"When may I go?"
"As soon as you like."
"Oh, thank you, Maam. To which school shall I go, Aunt
Fortune?"
"To whichever you like."
"But I don't know anything about them," said Ellen "how can
I 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 Miss
Emerson's at Thirlwall."
Ellen hesitated. The name was against her, but nevertheless she concluded on the whole that the lady's school would be the pleasantest.
"Is Miss Emerson any relation of yours?" she asked.
"No."
"I think I should like to go to her school the best. I will go there 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 some other tone of voice; it was a continual damper to her rising hopes.
"I'll get my books ready," said she "and look 'em over a little, too, I guess. But what will be the best way for me to go, 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 to Thirlwall, Mr. Van Brunt said; and that would be too much for me 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 can I know unless you tell me? What way is there that I can go to school?"
"It is unfortunate that I don't keep a carriage," said Miss Fortune "but Mr. Van Brunt can go for you morning and evening in the ox-cart, if that will answer."
"The ox-cart! But, dear me! it would take him all day, Aunt
Fortune. It takes hours and hours to go and come with the oxen
Mr. Van Brunt wouldn't have time to do anything but carry me
to 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 Ellen despondingly. "Why didn't you say so before? When you said yes, I thought you meant yes."
She covered her face. Miss Fortune rose with a half-smile and carried her jar of scalded meal into the pantry. She then came back and commenced the operation of washing up the breakfast- things.
"Ah, if I only had a little pony," said Ellen, "that would carry me there and back, and go trotting about with me everywhere how nice that would be!"
"Yes, that would be very nice! And who do you think would go trotting about after the pony? I suppose you would leave that to Mr. Van Brunt; and I should have to go trotting about after you, to pick you up in case you broke your neck in some ditch or gulley it would be a very nice affair altogether, I think."
Ellen was silent. Her hopes had fallen to the ground, and her disappointment was unsoothed by one word of kindness or sympathy. With all her old grievances fresh in her mind, she sat thinking her aunt was the very most disagreeable person she ever had the misfortune to meet with. No amiable feelings were working within her; and the cloud on her brow was of displeasure and disgust, as well as sadness and sorrow. Her aunt saw it.
"What are you thinking of?" said she, rather sharply.
"I am thinking," said Ellen, "I am very sorry I cannot go to school."
"Why, what do you want to learn so much? you know how to read and 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 all about animals, and plants; and insects I forget what it's called and oh, I can't recollect; a great many things. Every now and then I think of something I want to learn; I can't remember them now. But I am doing nothing," said Ellen, sadly "learning nothing I am not studying and improving myself as I meant to; Mamma will be disappointed when she comes back; and I meant to please her so much!"
The tears were fast coming; she put her hand upon her eyes to force them back.
"If you are so tired of being idle," said Miss Fortune, "I'll warrant 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 the way your mother was brought up, I suppose. If she had been trained to use her hands and do something useful, instead of thinking herself above it, maybe she wouldn't have had to go to sea for her health just now; it doesn't do for women to be bookworms."
"Mamma isn't a bookworm!" said Ellen, indignantly; "I don't know what you mean; and she never thinks of herself above being useful; it's very strange you should say so when you don'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 for washing while I am down stairs."
Ellen obeyed, unwillingly enough. She had neither knowledge of the business nor any liking for it; so it is no wonder Miss Fortune 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 your eyes have been every single time that I have done it since you have been here. I should think your own sense might have told you! But you're too busy learning of Mr. Van Brunt to know what's going on in the house. Is that what you call made ready for washing? Now just have the goodness to scrape every plate clean off and put them nicely in a pile here; and turn out the slops out of the tea cups and saucers, and set them by themselves. Well! what makes you handle them so? are you afraid they'll burn you?"
"I don't like to take hold of things people have drunk out of," said Ellen, who was indeed touching the cups and saucers very delicately with the tips of her fingers.
"Look here," said Miss Fortune "don't you let me hear no more of that, or I vow I'll give you something to do you won't like. Now, put the spoons here, and the knives and forks together 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. I reckon you'll feel better when you've something to do, and you shall have plenty. There, put them in that cupboard, and set the 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 had never dared go in there before. It was a long light closet or pantry, lined on the left side, and at the further end, with wide shelves up to the ceiling. On these shelves stood many capacious pans and basins, of tin and earthenware, filled with milk, and most of them coated with superb yellow cream. Midway was the window, before which Miss Fortune was accustomed to skim her milk; and at the side of it was the mouth of a wooden pipe, or covered trough, which conveyed the refuse milk down to an enormous hogshead standing at the lower kitchen door, whence it was drawn as wanted for the use of the pigs. Beyond the window in the buttery, and on the higher shelves were rows of yellow cheeses; forty or fifty were there, at least. On the right hand of the door was the cupboard, and a short range of shelves, which held in ordinary all sorts of matters for the table, both dishes and eatables. Floor and shelves were well painted with thick yellow paint, hard and shining, and clean as could be; and there was a faint pleasant smell of dairy things.
