was very glad to see hertake up anything with interest, and readily agreed to do herbest in the matter. So some old clothes were looked up; piecesof linen, cotton, and flannel gathered together: a largebasket found to hold all these rags of shape and no shape; andfor the next week or two Ellen was indefatigable. She wouldsit making vain endeavours to arrange a large linen patchproperly, till her cheeks were burning with excitement; andbend over a darn, doing her best to make invisible stitches, till Mrs. Vawse was obliged to assure her it was quiteunnecessary to take _so much_ pains. Taking pains, however, isthe sure way to success. Ellen could not rest satisfied tillshe had equalled Alice's patching and darning; and though whenMrs. Vawse left her she had not quite reached that point, shewas bidding fair to do so in a little while. 

In other things she was more at home. She could skim milk wellenough, and immediately began to do it for Margery. She atonce also took upon herself the care of the parlour cupboardand all the things in it, which she well knew had been Alice'soffice; and thanks to Miss Fortune's training, even Margerywas quite satisfied with her neat and orderly manner of doingit. Ellen begged her, when the clothes came up from the wash, to show her where everything went, so that for the future shemight be able to put them away; and she studied the shelves ofthe linen closet, and the chests of drawers in Mr. Humphreys'room, till she almost knew them by heart. As to the library, she dared not venture. She saw Mr. Humphreys at meals and atprayers — only then. He had never asked her to come into hisstudy since the night she sang to him; and as for _her_ asking, nothing could have been more impossible. Even when he was outof the house, out by the hour, Ellen never thought of goingwhere she had not been expressly permitted to go. 

When Mr. Van Brunt informed his wife of Ellen's purpose todesert her service, and make her future home at the parsonage, the lady's astonishment was only less than her indignation;the latter not at all lessened by learning that Ellen was tobecome the adopted child of the house. For a while her wordsof displeasure were poured forth in a torrent; Mr. Van Bruntmeantime saying very little, and standing by like a steadfastrock that the waves dash _past_, not _upon_. She declared this was"the cap-sheaf of Miss Humphreys' doings; she _might_ have beenwise enough to have expected as much; she wouldn't have beensuch a fool if she had! This was what she had let Ellen gothere for! — a pretty return!" But she went on. "She wonderedwho they thought they had to deal with: did they think she wasgoing to let Ellen go in that way? _she_ had the first and onlyright to her; and Ellen had no more business to go and giveherself away than one of her oxen; they would find it out, sheguessed, pretty quick; Mr. John and all; she'd have her backin no time!" What were her thoughts and feelings, when, afterhaving spent her breath, she found her husband quietly opposedto this conclusion, words cannot tell. _Her_ words could not;she was absolutely dumb, till he had said his say; and then, appalled by the serenity of his manner, she left indignationon one side for the present, and began to argue the matter. But Mr. Van Brunt coolly said he had promised: she might getas many help as she liked — he would pay for them, andwelcome; but Ellen would have to stay where she was. He hadpromised Miss Alice; and he wouldn't break his word "for king, lords, and commons. " A most extraordinary expletive for a goodrepublican — which Mr. Van Brunt had probably inherited fromhis father and grandfather. What can waves do against a rock?Miss Fortune disdained a struggle which must end in her ownconfusion, and wisely kept her chagrin to herself; never evenapproaching the subject afterwards, with him or any otherperson. Ellen had left the whole matter to Mr. Van Brunt, expecting a storm, and not wishing to share it. Happily it allblew over. 

As the month drew to an end, and indeed long before, Ellen'sthoughts began to go forward eagerly to John coming home. Shehad learned by this time how to mend clothes; she had grownsomewhat wonted to her new round of little household duties;in everything else the want of him was felt. Study flagged;though, knowing what his wish would be, and what her duty was, she faithfully tried to go on with it. She had no heart forriding or walking by herself. She was lonely; she wassorrowful; she was weary; all Mrs. Vawse's pleasant societywas not worth the mere knowledge that _he_ was in the house; shelonged for his coming. 

He had written what day they might expect him. But when itcame, Ellen found that her feeling had changed; it did notlook the bright day she had expected it would. Up to that timeshe had thought only of herself; now she remembered what sortof a coming home this must be to him; and she dreaded almostas much as she wished for the moment of his arrival. Mrs. Vawse was surprised to see that her face was sadder that daythan it had been for many past; she could not understand it. Ellen did not explain. It was late in the day before hereached home, and her anxious watch of hope and fear for thesound of his horse's feet grew very painful. She busiedherself with setting the tea-table; it was all done; and shecould by no means do anything else. She could not go to thedoor to listen there; she remembered too well the last time;and she knew he would remember it. 

He came at last. Ellen's feeling had judged rightly of his, for the greeting was without a word on either side; and whenhe left the room to go to his father, it was very, very longbefore he came back. And it seemed to Ellen for several daysthat he was more grave, and talked less, than even the lasttime he had been at home. She was sorry when Mrs. Vawseproposed to leave them. But the old lady wisely said theywould all feel better when she was gone; and it was so. Trulyas she was respected and esteemed on all sides, it was felt arelief by every one of the family when she went back to hermountain top. They were left to themselves; they saw whattheir numbers were; there was no restraint upon looks, words, or silence. Ellen saw at once that the gentlemen felt easier —that was enough to make her so. The extreme oppression thathad grieved and disappointed her the first few days afterJohn's return, gave place to a softened gravity; and thehousehold fell again into its old ways; only that upon everybrow there was a chastened air of sorrow, in everything thatwas said a tone of remembrance, and that a little figure wasgoing about where Alice's used to move as mistress of thehouse. 

Thanks to her brother, that little figure was an exceedingbusy one. She had in the first place her household duties, indischarging which she was perfectly untiring. From the creamskimmed for Margery, and the cups of coffee poured out everymorning for Mr. Humphreys and her brother, to the famousmending, which took up often one half of Saturday, whatevershe did was done with her best diligence and care; and fromlove to both the dead and the living, Ellen's zeal neverslackened. These things, however, filled but a small part ofher time, let her be as particular as she would; and Mr. Johneffectually hindered her from being too particular. He soonfound a plenty for both her and himself to do. 

Not that they ever forgot, or tried to forget Alice; on thecontrary, they sought to remember her, humbly, calmly, hopefully, thankfully! By diligent performance of duty, byChristian faith, by conversation and prayer, they strove to dothis; and after a time succeeded. Sober that winter was, butit was very far from being an unhappy one. 

"John, " said Ellen, one day, some time after Mrs. Vawse hadleft them, "do you think Mr. Humphreys would let me go intohis study every day when he is out, to put it in order anddust the books?"

"Certainly. But why does not Margery do it?"

"She does, I believe, but she never used to; and I should liketo do it very much if I was sure he would not dislike it. Iwould be careful not to disturb anything; I would leaveeverything just as I found it. "

"You may go when you please, and do what you please there, Ellie. "

"But I don't like to — I couldn't without speaking to himfirst; I should be afraid he might come back and find methere, and he would think I hadn't had leave. "

"And you wish _me_ to speak to him — is that it? Cannot youmuster resolution enough for that, Ellie?"

Ellen was satisfied, for she knew by his tone he would do whatshe wanted. 

"Father, " said John, the next morning at breakfast, "Ellenwishes to take upon herself the daily care of your study, butshe is afraid to venture there without being assured it willplease you to see her there. "

The old gentleman laid his hand affectionately on Ellen'shead, and told her she was welcome to come and go when shewould — the whole house was hers. 

The grave kindness and tenderness of the tone and actionspoiled Ellen's breakfast. She could not look at anybody norhold up her head for the rest of the time. 

As Alice had anticipated, her brother was called to take thecharge of a church at Randolph, and at the same time anothermore distant was offered him. He refused them both, rightlyjudging that his place for the present was at home. But thecall from Randolph being pressed upon him very much, he atlength agreed to preach for them during the winter; ridingthither for the purpose every Saturday, and returning toCarra-carra on Monday. 

As the winter wore one, a grave cheerfulness stole over thehousehold. Ellen little thought how much she had to do withit. She never heard Margery tell her husband, which she oftendid with great affection, that "that blessed child was thelight of the house. " And those who felt it the most saidnothing. Ellen was sure, indeed, from the way in which Mr. Humphreys spoke to her, looked at her, now and then laid hishand on her head, and sometimes, very rarely, kissed herforehead, that he loved her and loved to see her about; andthat her wish of supplying Alice's place was in some littlemeasure fulfilled. Few as those words and looks were, theysaid more to Ellen than whole discourses would from otherpeople: the least of them gladdened her heart with the feelingthat she was a comfort to him. But she never knew how much. Deep as the gloom still over him was, Ellen never dreamed howmuch deeper it would have been but for the little figureflitting round and filling up the vacancy; how much he reposedon the gentle look of affection, the pleasant voice, thewatchful thoughtfulness that never left anything undone thatshe could do for his pleasure. Perhaps he did not know ithimself. She was not sure he even noticed many of the littlethings she daily did or tried to do for him. Always silent andreserved, he was more so now than ever; she saw him little, and very seldom long at a time, unless when they were ridingto church together; he was always in his study or abroad. Butthe trifles she thought he did not see were noted andregistered, and repaid with all the affection he had to give. 

As for Mr. John, it never came into Ellen's head to thinkwhether she was a comfort to him; he was a comfort to _her;_ shelooked at it in quite another point of view. He had gone tohis old sleeping-room upstairs, which Margery had settled withherself he would make his study; and for that he had taken thesitting-room. This was Ellen's study too, so she wasconstantly with him; and of the quietest she thought hermovements would have to be. 

"What are you stepping so softly for?" said he, one day, catching her hand as she was passing near him. 

"You were busy — I thought you were busy, " said Ellen. 

"And what then?"

"I was afraid of disturbing you. "

"You never disturb me, " said he; — "you need not fear it. Stepas you please, and do not shut the doors carefully. I see youand hear you; but without any disturbance. "

Ellen found it was so. But she was an exception to the generalrule; other people disturbed him, as she had one or twooccasions of knowing. 

Of one thing she was perfectly sure, whatever he might bedoing — that he saw and heard her; and equally sure, that ifanything were not right, she should sooner or later hear ofit. But this was a censorship Ellen rather loved than feared. In the first place, she was never misunderstood; in thesecond, however ironical and severe he might be to others —and Ellen knew he could be both when there was occasion — henever was either to her. With great plainness always, but withan equally happy choice of time and manner, he either said orlooked what he wished her to understand. This happened, indeed, only about comparative trifles; to have seriouslydispleased him Ellen would have thought the last great evilthat could fall upon her in the world. 

One day Margery came into the room with a paper in her hand. 

"Miss Ellen, " said she in a low tone — "here is Anthony Foxagain — he has brought another of his curious letters, that hewants to know if Miss Ellen will be so good as to write outfor him once more. He says he is ashamed to trouble you somuch. "

Ellen was reading, comfortably ensconced in the corner of thewide sofa. She gave a glance, a most ungratified one, at thevery original document in Margery's hand. Unpromising itcertainly looked. 

"Another! Dear me! — I wonder if there isn't somebody else hecould get to do it for him, Margery? I think I have had myshare. You don't know what a piece of work it is to copy outone of those scrawls. It takes me ever so long, in the firstplace, to find out what he has written, and then to put it sothat any one else can make sense of it — I've got about enoughof it. Don't you suppose he could find plenty of other peopleto do it for him?"

"I don't know, Miss Ellen; I suppose he could. "

"Then ask him, do; won't you, Margery? I'm so tired of it! andthis is the third one; and I've got something else to do. Askhim if there isn't somebody else he can get to do it; if thereisn't, I will; — tell him I am busy. "

Margery withdrew, and Ellen buried herself again in her book. Anthony Fox was a poor Irishman, whose uncouth attempts at aletter Ellen had once offered to write out and make straightfor him, upon hearing Margery tell of his lamenting that hecould not make one fit to send _home_ to his mother. 

Presently Margery came in again, stopping this time at thetable, which Mr. John had pushed to the far side of the room, to get away from the fire. 

"I beg your pardon, Sir, " she said; "I am ashamed to be sotroublesome — but this Irish body, this Anthony Fox, hasbegged me, and I didn't know how to refuse him, to come in andask for a sheet of paper and a pen for him, Sir — he wants tocopy a letter — if Mr. John would be so good; a quill pen, Sir, if you please; he cannot write with any other. "

"No, " said John, coolly. "Ellen will do it. "

Margery looked in some doubt from the table to the sofa, butEllen instantly rose up, and with a burning cheek came forwardand took the paper from the hand where Margery still held it. 

"Ask him to wait a little while, Margery, " she, saidhurriedly; "I'll do it as soon as I can — tell him in half anhour. "

It was not a very easy nor quick job. Ellen worked at itpatiently, and finished it well by the end of the half-hour;though with a burning cheek still; and a dimness over her eyesfrequently obliged her to stop till she could clear them. Itwas done, and she carried it out to the kitchen herself. 

The poor man's thanks were very warm; but that was not whatEllen wanted. She could not rest till she had got another wordfrom her brother. He was busy; she dared not speak to him; shesat fidgeting and uneasy in the corner of the sofa till it wastime to get ready for riding. She had plenty of time to makeup her mind about the right and the wrong of her own conduct. 

During the ride he was just as usual, and she began to thinkhe did not mean to say anything more on the matter. Pleasanttalk and pleasant exercise had almost driven it out of herhead, when as they were walking their horses over a levelplace, he suddenly began —

"By-the-bye, you are too busy, Ellie, " said he. "Which of yourstudies shall we cut off?"

"_Please_, Mr. John, " said Ellen, blushing, "don't say anythingabout that! I was not studying at all — I was just amusingmyself with a book — I was only selfish and lazy. "

"_Only_ — I would rather you were too busy, Ellie. "

Ellen's eyes filled. 

"I was wrong, " she said — "I knew it at the time — at least, as soon as you spoke I knew it; and a little before; — I wasvery wrong!"

And his keen eye saw that the confession was not out ofcompliment to him merely; it came from the heart. 

"You are right now, " he said, smiling. "But how are yourreins?"

Ellen's heart was at rest again. 

"Oh, I forgot them, " said she, gaily: "I was thinking ofsomething else. "

"You must not talk when you are riding, unless you cancontrive to manage two things at once; and no more losecommand of your horse than you would of yourself. "

Ellen's eye met his, with all the contrition, affection, andingenuousness that even he wished to see there; and they puttheir horses to the canter. 

This winter was in many ways a very precious one to Ellen. French gave her now no trouble; she was a cleverarithmetician; she knew geography admirably, and was tolerablyat home in both English and American history; the way wascleared for the course of improvement in which her brother'shand led and helped her. He put her into Latin; carried on thestudy of natural philosophy they had begun the year before, and which with his instructions was perfectly delightful toEllen; he gave her some works of stronger reading than she hadyet tried, besides histories in French and English, and higherbranches of arithmetic. These things were not crowded togetherso as to fatigue, nor hurried through so as to overload. Carefully and thoroughly she was obliged to put her mindthrough every subject they entered upon; and just at that age, opening as her understanding was, it grappled eagerly with allthat he gave her, as well from love to learning as from loveto him. In reading, too, she began to take new and strongdelight. Especially two or three new English periodicals, which John sent for on purpose for her, were mines of pleasureto Ellen. There was no fiction in them, either; they were asfull of instruction as of interest. At all times of the dayand night, in her intervals of business, Ellen might be seenwith one of these in her hand, nestled among the cushions ofthe sofa, or on a little bench by the side of the fireplace inthe twilight, where she could have the benefit of the blaze, which she loved to read by as well as ever. Sorrowfulremembrances were then flown, all things present were out ofview, and Ellen's face was dreamingly happy. 

It was well there was always somebody by, who whatever hemight himself be doing, never lost sight of her. If ever Ellenwas in danger of bending too long over her studies, orindulging herself too much in the sofa-corner, she was sure tobe broken off to take an hour or two of smart exercise, ridingor walking, or to recite some lesson (and their recitationswere very lively things), or to read aloud, or to talk. Sometimes, if he saw that she seemed to be drooping or alittle sad, he would come and sit down by her side, or callher to his, find out what she was thinking about, and then, instead of slurring it over, talk of it fairly, and set itbefore her in such a light that it was impossible to think ofit again gloomily, for that day at least. Sometimes he tookother ways, but never, when he was present, allowed her longto look weary or sorrowful. He often read to her, and everyday made her read aloud to him. This Ellen disliked very muchat first, and ended with as much liking it. She had anadmirable teacher. He taught her how to manage her voice, andhow to manage the language, in both which he excelled himself, and was determined that she should; and, besides this, theirreading often led to talking that Ellen delighted in. Alwayswhen he was making copies for her she read to him, and once atany rate in the course of the day. 

Every day, when the weather would permit, the Black Prince andthe Brownie, with their respective riders, might be seenabroad in the country, far and wide. In the course of theirrides, Ellen's horsemanship was diligently perfected. Veryoften their turning-place was on the top of the Cat's Back, and the horses had a rest and Mrs. Vawse a visit before theywent down again. They had long walks, too, by hill and dale;pleasantly silent or pleasantly talkative — all pleasant toEllen!

Her only lonely or sorrowful time was when John was gone toRandolph. It began early Saturday morning, and perhaps endedwith Sunday night; for all Monday was hope and expectation. Even Saturday she had not much time to mope; that was the dayfor her great week's mending. When John was gone, and hermorning affairs were out of the way, Ellen brought out herwork-basket, and established herself on the sofa for a quietday's sewing without the least fear of interruption. Butsewing did not always hinder thinking. And then, certainly, the room did seem very empty, and very still; and the clock, which she never heard the rest of the week, kept ticking anungracious reminder that she was alone. Ellen would sometimesforget it, in the intense interest of some nice little pieceof repair which must be exquisitely done in a wrist-band or aglove; and then perhaps Margery would softly open the door andcome in. 

"Miss Ellen, dear, you're lonesome enough; isn't theresomething I can do for you? I can't rest for thinking of yourbeing here all by yourself. "

"Oh, never mind, Margery, " said Ellen, smiling — "I am doingvery well. I am living in hopes of Monday. Come and look here, Margery — how will that do? — don't you think I am learning tomend?"

"It's beautiful, Miss Ellen! I can't make out how you'velearned so quick. I'll tell Mr. John some time who does thesethings for him. "

"No, indeed, Margery! don't you. _Please_ not, Margery. I liketo do it very much, indeed, but I don't want he should knowit, nor Mr. Humphreys. Now you won't, Margery, will you?"

"Miss Ellen, dear, I wouldn't do the least little thing aswould be worrisome to you, for the whole world. Aren't youtired sitting here all alone?"

"Oh, sometimes a little, " said Ellen, sighing. "I can't helpthat, you know. "

"I feel it even out there in the kitchen, " said Margery; — "Ifeel it lonesome hearing the house so still — I miss the wantof Mr. John's step up and down the room. How fond he is ofwalking so, to be sure! How do you manage, Miss Ellen, withhim making his study here? don't you have to keep uncommonquiet?"

"No, " said Ellen — "no quieter than I like. I do just as Ihave a mind to. "

"I thought, to be sure, " said Margery, "he would have takenupstairs for his study, or the next room, one or t'other; heused to be mighty particular in old times; he didn't like tohave anybody round when he was busy; but I am glad he isaltered, however; it is better for you, Miss Ellen, dear, though I didn't know how you was ever going to make out atfirst. "

Ellen thought for a minute, when Margery was gone, whether itcould be that John was putting a force upon his liking for hersake, bearing her presence when he would rather have beenwithout it. But she thought of it only a minute; she was sure, when she recollected herself, that however it happened, shewas no hinderance to him in any kind of work; that she wentout and came in, and, as he had said, he saw and heard herwithout any disturbance. Besides, he had said so; and that wasenough. 

Saturday evening she generally contrived to busy herself inher books. But when Sunday morning came, with its calmness andbrightness — when the business of the week was put away, andquietness, abroad and at home, invited to recollection — thenEllen's thoughts went back to old times, and then she missedthe calm, sweet face that had agreed so well with the day. Shemissed her in the morning, when the early sun streamed inthrough the empty room. She missed her at the breakfast-table, where John was not to take her place. On the ride to church, where Mr. Humphreys was now her silent companion, and everytree in the road, and every opening in the landscape, seemedto call for Alice to see it with her. Very much she missed herin church. The empty seat beside her — the unused hymn-book onthe shelf— the want of her sweet voice in the singing — oh!how it went to Ellen's heart! And Mr. Humphreys' grave, steadfast look and tone kept it in her mind; she saw it was inhis. Those Sunday mornings tried Ellen. At first they werebitterly sad — her tears used to flow abundantly whenever theycould, unseen. Time softened this feeling. 

While Mr. Humphreys went on to his second service in thevillage beyond, Ellen stayed at Carra-carra, and tried toteach a Sunday-school. She determined, as far as she could, tosupply beyond the home circle the loss that was not felt onlythere. She was able, however, to gather together but her ownfour children, whom she had constantly taught from thebeginning, and two others. The rest were scattered. After herlunch, which, having no companion but Margery, was now a shortone, Ellen went next to the two old women that Alice had beenaccustomed to attend for the purpose of reading, and whatEllen called preaching. These poor old people had sadlylamented the loss of the faithful friend whose place theynever expected to see supplied in this world, and whosekindness had constantly sweetened their lives with one greatpleasure a week. Ellen felt afraid to take so much uponherself as to try to do for them what Alice had done; however, she resolved; and at the very first attempt their gratitudeand joy far overpaid her for the effort she had made. Practice, and the motive she had, soon enabled Ellen toremember and repeat faithfully the greater part of Mr. Humphreys' morning sermon. Reading the Bible to Mrs. Blocksonwas easy — she had often done that; and to repair the loss ofAlice's pleasant comments and explanations, she bethought herof her _Pilgrim's Progress_. To her delight the old woman heardit greedily, and seemed to take great comfort in it; oftenreferring to what Ellen had read before, and begging to hearsuch a piece over again. Ellen generally went home prettythoroughly tired, yet feeling happy; the pleasure of doinggood still far overbalanced the pains. 

Sunday evening was another lonely time; Ellen spent it as bestshe could. Sometimes with her Bible and prayer, and then sheceased to be lonely; sometimes with so many pleasant thoughtsthat had sprung up out of the employments of the morning, thatshe could not be sorrowful; sometimes she could not help beingboth. In any case, she was very apt, when the darkness fell, to take to singing hymns; and it grew to be a habit with Mr. Humphreys, when he heard her, to come out of his study and liedown upon the sofa and listen, suffering no light in the roombut that of the fire. Ellen never was better pleased than whenher Sunday evenings were spent so. She sung with wonderfulpleasure when she sang for him; and she made it her businessto fill her memory with all the beautiful hymns she ever knewor could find, or that he liked particularly. 

With the first opening of her eyes on Monday morning came thethought, "John will be at home to-day!" That was enough tocarry Ellen pleasantly through whatever the day might bring. She generally kept her mending of stockings for Mondaymorning, because with that thought in her head she did notmind anything. She had no visits from Margery on Monday; butEllen sang over her work, sprang about with happy energy, andstudied her hardest; for John, in what he expected her to do, made no calculations for work of which he knew nothing. He wasnever at home till late in the day; and when Ellen had doneall she had to do, and set the supper-table with punctiliouscare, and a face of busy happiness it would have been apleasure to see if there had been any one to look at it, shewould take what happened to be the favourite book, and plantherself near the glass door, like a very epicure, to enjoyboth the present and the future at once. Even then, thepresent often made her forget the future; she would be lost inher book, perhaps hunting the elephant in India, or fightingNelson's battles over again; and the first news she would haveof what she had set herself there to watch for, would be theclick of the door-lock or a tap on the glass, — for the horsewas almost always left at the further door. Back then she camefrom India or the Nile; down went the book; Ellen had no morethought but for what was before her. 

For the rest of that evening the measure of Ellen's happinesswas full. It did not matter whether John were in a talkativeor a thoughtful mood; whether he spoke to her and looked ather or not; it was pleasure enough to feel that he was there. She was perfectly satisfied merely to sit down near him, though she did not get a word by the hour together. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

The Guardian Angel. 

One Monday evening, John being tired, was resting in thecorner of the sofa. The silence had lasted a long time. Ellenthought so; and standing near, she by-and-by put her handgently into one of his, which was thoughtfully passing throughthe locks of his hair. Her hand was clasped immediately, and, quitting his abstracted look, he asked what she had been doingthat day. Ellen's thoughts went back to toes of stockings anda long rent in her dress; she merely answered, smiling, thatshe had been busy. 

"Too busy, I'm afraid. Come round here, and sit down. Whathave you been busy about?"

Ellen never thought of trying to evade a question of his. Shecoloured and hesitated. He did not press it any further. 

"Mr. John, " said Ellen, when the silence seemed to have set inagain — "there is something I have been wanting to ask youthis great while —"

"Why _hasn't_ it been asked this great while?"

"I didn't quite like to; I didn't know what you would say toit. "

"I am sorry I am at all terrible to you, Ellie. "

"Why, you are not!" said Ellen, laughing — "how you talk! butI don't much like to ask people things. "

"I don't know about that, " said he, smiling; "my memory ratherseems to say that you ask things pretty often. "

"Ah, yes — those things; but I mean, I don't; like to askthings when I am not quite sure how people will like it. "

"You are right, certainly, to hesitate when you are doubtfulin such a matter; but it is best not to be doubtful when I amconcerned. "

"Well, " said Ellen, "I wished very much — I was going to ask —if you would have any objection to let me read one of yoursermons. "

"None in the world, Ellie, " said he, smiling; "but they havenever been written yet. "

"Not written!"

"No — there is all I had to guide me yesterday. "

"A half-sheet of paper! — and only written on one side! Oh, Ican make nothing of this. What is _this?_ Hebrew?"

"Short-hand. "

"And is that all? I cannot understand it, " said Ellen, sighingas she gave back the paper. 

"What if you were to go with me next time? They want to seeyou very much at Ventnor. "

"So do I want to see them, " said Ellen, "very much indeed. "

"Mrs. Marshman sent a most earnest request by me that youwould come to her the next time I go to Randolph. "

Ellen gave the matter a very serious consideration — if onemight judge by her face. 

"What do you say to it?"

"I should like to go, very much, " said Ellen, slowly — "but —"

"But you do not think it would be pleasant?"

"No, no, " said Ellen, laughing, "I don't mean that; but Ithink I would rather not. "

"Why?"

"Oh — I have some reasons. "

"You must give me _very_ good ones, or I think I shall overruleyour decision, Ellie. "

"I have very good ones; plenty of them; only —"

A glance, somewhat comical in its keenness, overturned Ellen'shesitation. 

"I have, indeed, " said she, laughing; "only I did not want totell you. The reason why I didn't wish to go was because Ithought I should be missed. You don't know how much I missyou, " said she, with tears in her eyes. 

"That is what I was afraid of! Your reasons make against you, Ellie. "

"I hope not; I don't think they ought. "

"But, Ellie, I am very sure my father would rather miss youonce or twice than have you want what would be good for you. "

"I know that! I am sure of that; but that don't alter myfeeling, you know. And besides, that isn't all. "

"Who else will miss you?"

Ellen's quick look seemed to say that he knew too muchalready, and that she did not wish him to know more. He didnot repeat the question, but Ellen felt that her secret was nolonger entirely her own. 

"And what do you do, Ellie, when you feel lonely?" he went onpresently. 

Ellen's eyes watered at the tone in which these words werespoken; she answered — "Different things. "

"The best remedy for it is prayer. In seeking the face of ourbest Friend we forget the loss of others. That is what I try, Ellie, when I feel alone; do you try it?" said he, softly. 

Ellen looked up; she could not well speak at that moment. 

"There is an antidote in that for every trouble. You know whosaid, 'He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he thatbelieveth on me shall never thirst. ' "

"It troubles me, " said he, after a pause, "to leave you somuch alone. I don't know that it were not best to take youwith me every week. "

"Oh, no!" said Ellen, "don't think of me. I don't mind it, indeed. I do not always feel so — sometimes— but I get alongvery well; and I would rather stay here, indeed I would. I amalways happy as soon as Monday morning comes. "

He rose up suddenly, and began to walk up and down the room. 

"Mr. John —"

"What Ellie?"

"I do sometimes seek His face very much when I cannot findit. "

She hid her face in the sofa cushion. He was silent a fewminutes, and then stopped his walk. 

"There is something wrong, then, with you, Ellie, " he said, gently. "How has it been through the week? If you can let dayafter day pass without remembering your best Friend, it may bethat when you feel the want you will not readily find Him. Howis it daily, Ellie? is seeking his face your first concern? doyou give sufficient time faithfully to your Bible and prayer?"

Ellen shook her head; no words were possible. He took up hiswalk again. The silence lasted a length of time, and he wasstill walking, when Ellen came to his side and laid her handon his arm. 

"Have you settled that question with your conscience, Ellie?"

She weepingly answered, "Yes. ". They walked a few turns up anddown. 

"Will you promise me, Ellie, that every day when it shall bepossible, you will give an hour _at least_ to this business, whatever else may be done or undone?"

Ellen promised; and then with her hand in his they continuedtheir walk through the room till Mr. Humphreys and theservants came in. Her brother's prayer that night Ellen neverforgot. 

No more was said at that time about her going to Ventnor. Buta week or two after, John smilingly told her to get all herprivate affairs arranged, and to let her friends know theyneed not expect to see her the next Sunday, for that he wasgoing to take her with him. As she saw he had made up hismind, Ellen said nothing in the way of objecting, and, nowthat the decision was taken from her, was really very glad togo. She arranged everything, as he had said; and was readySaturday morning to set off with a very light heart. 

They went in the sleigh. In a happy, quiet mood of mind, Ellenenjoyed everything exceedingly. She had not been to Ventnor inseveral months; the change of scene was very grateful. Shecould not help thinking, as they slid along smoothly andswiftly over the hard-frozen snow, that it was a good dealpleasanter, for once, than sitting alone in the parlour athome with her work-basket. Those days of solitary duty, however, had prepared her for the pleasure of this one; Ellenknew that, and was ready to be thankful for everything. Throughout the whole way, whether the eye and mind silentlyindulged in roving, or still better-loved talk interruptedthat, as it often did, Ellen was in a state of most unmixedand unruffled satisfaction. John had not the slightest reasonto doubt the correctness of his judgment in bringing her. Hewent in but a moment at Ventnor, and leaving her there, proceeded himself to Randolph. 

Ellen was received as a precious lending that must be takenthe greatest care of and enjoyed as much as possible while onehas it. Mrs. Marshman and Mrs. Chauncey treated her as if shehad been their own child. Ellen Chauncey overwhelmed her withjoyful caresses, and could scarcely let her out of her arms bynight or by day. She was more than ever Mr. Marshman's pet;but, indeed, she was well petted by the family. It was a veryhappy visit. 

Even Sunday left nothing to wish for. To her great joy, notonly Mrs. Chauncey went with her in the morning to hear herbrother (for his church was not the one the family attended), but the carriage was ordered in the afternoon also; and Mrs. Chauncey and her daughter and Miss Sophia went with her again. When they returned, Miss Sophia, who had taken a very greatfancy to her, brought her into her own room and made her liedown with her upon the bed, though Ellen insisted she was nottired. 

"Well, you ought to be, if you are not, " said the lady. "_I_ am. Keep away, Ellen Chauncey — you can't be anywhere withouttalking. You can live without Ellen for half an hour, can'tye? Leave us a little while in quiet. "

Ellen for her part was quite willing to be quiet. But MissSophia was not sleepy, and it soon appeared had no intentionof being silent herself. 

"Well, how do you like your brother in the pulpit?" she began. 

"I like him anywhere, Ma'am, " said Ellen, smiling a veryunequivocal smile. 

"I thought he would have come here with you last night; it isvery mean of him! He never comes near us; he always goes tosome wretched little lodging or place in the town there —always; never so much as looks at Ventnor, unless sometimes hemay stop for a minute at the door. "

"He said he would come here to-night, " said Ellen. 

"Amazing condescending of him! However, he isn't like anybodyelse; I suppose we must not judge him by common rules. How isMr. Humphreys, Ellen?"

"I don't know Ma'am, " said Ellen; "it is hard to tell; hedoesn't say much. I think he is rather more cheerful, ifanything, than I expected he would be. "

"And how do you get along there, poor child! with only twosuch grave people about you?"

"I get along very well, Ma'am, " said Ellen, with what MissSophia thought a somewhat curious smile. 

"I believe you will grow to be as sober as the rest of them, "said she. "How does Mr. John behave?"

Ellen turned so indubitably curious a look upon her at this, that Miss Sophia half-laughed and went on —

"Mr. Humphreys was not always as silent and reserved as he isnow; I remember him when he was different, though I don'tthink he was ever much like his son. Do you ever hear aboutit?"

"About what, Ma'am?"

"Oh, all about his coming to this country, and what broughthim to Carra-carra?"

"No, Ma'am. "

"My father, you see, had come out long before, but the twofamilies had always been very intimate in England, and it waskept up after he came away. He was a particular friend of anelder brother of Mr. Humphreys; his estate and mygrandfather's lay very near each other; and besides, therewere other things that drew them to each other — he married myaunt, for one. My father made several journeys back and forthin the course of years, and so kept up his attachment to thewhole family, you know; and he became very desirous to get Mr. Humphreys over here — this Mr. Humphreys, you know. He was theyounger brother — younger brothers in England have generallylittle or nothing; but you don't know anything about that, Ellen. _He_ hadn't anything then but his living, and that was asmall one; he had some property left him, though, just beforehe came to America. "

"But, Miss Sophia, " — Ellen hesitated, — "are you sure theywould like I should hear all this?"

"Why, yes, child! of course they would; everybody knows it. Some things made Mr. Humphreys as willing to leave Englandabout that time as my father was to have him. An excellentsituation was offered him in one of the best institutionshere, and he came out. That's about — let me see — I was justtwelve years old, and Alice was one year younger. She and Iwere just like sisters always from that time. We lived neartogether, and saw each other every day, and our two familieswere just like one. But they were liked by everybody. Mrs. Humphreys was a very fine person — very; oh, very! I never sawany woman I admired more. Her death almost killed her husband:and I think Alice — I don't know; there isn't the least signof delicate health about Mr. Humphreys nor Mr. John — not theslightest — nor about Mrs. Humphreys either. She was a veryfine woman!"

"How long ago did she die?" said Ellen. 

"Five — six, seven — seven years ago. Mr. John had been leftin England till a little before. Mr. Humphreys was never thesame after that. He wouldn't hold his professorship anylonger; he couldn't bear society; he just went and buriedhimself at Carra-carra. That was a little after we came here. "

How much all this interested Ellen! She was glad, however, when Miss Sophia seemed to have talked herself out, for shewanted very much to think over John's sermon. And as MissSophia happily fell into a doze soon after, she had a longquiet time for it, till it grew dark, and Ellen Chauncey, whose impatience could hold no longer, came to seek her. 

John came in the evening. Ellen's patience and politeness wereseverely tried in the course of it; for while she longedexceedingly to hear what her brother and the older members ofthe family were talking about — animated, delightfulconversation she was sure — Ellen Chauncey detained her inanother part of the room; and for a good part of the eveningshe had to bridle her impatience, and attend to what she didnot care about. She did it, and Ellen Chauncey did not suspectit; and at last she found means to draw both her and herselfnear the larger group. But they seemed to have got throughwhat they were talking about; there was a lull. Ellen waitedand hoped they would begin again. 

"You had a full church this afternoon, Mr. John, " said MissSophia. 

He bowed gravely. 

"Did you know whom you had among your auditors? the — and —were there;" naming some distinguished strangers in theneighbourhood. 

"I think I saw them. "

"You 'think' you did! Is that an excess of pride or an excessof modesty? Now, do be a reasonable creature, and confess thatyou are not insensible to the pleasure and honour ofaddressing such an audience!"

Ellen saw something like a flash of contempt for an instant inhis face, instantly succeeded by a smile. 

"Honestly, Miss Sophia, I was much more interested in an oldwoman that sat at the foot of the pulpit-stairs. "

"That old thing!" said Miss Sophia. 

"I saw her, " said Mrs. Chauncey; — "poor old creature! sheseemed most deeply attentive when I looked at her. "

"_I_ saw her!" cried Ellen Chauncey — "and the tears wererunning down her cheeks several times. "

"I didn't see her, " said Ellen Montgomery, as John's eye methers. He smiled. 

"But do you mean to say, " continued Miss Sophia, "that you areabsolutely careless as to who hears you?"

"I have always one hearer, Miss Sophia, of so much dignity, that it sinks the rest into great insignificance. "

"That is a rebuke, " said Miss Sophia; — "but nevertheless, Ishall tell you that I liked you very much this afternoon. "

He was silent. 

"I suppose you will tell me next, " said the young lady, laughing, "that you are sorry to hear me say so. "

"I am, " said he, gravely. 

"Why? — may I ask?"

"You show me that I have quite failed in my aim, so far atleast as one of my hearers was concerned. "

"How do you know that?"

"Do you remember what Louis the Fourteenth said to Massillon?— 'Mon pθre, j'ai entendu plusieurs grands orateurs dans machapelle; j'en ai ιtι fort content: pour vous, toutes les foisque je vous ai entendu, j'ai ιtι trθs mιcontent de moi-mκme!'"

Ellen smiled. Miss Sophia was silent for a moment. 

"Then you really mean to be understood, that provided you failof your aim, as you say, you do not care a straw what peoplethink of you?"

"As I would take a bankrupt's promissory note in lieu of toldgold. It gives me small gratification, Miss Sophia — verysmall indeed — to see the bowing heads of the grain that yetmy sickle cannot reach. "

"I agree with you most heartily, " said Mr. George Marshman. The conversation dropped; and the two gentlemen began anotherin an undertone, pacing up and down the floor together. 

The next morning, not sorrowfully, Ellen entered the sleighagain, and they set off homewards. 

"What a sober little piece that is!" said Mr. Howard. 

"Oh! — sober!" cried Ellen Chauncey; — "that is because youdon't know her, Uncle Howard. She is the cheerfullest, happiest girl that I ever saw — always. "

"Except Ellen Chauncey — always, " said her uncle. 

"She is a singular child, " said Mrs. Gillespie. "She is grave, certainly, but she don't look moped at all, and I should thinkshe would be, to death. "

"There's not a bit of moping about her, " said Miss Sophia. "She can laugh and smile as well as anybody; though she hassometimes that peculiar grave look of the eyes that would makea stranger doubt it. I think John Humphreys has infected; hehas something of the same look himself. "

"I am not sure whether it is the eyes or the mouth, Sophia, "said Mr. Howard. 

"It is both, " said Miss Sophia. "Did you ever see the eyeslook one way and the mouth another?"

"And besides, " said Ellen Chauncey, "she has reason to looksober, I am sure. "

"She is a fascinating child, " said Mrs. Gillespie. "I cannotcomprehend where she gets the manner she has. I never saw amore perfectly polite child, and there she has been formonths, with nobody to speak to her but two gentlemen and theservants. It is natural to her, I suppose; she can have nobodyto teach her. "

"I am not so sure as to that, " said Miss Sophia; "but I havenoticed the same thing often. Did you observe her last night, Matilda, when John Humphreys came in? you were talking to herat the moment; I saw her before the door was opened; I saw thecolour come, and her eyes sparkle, but she did not looktowards him for an instant, till you had finished what youwere saying to her, and she had given, as she always does, hermodest, quiet answer; and then her eye went straight as anarrow to where he was standing. "

"And yet, " said Mrs. Chauncey, "she never moved towards himwhen you did, but stayed quietly on that side of the room withthe young ones, till he came round to them; and it was sometime too. "

"She is an odd child, " said Miss Sophia, laughing. "What doyou think she said to me yesterday? I was talking to her, andgetting rather communicative on the subject of my neighbours'affairs; and she asked me gravely — the little monkey! if Iwas sure they would like her to hear it? I felt quite rebuked, though I didn't choose to let her know as much. "

"I wish Mr. John would bring her every week, " said EllenChauncey, sighing; "it would be so pleasant to have her. "

Towards the end of the winter, Mr. Humphreys began to proposethat his son should visit England and Scotland during thefollowing summer. He wished him to see his family and to knowhis native country, as well as some of the most distinguishedmen and institutions in both kingdoms. Mr. George Marshmanalso urged upon him some business in which he thought he couldbe eminently useful. But Mr. John declined both propositions, still thinking he had more important duties at home. This onlycloud that rose above Ellen's horizon scattered away. 

One evening — it was a Monday — in the twilight, John was asusual pacing up and down the floor. Ellen was reading in thewindow. 

"Too late for you, Ellie. "

"Yes, " said Ellen; "I know; I will stop in two minutes. "

But in a quarter of that time she had lost every thought ofstopping, and knew no longer that it was growing dusk. Somebody else, however, had not forgotten it. The two minuteswere not ended, when a hand came between her and the page, andquietly drew the book away. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Ellen, starting up. "I entirelyforgot about it!"

He did not look displeased; he was smiling. He drew her armwithin his. 

"Come and walk with me. Have you had any exercise to-day?"

"No. "

"Why not?"

"I had a good deal to do, and I had fixed myself so nicely onthe sofa with my books; and it looked cold and disagreeableout of doors. "

"Since when have you ceased to be a fixture?"

"What! — oh, " said Ellen, laughing, "how shall I ever get ridof that troublesome word? What shall I say? — I had _arranged_myself, _established_ myself, so nicely on the sofa. "

"And did you think that a sufficient reason for not goingout?"

"No, " said Ellen, "I did not; and I did not decide that Iwould not go; and yet I let it keep me at home after all; —just as I did about reading a few minutes ago. I meant tostop, but I forgot it, and I should have gone on I don't knowhow long if you had not stopped me. I very often do so. "

He paused a minute, and then said —

"You must not do so any more, Ellie. "

The tone, in which there was a great deal of love anddecision, wound round Ellen's heart, and constrained her toanswer immediately —

"I will not — I will not. "

"Never parley with conscience; it is a dangerous habit. "

"But then — it was only —"

"About trifles; I grant you; but the habit is no trifle. Therewill not be a just firmness of mind and steadfastness ofaction where tampering with duty is permitted even in littlethings. "

"I will try not to do it, " Ellen repeated. 

"No, " said he, smiling — "let it stand as at first. '_I willnot_' means something; '_I will try_' is very apt to come tonothing, 'I will keep thy precepts with my whole heart! — not'I will _try_. ' Your reliance is precisely the same in eithercase. "

"I will not, John, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"What were you poring over so intently a while ago?"

"It was an old magazine — _Blackwood's Magazine_, I believe, isthe name of it; I found two great piles of them in a closetupstairs the other day; and I brought this one down. "

"This is the first that you have read?"

"Yes; I got very much interested in a curious story there; —why?"

"What will you say, Ellie, if I ask you to leave the rest ofthe two piles unopened?"

"Why, I will say that I will do it, of course, " said Ellen —with a little smothered sigh of regret, however — "if you wishit. "

"I do wish it, Ellie. "

"Very well — I'll let them alone, then. I have enough otherreading; I don't know how I happened to take that one up;because I saw it there, I suppose. "

"Have you finished Nelson yet?"

"Oh, yes! — I finished it Saturday night. Oh, I like it _very_much! I am going all over it again, though. I like Nelson verymuch; don't you?"

"Yes — as well as I can like a man of very fine qualitieswithout principle. "

"Was he that?" said Ellen. 

"Yes; did you not find it out? I am afraid your eyes wereblinded by admiration. "

"Were they?" said Ellen. "I thought he was so very fine ineverything; and I should be sorry to think he was not. "

"Look over the book again by all means, with a more criticaleye; and when you have done so, you shall give me your coolestimate of his character. "

"O me!" said Ellen. "Well — but I don't know whether I cangive you a _cool_ estimate of him — however, I'll try. I cannotthink coolly of him now, just after Trafalgar. I think it wasa shame that Collingwood did not anchor as Nelson told him to;don't you? I think he might have been obeyed while he wasliving at least. "

"It is difficult, " said John, smiling, "to judge correctly ofmany actions without having been on the spot, and in thecircumstances of the actors. I believe you and I must leavethe question of Trafalgar to more nautical heads. "

"How pleasant this moonlight is!" said Ellen. 

"What makes it pleasant?"

"What _makes_ it pleasant! — I don't know; I never thought ofsuch a thing. It is _made_ to be pleasant — I can't tell _why;_can anybody?"

"The eye loves light for many reasons; but all kinds of lightare not equally agreeable. What makes the peculiar charm ofthese long streams of pale light across the floor? and theshadowy brightness without?"

"You must tell, " said Ellen; "I cannot. "

"You know we enjoy anything much more by contrast; I thinkthat is one reason. Night is the reign of darkness, which wedo not love; and here is light struggling with the darkness, not enough to overcome it entirely, but yet banishing it tonooks and corners, and distant parts, by the side of which itshows itself in contrasted beauty. Our eyes bless the unwontedvictory. "

"Yes, " said Ellen; "we only have moonlight nights once in awhile. "

"But that is only one reason out of many, and not thegreatest. It is a very refined pleasure, and to resolve itinto its elements, is something like trying to divide one ofthese same white rays of light into the many various-colouredones that go to form it; — and not by any means so easy atask. "

"Then it was no wonder I couldn't answer, " said Ellen. 

"No; you are hardly a full-grown philosopher yet, Ellie. "

"The moonlight is so calm and quiet, " Ellen observed, admiringly. 

"And why is it calm and quiet? — I must have an answer tothat. "

"Because _we_ are generally calm and quiet at such times?" Ellenventured, after a little thought. 

"Precisely! — we and the world. And association has given themoon herself the same character. Besides that, her mild, soberlight is not fitted for the purposes of active employment, andtherefore the more graciously invites us to the pleasures ofthought and fancy. "

"I am loving it more and more, the more you talk about it, "said Ellen, laughing. 

"And there you have touched another reason, Ellie, for thepleasure we have, not only in moonlight, but in most otherthings. When two things have been in the mind together, andmade any impression, the mind associates them; and you cannotsee or think of the one, without bringing back the remembranceof the feeling of the other. If we have enjoyed the moonlightin pleasant scenes, in happy hours, with friends that we loved— though the sight of it may not always make us directlyremember them, yet it brings with it a waft from the feelingof the old times— sweet as long as life lasts!"

"And sorrowful things may be associated too?" said Ellen. 

"Yes, and sorrowful things. But this power of association isthe cause of half the pleasure we enjoy. There is a tune mymother used to sing — I cannot hear it now without beingcarried swiftly back to my boyish days — to the very spirit ofthe time; I _feel_ myself spring over the green sward as I didthen. "

"Oh, I know that is true, " said Ellen. "The camellia — thewhite camellia, you know — I like it so much ever since whatyou said about it one day. I never see it without thinking ofit; and it would not seem half so beautiful but for that. "

"What did I say about it?"

"Don't you remember? you said it was like what you ought tobe, and what you should be, if you ever reached heaven; andyou repeated that verse in the Revelation about 'those thathave not defiled their garments. ' I always think of it. Itseems to give me a lesson. "

"How eloquent of beautiful lessons all nature would be to us, "said John, musingly, "if we had but the eye and the ear totake them in!"

"And in that way you would heap associations uponassociations?"

"Yes; till our storehouse of pleasure was very full. "

"You do that now, " said Ellen. "I wish you would teach me. "

"I have read precious things sometimes in the bunches offlowers you are so fond of, Ellie. Cannot you?"

"I don't know; I only think of themselves; except — sometimesthey make me think of Alice. "

"You know, from any works we may form some judgment of themind and character of their author?"

"From their writings, I know you can, " said Ellen; "from whatother works?"

"From any which are not mechanical; from any in which themind, not the hand, has been the creating power. I saw youvery much interested the other day in the Eddystonelighthouse; did it help you to form no opinion of Mr. Smeaton?"

"Why, yes, certainly, " said Ellen; "I admired him exceedinglyfor his cleverness and perseverance; but what other works? Ican't think of any. "

"There is the lighthouse, — that is one thing. What do youthink of the ocean waves that now and then overwhelm it?"

Ellen half-shuddered. "I shouldn't like to go to sea, John!But you were speaking of men's works and women's works?"

"Well, women's works; I cannot help forming some notion of alady's mind and character from the way she dresses herself. "

"Can you? do you?"

"I cannot help doing it. Many things appear in the style of alady's dress that she never dreams of; the style of herthoughts, among others. "

"It is a pity ladies didn't know that, " said Ellen, laughing;"they would be very careful. "

"It wouldn't mend the matter, Ellie. That is one of the thingsin which people are obliged to speak truth. As the mind is, soit will show itself. "

"But we have got a great way from the flowers, " said Ellen. 

"You shall bring me some to-morrow, Ellie, and we will readthem together. "

"There are plenty over there now, " said Ellen, looking towardsthe little flower-stand, which was as full and flourishing asever; "but we can't see them well by this light. "

"A bunch of flowers seems to bring me very near the hand thatmade them. They are the work of His fingers; and I cannotconsider them without being joyfully assured of the glory andloveliness of their Creator. It is written as plainly to me intheir delicate painting, and sweet breath, and curiousstructure, as in the very pages of the Bible; though, nodoubt, without the Bible I could not read the flowers. "

"I never thought much of that, " said Ellen. "And then, youfind particular lessons in particular flowers?"

"Sometimes. "

"Oh, come here!" said Ellen, pulling him towards the flower-stand, "and tell me what this daphne is like, — you need notsee that, only smell it, that's enough; — do, John, and tellme what it is like!"

He smiled as he complied with her request, and walked awayagain. 

"Well, what is it?" said Ellen; "I know you have thought ofsomething. "

"It is like the fragrance that Christian society sometimesleaves upon the spirit; when it is just what it ought to be. "

"My Mr. Marshman!" exclaimed Ellen. 

John smiled again. "I thought of him, Ellie. And I thought, also, of Cowper's lines: —

'When one who holds communion with the skiesHas filled his urn where those pure waters rise, Descends and dwells among us meaner things, —It is as if an angel shook his wings!' "

Ellen was silent a moment from pleasure. 

"Well, I have got an association now with the daphne!" shesaid, joyously; and presently added, sighing, "How much yousee in everything, that I do not see at all. "

"Time, Ellie, said John; "there must be time for that. It willcome. Time is cried out upon as a great thief; it is people'sown fault. Use him but well, and you will get from his handmore than he will ever take from you. "

Ellen's thoughts travelled on a little way from this speech, and then came a sigh, of some burden, as it seemed; and herface was softly laid against the arm she held. 

"Let us leave all that to God, " said John, gently. 

Ellen started. "How did you know, how _could_ you know what Iwas thinking of?"

"Perhaps my thoughts took the same road, " said he, smiling. "But, Ellie, dear, let us look to that one source of happinessthat can never be dried up; it is not safe to count uponanything else. "

"It is not wonderful, " said Ellen, in a tremulous voice, "if I—"

"It is not wonderful, Ellie, nor wrong. But we, who look up toGod as our Father — who rejoice in Christ our Saviour— we arehappy, whatever beside we may gain or lose. Let us trust Him, and never doubt that, Ellie. "

"But still —" said Ellen. 

"But, still, we will hope and pray alike in that matter; andwhile we do, and may, with our whole hearts, let us leaveourselves in our Father's hand. The joy of the knowledge ofChrist — the joy the world cannot intermeddle with, the peaceit cannot take away! Let us make that our own, Ellie; and, forthe rest, put away all anxious care about what we cannotcontrol. "

Ellen's hand, however, did not just then lie quite so lightlyon his arm as it did a few minutes ago — he could feel that —and could see the glitter of one or two tears in the moonlightas they fell. The hand was fondly taken in his; and, as theyslowly paced up and down, he went on, in low tones of kindnessand cheerfulness, with his pleasant talk, till she was toohappy in the present to be anxious about the future — lookedup again and brightly into his face, and questions and answerscame as gaily as ever. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

"Something turns up. "

The rest of the winter, or rather the early part of thespring, passed happily away. March, at Thirlwall, seemed moreto belong to the former than the latter. Then spring came ingood earnest; April and May brought warm days and wildflowers. Ellen refreshed herself and adorned the room withquantities of them; and, as soon as might be, she set aboutrestoring the winter-ruined garden. Mr. John was not fond ofgardening; he provided her with all manner of tools, orderedwhatever work she wanted to be done for her, supplied her withnew plants and seeds, and roots, and was always ready to giveher his help in any operations or press of business thatcalled for it. But, for the most part, Ellen hoed and rakedand transplanted, and sowed seeds, while he walked or read;often giving his counsel, indeed, asked and unasked, andalways coming in between her and any difficult or heavy job. The hours thus spent were to Ellen hours of unmixed delight. When he did not choose to go himself, he sent Thomas with her, as the garden was some little distance down the mountain, awayfrom the house and from everybody — he never allowed her to gothere alone. 

As if to verify Mr. Van Brunt's remark, that "something isalways happening most years, " about the middle of May therecame letters that, after all, determined John's going abroad. The sudden death of two relatives, one after the other, hadleft the family estate to Mr. Humphreys; it required thepersonal attendance either of himself or his son; he couldnot, therefore his son must, go. Once on the other side of theAtlantic, Mr. John thought it best his going should fulfil allthe ends for which both Mr. Humphreys and Mr. Marshman haddesired it; this would occasion his stay to be prolonged to atleast a year, probably more. And he must set off withoutdelay. 

In the midst, not of his hurry — for Mr. John seldom was orseemed to be in a hurry about anything — but in the midst ofhis business, he took special care of everything thatconcerned, or could possibly concern, Ellen. He arranged whatbooks she should read, what studies she should carry on; anddirected that about these matters, as well as about allothers, she should keep up a constant communication with himby letter. He requested Mrs. Chauncey to see that she wantednothing, and to act as her general guardian in all minorthings, respecting which Mr. Humphreys could be expected totake no thought whatever. And what Ellen thanked him for mostof all, he found time for all his wonted rides, and shethought more than his wonted talks with her; endeavouring, ashe well knew how, both to strengthen and cheer her mind inview of his long absence. The memory of those hours never wentfrom her. 

The family at Ventnor were exceeding desirous that she shouldmake one of them during all the time John should be gone; theyurged it with every possible argument. Ellen said little, buthe knew she did not wish it; and finally compounded the matterby arranging that she should stay at the parsonage through thesummer, and spend the winter at Ventnor, sharing all EllenChauncey's advantages of every kind. Ellen was all the morepleased with this arrangement that Mr. George Marshman wouldbe at home. The church John had been serving were becomingexceedingly attached to him, and would by no means hear ofgiving him up; and Mr. George engaged, if possible, to supplyhis place while he should be away. Ellen Chauncey was inecstatics. And it was further promised that the summer shouldnot pass without as many visits on both sides as could well bebrought about. 

Ellen had the comfort, at the last, of hearing John say thatshe had behaved unexceptionably well where he knew it wasdifficult for her to behave well at all. That _was_ a comfort, from him, whose notions of unexceptionable behaviour, sheknew, were remarkably high. But the parting, after all, was adreadfully hard matter; though softened as much as it could beat the time, and rendered very sweet to Ellen's memory by thetenderness, gentleness, and kindness with which her brother, without checking, soothed her grief. He was to go early in themorning; and he made Ellen take leave of him the night before;but he was in no hurry to send her away; and when at length hetold her it was very late, and she rose up to go, he went withher to the very door of her room, and there bade her goodnight. 

How the next days passed Ellen hardly knew; they wereunspeakably long. 

Not a week after, one morning, Nancy Vawse came into thekitchen, and asked in her blunt fashion —

"Is Ellen Montgomery at home?"

"I believe Miss Ellen is in the parlour, " said Margery, drily. 

"I want to speak to her. "

Margery silently went across the hall to the sitting-room. 

"Miss Ellen, dear, " she said, softly, "here is that Nancy girlwanting to speak with you — will you please to see her?"

Ellen eagerly desired Margery to let her in; by no meansdispleased to have some interruption to the sorrowful thoughtsshe could not banish. She received Nancy very kindly. 

"Well, I declare, Ellen!" said that young lady, whosewandering eye was upon everything but Ellen herself — "ain'tyou as fine as a fiddle! I guess you never touch your fingersto a file now-a-days — do you?"

"A file!" said Ellen. 

"You han't forgot what it means, I s'pose, " said Nancy, somewhat scornfully — " 'cause if you think I'm a-going toswallow that, you're mistaken. I've seen you file off tablesdown yonder a few times, han't I?"

"Oh, I remember now, " said Ellen, smiling; — "it is so longsince I heard the word that I didn't know what you meant. Margery calls it a dish-cloth, or a floor-cloth, or somethingelse. "

"Well, you don't touch one now-a-days, do you?"

"No, " said Ellen, "I have other things to do. "

"Well, I guess you have. You've got enough of books now, foronce, han't you? What a lot! — I say, Ellen, have you got toread all these?"

"I hope so, in time, " said Ellen, smiling. "Why haven't youbeen to see me before?"

"Oh — I don't know, " said Nancy, whose roving eye looked alittle as if she felt herself out of her sphere. "I didn'tknow as you would care to see me now. "

"I am very sorry you should think so, Nancy; I would be asglad to see you as ever. I have not forgotten all your oldkindness to me when Aunt Fortune was sick. "

"You've forgotten all that went before that, I 'spose, " saidNancy, with a half-laugh. "You beat all! Most folks rememberand forget just t'other way exactly. But, besides, I didn'tknow but I should catch myself in queer company. "

"Well — I am all alone now, " said Ellen, with a sigh. 

"Yes, if you warn't I wouldn't be here, I can tell you. Whatdo you think I have come for to-day, Ellen?"

"For anything but to see me?"

Nancy nodded very decisively. 

"What?"

"Guess. "

"How can I possibly guess? What have you got tucked up in yourapron there?"

"Ah! — that's the very thing, " said Nancy. "What _have_ I got, sure enough?"

"Well, I can't tell through your apron, " said Ellen, smiling. 

"And _I_ can't tell either — that's more, ain't it? Now listen, and I'll tell you where I got it, and then you may find outwhat it is, for I don't know. Promise you won't tell anybody. "

"I don't like to promise that, Nancy. "

"Why?"