Ellen did not find out all this at once, but in the course of a day or two, during which her visits to the buttery were many. Miss Fortune kept her word, and found her plenty to do; Ellen's life soon became a pretty busy one. She did not like this at all; it was a kind of work she had no love for; yet no doubt it was a good exchange for the miserable moping life she had lately led. Any thing was better than that. One concern, however, lay upon poor Ellen's mind with pressing weight her neglected studies and wasted time; for no better than wasted she counted it. "What shall I do?" she said to herself, after several of these busy days had passed; "I am doing nothing I am learning nothing I shall forget all I have learnt directly. At this rate, I shall not know any more than all these people around me; and what will Mamma say? Well, if I can't go to school, I know what I will do," she said, taking a sudden resolve "I'll study by myself! I'll see what I can do; it will be better than nothing, any way. I'll begin this very day!"
With new life Ellen sprang up stairs to her room, and forthwith began pulling all the things out of her trunk to get at her books. They were at the very bottom; and by the time she had reached them, half the floor was strewn with the various articles of her wardrobe: without minding them in her first eagerness, Ellen pounced at the books.
"Here you are, my dear Numa Pompilius," said she, drawing out a little French book she had just begun to read; "and here you are, old grammar and dictionary and here is my history very glad to see you, Mr. Goldsmith! and what in the world is this? wrapped up as if it was something great oh! my expositor; I am not glad to see you, I am sure; never want to look at your face or your back again. My copy-book I wonder who'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 the world; 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 at once, but there were all her things on the floor, silently saying, "Put us up first."
"I declare," she said to herself, "it's too bad to have nothing in the shape of a bureau to keep one's clothes in. I wonder if I am to live in a trunk, as Mamma says, all the time I am here, and have to go down to the bottom of it every time I want a pocket-handkerchief or a pair of stockings. How I do despise those gray stockings! But what can I do? it's too bad to squeeze my nice things up so. I wonder what is behind those doors? I'll find out, I know, before long."
On the north side of Ellen's room were three doors. She had never opened them, but now took it into her head to see what was there, thinking she might possibly find what would help her out of her difficulty. She had some little fear of meddling with anything in her aunt's domain; so she fastened her own door, to guard against interruption while she was busied 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. They were lighted by half of a large window, across the middle of which the stairs went up. She quickly shut that door, and opened the next, a little one. Here she found a tiny closet under the stairs, lighted by the other half of the window. There was nothing in it but a broad, low shelf or step under the stairs, where Ellen presently decided she could stow away her books very nicely. "It only wants a little brushing out," said Ellen, "and it will do very well." The other door, in the other corner, admitted her to a large light closet, perfectly empty. "Now, if there were only some hooks or pegs here," thought Ellen, "to hang up dresses on; but why shouldn't I drive some nails? I will! I will! Oh, that'll be fine!"
Unfastening her door in a hurry, she ran down stairs; and her heart beating, between pleasure and the excitement of daring so far without her aunt's knowledge, she ran out and crossed the chip-yard to the barn, where she had some hope of finding Mr. Van Brunt. By the time she got to the little cowhouse door, a great noise of knocking or pounding in the barn made her 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 at the door, and for a minute forgot what she had come for in the pleasure of looking at them. The clean floor was strewn with grain, upon which the heavy flails came down one after another, with quick, regular beat one two three one two three, keeping perfect time. The pleasant sound could be heard afar off; though, indeed, where Ellen stood, it was rather too loud to be pleasant. Her little voice had no chance of being heard; she stood still and waited. Presently, Johnny, who was opposite, caught a sight of her, and, without stopping his work, said to his leader, "Somebody there for you, Mr. Van Brunt." That gentleman's flail ceased its motion, then he threw it down, and went to the door to help Ellen up the high step.
"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 an out-house below the garden, and not far from the spout, called the poultry-house; though it was quite as much the property of the hogs, who had a regular sleeping apartment there, where corn was always fed out to the fatting ones. Opening a kind of granary store-room, where the corn for this purpose was stowed, Mr. Van Brunt took down from a shelf a large hammer and 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 big hammer?"
"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 as if she had feared her aunt was at the corner; "I want 'em to hang up dresses and things."