"Because it might be something I ought to tell somebodyabout. "

"But it ain't. "

"If it isn't I won't tell. Can't you leave it so?"

"But what a plague! Here I have gone and done all this justfor you, and now you must go and make a fuss. What hurt wouldit do you to promise? — it's nobody's business but yours andmine, and somebody else's that won't make any talk about it, Ipromise you. "

"I won't speak of it, certainly, Nancy, unless I think Iought; can't you trust me?"

"I wouldn't give two straws for anybody else's say so, " saidNancy; — "but as you're as stiff as the mischief, I s'poseI'll have to let it go. I'll trust you! Now listen. It don'tlook like anything, does it?"

"Why, no, " said Ellen, laughing; "you hold your apron soloose, that I cannot see anything. "

"Well, now listen. You know I've been helping down at youraunt's — did you?"

"No. "

"Well, I have — these six weeks. You never see anything go onquieter than they do, Ellen. I declare it's fun. Miss Fortunenever was so good in her days. I don't mean she ain't as uglyas ever, you know, but she has to keep it in. All I have todo, if I think anything is going wrong, I just let her think Iam going to speak to _him_ about it; only I have to do it verycunning, for fear she would guess what I am up to; and thenext thing I know, it's all straight. He _is_ about the coolestshaver, " said Nancy, "I ever did see. The way he walks throughher notions once in a while — not very often, mind you, butwhen he takes a fancy — it's fun to see! O, I can get alongthere first-rate, now. _You'd_ have a royal time, Ellen. "

"Well, Nancy — your story?"

"Don't you be in a hurry. I am going to take my time. Well, I've been there this six weeks, doing all sorts of things, youknow — taking your place, Ellen — don't you wish you was backin it? Well, a couple of weeks since, Mrs. Van took it intoher head she would have up the waggon, and go to Thirlwall, toget herself some things — a queer start for her; but, at anyrate, Van Brunt brought up the waggon, and in she got, and offthey went. Now, _she meant_, you must know, that I should befast in the cellar-kitchen all the while she was gone, and shethought she had given me enough to keep me busy there; but Iwas up to her. I was as spry as a cricket, and flew round, andgot things put up; and then I thought I'd have some fun. Whatdo you think I did? Mrs. Montgomery was quietly sitting in thechimney-corner, and I had the whole house to myself. How VanBrunt looks out for her, Ellen! he won't let her be put outfor anything or anybody. "

"I am glad of it, " said Ellen, her face flushing, and her eyeswatering — "it is just like him. I love him for it. "

"The other night she was mourning and lamenting at a greatrate because she hadn't you to read to her; and what do youthink he does, but goes and takes the book, and sits down andreads to her himself! You should have seen Mrs. Van's face!"

"What book?" said Ellen. 

"What book? why your book — the Bible — there ain't any otherbook in the house, as I know. What on earth are you cryingfor, Ellen? He's fetched over his mother's old Bible, andthere it lays on a shelf in the cupboard; and he has it outevery once in a while. Maybe he's coming round, Ellen. But dohold up your head and listen to me! I can't talk to you whileyou lie with your head in the cushion like that. I han't morethan begun my story yet. "

"Well, go on, " said Ellen. 

"You see, I ain't in any hurry, " said Nancy — "because as soonas I've finished I shall have to be off; and it's fun to talkto you. What do you think I did, when I had done up all mychores? — where do you think I found this, eh? _you'd_ neverguess. "

"What is it?" said Ellen. 

"No matter what it is — I don't know; — where do you think Ifound it?"

"How can I tell? I don't know. "

"You'll be angry with me when I tell you. "

Ellen was silent. 

"If it was anybody else, " said Nancy, "I'd ha' seen 'em shotafore I'd ha' done it, or told of it either; but you ain'tlike anybody else. Look here!" said she, tapping her aprongently with one finger, and slowly marking off each word —"this — come— out — of — your — aunt's — box — in — the —closet — upstairs — in — her — room. "

"Nancy!"

"Ay, Nancy! there it is. Now you look! 'Twon't alter it, Ellen; that's where it was, if you look till tea-time. "

"But how came you there?"

" 'Cause I wanted to amuse myself, I tell you. Partly toplease myself, and partly because Mrs. Van would be so mad ifshe knew it. "

"Oh, Nancy!"

"Well — I don't say it was right — but, anyhow, I did it; youhan't heard what I found yet. "

"You had better put it right back again, Nancy, the first timeyou have a chance. "

"Put it back again! — I'll give it to you, and then you mayput it back again, if you have a mind. I should like to seeyou! Why, you don't know what I found. "

"Well, what did you find?"

"The box was chuck full of all sorts of things, and I had amind to see what was in it, so I pulled 'em out one after theother till I got to the bottom. At the very bottom was someletters and papers, and there — staring right in my face — thefirst thing I see was 'Miss Ellen Montgomery. ' "

"Oh, Nancy!" screamed Ellen — "a letter for me?"

"Hush! — and sit down, will you? — yes, a whole package ofletters for you. Well, thought I, Mrs. Van has no right tothat, anyhow, and she ain't agoing to take the care of it anymore; so I just took it up and put it in the bosom of my frockwhile I looked to see if there was any more for you, but therewarn't. There it is!"

And she tossed the package into Ellen's lap. Ellen's headswam. 

"Well, good-bye!" said Nancy, rising; — "I may go now, Isuppose, and no thanks to me. "

"Yes, I do — I do thank you very much, Nancy!" cried Ellen, starting up and taking her by the hand — "I do thank you —though it wasn't right; — but oh! how could she! how couldshe!"

"Dear me!" said Nancy; "to ask that of Mrs. Van! she could doanything. _Why_ she did it ain't so easy to tell. "

Ellen, bewildered, scarcely knew, only _felt_, that Nancy hadgone. The outer cover of her package, the seal of which wasbroken, contained three letters; two addressed to Ellen, inher father's hand, the third to another person. The seals ofthese had not been broken. The first that Ellen opened she sawwas all in the same hand with the direction; she threw it downand eagerly tried the other. And yes! there was indeed thebeloved character of which she never thought to have seenanother specimen. Ellen's heart swelled with many feelings;thankfulness, tenderness, joy, and sorrow, past and present —that letter was not thrown down, but grasped, while tears fellmuch too fast for eyes to do their work. It was long beforeshe could get far in the letter. But when she had fairly begunit she went on swiftly, and almost breathlessly, to the end. 

"MY DEAR, DEAR LITTLE ELLEN, "I am scarcely able — but I must write to you once more. Oncemore, daughter, for it is not permitted me to see your faceagain in this world. I look to see it, my dear child, where itwill be fairer than ever here it seemed, even to me. I shalldie in this hope and expectation. Ellen, remember it. Yourlast letters have greatly encouraged and rejoiced me. I amcomforted, and can leave you quietly in that hand that has ledme, and I believe is leading you. God bless you, my child!

"Ellen, I have a mother living, and she wishes to receive youas her own when I am gone. It is best you should know at oncewhy I never spoke to you of her. After your aunt Bessy marriedand went to New York, it displeased and grieved my mothergreatly that I too, who had always been her favourite child, should leave her for an American home. And when I persisted, in spite of all that entreaties and authority could urge, shesaid she forgave me for destroying all her prospects ofhappiness, but that after I should be married and gone, sheshould consider me as lost to her entirely, and so I mustconsider myself. She never wrote to me, and I never wrote toher after I reached America. She was dead to me. I do not saythat I did not deserve it. 

"But I have written to her lately, and she has written to me. She permits me to die in the joy of being entirely forgiven, and in the further joy of knowing that the only source of careI had left is done away. She will take you to her heart, tothe place I once filled, and I believe fill yet. She longs tohave you, and to have you as entirely her own, in allrespects; and to this, in consideration of the wandering lifeyour father leads, and will lead, I am willing and he iswilling to agree. It is arranged so. The old happy home of mychildhood will be yours, my Ellen. It joys me to think of it. Your father will write to your aunt and to you on the subject, and furnish you with funds. It is our desire that you shouldtake advantage of the very first opportunity of proper personsgoing to Scotland, who will be willing to take charge of you. Your dear friends, Mr. And Miss Humphreys, will, I dare say, help you in this. 

"To them I could say much, if I had strength. But words arelittle. If blessings and prayers from a full heart are worthanything, they are the richer. My love and gratitude to themcannot —"

The writer had failed here; and what there was of the letterhad evidently been written at different times. CaptainMontgomery's was to the same purpose. He directed Ellen toembrace the first opportunity of suitable guardians, to crossthe Atlantic, and repair to No. —, Georgestreet, Edinburgh;said that Miss Fortune would give her the money she wouldneed, which he had written to her to do, and that theaccompanying letter Ellen was to carry with her, and deliverto Mrs. Lindsay, her grandmother. 

Ellen felt as if her head would split. She took up thatletter, gazed at the strange name and direction which hadtaken such new and startling interest for her, wondered overthe thought of what she was ordered to do with it, marvelledwhat sort of fingers they were which would open it, or whetherit would ever be opened; and finally, in a perfect maze, unable to read, think, or even weep, she carried her packageof letters into her own room, the room that had been Alice's, laid herself on the bed, and them beside her, and fell into adeep sleep. 

She woke up towards evening, with the pressure of a mountainweight upon her mind. Her thoughts and feelings were a mazestill; and not Mr. Humphreys himself could be more grave andabstracted than poor Ellen was that night. So many points wereto be settled, so many questions answered to herself, it was agood while before Ellen could disentangle them, and know whatshe did think and feel, and what she would do. 

She very soon found out her own mind upon one subject — shewould be exceeding sorry to be obliged to obey the directionsin the letters. But must she obey them?

"I have promised Alice, " thought Ellen — "I have promised Mr. Humphreys; I can't be adopted twice. And this Mrs. Lindsay —my grandmother! — she cannot be nice, or she wouldn't havetreated my mother so. She cannot be a nice person; — hard —she must be hard; — I never want to see her. My mother! Butthen my mother loved her, and was very glad to have me go toher. Oh! oh! how could she! — how could they do so! — whenthey didn't know how it might be with me, and what dearfriends they might make me leave! Oh, it was cruel! But thenthey did _not_ know, that is the very thing — they thought Iwould have nobody but Aunt Fortune, and so it's no wonder —oh, what shall I do! What _ought_ I to do? These people inScotland must have given me up by this time; it's — let me see— it's just about three years now — a little less — sincethese letters were written. I am older now, and circumstancesare changed; I have a home, and a father, and a brother; may Inot judge for myself? But my mother and my father have orderedme — what shall I do! If John were only here — but perhaps hewould make me go — he might think it right. And to leave him, and maybe never to see him again! — and Mr. Humphreys! and howlonely he would be without me! — I cannot! — I will not! Oh, what _shall_ I do! What shall I do!"

Ellen's meditations gradually plunged her in despair; for shecould not look at the event of being obliged to go, and shecould not get rid of the feeling, that perhaps it might cometo that. She wept bitterly — it didn't mend the matter. Shethought painfully, fearfully, long — and was no nearer an end. She could not endure to submit the matter to Mr. Humphreys;she feared his decision; and she feared also that he wouldgive her the money Miss Fortune had failed to supply for thejourney; how much it might be, Ellen had no idea. She couldnot dismiss the subject as decided by circumstances, forconscience pricked her with the fifth commandment. She wasmiserable. It happily occurred to her, at last, to takecounsel with Mrs. Vawse; this might be done, she knew, withoutbetraying Nancy; Mrs. Vawse was much too honourable to pressher as to how she came by the letters, and her word couldeasily be obtained not to speak of the affairs to any one. Asfor Miss Fortune's conduct, it must be made known; there wasno help for that. So it was settled; and Ellen's breast was alittle lightened of its load of care for that time; she hadleisure to think of some other things. 

Why had Miss Fortune kept back the letters? Ellen guessedpretty well, but she did not know quite all. The package, withits accompanying despatch to Miss Fortune, had arrived shortlyafter Ellen first heard the news of her mother's death, whenshe was refuged with Alice at the parsonage. At the time ofits being sent, Captain Montgomery's movements were extremelyuncertain; and, in obedience to the earnest request of hiswife, he directed that, without waiting for his own return, Ellen should immediately set out for Scotland. Part of themoney for her expenses he sent; the rest he desired his sisterto furnish, promising to make all straight when he should comehome. But it happened that he was already this lady's debtorin a small amount, which Miss Fortune had serious doubts ofever being repaid: she instantly determined that if she hadonce been a fool in lending him money, she would not a secondtime in adding to the sum; if he wanted to send his daughteron a wild-goose-chase after great relations, he might comehome himself and see to it; it was none of her business. Quietly taking the remittance to refund his own owing, she ofcourse threw the letters into her box, as the delivery of themwould expose the whole transaction. There they lay till Nancyfound them. 

Early next morning, after breakfast, Ellen came into thekitchen, and begged Margery to ask Thomas to bring the Brownieto the door. Surprised at the energy in her tone and manner, Margery gave the message, and added, that Miss Ellen seemed tohave picked up wonderfully; she hadn't heard her speak sobrisk since Mr. John went away. 

The Brownie was soon at the door, but not so soon as Ellen, who had dressed in feverish haste. The Brownie was not alone;there was old John saddled and bridled, and Thomas Grimes inwaiting. 

"It's not necessary for you to take that trouble, Thomas, "said Ellen; "I don't mind going alone at all. "

"I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen — (Thomas touched his hat) —but Mr. John left particular orders that I was to go with MissEllen whenever it pleased her to ride; never failing. "

"Did he?" said Ellen; "but is it convenient for you now, Thomas? I want to go as far as Mrs. Vawse's. "

"It's always convenient, Miss Ellen — always; Miss Ellen neednot think of that at all, I am always ready. "

Ellen mounted upon the Brownie, sighing for the want of thehand that used to lift her to the saddle; and spurred by thisrecollection, set off at a round pace. 

Soon she was at Mrs. Vawse's; and soon, finding her alone, Ellen had spread out all her difficulties before her and givenher the letters to read. Mrs. Vawse readily promised to speakon the subject to no one without Ellen's leave; her suspicionsfell upon Mr. Van Brunt, not her grand-daughter. She heard allthe story and read the letters before making any remark. 

"Now, dear Mrs. Vawse, " said Ellen, anxiously, when the lastone was folded up and laid on the table, "what do you think?"

"I think, my child, you must go, " said the old lady, steadily. 

Ellen looked keenly, as if to find some other answer in herface; her own changing more and more for a minute, till shesunk it in her hands. 

"Cela vous donne beaucoup de chagrin — je le vois bien, " saidthe old lady, tenderly. (Their conversations were always inMrs. Vawse's tongue. )

"But, " said Ellen, presently, lifting her head again (therewere no tears) — "I cannot go without money. "

"That can be obtained without any difficulty. "

"From whom? I cannot ask Aunt Fortune for it, Mrs. Vawse; Icould not do it. "

"There is no difficulty about the money. Show your letters toMr. Humphreys. "

"Oh, I cannot!" said Ellen, covering her face again. 

"Will you let me do it? I will speak to him if you permit me. "

"But what use? _He_ ought not to give me the money, Mrs. Vawse. It would not be right; and to show him the letters would belike asking him for it. Oh, I can't bear to do that!"

"He would give it you, Ellen, with the greatest pleasure. "

"Oh, no, Mrs. Vawse!" said Ellen, bursting into tears; "hewould never be pleased to send me away from him! I know — Iknow — he would miss me. Oh, what shall I do?"

"Not _that_, my dear Ellen, " said the old lady, coming to her, and gently stroking her head with both hands. "You must dowhat is _right;_ and you know it cannot be but that will be thebest and happiest for you in the end. "

"Oh! I wish — I wish, " exclaimed Ellen from the bottom of herheart, "those letters had never been found!"

"Nay, Ellen, _that_ is not right. "

"But I promised Alice, Mrs. Vawse; ought I go away and leavehim? Oh, Mrs. Vawse, it is very hard! _Ought_ I?"

"Your father and your mother have said it, my child. "

"But they never would have said it if they had known!"

"But they did not know, Ellen; and here it is. "

Ellen wept violently, regardless of the caresses and soothingwords which her old friend lavished upon her. 

"There is one thing, " said she at last, raising her head; "Idon't know of anybody going to Scotland, and I am not likelyto; and if I only do not before autumn — that is not a goodtime to go, and then comes winter. "

"My dear Ellen!" said Mrs. Vawse, sorrowfully, "I must driveyou from your last hope. Don't you know that Mrs. Gillespie isgoing abroad with all her family? — next month, I think. "

Ellen grew pale for a minute, and sat holding bitter counselwith her own heart. Mrs. Vawse hardly knew what to say next. 

"You need not feel uneasy about your journeying expenses, " sheremarked, after a pause; "you can easily repay them if youwish, when you reach your friends in Scotland. "

Ellen did not hear her. She looked up with an odd expressionof determination in her face, — determination taking its standupon difficulties. 

"I shan't stay there, Mrs. Vawse, if I go! — I shall go, Isuppose, if I must; but do you think anything will keep methere? Never!"

"You will stay for the same reason that you go for, Ellen, —to do your duty. "

"Yes, till I am old enough to choose for myself, Mrs. Vawse, and then I shall come back — if they will let me. "

"Whom do you mean by 'they?' "

"Mr. Humphreys and Mr. John. "

"My dear Ellen, " said the old lady, kindly, "be satisfied withdoing your duty now; leave the future. While you follow him, God will be your friend — is not that enough? — and all thingsshall work for your good. You do not know what you will wishwhen the time comes you speak of. You do not know what newfriends you may find to love. "

Ellen had in her own heart the warrant for what she had said, and what she saw by her smile Mrs. Vawse doubted; but shedisdained to assert what she could bring nothing to prove. Shetook a sorrowful leave of her old friend, and returned home. 

After dinner, when Mr. Humphreys was about going back to hisstudy, Ellen timidly stopped him and gave him her letters, andasked him to look at them some time when he had leisure. Shetold him also where they were found and how long they had lainthere, and that Mrs. Vawse had said she ought to show them tohim. 

She guessed he would read them at once — and she waited with abeating heart. In a little while she heard his step comingback along the hall. He came and sat down by her on the sofa, and took her hand. 

"What is your wish in this matter, my child?" he said, gravelyand cheerfully. 

Ellen's look answered that. 

"I will do whatever you say I must, Sir, " she said, faintly. 

"I dare not ask myself what _I_ would wish, Ellen; the matter istaken out of our hands. You must do your parents' will, mychild. I will try to hope that you will gain more than I lose. As the Lord pleases! If I am bereaved of my children, I ambereaved. "

"Mrs. Gillespie, " he said, after a pause, "is about going toEngland — I know not how soon. It will be best for you to seeher at once, and make all arrangements that may be necessary. I will go with you tomorrow to Ventnor, if the day be a goodone. "

There was something Ellen longed to say, but it was impossibleto get it out — she could not utter a word. She had pressedher hands upon her face to try to keep herself quiet; but Mr. Humphreys could see the deep crimson flushing to the veryroots of her hair. He drew her close within his arms for amoment, kissed her forehead, Ellen _felt_ it was sadly, and wentaway. It was well she did not hear him sigh as he went backalong the hall — it was well she did not see the face of moresettled gravity with which he sat down to his writing — shehad enough of her own. 

They went to Ventnor. Mrs. Gillespie with great pleasureundertook the charge of her, and promised to deliver hersafely to her friends in Scotland. It was arranged that sheshould go back to Thirlwall to make her adieus; and that, in aweek or two, a carriage should be sent to bring her toVentnor, where her preparations for the journey should bemade, and whence the whole party would set off. 

"So you are going to be a Scotchwoman, after all, Ellen, " saidMiss Sophia. 

"I had a great deal rather be an American, Miss Sophia. "

"Why, Hutchinson will tell you, " said the young lady, "that itis infinitely more desirable to be a Scotchwoman than that. "

Ellen's face, however, looked so little inclined to be merry, that she took up the subject in another tone. 

"Seriously, do you know, " said she, "I have been thinking itis a very happy thing for you. I don't know what would becomeof you alone in that great parsonage-house. You would mopeyourself to death in a little while, especially now that Mr. John is gone. "

"He will be back, " said Ellen. 

"Yes; but what if he is? he can't stay at Thirlwall, child —he can't live thirty miles from his church, you know — did youthink he would? They think all the world of him already. Iexpect they'll barely put up with Mr. George while he is gone;they will want Mr. John all to themselves when he comes back, you may rely on that. What _are_ you thinking of, child?"

For Ellen's eyes were sparkling with two or three thoughts, which Miss Sophia could not read. 

"I should like to know what you are smiling at, " she said, with some curiosity; but the smile was almost immediatelyquenched in tears. 

Notwithstanding Miss Sophia's discouraging talk, Ellenprivately agreed with Ellen Chauncey that the Brownie shouldbe sent to her to keep and use as her own, _till his mistressshould come back_ — both children being entirely of opinionthat the arrangement was a most unexceptionable one. 

It was not forgotten that the lapse of three years since thedate of the letters, left some uncertainty as to the presentstate of affairs among Ellen's friends in Scotland; but thisdoubt was not thought sufficient to justify her letting passso excellent an opportunity of making the journey; especiallyas Captain Montgomery's letter spoke of an _uncle_, to whom, equally with her grandmother, Ellen was to be consigned. Incase circumstances would permit it, Mrs. Gillespie engaged tokeep Ellen with her, and bring her home to America when sheherself should return. 

And in little more than a month they were gone; adieus andpreparations and all were over. Ellen's parting with Mrs. Vawse was very tender and very sad; — with Mr. Van Brunt, extremely and gratefully affectionate on both sides; — withher aunt, constrained and brief; — with Margery very sorrowfulindeed. But Ellen's longest and most lingering adieu was toCaptain Parry, the old gray cat. For one whole evening she satwith him in her arms; and over poor pussy were shed the tearsthat fell for many better loved and better deservingpersonages, as well as those not a few that were wept for him. Since Alice's death Parry had transferred his entireconfidence and esteem to Ellen; whether from feeling a want, or because love and tenderness had taught her the touch andthe tone that were fitted to win his regard. Only John sharedit. Ellen was his chief favourite and almost constantcompanion. And bitterer tears Ellen shed at no time than thatevening before she went away, over the old cat. She could notdistress kitty with her distress, nor weary him with the callsupon his sympathy, though, indeed, it is true that he sundrytimes poked his nose up wonderingly and caressingly in herface. She had no remonstrance or interruption to fear: andtaking pussy as the emblem and representative of the wholehousehold, Ellen wept them all over him; with a tenderness anda bitterness that were somehow intensified by the sight of thegray coat and white paws, and kindly face of her unconsciousold brute friend. 

The old people at Carra-carra were taken leave of; the Brownietoo with great difficulty. And Nancy. 

"I am real sorry you are going, Ellen, " said she — "you're theonly soul in town I care about. I wish I'd thrown them lettersin the fire after all! Who'd ha' thought it?"

Ellen could not help in her heart echoing the wish. 

"I'm real sorry, Ellen, " she repeated. "Ain't there somethingI can do for you when you are gone?"

"Oh, yes, dear Nancy, " said Ellen, weeping — "if you wouldonly take care of your dear grandmother. She is left alonenow. If you would only take care of her, and read your Bible, and be good, Nancy — oh, Nancy, Nancy! do, do!"

They kissed each other, and Nancy went away fairly crying. 

Mrs. Marshman's own woman, a steady, excellent person, hadcome in the carriage for Ellen. And the next morning, earlyafter breakfast, when everything else was ready, she went intoMr. Humphrey's study to bid the last dreaded good-bye. Shethought her obedience was costing her dear. 

It was nearly a silent parting. He held her a long time in hisarms; and there Ellen bitterly thought her place ought to be. "What have I to do to seek new relations?" she said toherself. But she was speechless; till gently relaxing hishold, he tenderly smoothed back her disordered hair, andkissing her, said a very few grave words of blessing andcounsel. Ellen gathered all her strength together then, forshe had something that _must_ be spoken. 

"Sir, " said she, falling on her knees before him, and lookingup in his face — "this don't alter — you do not take back whatyou said, do you?"

"What's that I said, my child?"

"That, " said Ellen, hiding her face in her hands on his knee, and scarce able to speak with great effort — "that which yousaid when I first came — that which you said — about —"

"About what, my dear child?"

"My going away don't change anything, does it, Sir? Mayn't Icome back, if ever I can?"

He raised her up and drew her close to his bosom again. 

"My dear little daughter, " said he, "you cannot be so glad tocome back as my arms and my heart will be to receive you. Iscarce dare hope to see that day, but all in this house isyours, dear Ellen, as well when in Scotland as here. I takeback nothing, my daughter. Nothing is changed. "

A word or two more of affection and blessing, which Ellen wasutterly unable to answer in any way— and she went to thecarriage; with one drop of cordial in her heart, that she fedupon a long while. "He called me his daughter! — he never saidthat before, since Alice died! Oh! so I will be as long as Ilive, if I find fifty new relations. But what good will adaughter three thousand miles off do him?"

CHAPTER XLVII. 

The wide world grown wider. 

The voyage was peaceful and prosperous; in due time the wholeparty found themselves safe in London. Ever since they setout, Ellen had been constantly gaining on Mrs. Gillespie'sgood-will; the Major hardly saw her but she had something tosay about that "best-bred child in the world. " "Best-hearted, too, I think, " said the Major; and even Mrs. Gillespie ownedthat there was something more than good-breeding in Ellen'spoliteness. She had good trial of it; Mrs. Gillespie was muchlonger ailing than any of the party; and when Ellen got well, it was her great pleasure to devote herself to the service ofthe only member of the Marshman family now within her reach. She could never do too much. She watched by her, read to her, was quick to see and perform all the little offices ofattention and kindness where a servant's hand is not soacceptable; and withal never was in the way nor put herselfforward. Mrs. Gillespie's own daughter was much less helpful. Both she and William, however, had long since forgotten theold grudge, and treated Ellen as well as they did anybody —rather better. Major Gillespie was attentive and kind aspossible to the gentle, well-behaved little body that wasalways at his wife's pillow; and even Lester, the maid, toldone of her friends "she was such a sweet little lady, that itwas a pleasure and gratification to do anything for her. "Lester acted this out; and in her kindly disposition Ellenfound very substantial comfort and benefit throughout thevoyage. 

Mrs. Gillespie told her husband she should be rejoiced if itturned out that they might keep Ellen with them and carry herback to America; she only wished it were not for Mr. Humphreys, but herself. As their destination was not nowScotland, but Paris, it was proposed to write to Ellen'sfriends to ascertain whether any change had occurred, orwhether they still wished to receive her. This, however, wasrendered unnecessary. They were scarcely established in theirhotel, when a gentleman from Edinburgh, an intimate friend ofthe Ventnor family, and whom Ellen herself had more than oncemet there, came to see them. Mrs. Gillespie bethought herselfto make inquiries of him. 

"Do you happen to know a family of Lindsays, in Georgestreet, Mr. Dundas?"

"Lindsays? yes, perfectly well. Do you know them?"

"No; but I am very much interested in one of the family. Isthe old lady living?"

"Yes, certainly; — not very old, either — not above sixty, orsixty-five; and as hale and alert as at forty. A very fine oldlady. "

"A large family?"

"Oh, no; Mr. Lindsay is a widower this some years, with nochildren; and there is a widowed daughter lately come home —Lady Keith; — that's all. "

"Mr. Lindsay — that is the son?"

"Yes. You would like them. They are excellent people —excellent family — wealthy — beautiful country-seat on thesouth bank of the Esk, some miles out of Edinburgh; I was downthere two weeks ago — entertain most handsomely and agreeably, two things that do not always go together. You meet apleasanter circle nowhere than at Lindsay's. "

"And that is the whole family?" said Mrs. Gillespie. 

"That is all. There were two daughters married to Americanssome dozen or so years ago. Mrs. Lindsay took it very hard, Ibelieve, but she bore up, and bears up now, as if misfortunehad never crossed her path, though the death of Mr. Lindsay'swife and son was another great blow. I don't believe there isa gray hair on her head at this moment. There is somepeculiarity about them, perhaps — some pride, too; but that isan amiable weakness, " he added, laughing, as he rose to go:"Mrs. Gillespie, I am sure will not find fault with them forit. "

"That's an insinuation, Mr. Dundas; but look here, what I ambringing to Mrs. Lindsay in the shape of a grand-daughter. "

"What, my old acquaintance, Miss Ellen! is it possible! — Mydear madam, if you had such a treasure for sale, they wouldpour half their fortune into your lap to purchase it, and theother half at her feet. "

"I would not take it, Mr. Dundas. "

"It would be no mean price, I assure you, in itself, howeverit might be comparatively. I give Miss Ellen joy. "

Miss Ellen took none of his giving. 

"Ah, Ellen, my dear, " said Mrs. Gillespie, when he was gone —"we shall never have you back in America again. I give up allhopes of it. Why do you look so solemn, my love? You are astrange child; most girls would be delighted at such aprospect opening before them. "

"You forget what I leave, Mrs. Gillespie. "

"So will you, my love, in a few days; though I love you forremembering so well those that have been kind to you. But youdon't realize yet what is before you. "

"Why, you'll have a good time, Ellen, " said Marianne; "Iwonder you are not out of your wits with joy. _I_ should be. "

"You may as well make over the Brownie to me, Ellen, " saidWilliam; "I expect you'll never want him again. "

"I cannot, you know, William; I lent him to Ellen Chauncey. "

"_Lent_ him! — that's a good one. For how long?"