Mr. Van Brunt half smiled, and put up the hammer and nails on the shelf again.
"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," said he; "you can't manage them big things; I'll put 'em up for you to-night when I 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 we won't ask her."
"Oh, thank you!" said Ellen, joyfully, her face recovering its full sunshine in answer to his smile, and clapping her hands, she ran back to the house, while more slowly Mr. Van Brunt returned to the threshers. Ellen seized dustpan and brush, and ran up to her room; and setting about the business with right good will, she soon had her closets in beautiful order. The books, writing desk, and work-box were then bestowed very carefully in the one; in the other her coats and dresses, neatly folded up in a pile on the floor, waiting till the nails should be driven. Then the remainder of her things were gathered up from the floor, and neatly arranged in the trunk again. Having done all this, Ellen's satisfaction was unbounded. By this time dinner was ready. As soon after dinner as she could escape from Miss Fortunes's calls upon her, Ellen stole 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 was setting the table, Mr. Van Brunt came into the kitchen with a bag 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, Maam; rather go myself, if it's all the same to you. 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 they reached her room, Mr. Van Brunt produced a hammer out of the bag, and taking a handful of nails from his pocket, put up a fine row of them along her closet wall, then, while she hung up her dresses, he went on to the garret, and Ellen heard him hammering there, too. Presently he came down, and they returned 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 to Ellen. There was displeasure enough in her face: but she said no more, and the matter blew over much better than Ellen had feared.
Ellen steadily pursued her plans of studying, in spite of some discouragements.
A letter, written about ten days after, gave her mother an account of her endeavours and of her success. It was a despairing account. Ellen complained that she wanted help to understand, and lacked time to study; that her aunt kept her busy, and, she believed, took pleasure in breaking her off from her books; and she bitterly said, her mother must expect to find an ignorant little daughter when she came home. It ended with "Oh, if I could just see you, and kiss you, and put my 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 return from 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 gate that opened on the chip-yard; and with her heart beating anxiously, she watched the slow-coming oxen; how slowly they came! At last they turned out of the lane, and drew the cart up the ascent; and stopping beneath the apple tree, Mr. Van Brunt leisurely got down, and flinging back his whip, came to the gate. But the little face that met him there quivering with 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 turned away, the cold chill of disappointment coming over her heart. She had borne the former delays pretty well, but this was one too many, and she felt sick. She went round to the front stoop, where scarcely ever anybody came, and sitting down on the steps, wept sadly and despairingly.
It might have been half an hour or more after, that the kitchen door slowly opened, and Ellen came in. Wishing her aunt should not see her swollen eyes, she was going quietly through to her own room, when Miss Fortune called her. Ellen stopped. Miss Fortune was sitting before the fire with an open letter lying in her lap, and another in her hand. The latter she held out to Ellen, saying, "Here, child, come and take this."
"What is it?" said Ellen, slowly coming towards her.
"Don't you see what it is?" said Miss Fortune, still holding it out.
"But who is it from?" said Ellen.
"Your mother."
"A letter from Mamma, and not to me!" said Ellen, with changing colour. She took it quick from her aunt's hand. But her 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 when she 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, for her eye wavered uneasily. Only for a second, though.
"Who opened it?" she answered; "I opened it. I should like to know who has a better right. And I shall open every one that comes, to serve you for looking so; that you may depend upon."
The look, and the words, and the injury together, fairly put Ellen beside herself. She dashed the letter to the ground, and livid and trembling with various feelings, rage was not the only one, she ran from her aunt's presence. She did not shed any tears now; she could not; they were absolutely burnt up by passion. She walked her room with trembling steps, clasping and wringing her hands now and then, wildly thinking what could she do to get out of this dreadful state of things, and unable to see anything but misery before her. She walked, for she could not sit down; but presently she felt that she could not breathe the air of the house; and taking her bonnet, she went down, passed through the kitchen, and went out. Miss Fortune asked where she was going, and bade her stay within doors, but Ellen paid no attention to her.
She stood still a moment outside the little gate. She might have stood long to look. The mellow light of an Indian summer afternoon lay upon the meadow and the old barn and chip-yard; there was beauty in them all under its smile. Not a breath was stirring. 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 more noticeable by the far-off voice of somebody, it might be Mr. Van Brunt calling to his oxen, very far off and not to be seen; the sound came softly to her ear through the stillness. "Peace," was the whisper of nature to her troubled child; but Ellen'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 the sweet open air. Ellen breathed more freely, and pausing a moment there, and clasping her hands together once more in sorrow, she went down the road, and out at the gate, and exchanging her quick, broken step for a slow, measured one, she took the way towards Thirlwall. Little regarding the loveliness which that day was upon every slope and roadside, Ellen presently quitted the Thirlwall road, and, half unconsciously, turned into a path on the left which she had never taken before perhaps for that reason. It was not much travelled, evidently; the grass grew green on both sides, and even in the middle of the way, though here and there the track of wheels could be seen. Ellen did not care about where she was going; she only found it pleasant to walk on, and get further from home. The road or lane led towards a mountain somewhat to the northward of Miss Fortune's; the same which Mr. Van Brunt had once named to Ellen as "The Nose." After three-quarters of an hour, the road began gently to ascend the mountain, rising towards the north. About one-third of the way from the bottom, Ellen came to a little footpath on the left, which allured her by its promise of prettiness, and she forsook the lane for it. The promise was abundantly fulfilled; it was a most lovely, wild, woodway path; but withal not a little steep and rocky. Ellen began to grow weary. The lane went on towards the north; the path rather led off towards the southern edge of the mountain, rising all the while; but before she reached that, Ellen came to what she thought a good resting-place, where the path opened upon a small level platform or ledge of the hill. The mountain rose steep behind her, and sank very steep immediately before her, leaving a very superb view of the open country from the north-east to the south-east. Carpeted with moss, and furnished with fallen stones and pieces of rock, this was a fine resting-place for the wayfarer, or loitering-place for the lover of nature. Ellen seated herself on one of the stones, and looked sadly and wearily towards the east, at first very careless of the exceeding beauty of what she beheld there.
For miles and miles, on every side but the west, lay stretched before her a beautifully broken country. The November haze hung over it now like a thin veil, giving great sweetness and softness to the scene. Far in the distance a range of low hills showed like a misty cloud; near by, at the mountain's foot, the fields and farmhouses and roads lay, a pictured map. About a mile and a half to the south, rose the mountain where Nancy Vawse lived, craggy and bare; but the leafless trees, and stern, jagged rocks were wrapped in the haze; and through this the sun, now near the setting, threw his mellowing 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 softened while they increased her sorrow. She felt her own heart sadly out of tune with the peace and loveliness of all she saw. Her eye sought those distant hills how very far off they were! and yet all that wide tract of country was but a little piece of what lay between her and her mother. Her eye sought those hills 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 cannot reach me!" thought poor Ellen. Her eyes had been filling and dropping tears for some time, but now came the rush of the pent-up storm, and the floods of grief were kept back no longer.
When once fairly excited, Ellen's passions were always extreme. During the former peaceful and happy part of her life, the occasions of such excitement had been very rare. Of late, unhappily, they had occurred much oftener. Many were the bitter fits of tears she had known within a few weeks. But now it seemed as if all the scattered causes of sorrow that had wrought those tears were gathered together, and pressing upon her at once, and that the burden would crush her to the earth. To the earth it brought her, literally. She slid from her seat at first, and, embracing the stone on which she had sat, she leaned her head there; but presently in her agony quitting her hold of that, she cast herself down upon the moss, lying at full length upon the cold ground, which seemed, to her childish fancy the best friend she had left. But Ellen was wrought up to the last pitch of grief and passion. Tears brought no relief. Convulsive weeping only exhausted her. In the extremity of her distress and despair, and in that lonely place, out of hearing of every one, she sobbed aloud, and even screamed, for almost the first time in her life; and these fits of violence were succeeded by exhaustion, during which she ceased to shed tears, and lay quite still, drawing only long, sobbing sighs, now and then.
How long Ellen had lain there, or how long this would have gone on before her strength had been quite worn out, no one can tell. In one of these fits of forced quiet, when she lay as still as the rocks around her, she heard a voice close by say, "What is the matter, my child?"
The silver sweetness of the tone came singularly upon the tempest in Ellen's mind. She got up hastily, and, brushing away the tears from her dimmed eyes, she saw a young lady standing there, and a face, whose sweetness well matched the voice, looking upon her with grave concern. She stood motionless and silent.
"What is the matter, my dear?"
The tone found Ellen's heart, and brought the water to her eyes again, though with a difference. She covered her face with her hands. But gentle hands were placed upon hers, and drew 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 a better friend than the cold earth had been like to prove her. But the change overcame her; and the soft whisper, "Don't cry any more," made it impossible to stop crying. Nothing further was said for some time; the lady waited till Ellen grew calmer. When she saw her able to answer, she said, gently
"What does all this mean, my child? What troubles you? Tell me, and I think we can find a way to mend matters."
Ellen answered the tone of voice with a faint smile, but the words with another gush of tears.