Ellen smiled, though sighing inwardly to see how very muchnarrowed was her prospect of ever mounting him again. She didnot care to explain herself to those around her. Still, at thevery bottom of her heart lay two thoughts, in which her hoperefuged itself. One was a peculiar assurance that whatever herbrother pleased, nothing could hinder him from accomplishing;the other, a like confidence that it would not please him toleave his little sister unlooked after. But all began to growmisty, and it seemed now as if Scotland must henceforth be thelimit of her horizon. 

Leaving their children at a relation's house, Major and Mrs. Gillespie accompanied her to the north. They travelled post, and arriving in the evening at Edinburgh, put up at a hotel inPrinces-street. It was agreed that Ellen should not seek hernew home till the morrow; she should eat one more supper andbreakfast with her old friends, and have a night's rest first. She was very glad of it. The Major and Mrs. Gillespie wereenchanted with the noble view from their parlour windows;while they were eagerly conversing together, Ellen sat aloneat the other window, looking out upon the curious Old Town. There was all the fascination of novelty and beauty about thatsingular picturesque mass of buildings, in its sobercolouring, growing more sober as the twilight fell; and justbefore outlines were lost in the dusk, lights began feebly totwinkle here and there, and grew brighter and more as thenight came on, till their brilliant multitude were all thatcould be seen, where the curious jumble of chimneys and house-tops and crooked ways had shown a little before. Ellen satwatching this lighting up of the Old Town, feeling strangelythat she was in the midst of new scenes, indeed, entering upona new stage of life; and having some difficulty to persuadeherself that she was really Ellen Montgomery. The scene ofextreme beauty before her seemed rather to increase theconfusion and sadness of her mind. Happily, joyfully, Ellenremembered, as she sat gazing over the darkening city and itsbrightening lights, that there was One near her who could notchange; that Scotland was no remove from him; that Hisprovidence as well as His heaven was over her there; thatthere, not less than in America, she was His child. Sherejoiced, as she sat in her dusky window, over his words ofassurance, "I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and amknown of mine;" and she looked up into the clear sky (_that_ atleast was home like) in tearful thankfulness, and with earnestprayer that she might be kept from evil. Ellen guessed shemight have special need to offer that prayer. And as again hereye wandered over the singular bright spectacle, that keptreminding her she was a stranger in a strange place, her heartjoyfully leaned upon another loved sentence — "This God is ourGod for ever and ever, He will be our guide even unto death. "

She was called from her window to supper. 

"Why, how well you look!" said Mrs. Gillespie; "I expected youwould have been half tired to death. Doesn't she look well?"

"As if she was neither tired, hungry, nor sleepy, " said MajorGillespie kindly; "and yet she must be all three. "

Ellen _was_ all three. But she had the rest of a quiet mind. 

In the same quiet mind, a little fluttered and anxious now, she set out in the carriage the next morning with her kindfriends to No. —, George-street. It was their intention, afterleaving her, to go straight on to England. They were in ahurry to be there; and Mrs. Gillespie judged that the presenceof a stranger at the meeting between Ellen and her relationswould be desired by none of the parties. But when they reachedthe house, they found the family were not at home; they werein the country, at their place on the Tyne. The direction wasobtained, and the horses' heads turned that way. After a driveof some length, through what kind of a country Ellen couldhardly have told, they arrived at the place. 

It was beautifully situated; and through well-kept groundsthey drove up to a large, rather old-fashioned, substantial-looking house. "The ladies were at home;" and thatascertained, Ellen took a kind leave of Mrs. Gillespie, shookhands with the Major at the door, and was left alone, for thesecond time in her life, to make her acquaintance with new anduntried friends. She stood for one second looking after theretreating carriage — one swift thought went to her adoptedfather and brother far away— one to her Friend in heaven — andEllen quietly turned to the servant and asked for Mrs. Lindsay. 

She was shown into a large room, where nobody was, and satdown, with a beating heart, while the servant went upstairs;looking with a strange feeling upon what was to be her futurehome. The house was handsome, comfortably, luxuriouslyfurnished, but without any attempt at display. Things ratherold-fashioned than otherwise; plain, even homely, in someinstances; yet evidently there was no sparing of money in anyline of use or comfort; nor were reading and writing, paintingand music, strangers there. Unconsciously acting upon herbrother's principle of judging of people from their works, Ellen, from what she saw gathered around her, formed afavourable opinion of her relations, without thinking of it, for indeed she was thinking of something else. 

A lady presently entered, and said that Mrs. Lindsay was notvery well. Seeing Ellen's very hesitating look, she added, "Shall I carry her any message from you?"

This lady was well-looking and well-dressed; but somehow therewas something in her face or manner that encouraged Ellen toan explanation; she could make none. She silently gave her herfather's letter, with which the lady left the room. 

In a minute or two she returned, and said her mother would seeEllen upstairs, and asked her to come with her. This, then, must be Lady Keith, — but no sign of recognition. Ellenwondered, as her trembling feet carried her upstairs, and tothe door of a room where the lady motioned her to enter; shedid not follow herself. 

A large pleasant dressing-room — but Ellen saw nothing but thedignified figure and searching glance of a lady in black, standing in the middle of the floor. At the look whichinstantly followed her entering, however, Ellen sprangforward, and was received in arms that folded her as fondlyand as closely as ever those of her own mother had done. Without releasing her from their clasp, Mrs. Lindsay presentlysat down, and placing Ellen on her lap, and for a long timewithout speaking a word, she overwhelmed her with caresses —caresses often interrupted with passionate bursts of tears. Ellen herself cried heartily for company, though Mrs. Lindsaylittle guessed why. Along with the joy and tenderness arisingfrom the finding a relation that so much loved and valued her, and along with the sympathy that entered into Mrs. Lindsay'sthoughts, there mixed other feelings. She began to know, as ifby instinct, what kind of a person her grandmother was. Theclasp of the arms that were about her said as plainly aspossible, "I will never let you go!" Ellen felt it. She didnot know, in her confusion, whether she was most glad or mostsorry; and this uncertainty mightily helped the flow of hertears. 

When this scene had lasted some time, Mrs. Lindsay began withthe utmost tenderness to take off Ellen's gloves, her cape(her bonnet had been hastily thrown off long before); andsmoothing back her hair, and taking the fair little face inboth her hands, she looked at it and pressed it to her own, asindeed something most dearly prized and valued. Then saying, "I must lie down; come in here, love, " she led her into thenext room, locked the door, made Ellen stretch herself on thebed, and placing herself beside her, drew her close to herbosom again, murmuring, "My own child — my precious child — myEllen — my own darling! — why did you stay away so long fromme, tell me?"

It was necessary to tell; and this could not be done withoutrevealing Miss Fortune's disgraceful conduct. Ellen was sorryfor that. She knew her mother's American match had beenunpopular with her friends, and now what notions this mustgive them of one at least of the near connections to whom ithad introduced her! She winced under what might be hergrandmother's thoughts. Mrs. Lindsay heard her in absolutesilence, and made no comment, and at the end again kissed herlips and cheeks, embracing her, Ellen felt, as a recoveredtreasure that would not be parted with. She was not satisfiedtill she had drawn Ellen's head fairly to rest on her breast, and then her caressing hand often touched her cheek, orsmoothed back her hair, softly now and then asking slightquestions about her voyage and journey, till, exhausted fromexcitement more than fatigue, Ellen fell asleep. 

Her grandmother was beside her when she awoke, and busiedherself, with evident delight, in helping her to get off hertravelling clothes, and put on others, and then she took herdown stairs, and presented her to her aunt. 

Lady Keith had not been at home, nor in Scotland, at the timethe letters passed between Mrs. Montgomery and her mother, andthe result of that correspondence respecting Ellen had beenknown to no one except Mrs. Lindsay and her son. They had longgiven her up, the rather as they had seen in the papers thename of Captain Montgomery among those lost in the ill-fated_Duc d'Orleans_. Lady Keith, therefore, had no suspicion whoEllen might be. She received her affectionately, but Ellen didnot get rid of her first impression. 

Her uncle she did not see until late in the day, when he camehome. The evening was extremely fair, and having obtainedpermission, Ellen wandered out into the shrubbery, glad to bealone, and glad, for a moment, to exchange new faces for old;the flowers were old friends to her, and never had looked morefriendly than then. New and old, both were there. Ellen wenton softly from flower-bed to flower-bed, soothed and rested, stopping here to smell one, or there to gaze at some oldfavourite or new beauty, thinking curious thoughts of the pastand the future, and through it all taking a quiet lesson fromthe flowers, when a servant came after her with a request fromMrs. Lindsay that she would return to the house. Ellen hurriedin — she guessed for what — and was sure as soon as she openedthe door, and saw the figure of a gentleman sitting beforeMrs. Lindsay. Ellen remembered well she was sent to her uncleas well as her grandmother, and she came forward with abeating heart to Mrs. Lindsay's outstretched hand, whichpresented her to this other ruler of her destiny. He was verydifferent from Lady Keith — her anxious glance saw that atonce — more like his mother. A man not far from fifty yearsold, fine-looking and stately, like her. Ellen was not leftlong in suspense — his look instantly softened, as hismother's had done; he drew her to his arms with greataffection, and evidently with very great pleasure; then heldher off for a moment, while he looked at her changing colourand downcast eye, and folded her close in his arms again, fromwhich he seemed hardly willing to let her go, whispering, ashe kissed her, "you are my own child now — you are my littledaughter: do you know that, Ellen? I am your father henceforth— you belong to me entirely, and I belong to you, my ownlittle daughter!"

"I wonder how many times one may be adopted, " thought Ellenthat evening; "but, to be sure, my father and my mother havequite given me up here — that makes a difference; they had aright to give me away if they pleased. I suppose I do belongto my uncle and grandmother in good earnest, and I cannot helpmyself. Well, but Mr. Humphreys seems a great deal more likemy father than my uncle Lindsay. I cannot help that, but howthey would be vexed if they knew it?"

That was profoundly true. 

Ellen was in a few days the dear pet and darling of the wholehousehold, without exception, and almost without limit. Atfirst, for a day or two, there was a little lurking doubt, alittle anxiety, a constant watch, on the part of all herfriends, whether they were not going to find something intheir newly acquired treasure to disappoint them; whether itcould be that there was nothing behind to belie the firstpromise. Less keen observers, however, could not have failedto see very soon that there was no disappointment to be lookedfor: Ellen was just what she seemed, without the shadow of acloak in anything. Doubts vanished, and Ellen had not beenthree days in the house when she was taken home to two hearts, at least, in unbounded love and tenderness. When Mr. Lindsaywas present, he was not satisfied without having Ellen in hisarms, or close beside him; and if not there, she was at theside of her grandmother. 

There was nothing, however, in the character of this fondness, great as it was, that would have inclined any child to presumeupon it. Ellen was least of all likely to try; but if herwill, by any chance, had run counter to theirs, she would havefound it impossible to maintain her ground. She understoodthis from the first with her grandmother; and in one or twotrifles since had been more and more confirmed in the feelingthat they would do with her, and make of her precisely whatthey pleased, without the smallest regard to her fancy. If itjumped with theirs, very well; if not, it must yield. In onematter, Ellen had been roused to plead very hard, and evenwith tears, to have her wish, which she verily thought sheought to have had. Mrs. Lindsay smiled and kissed her, andwent on with the utmost coolness in what she was doing, whichshe carried through without in the least regarding Ellen'sdistress, or showing the slightest discomposure, and the samething was repeated every day till Ellen got used to it. Heruncle she had never seen tried, but she knew it would be thesame with him. When Mr. Lindsay clasped her to his bosom, Ellen felt it was as _his own;_ his eye always seemed to repeat, "_my own_ little daughter;" and in his whole manner, love wasmingled with as much authority. Perhaps Ellen did not likethem much the worse for this, as she had no sort ofdisposition to displease them in anything; but it gave rise tosundry thoughts, however, which she kept to herself — thoughtsthat went both to the future and the past. 

Lady Keith, it may be, had less _heart_ to give than her motherand brother, but pride took up the matter instead; andaccording to her measure, Ellen held with her the same placeshe held with Mr. And Mrs. Lindsay, being the great delightand darling of all three, and with all three seemingly thegreat object in life. 

A few days after her arrival, a week or more, she underwentone evening a kind of catechizing from her aunt, as to herformer manner of life; where she had been, and with whom, since her mother left her; what she had been doing; whethershe had been to school, and how her time was spent at home, &c. &c. No comments whatever were made on her answers, but asomething in her aunt's face and manner induced Ellen to makeher replies as brief, and to give her as little information inthem as she could. She did not feel inclined to enlarge uponanything, or to go at all further than the questions obligedher; and Lady Keith ended without having more than a verygeneral notion of Ellen's way of life for three or four yearspast. This conversation was repeated to her grandmother anduncle. 

"To think, " said the latter the next morning at breakfast, —"to think that the backwoods of America should have turned usout such a little specimen of —"

"Of what, uncle?" said Ellen, laughing. 

"Ah, I shall not tell you that, " said he. 

"But it is extraordinary, " said Lady Keith, "how after livingamong a parcel of thick-headed, and thicker-tongued Yankees, she could come out and speak pure English in a clear voice; itis an enigma to me. "

"Take care, Catherine, " said Mr. Lindsay, laughing, "you aretouching Ellen's nationality; look here, " said he, drawing hisfingers down her cheek. 

"She must learn to have no nationality but yours, " said LadyKeith, somewhat shortly. 

Ellen's lips were open, but she spoke not. 

"It is well you have come out from the Americans, you see, Ellen, " pursued Mr. Lindsay; "your aunt does not like them. "

"But why, Sir?"

"Why, " said he, gravely, "don't you know that they are aparcel of rebels who have broken loose from all loyalty andfealty, that no good Briton has any business to like?"

"You are not in earnest, uncle?"

"You are, I see, " said he, looking amused. "Are you one ofthose that make a saint of George Washington?"

"No, " said Ellen, "I think he was a great deal better thansome saints. But I don't think the Americans were rebels. "

"You are a little rebel yourself. Do you mean to say you thinkthe Americans were right?"

"Do you mean to say you think they were wrong, uncle?"

"I assure you, " said he, "if I had been in the English army, Iwould have fought them with all my heart. "

"And if I had been in the American army, I would have foughtyou with all my heart, Uncle Lindsay. "

"Come, come, " said he laughing; "you fight! you don't look asif you would do battle with a good-sized mosquito. "

"Ah, but I mean, if I had been a man, " said Ellen. 

"You had better put in that qualification. After all, I aminclined to think it may be as well for you on the whole thatwe did not meet. I don't know but we might have had a prettystiff encounter, though. "

"A good cause is stronger than a bad one, uncle. "

"But, Ellen, these Americans forfeited entirely the characterof good friends to England and good subjects to King George. "

"Yes, but it was King George's fault, uncle; he and theEnglish forfeited their characters first. "

"I declare, " said Mr. Lindsay, laughing. "if your sword hadbeen as stout as your tongue, I don't know how I might havecome off in that same encounter. "

"I hope Ellen will get rid of these strange notions about theAmericans, " said Lady Keith, discontentedly. 

"I hope not, Aunt Keith, " said Ellen. 

"Where did you get them?" said Mr. Lindsay. 

"What, Sir?"

"These notions. "

"In reading, Sir; reading different books; and talking. "

"Reading! so you did read in the backwoods?"

"Sir!" said Ellen, with a look of surprise. 

"What have you read on this subject?"

"Two lives of Washington, and some in the _Annual Register_, andpart of Graham's _United State;_ and one or two other littlethings. "

"But those gave you only one side, Ellen; you should read theEnglish account of the matter. "

"So I did, Sir; the _Annual Register_ gave me both sides; thebills and messages were enough. "

"What _Annual Register?_"

"I don't know, Sir; it is English; written by Burke, Ibelieve. "

"Upon my word! And what else have you read?"

"I think that's all, about America, " said Ellen. 

"No, but about other things. "

"Oh, I don't know, Sir, " said Ellen, smiling; "a great manybooks; I can't tell them all. "

"Did you spend all your time over your books?"

"A good deal, Sir, lately; not so much before. "

"How was that?"

"I couldn't, Sir. I had a great many other things to do. "

"What else had you to do?"

"Different things, " said Ellen, hesitating, from theremembrance of her aunt's manner the night before. 

"Come, come! answer me. "

"I had to sweep and dust, " said Ellen, colouring, "and settables — and wash and wipe dishes — and churn — and spin — and—"

Ellen _heard_ Lady Keith's look in her, "Could you haveconceived it!"

"What shall we do with her?" said Mrs. Lindsay; "send her toschool, or keep her at home?"

"Have you never been to school, Ellen?"

"No, Sir; except for a very little while, more than threeyears ago. "

"Would you like it?"

"I would a _great_ deal rather study at home, Sir, if you willlet me. "

"What do you know now?"

"Oh, I can't tell, Sir, " said Ellen; "I don't know anythingvery well, unless —"

"Unless what?" said her uncle, laughing; "come! now for youraccomplishments. "

"I had rather not say what I was going to, uncle; please don'task me. "

"Yes, yes, " said he; "I shan't let you off. Unless what?"

"I was going to say, unless riding, " said Ellen, colouring. 

"Riding! and pray how did you learn to ride? Catch a horse bythe mane, and mount him by the fence, and canter off bare-backed? was that it — eh?"

"Not exactly, Sir, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"Well, but about your other accomplishments. You do not knowanything of French, I suppose?"

"Yes, I do, Sir. "

"Where did you get that?"

"An old Swiss lady in the mountains taught me. "

"Country riding and Swiss French, " muttered her uncle. "Didshe teach you to speak it?"

"Yes, Sir. "

Mr. Lindsay and his mother exchanged glances, which Elleninterpreted, "Worse and worse. "

"One thing at least can be mended, " observed Mr. Lindsay. "Sheshall go to De Courcy's riding-school as soon as we get toEdinburgh. "

"Indeed, uncle, I don't think that will be necessary. "

"Who taught you to ride, Ellen?" asked Lady Keith. 

"My brother. "

"Humph! I fancy a few lessons will do you no harm, " sheremarked. 

Ellen coloured and was silent. 

"You know nothing of music, of course?"

"I cannot play, uncle. "

"Can you sing?"

"I can sing hymns. "

"Sing hymns! That's the only fault I find with you, Ellen; youare too sober. I should like to see you a little more gay, like other children. "

"But, uncle, I am not unhappy because I am sober. "

"But I am, " said he. "I do not know precisely what I shall dowith you; I must do something!"

"Can you sing nothing but hymns?" asked Lady Keith. 

"Yes, Ma'am, " said Ellen, with some humour twinkling about hereyes and mouth, — "I can sing 'Hail Columbia!' "

"Absurd!" said Lady Keith. 

"Why, Ellen, " said her uncle, laughing, "I did not know youcould be so stubborn; I thought you were made up of gentlenessand mildness. Let me have a good look at you — there's notmuch stubbornness in those eyes, " he said, fondly. 

"I hope you will never salute my ears with your Americanditty, " said Lady Keith. 

"Tut, tut, " said Mr. Lindsay, "she shall sing what shepleases, and the more the better. "

"She has a very sweet voice, " said her grandmother. 

"Yes, in speaking, I know; I have not heard it triedotherwise; and very nice English it turns out. Where did youget your English, Ellen?"

"From my brother, " said Ellen, with a smile of pleasure. 

Mr. Lindsay's brow rather clouded. 

"Whom do you mean by that?"

"The brother of the lady that was so kind to me. " Ellendisliked to speak the loved names in the hearing of ears towhich she knew they would be unlovely. 

"How was she so kind to you?"

"Oh, Sir! in everything — I cannot tell you; she was my friendwhen I had only one beside; she did everything for me. "

"And who was the other friend? your aunt?"

"No, Sir. "

"This brother?"

"No, Sir; that was before I knew him. "

"Who then?"

"His name was Mr. Van Brunt. "

"Van Brunt! Humph! And what was he?"

"He was a farmer, Sir. "

"A Dutch farmer, eh? How came you to have anything to do withhim?"

"He managed my aunt's farm, and was a great deal in thehouse. "

"He was? And what makes you call this other your brother?"

"His sister called me her sister — and that makes me his. "

"It is very absurd, " said Lady Keith, "when they are nothingat all to her, and ought not to be. "

"It seems, then, you did not find a friend in your aunt, Ellen, eh?"

"I don't think she loved me much, " said Ellen, in a low voice. 

"I am very glad we are clear of obligation on her score, " saidMrs. Lindsay. 

"Obligation! — And so you had nothing else to depend on, Ellen, but this man — this Van something — this Dutchman! Whatdid he do for you?"

"A great deal, Sir. " Ellen would have said more, but a feelingin her throat stopped her. 

"Now, just hear that, will you?" said Lady Keith. "Just thinkof her in that farmhouse, with that sweeping and dusting womanand a Dutch farmer, for these three years!"

"No, " said Ellen, "not all the time; this last year I havebeen—"

"Where, Ellen?"

"At the other house, Sir. "

"What house is that?"

"Where that lady and gentleman lived that were my bestfriends. "

"Well, it's all very well, " said Lady Keith; "but it is pastnow; it is all over, you need not think of them any more. Wewill find you better friends than any of these Dutch Bruntersor Grunters. "

"Oh, aunt Keith!" said Ellen, "if you knew" — But she burstinto tears. 

"Come, come, " said Mr. Lindsay, taking her into his arms, "Iwill not have that. Hush, my daughter. What is the matter, Ellen?"

But Ellen had with some difficulty contained herself two orthree times before in the course of the conversation, and shewept now rather violently. 

"What is the matter, Ellen?"

"Because, " sobbed Ellen, thoroughly roused, "I love themdearly! and I ought to love them with all my heart. I cannotforget them, and never shall; and I can never have betterfriends — never! it's impossible — Oh, it's impossible. "

Mr. Lindsay said nothing at first, except to soothe her; butwhen she had wept herself into quietness upon his breast, hewhispered —

"It is right to love these people if they were kind to you;but, as your aunt says, that is past. It is not necessary togo back to it. Forget that you were American, Ellen — youbelong to me; your name is not Montgomery any more, it isLindsay; and I will not have you call me 'uncle;' I am yourfather — you are my own little daughter, and must do preciselywhat I tell you. Do you understand me?"

He would have a "yes" from her, and then added — "Go and getyourself ready, and I will take you with me to Edinburgh. "

Ellen's tears had been like to burst forth again at his words;with great effort she controlled herself, and obeyed him. 

"I shall do precisely what he tells me, of course, " she saidto herself, as she went to get ready; "but there are somethings he cannot command; nor I neither — I am glad of that!Forget, indeed!"

She could not help loving her uncle; for the lips that kissedher were very kind as well as very peremptory; and if the handthat pressed her cheek was, as she felt it was, the hand ofpower, its touch was also exceeding fond. And as she was nomore inclined to despite his will than he to permit it, theharmony between them was perfect and unbroken. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

How old friends were invested with the regalia. 

Mr. Lindsay had some reason that morning to wish that Ellenwould look merrier; it was a very sober little face he saw byhis side as the carriage rolled smoothly on with them towardsEdinburgh; almost pale in its sadness. He lavished thetenderest kindness upon her, and without going back by so muchas a hint to the subjects of the morning, he exerted himselfto direct her attention to the various objects of note andinterest they were passing. The day was fine, and the country, also the carriage and the horses; Ellen was dearly fond ofdriving; and long before they reached the city, Mr. Lindsayhad the satisfaction of seeing her smile break again, her eyebrighten, and her happy attention fixing on the things hepointed out to her, and many others that she found for herselfon the way, his horses first of all. Mr. Lindsay might relaxhis efforts and look on with secret triumph; Ellen was in thefull train of delighted observation. 

"You are easily pleased, Ellen, " he said, in answer to one ofher simple remarks of observation. 

"I have a great deal to please me, " said Ellen. 

"What would you like to see in Edinburgh?"

"I don't know, Sir; anything you please. "

"Then I will show you a little of the city in the firstplace. "

They drove through the streets of Edinburgh, both the Old andthe New Town, in various directions. Mr. Lindsay was extremelypleased to see that Ellen was so, and much amused at thecuriosity shown in her questions, which, however, were by nomeans as free and frequent as they might have been had JohnHumphreys filled her uncle's place. 

"What large building is that over there?" said Ellen. 

"That? that is Holyrood House. "

"Holyrood! I have heard of that before; isn't that where QueenMary's rooms are? where Rizzio was killed?"

"Yes; would you like to see them?"

"Oh, _very_ much!"

"Drive to the Abbey! So you have read Scottish history, aswell as American, Ellen?"

"Not very much, Sir; only the _Tales of a Grandfather_ yet. Butwhat made me say that, I have read an account of HolyroodHouse somewhere. Uncle —"

"Ellen!"

"I beg your pardon, Sir; I forgot: it seems strange to me, "said Ellen, looking distressed. 

"It must not seem strange to you, my daughter; what were yougoing to say?"

"I don't know, Sir; — Oh, I was going to ask if the silvercross is here now to be seen?"

"What silver cross?"

"That one from which the Abbey was named, Sir; the silver roodthat was given, they pretended, to I forget now what king. "

"David First, the founder of the Abbey? No, it is not here, Ellen; David the Second lost it to the English. But why do yousay _pretended_, Ellen? It was a very real affair; kept inEngland for a long time with great veneration. "

"Oh yes, Sir; I know the _cross_ was real; I mean, it waspretended that an angel gave it to King David when he washunting here. "

"Well, how can you tell but that was so? King David was made asaint, you know. "

"Oh, Sir, " said Ellen, laughing, "I know better than that; Iknow it was only a monkish trick. "

"Monkish trick! which do you mean? the giving of the cross, orthe making the king a saint?"

"Both, Sir, " said Ellen, still smiling. 

"At that rate, " said Mr. Lindsay, much amused, "if you aresuch a sceptic, you will take no comfort in anything at theAbbey; you will not believe anything is genuine. "

"I will believe what you tell me, Sir. "

"Will you? I must be careful what I say to you then, or I mayrun the risk of losing my own credit. "

Mr. Lindsay spoke this half-jestingly, half in earnest. Theywent over to the palace. 

"Is this very old, Sir?" asked Ellen. 

"Not very; it has been burnt, and demolished, and rebuilt, till nothing is left of the old Abbey of King David but theruins of the chapel, which you shall see presently. The oldestpart of the House is that we are going to see now, built byJames Fifth, Mary's father, where her rooms are. "

At these rooms Ellen looked with intense interest. She poredover the old furniture, the needlework of which she was toldwas at least in part the work of the beautiful Queen's ownfingers; gazed at the stains in the floor of the bed-chamber, said to be those of Rizzio's blood; meditated over the trap-door in the passage, by which the conspirators had come up;and finally sat down in the room, and tried to realize thescene which had once been acted there. She tried to imaginethe poor Queen and her attendant and her favourite Rizzio, sitting there at supper, and how that door, that very door, had opened, and Ruthven's ghastly figure, pale, and weak fromillness, presented itself, and then others; the alarm of themoment; how Rizzio knew they were come for him, and fled tothe Queen for protection; how she was withheld from giving it, and the unhappy man pulled away from her, and stabbed with agreat many wounds, before her face; and there, there! nodoubt, his blood fell!

"You are tired; this doesn't please you much, " said Mr. Lindsay, noticing her grave look. 

"Oh, it pleases me _very_ much?" said Ellen, starting up; "I donot wonder she swore vengeance. "

"Who?" said Mr. Lindsay, laughing. 

"Queen Mary, Sir. "

"Were you thinking about her all this while? I am glad of it. I spoke to you once without getting a word. I was afraid thiswas not amusing enough to detain your thoughts. "

"Oh yes, it is, " said Ellen; "I have been trying to thinkabout all that. I like to look at old things very much. "

"Perhaps you would like to see the regalia. "

"The what, Sir?"

"The royal things, the old diadem and sceptre, &c. Of theScottish kings. Well, come, " said he, as he read the answer inEllen's face, "we will go; but first let us see the oldchapel. "

With this Ellen was wonderfully pleased. This was much olderstill than Queen Mary's rooms. Ellen admired the wildmelancholy look of the Gothic pillars and arches springingfrom the green turf, the large carved window, empty of glass, the broken walls; and, looking up to the blue sky, she triedto imagine the time when the Gothic roof closed overhead, andmusic sounded through the arches, and trains of stolid monkspaced through them, where now the very pavement was not. Strange it seemed, and hard, to go back and realize it; but inthe midst of this, the familiar face of the sky set Ellen'sthoughts off upon a new track, and suddenly they were _at home_, on the lawn before the parsonage. The monks and the abbey wereforgotten; she silently gave her hand to her uncle, and walkedwith him to the carriage. 

Arrived at the Crown-room, Ellen fell into another fit ofgrave attention; but Mr. Lindsay, taught better, did not thistime mistake rapt interest for absence of mind. He answeredquestions, and gave her several pieces of information, and lether take her own time to gaze and meditate. 

"This beautiful sword, " said he, "was a present from PopeJulius Second to James the Fourth. "

"I don't know anything about the popes, " said Ellen. "Jamesthe Fourth! I forget what kind of king he was. "

"He was a very good king; he was the one that died atFlodden. "

"Oh, and wore an iron girdle, because he had fought againsthis father, poor man!"

"Why 'poor man, ' Ellen? he was a very royal prince; why do yousay 'poor man?' "

"Because he didn't know any better, Sir. "

"Didn't know any better than what?"

"Than to think an iron girdle would do him any good. "

"But why wouldn't it do him any good?"

"Because you know, Sir, that is not the way we can have oursins forgiven. "

"What _is_ the way?"

Ellen looked at him, to see if he was in jest or earnest. Herlook staggered him a little, but he repeated his question. Shecast her eyes down, and answered —

"Jesus Christ said, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life; noman cometh unto the Father but by me. ' "

Mr. Lindsay said no more. 

"I wish that was the Bruce's crown, " said Ellen, after awhile. "I should like to see anything that belonged to him. "

"I'll take you to the field of Bannockburn some day; thatbelonged to him with a vengeance. It lies over yonder. "

"Bannockburn! will you? and Stirling castle! Oh, how I shouldlike that!"

"Stirling castle, " said Mr. Lindsay, smiling at Ellen'sclasped hands of delight; "what do you know of Stirlingcastle?"

"From the history, you know, Sir, and the _Lord of the Isles;_ —

" 'Old Stirling's towers arose in light —' "

"Go on, " said Mr. Lindsay. 

" 'And twined in links of silver bright, Her winding river lay. ' "

"That's this same river Forth, Ellen. Do you know any more?"

"Oh yes, Sir. "

"Go on, and tell me all you can remember. "

"_All!_ that would be a great deal, Sir. "

"Go on till I tell you to stop. "

Ellen gave him a good part of the battle, with theintroduction to it. 

"You have a good memory, Ellen, " he said, looking pleased. 

"Because I like it, Sir; that makes it easy to remember. Ilike the Scots people. "

"Do you?" said Mr. Lindsay much gratified. "I did not know youliked anything on this side of the water. Why do you likethem?"

"Because they never would be conquered by the English. "

"So, " said Mr. Lindsay, half-amused and half-disappointed, "the long and the short of it is, you like them because theyfought the enemies you were so eager to have a blow at. "

"Oh no, Sir, " said Ellen, laughing, "I do not mean that atall; the French were England's enemies too, and helped usbesides; but I like the Scots a great deal better than theFrench. I like them because they would be free. "

"You have an extraordinary taste for freedom! And pray, areall the American children as strong republicans as yourself?"

"I don't know, Sir; I hope so. "

"Pretty well, upon my word! Then I suppose even the Brucecannot rival your favourite Washington in your esteem?"

Ellen smiled. 

"Eh?" said Mr. Lindsay. 

"I like Washington better, Sir, of course; but I like Brucevery much. "

"Why do you prefer Washington?"

"I should have to think to tell you that, Sir. "

"Very well, think, and answer me. "

"One reason, I suppose, is because he was an American, " saidEllen. 

"That is not reason enough for so reasonable a person as youare, Ellen; you must try again, or give up your preference. "

"I like Bruce very much indeed, " said Ellen musingly; "but hedid what he did for _himself_ — Washington didn't. "

"Humph! I am not quite sure as to either of your positions, "said Mr. Lindsay. 

"And besides, " said Ellen, "Bruce did one or two wrong things. Washington always did right. "

"He did? eh? What do you think of the murder of Andrι?"

"I think it was right, " said Ellen, firmly. 

"Your reasons, my little reasoner?"

"If it had not been right, Washington would not have done it. "

"Ha!, ha! So at that rate you may reconcile yourself toanything that chances to be done by a favourite. "

"No, Sir, " said Ellen, a little confused, but standing herground; "but when a person _always_ does right, if he happen todo something that I don't know enough to understand, I havegood reason to think it is right, even though I cannotunderstand it. "

"Very well: but apply the same rule of judgement to the Bruce, can't you?"

"Nothing could make me think the murder of the Red Comynright, Sir. Bruce didn't think so himself. "

"But remember there is a great difference in the times; thosewere rude and uncivilized compared to these; you must makeallowance for that. "

"Yes, Sir, I do; but I like the civilized times best. "

"What do you think of this fellow over here — what's his name?whose monument I was showing you — Nelson!"

"I used to like him very much, Sir. "

"And you do not now?"

"Yes, Sir, I do; I cannot help liking him. "

"That is to say, you would if you could?"

"I don't think, Sir, I ought to like a man merely for beinggreat, unless he was good. Washington was great and goodboth. "

"Well, what is the matter with Nelson?" said Mr. Lindsay, withan expression of intense amusement; "I 'used to think, ' as youwould say, that he was a very noble fellow. "

"So he was, Sir; but he wasn't a good man. "

"Why not?"

"Why, you know, Sir, he left his wife; and Lady Hamiltonpersuaded him to do one or two other very dishonourablethings; it was a great pity!"

"So you will not like any great man that is not good as well. What is your definition of a good man, Ellen?"

"One who always does right because it is right, no matterwhether it is convenient or not, " said Ellen, after a littlehesitation. 

"Upon my word, you draw the line close. But opinions differ asto what is right; how shall we know?"

"From the Bible, Sir, " said Ellen, quickly, with a look thathalf-amused and half-abashed him. 

"And you, Ellen — are you yourself _good_ after this nicefashion?"

"No, Sir; but I wish to be. "

"I do believe that. But after all, Ellen, you might likeNelson; those were only the spots in the sun. "

"Yes, Sir; but can a man be a truly great man who is notmaster of himself?"

"That is an excellent remark. "

"It is not mine, Sir, " said Ellen, blushing; "it was told me;I did not find out all that about Nelson, myself; I did notsee it all the first time I read his life; I thought he wasperfect. "

"I know who _I_ think is, " said Mr. Lindsay, kissing her. 

They drove now to his house in George street. Mr. Lindsay hadsome business to attend to, and would leave her there for anhour or two. And that their fast might not be too longunbroken, Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was directed to furnishthem with some biscuits in the library, whither Mr. Lindsayled Ellen. 

She liked the looks of it very much. Plenty of books; oldlooking comfortable furniture; pleasant light; all manner ofetceteras around which rejoiced Ellen's heart. Mr. Lindsaynoticed her pleased glance passing from one thing to another. He placed her in a deep easy-chair, took off her bonnet andthrew it on the sofa, and kissing her fondly, asked her if shefelt at home. "Not yet, " Ellen said; but her look said itwould not take long to make her do so. She sat enjoying herrest, and munching her biscuit with great appetite andsatisfaction, when Mr. Lindsay poured her out a glass of sweetwine. 

That glass of wine looked to Ellen like an enemy marching upto attack her. Because Alice and John did not drink it, shehad always at first, without other reason, done the same; andshe was determined not to forsake their example now. She tookno notice of the glass of wine, though she had ceased to seeanything else in the room, and went on, seemingly as before, eating her biscuit, though she no longer knew how it tasted. 

"Why don't you drink your wine, Ellen?"

"I do not wish any, Sir. "

"Don't you like it?"

"I don't know, Sir; I have never drunk any. "

"No! Taste it and see. "

"I would rather not, Sir, if you please. I don't care for it. "

"Taste it, Ellen!"

This command was not to be disobeyed. The blood rushed toEllen's temples as she just touched the glass to her lips, andset it down again. 

"Well?" said Mr. Lindsay. 

"What, Sir?"

"How do you like it?"

"I like it very well, Sir, but I would rather not drink it. "

"Why?"

Ellen coloured again at this exceedingly daring question, andanswered as well as she could, that she had never beenaccustomed to it, and would rather not. 

"It is of no sort of consequence what you have been accustomedto, " said Mr. Lindsay. "You are to drink it all, Ellen. "

Ellen dared not disobey. When the biscuits and wine weredisposed of, Mr. Lindsay drew her close to his side, andencircling her fondly with his arms, said —

"I shall leave you now for an hour or two, and you must amuseyourself as you can. The bookcases are open — perhaps you canfind something there; or there are prints in those portfolios;or you can go over to the house and make yourself acquaintedwith your new home. If you want anything, ask Mrs. Allen. Doesit look pleasant to you?"

"Very, " Ellen said. 

"You are at home here, daughter; go where you will, and dowhat you will. I shall not leave you long. But before I go, Ellen, let me hear you call me father. "

Ellen obeyed, trembling, for it seemed to her that it was toset her hand and seal to the deed of gift her father andmother had made. But there was no retreat — it was spoken —and Mr. Lindsay, folding her close in his arms kissed heragain and again. 

"Never let me hear you call me anything else, Ellen. You aremine own now — my own child — my own little daughter. Youshall do just what pleases me in everything, and let by-gonesbe by-gones. And now lie down there and rest daughter; you aretrembling from head to foot: rest and amuse yourself in anyway you like till I return. "

He left the room. 

"I have done it now!" thought Ellen, as she sat in the cornerof the sofa, where Mr. Lindsay had tenderly placed her; "Ihave called him my father; I am bound to obey him after this. I wonder what in the world they will make me do next. If hechooses to make me drink wine every day, I must do it! — Icannot help myself. That is only a little matter. But what ifthey were to want me to do something wrong? — they might; Johnnever did — I could not have disobeyed _him_, possibly! — but Icould them, if it was necessary — and if it is necessary, Iwill! — I should have a dreadful time — I wonder if I could gothrough with it. Oh yes, I could, if it was right; andbesides, I would rather bear anything in the world from themthan have John displeased with me — a great deal rather! Butperhaps after all they will not want anything wrong of me. Iwonder if this is really to be my home always, and if I shallnever get home again! — John will not leave me here! — But Idon't see how in the world he can help it, for my father andmy mother, and I myself — I know what he would tell me if hewas here, and I'll try to do it. God will take care of me if Ifollow him: it is none of my business. "

Simply and heartily commending her interests to his keeping, Ellen tried to lay aside the care of herself. She went onmusing; how very different and how much greater her enjoymentwould have been that day if John had been with her! Mr. Lindsay, to be sure, had answered her questions with abundantkindness and sufficient ability; but his answers did not, asthose of her brother often did, skilfully draw her on from onething to another, till a train of thought was opened, which atthe setting out she never dreamed of; and along with the joyof acquiring new knowledge, she had the pleasure ofdiscovering new fields of it to be explored, and the delightof the felt exercise and enlargement of her own powers, whichwere sure to be actively called into play. Mr. Lindsay toldher what she asked, and there left her. Ellen found herselfgrowing melancholy over the comparison she was drawing, andwisely went to the book-cases to divert her thoughts. Findingpresently a history of Scotland, she took it down, resolvingto refresh her memory on a subject which had gained such newand strange interest for her. Before long, however, fatigueand the wine she had drunk effectually got the better ofstudious thoughts; she stretched herself on the sofa and fellasleep. 

There Mr. Lindsay found her a couple of hours afterwards, under the guard of the housekeeper. 

"I cam in, Sir, " she said, whispering — "it's mair than anhour back, and she's been sleeping just like a babby eversyne; she hasna stirred a finger. O, Mr. Lindsay, it's a bonnybairn, and a gude. What a blessing to the house!"

"You're about right there, I believe, Maggie; but how have youlearned it so fast?"

"I canna be mista'en, Mr. George; I ken it as weel as if wehad a year auld acquentance; I ken it by thae sweet mouth andeen, and by the look she gied me when you tauld her, Sir, Ihad been in the house near as lang's yoursel. An' look at hereenow. There's heaven's peace within, I'm a'maist assured. "

The kiss that wakened Ellen found her in the midst of a dream. She thought that John was a king of Scotland, and standingbefore her in regal attire. She offered him, she thought, aglass of wine; but, raising the sword of state, silverscabbard and all, he with a tremendous swing of it, dashed theglass out of her hands; and then, as she stood abashed, hewent forward with one of his old grave kind looks to kiss her. As the kiss touched her lips, Ellen opened her eyes, to findher brother transformed into Mr. Lindsay, and the empty glassstanding safe and sound upon the table. 

"You must have had a pleasant nap, " said Mr. Lindsay; "youwake up smiling. Come — make haste — I have left a friend inthe carriage. Bring your book along if you want it. "

The presence of the stranger, who was going down to spend aday or two at "the Braes, " prevented Ellen from having anytalking to do. Comfortably placed in the corner of the frontseat of the barouche, leaning on the elbow of the carriage, she was left to her own musings. She could hardly realize thechange in her circumstances. The carriage rolling fast andsmoothly on — the two gentlemen opposite to her, one herfather! — the strange, varied, beautiful scenes they wereflitting by— the long shadows made by the descending sun — thecool evening air — Ellen, leaning back in the wide easy seat, felt as if she were in a dream. It was singularly pleasant;she could not help but enjoy it all very much; and yet itseemed to her as if she were caught in a net from which shehad no power to get free; and she longed to clasp that handthat could, she thought, draw her whence and whither itpleased. "But Mr. Lindsay, opposite! — I have called him myfather — I have given myself to him, " she thought; "but I gavemyself to somebody else first; I can't undo that — and I neverwill!" Again she tried to quiet and resign the care of herselfto better wisdom and greater strength than her own. "This mayall be arranged easily in some way I could never dream of, "she said to herself; "I have no business to be uneasy. Twomonths ago, and I was quietly at home, and seemed to be fixedthere for ever; and now, and without anything extraordinaryhappening, here I am — just as fixed. Yes, and before that, atAunt Fortune's, it didn't seem possible that I could ever getaway from being her child; and yet how easily all that wasmanaged. And just so, in some way that I cannot imagine, things may open so as to let me out smoothly from this. " Sheresolved to be patient, and take thankfully what she atpresent had to enjoy; and in this mood of mind, the drive homewas beautiful; and the evening was happily absorbed in thehistory of Scotland. 

It was a grave question in the family that same evening, whether Ellen should be sent to school. Lady Keith was decidedin favour of it; her mother seemed doubtful; Mr. Lindsay, whohad a vision of the little figure lying asleep on his librarysofa, thought the room had never looked so cheerful before, and had near made up his mind that she should be its constantadornment the coming winter. Lady Keith urged the school plan. 

"Not a boarding-school, " said Mrs. Lindsay; "I will not hearof that. "

"No, but a day-school; it would do her a vast deal of good, Iam certain; her notions want shaking up very much. And I neversaw a child of her age so much a child. "

"I assure you I never saw one so much a woman. She has askedme to-day, I suppose, " said he, smiling, "a hundred questionsor less; and I assure you there was not one foolish or vainone among them; not one that was not sensible, and most ofthem singularly so. "

"She was greatly pleased with her day, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I never saw such a baby face in my life, " said Lady Keith, "in a child of her years. "

"It is a face of uncommon intelligence!" said her brother. 

"It is both, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I was struck with it the other day, " said Lady Keith — "theday she slept so long upon the sofa upstairs, after she wasdressed; she had been crying about something, and hereyelashes were wet still, and she had that curious, grave, innocent look you only see in infants; you might have thoughtshe was fourteen months instead of fourteen years old;fourteen and a half, she says she is. "

"Crying?" said Mr. Lindsay, "What was the matter?"

"Nothing, " said Mrs. Lindsay, "but that she had been obligedto submit to me in something that did not please her. "

"Did she give you any cause of displeasure?"

"No; though I can see she has strong passions. But she is thefirst child I ever saw, that I think I could not get angrywith. "

"Mother's heart half misgave her, I believe, " said Lady Keith, laughing; "she sat there looking at her for an hour. "

"She seems to me perfectly gentle and submissive, " said Mr. Lindsay. 

"Yes, but don't trust too much to appearances, " said hissister. "If she is not a true Lindsay, after all, I ammistaken. Did you see her colour once or twice this morningwhen something was said that did not please her?"

"You can judge nothing from that, " said Mr. Lindsay; "shecolours at everything. You should have seen her to-day when Itold her I would take her to Bannockburn. "

"Ah, she has got the right side of you, brother; you will beable to discern no faults in her presently. "

"She has used no arts for it, sister; she is a straightforwardlittle hussy, and that is one thing I like about her; though Iwas as near as possible being provoked with her once or twiceto-day. There is only one thing I wish was altered — she hasher head filled with strange notions — absurd for a child ofher age — I don't know what I shall do to get rid of them. "

After some more conversation, it was decided that school wouldbe the best thing for this end, and half decided that Ellenshould go. 

But this half-decision Mr. Lindsay found it very difficult tokeep to, and circumstances soon destroyed it entirely. Companywas constantly coming and going at "the Braes, " and much of ita kind that Ellen exceedingly liked to see and hear;intelligent, cultivated, well-informed people, whoseconversation was highly agreeable and always useful to her. Ellen had nothing to do with the talking, so she made good useof her ears. 

One evening Mr. Lindsay, a M. Villars, and M. Muller, a Swissgentleman and a noted man of science, very much at home in Mr. Lindsay's house, were carrying on, in French, a conversation, in which the two foreigners took part against their host. M. Villars began with talking about Lafayette; from him they wentto the American revolution and Washington, and from them toother patriots and other republics, ancient and modern — MM. Villars and Muller taking the side of freedom, and pressingMr. Lindsay hard with argument, authority, example, andhistorical testimony. Ellen, as usual, was fast by his side, and delighted to see that he could by no means make good hisground. The ladies at the other end of the room would severaltimes have drawn her away, but happily for her, and also, asusual, Mr. Lindsay's arm was around her shoulders, and she wasleft in quiet to listen. The conversation was very lively, andon a subject very interesting to her; for America had alwaysbeen a darling theme; Scottish struggles for freedom werefresh in her mind; her attention had long ago been called toSwitzerland and its history by Alice and Mrs. Vawse, andFrench history had formed a good part of her last winter'sreading. She listened with the most eager delight, too muchengrossed to notice the good-humoured glances that were everynow and then given her by one of the speakers. Not Mr. Lindsay, though his hand was upon her shoulder, or playingwith the light curls that fell over her temples; _he_ did notsee that her face was flushed with interest, or notice thequick smile and sparkle of the eye that followed every turn inthe conversation that favoured her wishes, or foiled his; itwas M. Muller. They came to the Swiss, and their famousstruggle for freedom against Austrian oppression. M. Mullerwished to speak of the noted battle in which that freedom wasmade sure, but for the moment its name had escaped him. 

"Par ma foi, " said M. Villars, "il m'a entiθrement passι!"

Mr. Lindsay would not or could not help him out. But M. Mullersuddenly turned to Ellen, in whose face he thought he saw alook of intelligence, and begged of her the missing name. 

"Est-ce, Morgarten, Monsieur?" said Ellen, blushing. 

"Morgarten! c'est ηa!" said he with a polite pleased bow ofthanks. Mr. Lindsay was little less astonished than the Dukeof Argyle, when his gardener claimed to be the owner of aLatin work on mathematics. 

The conversation presently took a new turn with M. Villars;and M. Muller withdrawing from it, addressed himself to Ellen. He was a pleasant-looking elderly gentleman; she had neverseen him before that evening. 

"You know French well, then?" said he, speaking to her in thattongue. 

"I don't know, Sir, " said Ellen, modestly. 

"And you have heard of the Swiss mountaineers?"

"Oh yes, Sir; a great deal. "

He opened his watch and showed her in the back of it anexquisite little painting, asking her if she knew what it was. 

"It is an Alpine chalet, is it not, Sir?"

He was pleased, and went on, always in French, to tell Ellenthat Switzerland was his country; and drawing a little asidefrom the other talkers, he entered into a long, and to hermost delightful conversation. In the pleasantest manner hegave her a vast deal of very entertaining detail about thecountry, and the manners and habits of the people of the Alps, especially in the Tyrol, where he had often travelled. Itwould have been hard to tell whether the child had mostpleasure in receiving, or the man of deep study and sciencemost pleasure in giving, all manner of information. He saw, hesaid, that she was very fond of the heroes of freedom, andasked if she had ever heard of Andrew Hofer, the Tyrolesepeasant, who had led on his brethren in their noble endeavoursto rid themselves of French and Bavarian oppression. Ellen hadnever heard of him. 

"You know William Tell?"

"Oh yes, " Ellen said; "she knew him. "

"And Bonaparte?"

"Yes, very well. "

He went on then to give her, in a very interesting way thehistory of Hofer; how when Napoleon made over his country tothe rule of the king of Bavaria, who oppressed them, they rosein mass, overcame army after army that were sent against themin their mountain fastnesses, and freed themselves from thehated Bavarian government; how, years after, Napoleon was atlast too strong for them; Hofer and his companions defeated, hunted like wild beasts, shot down like them; how Hofer was atlast betrayed by a friend, taken and executed, being only seento weep at parting with his family. The beautiful story waswell told, and the speaker was animated by the eager, deepattention and sympathy of his auditor, whose changing colour, smiles, and even tears, showed how well she entered into thefeelings of the patriots in their struggle, triumph, anddownfall; till, as he finished, she was left full of pity forthem and hatred for Napoleon. They talked of the Alps again. M. Muller put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a littlepainting in mosaic to show her, which he said had been givenhim that day. It was a beautiful piece of pietra-dura work —Mont Blanc. He assured her the mountain often looked exactlyso. Ellen admired it very much. It was meant to be set for abrooch, or some such thing, he said, and he asked if she wouldkeep it and sometimes wear it, to "remember the Swiss, and todo him a pleasure. "

"Moi, Monsieur!" said Ellen, colouring high with surprise andpleasure, "je suis bien obligιe; mais, Monsieur, je ne sauraisvous remercier?"

He would count himself well paid, he said, with a single touchof her lips. 

"Tenez, Monsieur!" said Ellen, blushing, but smiling, andtendering back the mosaic. 

He laughed, and bowed, and begged her pardon, and said shemust keep it to assure him that she had forgiven him; and thenhe asked by what name he might remember her. 

"Monsieur, je m'appelle Ellen M —"

She stopped short, in utter and blank uncertainty what to callherself; Montgomery she dared not; Lindsay stuck in herthroat, "Have you forgotten it?" said M. Muller, amused at her look, "or is it a secret?"

"Tell M. Muller your name, Ellen, " said Mr. Lindsay, turninground from a group where he was standing at a little distance. The tone was stern and displeased. Ellen felt it keenly, andwith difficulty and some hesitation still, murmured —

"Ellen Lindsay. "

"Lindsay! Are you the daughter of my friend Mr. Lindsay?"

Again Ellen hesitated, in great doubt how to answer, butfinally, not without starting tears, said —

"Oui, Monsieur. "

"Your memory is bad to-night, " said Mr. Lindsay, in her ear;"you had better go where you can refresh it. "

Ellen took this as a hint to leave the room, which she didimmediately, not a little hurt at the displeasure she did notthink she had deserved; she loved Mr. Lindsay the best of allher relations, and really loved him. She went to bed and tosleep again that night with wet eyelashes. 

Meanwhile M. Muller was gratifying Mr. Lindsay in a highdegree by the praises he bestowed upon his daughter, herintelligence, her manners, her modesty, and her _French_. Heasked if she was to be in Edinburgh that winter, and whethershe would be at school; and Mr. Lindsay declaring himselfundecided on the latter point, M. Muller said he should bepleased, if she had leisure, to have her come to his rooms twoor three times a week to read with him. This offer, from aperson of M. Muller's standing and studious habits, Mr. Lindsay justly took as both a great compliment and a greatpromise of advantage to Ellen. He at once and with muchpleasure accepted it. So the qiestion of school was settled. 

Ellen resolved the next morning to lose no time in making upher difference with Mr. Lindsay, and schooled herself to use aform of words that she thought would please him. Pride said, indeed, "Do no such thing; don't go to making acknowledgementswhen you have not been in the wrong; you are not bound tohumble yourself before unjust displeasure. " Pride pleadedpowerfully. But neither Ellen's heart not her conscience wouldpermit her to take this advice. "He loves me very much. " shethought, "and perhaps he did not understand me last night; andbesides, I owe him — yes, I do! — a child's obedience now. Iought not to leave him displeased with me a moment longer thanI can help. And besides, I couldn't be happy so. God givesgrace to the humble; I will humble myself. "

To have a chance for executing this determination, she wentdown-stairs a good deal earlier than usual; she knew Mr. Lindsay was generally there before the rest of the family, andshe hoped to see him alone. It was too soon even for him, however; the rooms were empty; so Ellen took her book from thetable, and being perfectly at peace with herself, sat down inthe window, and was presently lost in the interest of what shewas reading. She did not know of Mr. Lindsay's approach till alittle imperative tap on her shoulder startled her. 

"What were you thinking of last night? what made you answer M. Muller in the way you did?"

Ellen started up, but to utter her prepared speech was nolonger possible. 

"I did not know what to say, " she said, looking down. 

"What do you mean by that?" said he, angrily. "Didn't you knowwhat I wished you to say?"

"Yes — but — do not speak to me in that way!" exclaimed Ellen, covering her face with her hands. Pride struggled to keep backthe tears that wanted to flow. 

"I shall choose my own method of speaking. Why did you not saywhat you knew I wished you to say?"

"I was afraid — I didn't know — but he would think what wasn'ttrue. "

"That is precisely what I wish him and all the world to think. I will have no difference made, Ellen, either by them or byyou. Now lift up your head and listen to me, " said he, takingboth her hands. "I lay my commands upon you, whenever the likequestions may be asked again, that you answer simply accordingto what I have told you, without any explanation or addition. It is true, and if people draw conclusions that are not true, it is what I wish. Do you understand me?"

Ellen bowed. 

"Will you obey me?"

She answered again in the same mute way. 

He ceased to hold her at arms length, and sitting down in herchair drew her close to him, saying more kindly —

"You must not displease me, Ellen. "

"I had no thought of displeasing you, Sir, " said Ellen, bursting into tears; "and I was very sorry for it last night. I did not mean to disobey you; I only hesitated. "

"Hesitate no more. My commands may serve to remove the causeof it. You are my daughter, Ellen, and I am your father. Poorchild, " said he, for Ellen was violently agitated; "I don'tbelieve I shall have much difficulty with you. "

"If you will only not speak and look at me so, " said Ellen;"it makes me very unhappy. "

"Hush!" said he, kissing her; "do not give me occasion. "

"I did not give you occasion, Sir?"

"Why, Ellen!" said Mr. Lindsay, half-displeased again, "Ishall begin to think your aunt Keith is right, that you are atrue Lindsay. But so am I, and I will have only obedience fromyou, without either answering or argumenting. "

"You shall, " murmured Ellen. "But do not be displeased withme, father. "

Ellen had schooled herself to say that word; she knew it wouldgreatly please him; and she was not mistaken, though it wasspoken so low that his ears could but just catch it. Displeasure was entirely overcome. He pressed her to hisheart, kissing her with great tenderness, and would not lether go from his arms till he had seen her smile again; andduring all the day he was not willing to have her out of hissight. 

It would have been easy that morning for Ellen to have made abreech between them that would not readily have been healed. One word of humility had prevented it all, and fastened hermore firmly than ever in Mr. Lindsay's affection. She met withnothing from him but tokens of great and tender fondness; andLady Keith told her mother apart that there would be no doinganything with George; she saw he was getting bewitched withthat child. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Thought is free. 

In a few weeks they moved to Edinburgh, where arrangementswere speedily made for giving Ellen every means of improvementthat masters and mistresses, books and instruments, couldafford. 

The house in George street was large and pleasant. To Ellen'sgreat joy, a pretty little room opening from the firstlanding-place of the private staircase was assigned for herspecial use as a study and work-room, and fitted up nicely forher with a small bookcase, a practising piano, and variousetceteras. Here her beloved desk took its place on a table inthe middle of the floor, where Ellen thought she would makemany a new drawing when she was by herself. Her work-box wasaccommodated with a smaller stand near the window. A glassdoor at one end of the room opened upon a small iron balcony;this door and balcony Ellen esteemed a very particulartreasure. With marvellous satisfaction she arranged andarranged her little sanctum till she had all things to hermind, and it only wanted, she thought, a glass of flowers. "Iwill have that, too, some of these days, " she said to herself;and resolved to deserve her pretty room by being very busythere. It was hers alone, open indeed to her friends when theychose to keep her company; but lessons were taken elsewhere —in the library, or the music-room, or more frequently hergrandmother's dressing-room. Wherever, or whatever, Mrs. Lindsay or Lady Keith was always present. 

Ellen was the plaything, pride, and delight of the wholefamily. Not so much, however, Lady Keith's plaything as herpride; while pride had a less share in the affection of theother two, or rather, perhaps, was more over-topped by it. Ellen felt, however, that all their hearts were set upon her, felt it gratefully, and determined she would give them all thepleasure she possibly could. Her love for other friends, friends that they knew nothing of, American friends, was, sheknew, the sore point with them; she resolved not to speak ofany of those friends, nor allude to them, especially in anyway that should show how much of her heart was out ofScotland. But this wise resolution it was very hard for poorEllen to keep. She was unaccustomed to concealments; and inways that she could neither foresee nor prevent, the unwelcometruth would come up, and the sore was not healed. 

One day Ellen had a headache and was sent to lie down. Alone, and quietly stretched out on her bed, very naturally Ellen'sthoughts went back to the last time she had a headache athome, as she always called it to herself. She recalled with astraitened heart the gentle and tender manner of John's carefor her; how nicely he had placed her on the sofa; how he satby her side bathing her temples, or laying his cool hand onher forehead, and once, she remembered, his lips. "I wonder, "thought Ellen, "what I ever did to make him love me so much, as I know he does!" She remembered how, when she was able tolisten, he still sat beside her, talking such sweet words ofkindness, and comfort, and amusement, that she almost loved tobe sick to have such tending, and looked up at him as at anangel. She felt it all over again. Unfortunately, after shehad fallen asleep, Mrs. Lindsay came in to see how she was, and two tears, the last pair of them, were slowly making theirway down her cheeks. Her grandmother saw them, and did notrest till she knew the cause. Ellen was extremely sorry totell, she did her best to get off from it, but she did notknow how to evade questions; and those that were put to herindeed admitted of no evasion. 

A few days later, just after they came to Edinburgh, it wasremarked one morning at breakfast that Ellen was verystraight, and carried herself well. 

"It is no thanks to me, " said Ellen, smiling, "they neverwould let me hold myself ill. "

"Who is 'they'?" said Lady Keith. 

"My brother and sister. "

"I wish, George, " said Lady Keith, discontentedly, "that youwould lay your commands upon Ellen to use that form ofexpression no more. My ears are absolutely sick of it. "

"You do not hear it very often, aunt Keith, " Ellen could nothelp saying. 

"Quite often enough; and I know it is upon your lips athousand times when you do not speak it. "

"And if Ellen does, we do not, " said Mrs. Lindsay, "wish toclaim kindred with all the world. "

"How came you to take up such an absurd habit?" said LadyKeith. "It isn't like you. "

"They took it up first, " said Ellen; "I was too glad —"

"Yes, I dare say they had their reasons for taking it up, "said her aunt; "they had acted from interested motives, I haveno doubt; people always do. "

"You are very much mistaken, aunt Keith, " said Ellen, withuncontrollable feeling; "you do not in the least know what youare talking about!"

Instantly, Mr. Lindsay's fingers tapped her lips. Ellencoloured painfully, but after an instant's hesitation she said—

"I beg your pardon, Aunt Keith, I should not have said that. "

"Very well!" said Mr. Lindsay. "But understand, Ellen, howeveryou may have taken it up — this habit — you will lay it downfor the future. Let us hear no more of brothers and sisters. Icannot, as your Grandmother says, fraternize with all theworld, especially with unknown relations. "

"I am very glad you have made that regulation, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I cannot conceive how Ellen has got such a way of it, " saidLady Keith. 

"It is very natural, " said Ellen, with some huskiness ofvoice, "that I should say so, because I feel so. "

"You do not mean to say, " said Mr. Lindsay, "that this Mr. AndMiss Somebody — these people — I don't know their names —"

"There is only one now, Sir. "

"This person you call your brother — do you mean to say youhave the same regard for him as if he had been born so?"

"No, " said Ellen, with cheek and eye suddenly firing, "but athousand times more!"

She was exceedingly sorry the next minute after she had saidthis, for she knew it had given both pain and displeasure in agreat degree. No answer was made. Ellen dared not look atanybody, and needed not; she wished the silence might bebroken; but nothing was heard except a low "whew!" from Mr. Lindsay, till he rose up and left the room. Ellen was sure hewas very much displeased. Even the ladies were too muchoffended to speak on the subject; and she was merely bade togo to her room. She went there, and sitting down on the floor, covered her face with her hands. "What shall I do? what shallI do?" she said to herself, "I never shall govern this tongueof mine. Oh, I wish I had not said that! they will neverforgive it. What can I do to make them pleased with me again?Shall I go to my father's study and beg him — but I can't askhim to forgive me — I haven't done wrong — I can't unsay whatI said. I can do nothing. I can only go in the way of my duty, and do the best I can, and maybe they will come round again. But, oh dear!"

A flood of tears followed this resolution. 

Ellen kept it; she tried to be blameless in all her work andbehaviour, but she sorrowfully felt that her friends did notforgive her. There was a cool air of displeasure about allthey said and did; the hand of fondness was not laid upon hershoulder, she was not wrapped in loving arms, as she used tobe a dozen times a day: no kisses fell on her brow or lips. Ellen felt it, more from Mr. Lindsay than both the others; herspirits sunk; she had been forbidden to speak of her absentfriends, but that was not the way to make her forget them; andthere was scarce a minute in the day when her brother was notpresent to her thoughts. 

Sunday came — her first Sunday in Edinburgh. All went tochurch in the morning; in the afternoon Ellen found thatnobody was going; her grandmother was lying down. She askedpermission to go alone. 

"Do you want to go because you think you must, or forpleasure?" said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"For pleasure, " said Ellen's tongue and her opening eyes atthe same time. 

"You may go. "

With eager delight Ellen got ready, and was hastening alongthe hall to the door, when she met Mr. Lindsay. 

"Where are you going?"

"To church, Sir. "

"Alone! what do you want to go for! No, no, I shan't let you. Come in here — I want you with me; you have been once to-dayalready, haven't you? You do not want to go again?"

"I do indeed, Sir, very much, " said Ellen, as she reluctantlyfollowed him into the library, "if you have no objection. Youknow I have not seen Edinburgh yet. "

"Edinburgh! that's true, so you haven't, " said he, looking ather discomfited face. "Well, go, if you want to go so much. "

Ellen got as far as the hall door, no further; she rushed backto the library. 

"I did not say right when I said that, " she burst forth; "thatwas not the reason I wanted to go. I will stay, if you wishme, Sir. "

"I don't wish it, " said, he in surprise; "I don't know whatyou mean; I am willing you should go, if you like it. Awaywith you! it is time. "

Once more Ellen set out, but this time with a heart full —much too full to think of anything she saw by the way. It waswith a singular feeling of pleasure that she entered thechurch alone. It was a strange church to her — never seen butonce before; and as she softly passed up the broad aisle, shesaw nothing in the building or the people around her that wasnot strange — no familiar face, no familiar thing. But it wasa church, and she was alone, quite alone in the midst of thatcrowd; and she went up to the empty pew and ensconced herselfin the far corner of it, with a curious feeling of quiet andof being at home. She was no sooner seated, however, than, leaning forward as much as possible to screen herself fromobservation, bending her head upon her knees, she burst intoan agony of tears. It was a great relief to be able to weepfreely; at home she was afraid of being seen, or heard, orquestioned; now she was alone and free, and she poured out hervery heart in weeping, that she with difficulty kept frombeing loud weeping. 

"Oh, how could I say that! how could I say that! Oh, what_would_ John have thought of me if he had heard it? Am Ibeginning already to lose my truth? am I going backwardalready? Oh, what shall I do! what will become of me if I donot watch over myself; there is no one to help me or lead meright — not a single one — all to lead me wrong! what willbecome of me? But there is One who has promised to keep thosewho follow him — he is sufficient, without any others. I havenot kept near enough to him! that is it; I have not rememberednor loved him. 'If ye love me, keep my commandments' — I havenot! I have not! Oh, but I will! I will; and he will be withme, and help me, and bless me, and all will go right with me. "

With bitter tears Ellen mingled as eager prayers forforgiveness and help to be faithful. She resolved thatnothing, come what would, should tempt her to swerve one iotafrom the straight line of truth; she resolved to be morecareful of her private hour; she thought she had scarcely hadher full hour a day lately; she resolved to make the Bible heronly and her constant rule of life in everything: and sheprayed such prayers as a heart thoroughly in earnest can pray, for the seal to these resolutions. Not one word of the sermondid Ellen hear; but she never passed a more profitable hour inchurch in her life. 

_All_ her tears were not from the spring of these thoughts andfeelings; some were the pouring out of gathered sadness of theweek; some came from recollections, oh, how tender and strong!of lost and distant friends. Her mother, and Alice, and Mr. Humphreys, and Margery, and Mr. Van Brunt, and Mr. GeorgeMarshman; and she longed, with longing that seemed as if itwould have burst her heart, to see her brother. She longed forthe pleasant voice, the eye of thousand expressions, intowhich she always looked as if she had never seen it before, the calm look that told he was satisfied with her, the touchof his hand, which many a time had said a volume. Ellenthought she would give anything in the world to see him andhear him speak one word. As this could not be, she resolvedwith the greatest care to do what would please him; that whenshe did see him, he might find her all he wished. 

She had wept herself out; she had been refreshed andstrengthened herself by fleeing to the stronghold of theprisoners of hope; and when the last hymn was given out, sheraised her head and took the book to find it. To her greatsurprise, she saw Mr. Lindsay sitting at the other end of thepew, with folded arms, like a man not thinking of what wasgoing on around him. Ellen was startled, but obeying theinstinct that told her what he would like, she immediatelymoved down the pew and stood beside him while the last hymnwas singing; and if Ellen had joined in no other part of theservice that afternoon, she at least did in that with all herheart. They walked home then without a word on either side. Mr. Lindsay did not quit her hand till he had drawn her intothe library. There he threw off her bonnet and wrappers, andtaking her in his arms, exclaimed —

"My poor little darling! what was the matter with you thisafternoon?"

There was so much kindness again in his tone, that, overjoyed, Ellen eagerly returned his caress, and assured him that therewas nothing the matter with her now. 

"Nothing the matter!" said he, tenderly pressing her faceagainst his own, "nothing the matter! with these pale cheeksand wet eyes! nothing now, Ellen?"

"Only that I am so glad to hear you speak kindly to me again, Sir. "

"Kindly! I will never speak any other way but kindly to you, daughter. Come! I will not have any more tears — you have shedenough for to-day, I am sure; lift up your face, and I willkiss them away. What was the matter with you, my child?"

But he had to wait a little while for an answer. 

"What was it, Ellen?"

"One thing, " said Ellen, "I was sorry for what I had said toyou, Sir, just before I went out. "

"What was that? I do not remember anything that deserved to bea cause of grief. "

"I told you, Sir, when I wanted you to let me go to church, that I hadn't seen Edinburgh yet. "

"Well?"

"Well, Sir, that wasn't being quite true; and I was very sorryfor it. "

"Not true? Yes, it was; what do you mean? you had _not_ seenEdinburgh. "

"No, Sir; but I mean — _that_ was true; but I said it to makeyou believe what wasn't true. "

"How?"

"I meant you to think, Sir, that that was the reason why Iwanted to go to church — to see the city and the new sights;and it wasn't at all. "

"What was it then?"

Ellen hesitated. 

"I always love to go, Sir; and, besides, I believe I wanted tobe alone. "

"And you were not, after all, " said Mr. Lindsay, againpressing her cheek to his, "for I followed you there. But, Ellen, my child, you were troubled without reason; you hadsaid nothing that was false. "

"Ah, Sir, but I had made you believe what was false. "

"Upon my word, " said Mr. Lindsay, "you are a nice reasoner. And are you always true upon this close scale?"

"I wish I was, Sir; but you see I am not. I am sure I hateeverything else!"

"Well, I will not quarrel with you for being true, " said Mr. Lindsay; "I wish there was a little more of it in the world. Was this the cause of all those tears this afternoon?"

"No, Sir — not all. "

"What beside, Ellen?"

Ellen looked down, and was silent. 

"Come, I must know. "

"Must I tell you all, Sir?"

"You must, indeed, " said he, smiling; "I will have the whole, daughter. "

"I had been feeling very sorry all the week, because you, andgrandmother, and aunt Keith, were displeased with me. "

Again Mr. Lindsay's silent caress, in its tenderness, seemedto say she should never have the same complaint to make again. 

"Was that all, Ellen?" as she hesitated. 

"No, Sir. "

"Well?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask me further; please do not. I shalldisplease you again. "

"I will not be displeased. "

"I was thinking of Mr. Humphreys, " said Ellen, in a low tone. 

"Who is that?"

"You know, Sir; you say I must not call him —"

"What were you thinking of him?"

"I was wishing very much I could see him again. "

"Well, you _are_ a truth-teller, " said Mr. Lindsay, "or bolderthan I think you. "

"You said you would not be displeased, Sir. "

"Neither will I, daughter; but what shall I do to make youforget these people?"

"Nothing, Sir; I cannot forget them; I shouldn't deserve tohave you love me a bit if I could. Let me love them, and donot be angry with me for it. "

"But I am not satisfied to have your body here, and your heartsomewhere else. "

I must have a poor little kind of heart, " said Ellen, smilingamidst her tears, "if I had room in it for only one person. "

"Ellen, " said Mr. Lindsay, inquisitively, "did you _insinuate_ afalsehood there?"

"No, Sir. "

"There is honesty in those eyes, " said he, "if there ishonesty anywhere in the world. I am satisfied, that is, halfsatisfied. Now lie there, my little daughter, and rest, " saidhe, laying her upon the sofa; "you look as if you needed it. "

"I don't need anything now, " said Ellen, as she laid her cheekupon the grateful pillow, "except one thing — if grandmotherwould only forgive me too. "

"You must try not to offend your grandmother, Ellen, for shedoes not very readily forgive; but I think we can arrange thismatter. Go you to sleep. "

"I wonder, " said Ellen, smiling as she closed her eyes, "whyeverybody calls me 'little;' I don't think I am very little. Everybody says 'little. ' "

Mr. Lindsay thought he understood it, when a few minutes afterhe sat watching her as she really had fallen asleep. Theinnocent brow, the perfect sweet calm of the face, seemed tobelong to much younger years. Even Mr. Lindsay could not helprecollecting the housekeeper's comment — "Heaven's peacewithin;" scarcely Ellen's own mother ever watched over herwith more fond tenderness than her adopted father did now. 

For several days after this he would hardly permit her toleave him. He made her bring her books and study where he was, he went out and came in with her, and kept her by his sidewhenever they joined the rest of the family at meals or in theevening. Whether Mr. Lindsay intended it or not, this soon hadthe effect to abate the displeasure of his mother and sister. Ellen was almost taken out of their hands, and they thought itexpedient not to let him have the whole of her. And thoughEllen could better bear their cold looks and words since shehad Mr. Lindsay's favour again, she was very glad when theysmiled upon her too, and went dancing about with quite a happyface. 

She was now very busy. She had masters for the piano andsinging and different branches of knowledge; she went to Mr. Muller regularly twice a week; and soon her riding attendancebegan. She had said no more on the subject, but went quietly, hoping they would find out their mistake before long. LadyKeith always accompanied her. 

One day Ellen had ridden near her usual time, when a younglady with whom she attended a German class came up to whereshe was resting. This lady was several years older than Ellen, but had taken a fancy to her. 

"How finely you got on yesterday, " said she, "making us allashamed. Ah, I guess M. Muller helped you. "

"Yes, " said Ellen, smiling, "he did help me a little; hehelped me with those troublesome pronunciations. "

"With nothing else, I suppose! Ah, well, we must submit to bestupid. How do you do today?"

"I am very tired, Miss Gordon. "

"Tired! Oh, you're not used to it. "

"No, it isn't that, " said Ellen; "I _am_ used to it — that isthe reason I am tired. I am accustomed to ride up and down thecountry at any pace I like; and it is very tiresome to walkstupidly round and round for an hour. "

"But do you know how to manage a horse? I thought you wereonly just beginning to learn. "

"Oh, no, I have been learning this great while; only theydon't think I know how, and they have never seen me. Are youjust come, Miss Gordon?"

"Yes, and they are bringing out Sophronisbe for me — do youknow Sophronisbe? Look, that light gray; isn't she beautiful?she's the loveliest creature in the whole stud. "

"O, I know!" said Ellen; "I saw you on her the other day; shewent charmingly. How long shall I be kept walking here, MissGordon?"

"Why, I don't know; I should think they would find out. Whatdoes De Courcy say to you?"

"O, he comes and looks at me, and says, 'Trθs bien — trθsbien, ' and 'Allez comme ηa, ' and then he walks off. "

"Well, I declare that is too bad, " said Miss Gordon, laughing. "Look here — I've got a good thought in my head: suppose youmount Sophronisbe in my place, without saying anything toanybody, and let them see what you are up to. Can you trustyourself? she's very spirited. "

"I could trust myself, " said Ellen; "but, thank you, I think Ihad better not. "

"Afraid?"

"No, not at all; but my aunt and father would not like it. "

"Nonsense! how should they dislike it? There's no sort ofdanger, you know. Come! — I thought you sat wonderfully for abeginner. I am surprised De Courcy hadn't better eyes. I guessyou have learned German before, Ellen? Come, will you?"

But Ellen declined, preferring her plodding walk round thering to any putting of herself forward. Presently Mr. Lindsaycame in. It was the first time he had been there. His eye soonsingled out Ellen. 

"My daughter sits well, " he remarked to the riding-master. 

"A merveille! — Mademoiselle Lindesay does rideremarquablement pour une beginner — qui ne fait que commencer. Would it be possible that she has had no lessons before?"

"Why, yes, she has had lessons — of what sort I don't know, "said Mr. Lindsay, going up to Ellen. "How do you like it, Ellen?"

"I don't like it at all, Sir. "

"I thought you were so fond of riding. "

"I don't call this riding, Sir. "

"Ha! what _do_ you call riding? Here, M. De Courcy, won't youhave the goodness to put this young lady on another horse, andsee if she knows anything about handling him?"

"With great pleasure!" M. De Courcy would do anything that wasrequested of him. Ellen was taken out of the ring of walkersand mounted on a fine animal, and set by herself to have herskill tried in as many various ways as M. De Courcy'singenuity could point out. Never did she bear herself moreerectly; never were her hand and her horse's mouth on nicerterms of acquaintanceship; never, even to please her master, had she so given her whole soul to the single business ofmanaging her horse and herself perfectly well. She knew, aslittle as she cared, that a number of persons besides herfriends were standing to look at her. She thought of only twopeople there, Mr. Lindsay and her aunt; and the riding-master, as his opinions might affect theirs. 

"C'est trθs bien — c'est trθs bien, " he muttered; "c'estparfaitement, — Monsieur, mademoiselle votre fille has hadgood lessons; voilΰ qui est entiθrement comme il faut. "

"Assez bien, " said Mr. Lindsay, smiling. "The little gipsy!"

"Mademoiselle, " said the riding-master, as she paused beforethem, "pourquoi, wherefore have you stopped in your cantertantτt — a little while ago — et puis recommencι?"

"Monsieur, he led with the wrong foot. "

"C'est ηa — justement!" he exclaimed. 

"Have you practiced leaping, Ellen?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Try her, M. De Courcy. How high will you go, Ellen?"

"As high as you please, Sir, " said Ellen, leaning over andpatting her horse's neck to hide her smile. 

"How you look, child!" said Mr. Lindsay, in a pleased tone. "So this is what you call riding?"

"It is a little more like it, Sir. "

Ellen was tried with standing and running leaps, higher andhigher, till Mr. Lindsay would have no more of it; and M. DeCourcy assured him that his daughter had been taught by a veryaccomplished rider, and there was little or nothing left forhim to do; "il n'y pouvoit plus;" but he should be very happyto have her come there to practise, and show an example to hispupils. 

The very bright colour in Ellen's face as she heard this mighthave been mistaken for the flush of gratified vanity: it wasnothing less. Not one word of this praise did she take toherself, nor had she sought for herself; it was all forsomebody else; and perhaps so Lady Keith understood it, forshe looked rather discomfited. But Mr. Lindsay was exceedinglypleased, and promised Ellen that as soon as the warm weathercame she'd have a horse, and rides to her heart's content. 

CHAPTER L. 

Trials without. 

Ellen might now have been in some danger of being spoiled —not, indeed, with over-indulgence, for that was not the temperof the family — but from finding herself a person of so muchconsequence. She could not but feel that in the minds of everyone of her three friends she was the object of greatestimportance; their thoughts and care were principally occupiedwith her. Even Lady Keith was perpetually watching, superintending, and admonishing; though she every now and thenremarked, with a kind of surprise, that "really she scarcelyever had to say anything to Ellen; she thought she must knowthings by instinct. " To Mr. Lindsay and his mother she was theidol of life; and except when by chance her will might crosstheirs, she had what she wished, and did what she pleased. 

But Ellen happily had two safeguards which effectually kepther from pride and presumption. 

One was her love for her brother, and longing remembrance ofhim. There was no one to take his place, not indeed in heraffections, for that would have been impossible, but in thedaily course of her life. She missed him in everything. Shehad abundance of kindness and fondness shown her, but the_sympathy_ was wanting. She was talked _to_, but not _with_. Noone now knew always what she was thinking of, nor, if they did, would patiently draw out her thoughts, canvas them, set themright, or show them wrong. No one now could tell what she was_feeling_, nor had the art sweetly, in a way she scarce knewhow, to do away with sadness, or dulness, or perverseness, andleave her spirits clear and bright as the noonday. With allthe petting and fondness she had from her new friends, Ellenfelt alone. She was petted and fondled as a darling possession— a dear plaything — a thing to be cared for, taught, governed, disposed of, with the greatest affection anddelight; but John's was a higher style of kindness, thatentered into all her innermost feelings and wants; and his wasa higher style of authority, too, that reached where theirscould never attain — an authority Ellen always felt it utterlyimpossible to dispute; it was sure to be exerted on the sideof what was right; and she could better have borne hard wordsfrom Mr. Lindsay than a glance of her brother's eye. Ellenmade no objection to the imperativeness of her new guardians;it seldom was called up so as to trouble her, and she was notof late particularly fond of having her own way; but shesometimes drew comparisons. 

"I could not any sooner — I could not as soon — have disobeyedJohn; and yet he never would have spoken to me as they do if Ihad. "

"Some pride perhaps?" she said, remembering Mr. Dundas'swords; "I should say a great deal, John isn't proud; and yet, I don't know, he isn't proud as they are; I wish I knew whatkinds of pride are right and what wrong; he would tell me ifhe was here. "

"What are you in a 'brown study' about, Ellen?" said Mr. Lindsay?

"I was thinking, Sir, about different kinds of pride; I wish Iknew the right from the wrong — or is there any good kind?"

"All good, Ellen, all good, " said Mr. Lindsay, "provided youdo not have too much of it. "

"Would you like me to be proud, Sir?"

"Yes, " said he, laughing and pinching her cheek, "as proud asyou like, if you only don't let me see any of it. "

Not very satisfactory; but that was the way with the fewquestions of any magnitude Ellen ventured to ask; she waskissed and laughed at, called metaphysical or philosophical, and dismissed with no light on the subject. She sighed for herbrother. The hours with M. Muller were the best substitute shehad; they were dearly prized by her, and, to say truth, byhim. He had no family, he lived alone; and the visits of hisdocile and intelligent little pupil became very pleasantbreaks in the monotony of his home life. Truly kind-heartedand benevolent, and a true lover of knowledge, he delighted toimpart it. Ellen soon found she might ask him as manyquestions as she pleased, that were at all proper to thesubject they were upon; and he, amused and interested, wasequally able and willing to answer her. Often when notparticularly busy, he allowed her hour to become two. Excellent hours for Ellen. M. Muller had made his propositionto Mr. Lindsay, partly from grateful regard for him, andpartly to gratify the fancy he had taken to Ellen on accountof her simplicity, intelligence, and good manners. This lattermotive did not disappoint him. He grew very much attached tohis little pupil; an attachment which Ellen faithfullyreturned, both in kind, and by every trifling service that itcould fall in her way to render him. Fine flowers and fruit, that it was her special delight to carry to M. Muller; littlejobs of copying, or setting in order some disorderly mattersin his rooms, where he soon would trust her to do anything; ora book from her father's library; and once or twice when hewas indisposed, reading to him, as she did by the hourpatiently, matters that could neither interest nor concernher. On the whole, and with good reason, the days when theywere to meet were hailed with as much pleasure, perhaps, by M. Muller as by Ellen herself. 

Her other safeguard was the precious hour alone, which she hadpromised John never to lose when she could help it. The onlytime she could have was the early morning, before the rest ofthe family were up. To this hour, and it was often more thanan hour, Ellen was faithful. Her little Bible was extremelyprecious now; Ellen had never gone to it with a deeper senseof need; and never did she find more comfort in being able todisburden her heart in prayer of its load of cares and wishes. Never more than now had she felt the preciousness of thatFriend who draws closer to his children the closer they drawto him; she had never realized more the joy of having him togo to. It was her special delight to pray for those loved onesshe could do nothing else for; it was a joy to think that Hewho hears prayer is equally present with all his people, andthat though thousands of miles lie between the petitioner andthe petitioned-for, the breath of prayer may span the distanceand pour blessings on the far-off head. The burden of thoughtsand affections gathered during the twenty-three hours, waslaid down in the twenty-fourth; and Ellen could meet herfriends at the breakfast-table with a sunshiny face. Littlethey thought where her heart had been, or where it had got itssunshine. 

But notwithstanding this, Ellen had too much to remember andregret, than to be otherwise than sober, — soberer than herfriends liked. They noticed with sorrow that the sunshine woreoff as the day rolled on; that though ready to smile uponoccasion, her face always settled again into a gravity theythought altogether unsuitable. Mrs. Lindsay fancied she knewthe cause, and resolved to break it up. 

From the first of Ellen's coming, her grandmother had takenthe entire charge of her toilet. Whatever Mrs. Lindsay'snotions in general might be as to the propriety of young girlslearning to take care of themselves, Ellen was much tooprecious a plaything to be trusted to any other hands, evenher own. At eleven o'clock regularly every day she went to hergrandmother's dressing-room for a very elaborate bathing anddressing; though not a very long one, for all Mrs. Lindsay'swere energetic. Now, without any hint as to the reason, shewas directed to come to her grandmother an hour before thebreakfast-time, to go through the course of cold-water, sponging, and hair-gloving that Mrs. Lindsay was accustomed toadminister at eleven. Ellen heard in silence, and obeyed, butmade up her hour by rising earlier than usual, so as to haveit before going to her grandmother. It was a little difficultat first, but she soon got into the habit of it, though themornings were dark and cold. After a while it chanced thatthis came to Mrs. Lindsay's ears, and Ellen was told to cometo her as soon as she was out of bed in the morning. 

"But Grandmother, " said Ellen, "I am up a great while beforeyou; I should find you asleep; don't I come soon enough?"

"What do you get up so early for?"

"You know, Ma'am, I told you some time ago. I want some timeto myself. "

"It is not good for you to be up so long before breakfast, andin these cold mornings. Do not rise in future till I send foryou. "

"But, Grandmother, that is the only time for me — there isn'tan hour after breakfast that I can have regularly to myself;and I cannot be happy if I do not have some time. "

"Let it be as I said, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"Couldn't you let me come to you at eleven o'clock again, Ma'am? do, Grandmother!"

Mrs. Lindsay touched her lips; a way of silencing her thatEllen particularly disliked, and which both Mr. Lindsay andhis mother was accustomed to use. 

She thought a great deal on the subject, and came soberly tothe conclusion that it was her duty to disobey. "I promisedJohn, " she said to herself; "I will never break that promise!I'll do anything rather. And besides, if I had not, it is justas much my duty, a duty that no one here has a right tocommand me against. I will do what I think right, come whatmay. "

She could not, without its coming to the knowledge of hergrandmother. A week or two after the former conversation, Mrs. Lindsay made inquiries of Mason, her woman, who was obliged toconfess that Miss Ellen's light was always burning when shewent to call her. 

"Ellen, " said Mrs. Lindsay the same day, "have you obeyed mein what I told you the other morning? about lying in bed tillyou are sent for?"

"No, Ma'am. "

"You are frank! to venture to tell me so. Why have youdisobeyed me?"

"Because, Grandmother, I thought it was right. "

"You think it is right to disobey, do you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, if —"

"If what?"

"I mean, Grandmother, there is One I must obey even beforeyou. "

"If what?" repeated Mrs. Lindsay. 

"Please do not ask me, Grandmother; I don't want to say that. "

"Say it at once, Ellen. "

"I think it is right to disobey if I am told to do what iswrong, " said Ellen, in a low voice. 

"Are you to be the judge of right and wrong?"

"No, Ma'am. "

"Who then?"

"The Bible. "

"I do not know what is the reason, " said Mrs. Lindsay, "that Icannot be very angry with you. Ellen, I repeat the order Igave you the other day. Promise me to obey. "

"I cannot, Grandmother; I must have that hour; I cannot dowithout it. "

"So must I be obeyed, I assure you, Ellen. You will sleep inmy room henceforth. "

Ellen heard her in despair; she did not know what to do. _Appealing_ was not to be thought of. There was, as she said, notime she could count upon after breakfast. During the wholeday and evening she was either busy with her studies ormasters, or in the company of her grandmother or Mr. Lindsay;and if not there, liable to be called to them at any moment. Her grandmother's expedient for increasing her cheerfulnesshad marvellous ill success. Ellen drooped under the sense ofwrong, as well as the loss of her greatest comfort. For twodays she felt and looked forlorn; and smiling now seemed to bea difficult matter. Mr. Lindsay happened to be remarkably busythose two days, so that he did not notice what was going on. At the end of them, however, in the evening, he called Ellento him, and whisperingly asked what was the matter. 

"Nothing Sir, " said Ellen, "only grandmother will not let medo something I cannot be happy without doing. "

"Is it one of the things you want to do because it is right, whether it is convenient or not?" he asked, smiling. Ellencould not smile. 

"O, father, " she whispered, putting her face close to his, "ifyou would only get grandmother to let me do it!"

The words were spoken with a sob, and Mr. Lindsay felt herwarm tears upon his neck. He had, however, far too muchrespect for his mother to say anything against her proceedingswhile Ellen was present; he simply answered that she must dowhatever her grandmother said. But when Ellen had left theroom, which she did immediately, he took the matter up. Mrs. Lindsay explained, and insisted that Ellen was spoilingherself for life and the world by a set of dull religiousnotions that were utterly unfit for a child; that she wouldvery soon get over thinking about her habit of morning prayer, and would then do much better. Mr. Lindsay looked grave; butwith Ellen's tears yet wet upon his cheek, he could notdismiss the matter so lightly, and persisted in desiring thathis mother should give up the point, which she utterly refusedto do. 

Ellen, meanwhile, had fled to her own room. The moonlight wasquietly streaming in through the casement; it looked to herlike an old friend. She threw herself down on the floor, closeby the glass, and after some tears, which she could not helpshedding, she raised her head and looked thoughtfully out. Itwas very seldom now that she had a chance of the kind; she wasrarely alone but when she was busy. 

"I wonder if that same moon is this minute shining in at theglass door at home? — no, to be sure it can't this minute —what am I thinking of? — but it was there, or will be there —let me see — east — west — it was there some time thismorning, I suppose, looking right into our sitting-room. Oh, moon, I wish I was in your place for once, to look in theretoo! But it is all empty now — there's nobody there — Mr. Humphreys would be in his study — how lonely, how lonely hemust be! Oh, I wish I was back there with him! — John isn'tthere, though — no matter, he will be — and I could do so muchfor Mr. Humphreys in the meanwhile. He must miss me. I wonderwhere John is — nobody writes to me; I should think some onemight; I wonder if I am ever to see them again. Oh, he willcome to see me surely before he goes home! — but then he willhave to go away without me again — I am fast now, fast enough— but oh! am I to be separated from them for ever! Well! Ishall see them in heaven!"

It was a "well" of bitter acquiescence, and washed down withbitter tears. 

"Is it my bonny Miss Ellen?" said the voice of thehousekeeper, coming softly in; "is my bairn sitting a' herlane i' the dark? Why are ye no wi' the rest o' the folk, MissEllen?"

"I like to be alone, Mrs. Allen, and the moon shines in herenicely. "

"Greeting!" exclaimed the old lady, drawing nearer, "I ken itby the sound of your voice; greeting eenow! Are ye no weel, Miss Ellen? What vexes my bairn? Oh, but your father would bevexed an he kenned it!"

"Never mind, Mrs. Allen, " said Ellen; "I shall get over itdirectly; don't say anything about it. "

"But I'm wae to see you, " said the kind old woman, stoopingdown and stroking the head that again Ellen had bowed on herknees; "will ye no tell me what vexes ye? Ye suld be as blitheas a bird the lang day. "

"I can't, Mrs. Allen, while I am away from my friends. "

"Friends! and wha has mair frinds than yoursel, ' Miss Ellen, or better frinds? father and mother and a'; where wad ye findthae that will love you mair?"

"Ah, but I haven't my brother!" sobbed Ellen. 

"Your brither, Miss Ellen? An' wa's he?"

"He's everything, Mrs. Allen! he's everything! I shall neverbe happy without him! never! never!"

"Hush, dear Miss Ellen! for the love of a' that's gude; dinnatalk that gate, and dinna greet sae! your father wad be sairvexed to hear ye or to see ye. "

"I cannot help it, " said Ellen; "it is true. "

"It may be sae; but dear Miss Ellen, dinna let it come to yourfather's ken; ye're his very heart's idol; he disna meritought but gude frae ye. "

"I know it, Mrs. Allen, " said Ellen, weeping, "and so I dolove him — better than anybody in the world, except two. Butoh! I want my brother; I don't know how to be happy or goodeither without him. I want him all the while. "

"Miss Ellen, I kenned and loved your dear mither weel for monya day — will ye mind if I speak a word to her bairn?"

"No, dear Mrs. Allen, I'll thank you. Did you know my mother?"

"Wha suld if I didna? she was brought up in my arms, and adear lassie. Ye're no muckle like her, Miss Ellen; ye're mairbonny than her; and no a'thegither sae frack; though she wasdouce and kind too. "

"I wish, " Ellen began, and stopped. 

"My dear bairn, there is Ane abuve what disposes a' things forus; and he isna weel pleased when His children fash themselveswi' His dispensations. He has ta'en and placed you here foryour ain gude, I trust — I'm sure it's for the gude of us a' —and if ye haena a' things ye wad wish, Miss Ellen, ye hae Him!dinna forget that, my ain bairn. "

Ellen returned heartily and silently the embrace of the oldScotch-woman, and when she left her, set herself to follow heradvice. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts, and smoothher ruffled feelings, in using this quiet time to the bestadvantage. At the end of half an hour she felt like anothercreature, and began to refresh herself with softly singingsome of her old hymns. 

The argument which was carried on in the parlour sunk atlength into silence without coming to any conclusion. 

"Where is Miss Ellen?" Mrs. Lindsay asked of a servant thatcame in. 

"She is up in her room, Ma'am, singing. "

"Mr. Lindsay stood still at the door. "

"Tell her I want her. "

"No — stop, " said Mr. Lindsay;"I'll go myself. "

Her door was a little ajar, and he softly opened it withoutdisturbing her. Ellen was still sitting on the floor beforethe window, looking out through it, and in rather a low tonesinging the last verse of the hymn "Rock of Ages:" —

"While I draw this fleeting breath —When my eyelids close in death —When I rise to worlds unknown, And behold Thee on thy throne —Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee!"

Mr. Lindsay stood still at the door. Ellen paused a minute, and then sung "Jerusalem my happy home. " Her utterance was sodistinct that he heard every word. He did not move till shehad finished, and then he came softly in. 

"Singing songs to the moon, Ellen?"

Ellen started, and got up from the floor. 

"No, Sir; I was singing them to myself. "

"Not entirely, for I heard the last one. Why do you makeyourself sober singing such sad things?"

"I don't, Sir; they are not sad to me — they are delightful, —I love them dearly. "

"How came you to love them? It is not natural for a child ofyour age. What do you love them for, my little daughter?"

"Oh, Sir, there are a great many reasons — I don't know howmany. "

"I will have patience, Ellen; I want to hear them all. "

"I love them because I love to think of the things the hymnsare about — I love the tunes dearly, and I like both the wordsand the tunes better, I believe, because I have sung them sooften with friends. "

"Humph! I guessed as much. Isn't that the strongest reason ofthe three?"

"I don't know, Sir; I don't think it is. "

"Is all your heart in America, Ellen, or have you any left tobestow on us?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Not very much!"

"I love you, father, " said Ellen, laying her cheek gentlyalongside of his. 

"And your grandmother, Ellen?" said Mr. Lindsay, clasping hisarms around her. 

"Yes, Sir. "

But he well understood that the "yes" was fainter. 

"And your aunt? — speak, Ellen. "

"I don't love her as much as I wish I did, " said Ellen; "Ilove her a little, I suppose. Oh, why do you ask me such ahard question, father?"

"That is something you have nothing to do with, " said Mr. Lindsay, half-laughing. "Sit down here, " he added, placing heron his knee, "and sing to me again. "

Ellen was heartened by the tone of his voice, and pleased withthe request. She immediately sang with great spirit a littleMethodist hymn she had learned when a mere child. The wild airand simple words singularly suited each other: —

"O Canaan, bright Canaan, I'm bound for the land of Canaan, O Canaan! It is my happy, happy home!I am bound for the land of Canaan. "

"Does that sound sad, Sir?"

"Why yes, I think it does, rather, Ellen. Does it make you feelmerry?"

"Not merry, Sir— it isn't merry; but I like it very much. "

"The tune or the words?"

"Both, Sir. "

"What do you mean by the land of Canaan?"

"Heaven, Sir. "

"And do you like to think about that, at your age?"

"Why, certainly, Sir! Why not?"

"Why _do_ you?"

"Because it is a bright and happy place, " said Ellen, gravely, "where there is no darkness, nor sorrow, nor death, neitherpain nor crying; and my mother is there, and my dear Alice, and my Saviour is there; and I hope I shall be there too. "

"You are shedding tears now, Ellen. "

"And if I am, Sir, it is not because I am unhappy. It doesn'tmake me unhappy to think of these things — it makes me glad;and the more I think of them the happier I am. "

"You are a strange child. I am afraid your grandmother isright, and that you are hurting yourself with poring overserious matters that you are too young for. "

"She would not think so if she knew, " said Ellen, sighing. "Ishould not be happy at all without that, and you would notlove me half so well, nor she either. Oh, father!" sheexclaimed, pressing his hand in both her own, and laying herface upon it, "do not let me be hindered in that! forbid meanything you please, but not that! the better I learn toplease my best Friend, the better I shall please you. "

"Whom do you mean by 'your best friend?' "

"The Lord, my Redeemer. "

"Where did you get these notions?" said Mr. Lindsay, after ashort pause. 

"From my mother, first, Sir. "

"She had none of them when I knew her. "

"She had afterwards, then, Sir; and oh!" — Ellen hesitated —"I wish everybody had them too!"

"My little daughter, " said Mr. Lindsay affectionately kissingthe cheeks and eyes which were moist again, "I shall indulgeyou in this matter. But you must keep your brow clear, or Ishall revoke my grant. And you belong to me now; and there aresome things I want you to forget, and not remember — youunderstand? Now, don't sing songs to the moon any more to-night. Good night, my daughter. "

"They think religion is a strange melancholy thing, " saidEllen to herself as she went to bed; "I must not give themreason to think so — I must let my rushlight burn bright — Imust take care — I never had more need!"

And with an earnest prayer for help to do so, she laid herhead on the pillow. 

Mr. Lindsay told his mother he had made up his mind to letEllen have her way for a while, and begged that she mightreturn to her old room and hours again. Mrs. Lindsay would nothear of it. Ellen had disobeyed her orders, she said; she musttake the consequence. 

"She is a bold little hussy, to venture it, " said Mr. Lindsay, "but I do not think there is any naughtiness in her heart. "

"No, not a bit. I could not be angry with her. It is onlythose preposterous notions she has got from somebody orother. "

Mr. Lindsay said no more. Next morning he asked Ellenprivately what she did the first thing after breakfast. 

"Practise on the piano for an hour, " she said. 

"Couldn't you do it at any other time?"

"Yes, Sir, I could practise in the afternoon, only grandmotherlikes to have me with her. "

"Let it be done then, Ellen, in future. "

"And what shall I do with the hour after breakfast, Sir?"

"Whatever you please, " said he, smiling. 

Ellen thanked him in the way she knew he best liked, andgratefully resolved he should have as little cause as possibleto complain of her. Very little cause indeed did he or any oneelse have. No fault could be found with her performance ofduty; and her cheerfulness was constant and unvarying. Sheremembered her brother's recipe against loneliness, and madeuse of it; she remembered Mrs. Allen's advice, and followedit; she grasped the promises, "He that cometh to me shallnever hunger, " and "Seek and ye shall find" — precious wordsthat never yet disappointed any one; and though tears mightoften fall that nobody knew of, and she might not be so merryas her friends would have liked to see her; though hercheerfulness was touched with sobriety, they could notcomplain, for her brow was always unruffled, her voice clear, her smile ready. 

After a while she was restored to her own sleeping room again, and permitted to take up her former habits. 

CHAPTER LI. 

Trials within. 

Though nothing could be smoother than the general course ofher life, Ellen's principles were still now and then severelytried. 

Of all in the house, next to Mr. Lindsay, she liked thecompany of the old housekeeper best. She was a simple-mindedChristian, a most benevolent and kind-hearted, and withalsensible and respectable person; devotedly attached to thefamily, and very fond of Ellen in particular. Ellen loved, when she could, to get alone with her, and hear her talk ofher mother's young days: and she loved furthermore, and almostas much, to talk to Mrs. Allen of her own. Ellen could to noone else lisp a word on the subject; and without dwellingdirectly on those that she loved, she delighted to tell overto an interested listener the things she had done, seen, andfelt, with them. 

"I wish that child was a little more like other people, " saidLady Keith, one evening in the latter end of the winter. 

"Humph!" said Mr. Lindsay, "I don't remember at this momentany one that I think she could resemble without losing morethan she gained. "

"Oh, it's of no use to talk to you about Ellen, brother! Youcan take up things fast enough when you find them out, but younever will see with other people's eyes. "

"What do your eyes see, Catherine?"

"She is altogether too childish for her years; she is really ababy. "

"I don't know, " said Mr. Lindsay, smiling: "you should ask M. Muller about that. He was holding forth to me for a quarter ofan hour the other day, and could not stint in her praises. Shewill go on, he says, just as fast as he pleases to take her. "

"Oh, yes, in intelligence and so on, I know she is notwanting; that is not what I mean. "

"She is perfectly lady-like always, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"Yes, I know that, and perfectly child-like too. "

"I like that, " said Mr. Lindsay: "I have no fancy for yourgrown-up little girls. "

"Well, " said Lady Keith, in despair, "you may like it; but Itell you she is too much of a child, nevertheless, in otherways. She hasn't an idea of a thousand things. It was only theother day she was setting out to go, at mid-day, through thestreets, with a basket on her arm — some of that fruit for M. Muller, I believe. "

"If she has any fault, " said Mr. Lindsay, "it is want of pride— but I don't know — I can't say I wish she had more of it. "

"Oh, no, of course! I suppose not. And it doesn't takeanything at all to make the tears come in her eyes; the otherday I didn't know whether to laugh or be vexed at the way shewent on with a kitten, for half an hour or more. I wish youhad seen her! I am not sure she didn't cry over that. Now Isuppose the next thing, brother, you will go and make her apresent of one. "

"If you have no heavier charges to bring, " said Mr. Lindsay, smiling, "I'll take breath and think about it. "

"But she isn't like anybody else — she don't care for youngcompanions — she don't seem to fancy any one out of the familyunless it is old Mrs. Allen, and she is absurd about her. Youknow she is not very well lately, and Ellen goes to see her, Iknow, every day regularly; and there are the Gordons, andCarpenters, and Murrays, and M'Intoshes — she sees themcontinually, but I don't think she takes a great deal ofpleasure in their company. The fact is, she is too sober. "

"She has as sweet a smile as I ever saw, " said Mr. Lindsay, "and as hearty a laugh, when she does laugh; she is none ofyour gigglers. "

"But when she does laugh, " said Lady Keith, "it is not whenother people do. I think she is generally grave when there ismost merriment around her. "

"I love to hear her laugh, " said Mrs. Lindsay; "it is in sucha low, sweet tone, and seems to come so from the very springof enjoyment. Yet, I must say, I think Catherine is halfright. "

"With half an advocate, " said Lady Keith, "I shall not effectmuch. "

Mr. Lindsay uttered a low whistle. At this moment the dooropened, and Ellen came gravely in, with a book in her hand. 

"Come here, Ellen, " said Mr. Lindsay holding out his hand —"here's your aunt says you don't like anybody — how is it? areyou of an unsociable disposition?"

Ellen's smile would have been a sufficient apology to him fora much graver fault. 

"Anybody out of the house, I meant, " said Lady Keith. 

"Speak, Ellen, and clear yourself, " said Mr. Lindsay. 

"I like some people, " said Ellen, smiling; "I don't think Ilike a great many people very much. "

"But you don't like young people, " said Lady Keith — "that iswhat I complain of; and it's unnatural. Now there's the otherday, when you went to ride with Miss Gordon and her brother, and Miss M'Pherson and her brother — I heard you say you werenot sorry to get home. Now, where will you find pleasanteryoung people?"

"Why don't you like them, Ellen?" said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I do like them, Ma'am, tolerably. "

"What does 'tolerably' mean?"

"I should have liked my ride better the other day, " saidEllen, "if they had talked about sensible things. "

"Nonsense!" said Lady Keith. "Society cannot be made up of M. Mullers. "

"What did they talk about, Ellen?" said Mr. Lindsay, whoseemed amused. 

"About partners in dancing — at least the ladies did — anddresses, and different gentlemen, and what this one said andthe other one said — it wasn't very amusing to me. "

Mr. Lindsay laughed. "And the gentlemen, Ellen; how did youlike them?"

"I didn't like them particularly, Sir. "

"What have you against _them_, Ellen?"

"I don't wish to say anything against them, Aunt Keith. "

"Come, come; speak out. "

"I didn't like their talking, Sir, any better than the ladies, and besides that, I don't think they are very polite. "

"Why not?" said Mr. Lindsay, highly amused. 

"I don't think it was very polite, " said Ellen, "for them tosit still on their horses when I went out, and let Brocklesbyhelp me to mount. They took me up at M. Muller's, you know, Sir; M. Muller had been obliged to go out and leave me. "

Mr. Lindsay threw a glance at his sister, which she ratherresented. 

"And pray what do you expect, Ellen?" said she. "You are amere child; do you think you ought to be treated as a woman?"

"I don't wish to be treated as anything but a child, AuntKeith. "

But Ellen remembered well one day at home when John had beenbefore the door on horseback, and she had run out to give hima message, his instantly dismounting to hear it. "And I wasmore a child then, " she thought; "and he wasn't a stranger. "

"Whom _do_ you like, Ellen?" inquired Mr. Lindsay, who lookedextremely satisfied with the result of the examination. 

"I like M. Muller, Sir. "

"Nobody else?"

"Mrs. Allen. "

"There!" exclaimed Lady Keith. 

"Have you come from her room just now?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"What's your fancy for going there?"

"I like to hear her talk Sir, and to read to her; it gives hera great deal of pleasure; and I like to talk to her. "

"What do you talk about?"

"She talks to me about my mother —"

"And you?"

"I like to talk to her about old times, " said Ellen, changingcolour. 

"Profitable conversation!" said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"You will not go to her room any more, Ellen, " said Mr. Lindsay. 

In great dismay at what Mrs. Allen would think, Ellen began aremonstrance. But only one word was uttered; Mr. Lindsay'shand was upon her lips. He next took the book she still held. 

"Is this what you have been reading to her?"

Ellen bowed in answer. 

"Who wrote all this?"

Before she could speak, he had turned to the front leaf, andread, "To my little sister. " He quietly put the book in hispocket, and Ellen as quietly left the room. 

"I am glad you have said that, " said Lady Keith. "You arequick enough when you see anything for yourself, but you neverwill believe other people. "

"There is nothing wrong here, " said Mr. Lindsay; "only I willnot have her going to those old recollections she is so fondof. I wish I could make her drink Lethe!"

"What is the book?" said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I hardly know, " said he, turning it over; "except it is fromthat person that seems to have obtained such an ascendencyover her — it is full of his notes — it is a religious work. "

"She reads a great deal too much of that sort of thing, " saidMrs. Lindsay. "I wish you would contrive to put a stop to it. You can do it better than any one else; she is very fond ofyou. "

That was not a good argument. Mr. Lindsay was silent; histhoughts went back to the conversation held that evening inEllen's room, and to certain other things; and perhaps he wasthinking that if religion had much to do with making her whatshe was, it was a tree that bore good fruits. 

"I think, " said Lady Keith, "that is one reason why she takesso little to the young people she sees. I have seen her sitperfectly grave when they were all laughing and talking aroundher — it really looks singular — I don't like it — I presumeshe would have thought it wicked to laugh with them. And theother night I missed her from the younger part of the company, where she should have been, and there she was in the otherroom with M. Muller and somebody else, gravely listening totheir conversation!"

"I saw her, " said Mr. Lindsay, smiling; "and she lookedanything but dull or sober. I would rather have her gravity, after all, Catherine, than anybody else's merriment I know. "

"I wish she had never been detained in America after the timewhen she should have come to us, " said Mrs. Lindsay. 

"I wish the woman had what she deserves that kept back theletters!" said Mr. Lindsay. 

"Yes, indeed!" said his sister; "and I have been in continualfear of a visit from that very person that you say gave Ellenthe book. "

"He isn't here!" said Mr. Lindsay. 

"I don't know where he is; but he was on this side of thewater, at the time Ellen came on; so she told me. "

"I wish he was in Egypt!"

"I don't intend he shall see her if he comes, " said LadyKeith, "if I can possibly prevent it. I gave Porterfieldorders, if any one asked for her, to tell _me_ immediately, andnot _her_ upon any account; but nobody has come hitherto, and Iam in hopes none will. "

Mr. Lindsay arose, and walked up and down the room with foldedarms, in a very thoughtful style. 

Ellen, with some difficulty, bore herself as usual throughoutthe next day and evening, though constantly on the rack to getpossession of her book again. It was not spoken of nor hintedat. When another morning came she could stand it no longer;she went, soon after breakfast, into Mr. Lindsay's study, where he was writing. Ellen came behind him, and, laying bothher arms over his shoulders, said in his ear —

"Will you let me have my book again, father?"

A kiss was her only answer. Ellen waited. 

"Go to the bookcases, " said Mr. Lindsay, presently, "or to thebook-store, and choose out anything you like, Ellen, instead. "

"I wouldn't exchange it for all that is in them!" she answeredwith some warmth, and with the husky feeling coming in herthroat. Mr. Lindsay said nothing. 

"At any rate, " whispered Ellen, after a minute, "you will notdestroy it, or do anything to it? — you will take care of it, and let me have it again, won't you, Sir?"

"I will try to take care of you, my daughter. "

Again Ellen paused, and then came round in front of him toplead to more purpose. 

"I will do anything in the world for you, Sir, " she said, earnestly, "if you will give me my book again. "

"You must do anything in the world for me, " said he, smiling, and pinching her cheek, "without that. "

"But it is mine!" Ellen ventured to urge, though trembling. 

"Come, come!" said Mr. Lindsay, his tone changing, "and youare mine, you must understand. "

Ellen stood silent, struggling between the alternate surgingsof passion and checks of prudence and conscience. But at lastthe wave rolled too high, and broke. Clasping her hands to herface, she exclaimed, not indeed violently, but with sufficientenergy of expression, "Oh, it's not right! it's not right!"

"Go to your room, and consider of that, " said Mr. Lindsay. "Ido not wish to see you again to-day, Ellen. "

Ellen was wretched. Not from grief at her loss merely; thatshe could have borne; that had not even the greatest share inher distress; she was at war with herself. Her mind was in aperfect turmoil. She had been a passionate child in earlierdays; under religion's happy reign, that had long ceased to betrue of her; it was only very rarely that she, or those aroundher, were led to remember or suspect that it had once been thecase. She was surprised, and half frightened at herself now, to find the strength of the old temper suddenly roused. Shewas utterly and exceedingly out of humour with Mr. Lindsay, and with everybody and everything else; consequently, conscience would not give her a moment's peace! and that daywas a long and bitter fight betwixt right and wrong. Dutieswere neglected, because she could not give her mind to them;then they crowded upon her notice at undue times; all wasmiserable confusion. In vain she would try to reason andschool herself into right feeling; at one thought of her losttreasure, passion would come flooding up, and drown all herreasonings and endeavours. She grew absolutely weary. 

But the day passed, and the night came, and she went to bedwithout being able to make up her mind, and she arose in themorning to renew the battle. 

"How long is this miserable condition to last?" she said toherself. "Till you can entirely give up your feeling ofresentment, and apologize to Mr. Lindsay, " said conscience. "Apologize! but I haven't done wrong. " "Yes, you have, " saidconscience, "you spoke improperly; he is just displeased; andyou must make an apology before there can be any peace. " "ButI said the truth — it is _not_ right! it is not right — it iswrong; and am _I_ to go and make an apology! I can't do it. ""Yes, for the wrong you have done, " said conscience, "that isall your concern. And he has a right to do what he pleaseswith you and yours, and he may have his own reasons for whathe has done; and he loves you very much, and you ought not tolet him remain displeased with you one moment longer than youcan help; he is in the place of a father to you, and you owehim a child's duty. "

But pride and passion still fought against reason andconscience, and Ellen was miserable. The dressing-bell rang. 

"There! I shall have to go down to breakfast directly, andthey will see how I look — they will see I am angry and ill-humoured. Well, I _ought_ to be angry! But what will they think, then, of my religion? Is my rushlight burning bright? Am Ihonouring Christ now? Is _this_ the way to make his name and histruth lovely in their eyes? Oh, shame! shame! I have enough tohumble myself for. And all yesterday, at any rate, they know Iwas angry. "

Ellen threw herself upon her knees, and when she rose up, thespirit of pride was entirely broken, and resentment had diedwith self-justification. 

The breakfast-bell rang before she was quite ready. She wasafraid she could not see Mr. Lindsay until he should be at thetable. "But it shall make no difference, " she said to herself, "they know I have offended him — it is right they should hearwhat I have to say. "

They were all at the table. But it made no difference. Ellenwent straight to Mr. Lindsay, and laying one hand timidly inhis, and the other on his shoulder, she at once humbly andfrankly confessed that she had spoken as she ought not the daybefore, and that she was very sorry she had displeased him, and begged his forgiveness. It was instantly granted. 

"You are a good child, Ellen, " said Mr. Lindsay as he fondlyembraced her. 

"Oh no, Sir! don't call me so; I am everything in the worldbut that. "

"Then all the rest of the world are good children. Why didn'tyou come to me before?"

"Because I couldn't, Sir; I felt wrong all day yesterday. "

Mr. Lindsay laughed, and kissed her, and bade her sit down andeat her breakfast. 

It was about a month after this that he made her a present ofa beautiful little watch. Ellen's first look was of greatdelight; the second was one of curious doubtful expression, directed to his face, half tendering the watch back to him, asshe saw that he understood her. 

"Why, " said he, smiling, "do you mean to say you would ratherhave that than this?"

"A great deal. "

"No, " said he, hanging the watch round her neck, "you shallnot have it; but you may make your mind easy, for I have itsafe, and it shall come back to you again some time or other. "

With this promise Ellen was obliged to be satisfied. 

The summer passed in the enjoyment of all that wealth of purseand of affection both could bestow upon their darling. Earlyin the season the family returned to "the Braes. " Ellen likedit there much better than in the city; there was more thatreminded her of old times. The sky and the land, thoughdifferent from those she best loved, were yet but anotherexpression of nature's face; it was the same face still; andon many a sunbeam Ellen travelled across the Atlantic. * [*"Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee. " — GEORGE HERBERT. ]She was sorry to lose M. Muller, but she could not have kepthim in Edinburgh; he quitted Scotland about that time. 

Other masters attended her in the country, or she went toEdinburgh to attend them. Mr. Lindsay liked that very well; hewas often there himself, and after her lesson he loved to haveher with him in the library, and at dinner, and during thedrive home. Ellen liked it, because it was so pleasant to him;and besides, there was a variety about it, and the drives werealways her delight, and she chose his company at any timerather than that of her aunt and grandmother. So, many a happyday, that summer, had she and Mr. Lindsay together, and manyan odd pleasure, in the course of them, did he find or makefor her. Sometimes it was a new book, sometimes a new sight, sometimes a new trinket. According to his promise, he hadpurchased her a fine horse, and almost daily Ellen was uponhis back, and, with Mr. Lindsay, in the course of the summer, scoured the country, far and near. Every scene of any historicinterest, within a good distance of "the Braes, " was visited, and some of them again and again. Pleasures of all kinds wereat Ellen's disposal; and to her father and grandmother she wastruly the light of the eyes. 

And Ellen was happy; but it was not all these things, nor evenher affection for Mr. Lindsay, that made her so. He saw hercalm, sunshiny face, and busy happy demeanour, and fancied, though he had sometimes doubts about it, that she did nottrouble herself much with old recollections, or would, intime, get over them. It was not so. Ellen never forgot; andsometimes, when she seemed busiest and happiest, it was thethought of an absent and distant friend that was nerving herenergies, and giving colour to her cheek. Still, as at first, it was in her hour alone that Ellen laid down care and took upsubmission; it was that calmed her brow and brightened hersmile. And though now and then she shed bitter tears, andrepeated her despairing exclamation, "Well! I will see him inheaven!" in general she lived on hope, and kept at the bottomof her heart some of her old feeling of confidence. 

Perhaps her brow grew somewhat meeker, and her smile lessbright, as the year rolled on. Months flew by, and brought herno letters. Ellen marvelled and sorrowed in vain. One day, mourning over it to Mrs. Allen, the good housekeeper asked herif her friends knew her address? Ellen at first said, "to besure, " but after a few minutes' reflection, was obliged toconfess that she was not certain about it. It would have beenjust like Mr. Humphreys to lose sight entirely of such amatter, and very natural for her, in her grief and confusionof mind, and inexperience, to be equally forgetful. She wroteimmediately to Mr. Humphreys and supplied the defect, and hopebrightened again. Once before she had written, on the occasionof the refunding her expenses. Mr. Lindsay and his mother werevery prompt to do this, though Ellen could not tell what theexact amount might be; they took care to be on the safe side, and sent more than enough. Ellen's mind had changed since shecame to Scotland; she was sorry to have the money go; sheunderstood the feeling with which it was sent, and it hurther. 

Two or three months after the date of her last letter, shereceived at length one from Mr. Humphreys, a long, very kind, and very wise one. She lived upon it for a good while. Mr. Lindsay's bills were returned. Mr. Humphreys declined utterlyto accept them, telling Ellen that he looked upon her as hisown child up to the time that her friends took her out of hishands, and that he owed her more than she owed him. Ellen gavethe money, she dared not give the whole message, to Mr. Lindsay. The bills were instantly and haughtily re-enclosedand sent back to America. 

Still nothing was heard from Mr. John; Ellen wondered, waited, wept; sadly quieted herself into submission, and as time wenton, clung faster and faster to her Bible, and the refuge shefound there. 

CHAPTER LII. 

"Thou!"

One evening, it was New Year's eve, a large party was expectedat Mr. Lindsay's. Ellen was not of an age to go abroad toparties, but at home her father and grandmother never couldbear to do without her when they had company. Generally Ellenliked it very much; not called upon to take any active partherself, she had leisure to observe and enjoy in quiet; andoften heard music, and often by Mr. Lindsay's side listened toconversation in which she took great pleasure. To-night, however, it happened that Ellen's thoughts were running onother things; and Mrs. Lindsay's woman, who had come in todress her, was not at all satisfied with her grave looks, andthe little concern she seemed to take in what was going on. 

"I wish, Miss Ellen, you'd please hold your head up, and looksomewhere; I don't know when I'll get your hair done if youkeep it down so. "

"Oh, Mason, I think that'll do; it looks very well; youneedn't do anything more. "

"I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen; but you know it's yourgrandmother that must be satisfied, and she will have it justso; there, now that's going to look lovely; but, indeed, MissEllen, she won't be pleased if you carry such a soberish facedownstairs — and what will the master say! Most young ladieswould be as bright as a bee at being going to see so manypeople; and, indeed, it's what you should. "

"I had rather see one or two persons than one or two hundred, "said Ellen, speaking half to herself and half to Mrs. Mason. 

"Well, for pity's sake, Miss Ellen, dear, if you can, don'tlook as if it was a funeral! There! 't ain't much trouble tofix you, anyhow; if you'd only care a little more about it, itwould be a blessing. Stop till I fix this lace. The masterwill call you his white rosebud to-night, sure enough. "

"That's nothing new, " said Ellen, half-smiling. 

Mason left her; and feeling the want of something to raise herspirits, Ellen sorrowfully went to her Bible, and slowlyturning it over, looked along its pages to catch a sight ofsomething cheering before she went downstairs. 

"_This God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our guideeven unto death_. "

"Isn't that enough?" thought Ellen, as her eyes filled inanswer. "It ought to be — John would say it was — Oh! where ishe?"

She went on, turning leaf after leaf. 

"_O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee!_"

"That is true, surely, " she thought. "And I do trust in him —I am blessed, — I am happy, come what may. He will let nothingcome to those that trust in him but what is good for them; ifhe is my God, I have enough to make me happy — I ought to behappy — I will be happy! — I will trust him, and take what hegives me, and try to leave, as John used to tell me, myaffairs in his hand. "

For a minute tears flowed; then they were wiped away; and thesmile she gave Mr. Lindsay when she met him in the hall, wasnot less bright than usual. 

The company were gathered, but it was still early in theevening when a gentleman came, who declined to enter thedrawing-room, and asked for Miss Lindsay. 

"Miss Lindsay is engaged. "

"An' what for suld ye say sae, Mr. Porterfield?" cried thevoice of the housekeeper, who was passing in the hall, "whenye ken as weel as I do that Miss Ellen —"

The butler stopped her with saying something about "my lady, "and repeated his answer to the gentleman. 

The latter wrote a word or two on a card which he drew fromhis pocket, and desired him to carry it to Miss Ellen. Hecarried it to Lady Keith. 

"What sort of a person, Porterfield?" said Lady Keith, crumpling the paper in her fingers; and withdrawing a littlefrom the company. 

"Uncommon fine gentleman, my lady, " Porterfield answered in alow tone. 

"A gentleman?" said Lady Keith, inquiringly. 

"Certain, my lady! and as up and down spoken as if he was aprince of the blood; he's somebody that is not accustomed tobe said 'no' to for sure. "

Lady Keith hesitated. Recollecting, however, that she had justleft Ellen safe in the music-room, she made up her mind, anddesired Porterfield to show the stranger in. As he entered, unannounced, her eyes unwillingly verified the butler'sjudgment; and to the inquiry whether he might see MissLindsay, she answered very politely, though with regrets, thatMiss Lindsay was engaged. 

"May I be pardoned for asking, " said the stranger, with theslightest possible approach to a smile, "whether that decisionis imperative? I leave Scotland to-morrow — my reasons forwishing to see Miss Lindsay this evening are urgent. "

Lady Keith could hardly believe her ears, or command hercountenance to keep company with her expressions of "sorrowthat it was impossible — Miss Lindsay could not have thepleasure that evening. "

"May I beg, then, to know at what hour I may hope to see herto-morrow?"

Hastily resolving that Ellen should on the morrow accept along-given invitation, Lady Keith answered that "she would notbe in town — she would leave Edinburgh at an early hour. "

The stranger bowed and withdrew; that was all the bystanderssaw. But Lady Keith, who had winced under an eye that shecould not help fancying read her too well, saw that in hisparting look which made her uneasy; beckoning a servant whostood near, she ordered him to wait upon that gentleman to thedoor. 

The man obeyed; but the stranger did not take his cloak, andmade no motion to go. 

"No, Sir! not that way, " he said, sternly, as the servant laidhis hand on the lock; "show me to Miss Lindsay!"

"Miss Ellen!" said the man, doubtfully, coming back, andthinking from the gentleman's manner that he must havemisunderstood Lady Keith; "where is Miss Ellen, Arthur?"

The person addressed threw his head back towards the door hehad just come from on the other side of the hall. 

"This way, Sir, if you please; what name, Sir?"

"No name; stand back!" said the stranger as he entered. 

There were a number of people gathered round a lady who was atthe piano singing. Ellen was there in the midst of them. Thegentleman advanced quietly to the edge of the group, and stoodthere without being noticed; Ellen's eyes were bent on thefloor. The expression of her face touched and pleased himgreatly; it was precisely what he wished to see. Withouthaving the least shadow of sorrow upon it, there was in allits lines that singular mixture of gravity and sweetness thatis never seen but where religion and discipline have donetheir work well; the writing of the wisdom that looks soberly, and the love that looks kindly, on all things. He was not sureat first whether she were intently listening to the music, orwhether her mind was upon something far different and faraway; he thought the latter. He was right. Ellen at the momenthad escaped from the company and the noisy sounds of theperformer at her side; and while her eye was curiously tracingout the pattern of the carpet, her mind was resting itself inone of the verses she had been reading that same evening. Suddenly, and as it seemed, from no connection with anythingin or out of her thoughts, there came to her mind the image ofJohn as she had seen him that first evening she ever saw himat Carra-carra, when she looked up from the boiling chocolateand espied him, standing in an attitude of waiting near thedoor. Ellen at first wondered how that thought should havecome into her head just then; the next moment, from a suddenimpulse, she raised her eyes to search for the cause, and sawJohn's smile. 

It would not be easy to describe the change in Ellen's face. Lightning makes as quick and as brilliant an illumination, butlightning does not stay. With a spring she reached him, andseizing both his hands, drew him out of the door near whichthey were standing; and as soon as they were hidden from view, threw herself into his arms in an agony of joy. Before, however, either of them could say a word, she had caught hishand again, and led him back along the hall to the privatestaircase; she mounted it rapidly to _her room_, and there againshe threw herself into his arms, exclaiming, "O John! my dearJohn! my dear brother!"

But neither smiles nor words would do for the overchargedheart. The tide of joy ran too strong, and too much swelledfrom the open sources of love and memory, to keep any bounds. And it kept none. Ellen sat down, and bowing her head on thearm of the sofa, wept with all the vehement passion of herchildhood, quivering from head to foot with convulsive sobs. John might guess, from the outpouring now, how much her hearthad been secretly gathering for months past. For a littlewhile he walked up and down the room; but this excessiveagitation he was not willing should continue. He said nothing;sitting down beside Ellen on the sofa, he quietly possessedhimself of one of her hands, and when in her excitement thehand struggled to get away again, it was not permitted. Ellenunderstood that very well, and immediately checked herself. Better than words, the calm firm grasp of his hand quietedher. Her sobbing stilled; she turned from the arm of the sofa, and leaning her head upon him, took his hand in both hers andpressed it to her lips, as if she were half beside herself. But that was not permitted to last either, for his handquickly imprisoned hers again. There was silence still. Ellencould not look up yet, and neither seemed very forward tospeak: she sat gradually quieting down into fulness ofhappiness. 

"I thought you never would come, John, " at length Ellen halfwhispered, half said. 

"And I cannot stay now. I must leave you to-morrow, Ellen. "

Ellen started up, and looked up now. 

"Leave me! For how long? Where are you going?"

"Home. "

"To America!" Ellen's heart died within her. Was _this_ the endof all her hopes? did her confidence end _here?_ She shed notears now. He could see that she grew absolutely still fromintense feeling. 

"What's the matter, Ellie?" said the low gentle tones she sowell remembered; "I am leaving you but for a time. I _must_ gohome now, but if I live you will see me again. "

"Oh, I wish I was going with you!" Ellen exclaimed, burstinginto tears. 

"My dear Ellie!" said her brother, in an altered voice, drawing her again to his arms; "you cannot wish it more thanI!"

"I never thought you would leave me here, John. "

"Neither would I, if I could help it; neither will I a minutelonger than I can help; but we must both wait, my own Ellie. Do not cry so, for my sake!"

"Wait? till when?" said Ellen, not a little reassured. 

"I have no power now to remove you from your legal guardians, and you have no right to choose for yourself. "

"And when shall I?"

"In a few years. "

"A few years! But in the mean time, John, what shall I dowithout you? If I could see you once in a while — but there isno one here — not a single one — to help me to keep right; noone talks to me as you used to; and I am all the while afraidI shall go wrong in something; what shall I do?"

"What the weak must always do, Ellie; seek for strength whereit may be had. "

"And so I do, John, " said Ellen, weeping; "but I want you; oh, how much!"

"Are you not happy here?"

"Yes, I am happy; at least I thought I was half an hour ago —as happy as I can be. I have everything to make me happy, except what would do it. "

"We must both have recourse to our old remedy against sorrowand loneliness; you have not forgotten the use of it, Ellie?"

"No, John, " said Ellen, meeting his eyes with a tearful smile. 

"They love you here, do they not?"

"Very much — too much. "

"And you love them?"

"Yes. "

"That's a doubtful 'yes. ' "

"I do love my father — very much; and my grandmother too, though not so much. I cannot help loving them;they love me so. But they are so unlike you!"

"That is not much to the purpose, after all, " said John, smiling. "These are varieties of excellence in the world. "

"Oh yes, but that isn't what I mean; it isn't a variety ofexcellence. They make me do everything that they have a mind —I don't mean, " she added, smiling, "that _that_ is not like you— but you always had a reason; they are different. My fathermakes me drink wine every now and then — I don't like to doit, and he knows I do not, and I think that is the reason Ihave to do it. "

"That's not a matter of great importance, Ellie, provided theydo not make you do something wrong. "

"They could not do that, I hope: and there is another thingthey cannot make me do. "

"What is that?"

"Stay here when you will take me away. "

There was a few minutes' thoughtful pause on both sides. 

"You are grown, Ellie, " said John; "you are not the child Ileft you. "

"I don't know, " said Ellen smiling; "it seems to me I am justthe same. "

"Let me see — look at me. "

She raised her face, and, amidst smiles and tears, its lookwas not less clear and frank than his was penetrating. "Justthe same, " was the verdict of her brother's eyes a momentafterwards. Ellen's smile grew bright as she read it there. 

"Why have you never come or written before, John?"

"I did not know where you were. I have not been in England formany months till quite lately, and I could not get youraddress. I think my father was without it for a long time, andwhen at last he sent it to me, the letter miscarried — neverreached me — there were delays upon delays. "

"And when did you get it?"

"I preferred coming to writing. "

"And now you must go home so soon!"

"I must, Ellie. My business has lingered on a great while, andit is quite time I should return. I expect to sail next week. Mrs. Gillespie is going with me; her husband stays behind tillspring. "

Ellen signed. 

"I made a friend of a friend of yours whom I met inSwitzerland last summer — M. Muller. "

"M. Muller! did you! Oh, I am very glad! I am very glad youknow him — he is the best friend I have got here, after myfather. I don't know what I should have done without him. "

"I have heard him talk of you, " said John, smiling. 

"He has just come back; he was to be here this evening. "

There was a pause again. 

"It does not seem right to go home without you, Ellie, " saidher brother, then. "I think you belong to me more than toanybody. "

"That is exactly what I think!" said Ellen, with one of herbright looks, and then bursting into tears; "I am very gladyou think so too! I will always do whatever you tell me — justas I used to — no matter what anybody else says. "

"Perhaps I shall try you in two or three things, Ellie. "

"Will you! in what? Oh, it would make me so happy — so muchhappier — if I could be doing something to please you. I wishI was at home with you again!"

"I will bring that about, Ellie, by-and-by, if you make yourwords good. "

"I shall be happy then, " said Ellen, her old confidencestanding stronger than ever, "because I know you will if yousay so; though how you will manage I cannot conceive. Myfather, and grandmother, and aunt cannot bear to hear me speakof America; I believe they would be glad if there wasn't sucha place in the world. They would not even let me think of itif they could help it; I never dare mention your name, or saya word about old times. They are afraid of my loving anybody, I believe. They want to have me all to themselves. "

"What will they say to you then, Ellen, if you leave them togive yourself to me?"

"I cannot help it, " replied Ellen; "they must say what theyplease;" and with abundance of energy, and not a few tears, she went on: "I love them, but I have given myself to you agreat while ago; long before I was his daughter, you called meyour little sister — I can't unto that, John, and I don't wantto — it doesn't make a bit of difference that we were not bornso!"

John suddenly rose, and began to walk up and down the room. Ellen soon came to his side, and leaning upon his arm as shehad been used to do in past times, walked up and down withhim, at first silently. 

"What is it you wanted me to do, John?" she said, gently, atlength; "you said 'two or three things. ' "

"One is that you keep up a regular and full correspondencewith me. "

"I am very glad that you will let me do that, " said Ellen;"that is exactly what I should like, but —"

"What?"

"I am afraid they will not let me. "

"I will arrange that. "

"Very well, " said Ellen, joyously, "then it will do. Oh, itwould make me so happy! And you will write to me?"

"Certainly. "

"And I will tell you everything about myself; and you willtell me how I ought to do in all sorts of things? that will benext best to being with you. And then you will keep me right. "

"I won't promise you that, Ellie, " said John, smiling; "youmust learn to keep yourself right. "

"I know you will, though, however you may smile. What next?"

"Read no novels. "

"I never do, John. I knew you did not like it, and I havetaken good care to keep out of the way of them. If I had toldanybody why, though, they would have made me read a dozen. "

"Why, Ellie!" said her brother, "you must need some care tokeep a straight line where your course lies now. "

"Indeed I do, John, " said Ellen, her eyes filling with tears;"Oh, how I have felt that sometimes! And then, how I wantedyou!"

Her hand was fondly taken in his, as many a time it had beenof old, and for a long time they paced up and down, theconversation running sometimes in the strain that both loved, and Ellen now never heard; sometimes on other matters; such aconversation as those she had lived upon in former days, andnow drank in with a delight and eagerness inexpressible. Mr. Lindsay would have been in dismay to have seen her upliftedface, which, though tears were many a time there, wassparkling and glowing with life and joy in a manner he hadnever known it. She almost forgot what the morrow would bring, in the exquisite pleasure of the instant, and hung upon everyword and look of her brother, as if her life were there. 

"And in a few weeks, " said Ellen at length, "you will be inour old dear sitting-room again, and riding on the BlackPrince! and I shall be here! and it will be —"

"It will be empty without you, Ellie; but we have a Friendthat is sufficient; let us love him and be patient. "

"It is very hard to be patient, " murmured Ellen. "But, dearJohn, there was something else you wanted me to do, what isit? You said 'two or three' things. "

"I will leave that to another time. "

"But why? I will do it, whatever it be — pray tell me. "

"No, " said he, smiling, "not now; you shall know by-and-by —the time is not yet. Have you heard of your old friend Mr. VanBrunt?"

"No — what of him?"

"He has come out before the world as a Christian man. "

"Has he?"

John took a letter from his pocket and opened it. 

"You may see what my father says of him, and what he says ofyou, too, Ellie; he has missed you much. "

"Oh, I was afraid he would, " said Ellen; "I was sure he did!"

She took the letter, but she could not see the words. Johntold her she might keep it to read at her leisure. 

"And how are they all at Ventnor? and how is Mrs. Vawse? andMargery?"

"All well. Mrs. Vawse spends about half her time at myfather's. "

"I am very glad of that. "

"Mrs. Marshman wrote me to bring you back with me if I could, and said she had a home for you always at Ventnor. "

"How kind she is, " said Ellen; "how many friends I findeverywhere. It seems to me, John, that everybody almost lovesme. "

"That _is_ a singular circumstance! However, I am no exceptionto the rule, Ellie. "

"Oh, I know that!" said Ellen, laughing. "And Mr. George?"

"Mr. George is well. "

"How much I love him!" said Ellen. "How much I would give tosee him. I wish you could tell me about poor Captain and theBrownie, but I don't suppose you have heard of them. Oh, whenI think of it all at home, how I want to be there! Oh, John!sometimes lately I have almost thought I should only see youagain in heaven. "

"My dear Ellie! I shall see you there, I trust; but if we livewe shall spend our lives here together first. And while we areparted, we will keep as near as possible by praying for andwriting to each other. And what God orders, let us quietlysubmit to. "

Ellen had much ado to command herself at the tone of thesewords and John's manner, as he clasped her in his arms andkissed her brow and lips. She strove to keep back a show offeeling that would distress and might displease him. But thenext moment her fluttering spirits were stilled by hearing thefew soft words of a prayer that he breathed over her head. Itwas a prayer for her and for himself, and one of its petitionswas, that they might be kept to see each other again. Ellenwrote the words on her heart. 

"Are you going?"

He showed his watch. 

"Well, I shall see you to-morrow. "

"Shall you be here?"

"Certainly, where else should I be? What time must you setout?"

"I need not till afternoon, but how early can I see you?"

"As early as you please. Oh, spend all the time with me youcan, John!"

So it was arranged. 

"And now, Ellie, you must go downstairs and present me to Mr. Lindsay. "

"To my father!"

For a moment Ellen's face was a compound of expressions. Sheinstantly acquiesced, however, and went down with her brother, her heart, it must be confessed, going very pit-a-pat indeed. She took him into the library, which was not this eveningthrown open to company; and sent a servant for Mr. Lindsay. While waiting for his coming, Ellen felt as if she had not thefair use of her senses. Was that John Humphreys quietlywalking up and down the library! Mr. Lindsay's library! andwas she about to introduce her brother to the person who hadforbidden her to mention his name? There was something, however, in Mr. John's figure and air, in his utter coolness, that insensibly restored her spirits. Triumphant confidence inhim overcame the fear of Mr. Lindsay; and when he appeared, Ellen, with tolerable composure, met him, her hand upon John'sarm, and said, "Father, this is Mr. Humphreys, " — _my brother_she dared not add. 

"I hope Mr. Lindsay will pardon my giving him this trouble, "said the latter; "we have one thing in common which shouldforbid our being strangers to each other. I, at least, wasunwilling to leave Scotland without making myself known to Mr. Lindsay. "

Mr. Lindsay most devoutly wished the "thing in common" hadbeen anything else. He bowed, and was "happy to have thepleasure, " but evidently neither pleased nor happy. Ellencould see that. 

"May I take up five minutes of Mr. Lindsay's time to explain, perhaps to apologize, " said John, slightly smiling, "for whatI have said?"

A little ashamed, it might be, to have his feeling suspected, Mr. Lindsay instantly granted the request, and politelyinvited his unwelcome guest to be seated. Obeying a glancefrom her brother which she understood, Ellen withdrew to thefurther side of the room, where she could not hear what theysaid. John took up the history of Ellen's acquaintness withhis family, and briefly gave it to Mr. Lindsay, scarcetouching on the benefits by them conferred on her, andskilfully dwelling rather on Ellen herself, and setting forthwhat she had been to them. Mr. Lindsay could not beunconscious of what his visitor delicately omitted to hint at, neither could he help making secretly to himself some mostunwilling admissions; and though he might wish the speaker atthe antipodes, and doubtless did, yet the sketch was toohappily given, and his fondness for Ellen too great, for himnot to be delightedly interested in what was said of her. Andhowever strong might have been his desire to dismiss his guestin a very summary manner, or to treat him with haughtyreserve, the graceful dignity of Mr. Humphreys' manners madeeither expedient impossible. Mr. Lindsay felt constrained tomeet him on his own ground — the ground of high-bredfrankness, and grew secretly still more afraid that his realfeelings should be discerned. 

Ellen, from afar, where she could not hear the words, watchedthe countenances with great anxiety, and great admiration. Shecould see that while her brother spoke with his usual perfectease, Mr. Lindsay was embarrassed. She half-read the truth. She saw the entire politeness where she also saw the secretdiscomposure, and she felt that the politeness was forced fromhim. As the conversation went on, however, she wonderingly sawthat the cloud on his brow lessened— she saw him even smile;and when at last they rose, and she drew near, she almostthought her ears were playing her false, when she heard Mr. Lindsay beg her brother to go in with him to the company, andbe presented to Mrs. Lindsay. After a moment's hesitation thisinvitation was accepted, and they went together into thedrawing-room. 

Ellen felt as if she was in a dream. With a face as grave asusual, but with an inward exultation and rejoicing in herbrother, impossible to describe, she saw him going about amongthe company, talking to her grandmother; yes, and hergrandmother did not look less pleasant than usual, recognisingM. Muller, and in conversation with other people whom he knew. With indescribable glee, Ellen saw that Mr. Lindsay managedmost of the time to be of the same group. Never more than thatnight did she triumphantly think that Mr. John could doanything. He finished the evening there. Ellen took care notto seem too much occupied with him; but she contrived to benear when he was talking with M. Muller, and to hang upon herfather's arm when he was in Mr. John's neighbourhood. And whenthe latter had taken leave, and was in the hall, Ellen wasthere before he could be gone. And there came Mr. Lindsay too, behind her. 

"You will come early to-morrow morning, John?"

"Come to breakfast, Mr. Humphreys, will you?" said Mr. Lindsay, with sufficient cordiality. 

But Mr. Humphreys declined his invitation, in spite of thetimid touch of Ellen's fingers upon his arm, which begged fora different answer. 

"I will be with you early, Ellie, " he said, however. 

"And oh! John, " said Ellen, suddenly, "order a horse, and letus have one ride together; let me show you Edinburgh. "

"By all means, " said Mr. Lindsay, "let us show you Edinburgh;but order no horses, Mr. Humphreys, for mine are at yourservice. "

Ellen's other hand was gratefully laid upon her father's armas this second proposal was made and accepted. 

"Let us show you Edinburgh, " said Ellen to herself, as she andMr. Lindsay slowly and gravely went back through the hall. "Sothere is an end of my fine morning! But, however, how foolishI am! John has his own ways of doing things — he can make itpleasant in spite of everything. "

She went to bed, not to sleep indeed, for a long time, but tocry for joy, and all sorts of feelings at once. 

Good came out of evil, as it often does, and as Ellen's heartpresaged it would when she arose the next morning. The ridewas preceded by half an hour's chat between Mr. John, Mr. Lindsay, and her grandmother; in which the delight of theevening before was renewed and confirmed. Ellen was obliged tolook down to hide the too bright satisfaction she felt wasshining in her face. She took no part in the conversation; itwas enough to hear. She sat with charmed ears, seeing herbrother overturning all her father's and grandmother'sprejudices, and making his own way to their respect at least, in spite of themselves. Her marvelling still almost kept evenpace with her joy. "I knew he would do what he pleased, " shesaid to herself; "I knew they could not help that; but I didnot dream he would ever make them like him, that I neverdreamed!"

On the ride, again, Ellen could not wish that her father werenot with them. She wished for nothing; it was all a maze ofpleasure, which there was nothing to mar but the sense thatshe would, by-and-by, wake up and find it was a dream. And no— not that either. It was a solid good and blessing, which, though it must come to an end, she should never lose. For thepresent there was hardly anything to be thought of butenjoyment. She shrewdly guessed that Mr. Lindsay would haveenjoyed it too, but for herself; there was a little constraintabout him still, she could see. There was none about Mr. John;in the delight of his words, and looks, and presence, Ellenhalf the time forgot Mr. Lindsay entirely; she had enough ofthem; she did not for one moment wish Mr. Lindsay had less. 

At last the long, beautiful ride came to an end; and the restof the morning soon sped away, though, as Ellen had expected, she was not permitted to spend any part of it alone with herbrother. Mr. Lindsay asked him to dinner, but this wasdeclined. 

Not till long after he was gone did Ellen read Mr. Humphreys'letter. One bit of it may be given: —

"Mr. Van Brunt has lately joined our little church. This hasgiven me great pleasure. He had been a regular attendant for along time before. He ascribes much to your instrumentality;but says his first thoughts (earnest ones) on the subject ofreligion, were on the occasion of a tear that fell fromEllen's eyes upon his hand one day when she was talking to himabout the matter. He never got over the impression. In his ownwords, 'it scared him!' That was a dear child! — I did notknow how dear till I had lost her. I did not know how severelyI should feel her absence; nor had I the least notion when shewas with us of many things respecting her that I have learntsince. I half hoped we should yet have her back, but that willnot be. I shall be glad to see you, my son. "

The correspondence with John was begun immediately, and wasthe delight of Ellen's life. Mrs. Lindsay and her daughterwished to put a stop to it; but Mr. Lindsay dryly said thatMr. Humphreys had frankly spoken of it before him, and as hemade no objection then, he could not now. 

Ellen puzzled herself a little to think what could be thethird thing John wanted of her; but, whatever it were, she wasvery sure she would do it!

For the gratification of those who are never satisfied, oneword shall be added, to wit, that —

The seed so early sown in little Ellen's mind, and socarefully tended by sundry hands, grew in course of time toall the fair structure and comely perfection it had bid fairto reach: storms and winds that had visited it, did but causethe root to take deeper hold; and at the point of its youngmaturity it happily fell again into those hands that had ofall been most successful in its culture. In other words, tospeak intelligibly, Ellen did in no wise disappoint herbrother's wishes, nor he hers. Three or four more years ofScottish discipline wrought her no ill; they did but serve totemper and beautify her Christian character; and then, to herunspeakable joy, she went back to spend her life with thefriends and guardians she best loved, and to be to them, stillmore than she had been to her Scottish relations, the "lightof the eyes. "

THE END. 

PRINTED BY BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ. 

Typrographical errors :

chapter 7 : =look out nearly= silently corrected as =look outnear by=

chapter 7 : =That is true= silently corrected as ="That is true=

chapter 7 : =I suppose, said her friend= silently corrected as =Isuppose, " said her friend=

chapter 7 : =great many things= silently corrected as ='greatmany things=

chapter 9 : =sweeping of= silently corrected as =sweeping off=

chapter 9 : =but whether it would= silently corrected as ="butwhether it would=

chapter 12 : =little brick wall= silently corrected as =littlebrick walk=

chapter 13 : =Just look, said Ellen= silently corrected as =Justlook, " said Ellen=

chapter 16 : =Humprey's desire= silently corrected as =Humphreys'desire=

chapter 17 : =you'd forgot= silently corrected as =you'd forget=

chapter 17 : =than to receive. "= silently corrected as =than toreceive. ' "=

chapter 18 : =well behaved-cow= silently corrected as =well-behaved cow=

chapter 18 : =when you yet to= silently corrected as =when youget to=

chapter 20 : =shouldn't wan't= silently corrected as =shouldn'twant=

chapter 22 : =that's seven—= silently corrected as=that's seven—"=

chapter 23 : =my calling to fulfil —'= silently corrected as=my calling to fulfil —' "=

chapter 27 : =cried little Ellen Chauncey?= silently correctedas =cried little Ellen Chauncey;=

Chapter 28 : =we are going to make presents= silently correctedas ="we are going to make presents=

Chapter 28 : =I guess I didn't!"= silently corrected as =I guessI didn't!=

Chapter 34 : =believed this lately. = silently corrected as=believed this lately?=

Chapter 34 : =came to him= silently corrected as =came to him. =

Chapter 35 : =have the Bible Nancy= silently corrected as =havethe Bible, Nancy=

Chapter 35 : =however; that was no matter= silently corrected as=however, that was no matter=

Chapter 37 : =her pony's neck!= silently corrected as =her pony'sneck, =

Chapter 37 : =merino at St. Claire= silently corrected as =merinoat St. Clair=

Chapter 37 : ='he'll be along= silently corrected as ="he'll bealong=

Chapter 39 : =was runnig over= silently corrected as =was runningover=

Chapter 39 : =that receiveth it. = silently corrected as =thatreceiveth it. '=

Chapter 39 : =make think look= silently corrected as =make thingslook=

Chapter 43 : =truth and grace. '= silently corrected as =truth andgrace. "=

Chapter 45 : =de moi-mκme!"= silently corrected as =de moi-mκme!'"=

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