"You are Ellen Montgomery, aren't you?"
"Yes, Maam."
"I thought so. This isn't the first time I have seen you; I have seen you once before."
Ellen looked up, surprised.
"Have you, Maam? I am sure I have never seen you."
"No, I know that. I saw you when you didn't see me. Where, do you think?"
"I can't tell, I am sure," said Ellen, "I can't guess; I haven't seen you at Aunt Fortune's, and I haven't been anywhere else."
"You have forgotten," said the lady. "Did you never hear of a little girl who went to take a walk once upon a time, and had an unlucky fall into a brook, and then went to a kind old lady's house, where she was dried, and put to bed, and went to sleep?"
"Oh, yes," said Ellen. "Did you see me there, Maam, and when
I was asleep?"
"I saw you there when you were asleep; and Mrs. Van Brunt told me who you were, and where you lived; and when I came here, a little while ago. I knew you again very soon. And I knew what the matter was, too, pretty well; but nevertheless, tell me all about it, Ellen; perhaps I can help you."
Ellen shook her head dejectedly. "Nobody in this world can help 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 you all about it, Maam," she said; "but there are so many things I don't know where to begin I don't know when I should ever get through."
"So many things that trouble you, Ellen?"
"Yes, Maam."
"I am sorry for that, indeed. But never mind, dear, tell me what they are. Begin with the worst, and if I haven't time to hear them all now, I'll find time another day. Begin with the worst."
But she waited in vain for an answer, and became distressed herself at Ellen's distress, which was extreme.
"Don't cry so, my child don't cry so," she said, pressing her in her arms. "What is the matter? Hardly anything in this world is so bad it can't be mended. I think I know what troubles you so it is that your dear mother is away from you, isn't it?"
"Oh, no, Maam!" Ellen could scarcely articulate. But, struggling with herself for a minute or two, she then spoke again, 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 in my life before."
Her tears gushed forth.
"But how, Ellen?" said her surprised friend, after a pause. "I don't quite understand you. When did you 'mean to be a good child?' Didn't you always mean so? and what have you been doing?"
Ellen made a great effort, and ceased crying; straightened herself dashed away her tears, as if determined to shed no more; and presently spoke calmly, though a choking sob every now and then threatened to interrupt her.
"I will tell you, Maam. That first day I left Mamma when I was on board the steamboat, and feeling as badly as I could feel a kind, kind gentleman I don't know who he was came to 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 he wanted me to be a Christian he wanted me to make up my mind to begin that day to be one and Maam, I did. I did resolve with my whole heart, and I thought I should be different from that time from what I had ever been before. But I think I have never 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 and cross, and bad feelings keep coming; and I know it's wrong, and it makes me miserable. And yet, oh! Maam, I haven't changed my mind a bit I think just the same as I did that day; I want to be a Christian more than anything else in the world, 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 labour and 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 your heart filled with his love, and to do what will please him. Do you? Have you gone to him day by day, and night by night, and told him so? have you begged him to give you strength to get the better of your wrong feelings, and asked him to change you, and make you his child?"
"At first I did, Maam," said Ellen, in a low voice.
"Not lately!"
"No, Maam;" in a lower tone still, and looking down.
"Then you have neglected your Bible and prayer for some time past?"
Ellen hardly uttered, "Yes."
"Why, my child?"
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen, weeping "that is one of the things that made me think myself so very wicked. I couldn't like to read my Bible or pray either, though I always used to before. My Bible lay down quite at the bottom of my trunk, and I even didn't like to raise my things enough to see the cover of it. I was so full of bad feelings, I didn't feel fit to pray or read either."
"Ah! that is the way with the wisest of us," said her companion; "how apt we are to shrink most from our Physician just when we are in most need of him! But, Ellen, dear, that isn't right. No hand but His can touch that sickness you are complaining of. Seek it, love seek it. He will hear and help you, no doubt of it, in every trouble you carry simply and humbly 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 shine through.
"Shall we pray together now?" said her companion, after a few minutes' pause.
"Oh, if you please, Maam, do!" Ellen answered, through her tears.
And they knelt together there on the moss beside the stone, where Ellen's head rested and her friend's folded hands were laid. It might have been two children speaking to their father, for the simplicity of that prayer; difference of age seemed to be forgotten, and what suited one suited the other. It was not without difficulty that the speaker carried it calmly through, for Ellen's sobs went nigh to check her more than once. When they rose, Ellen silently sought her friend's arms again, and laying her face on her shoulder and putting both arms round her neck, she wept still but what different tears! It was like the gentle rain falling through sunshine, after the dark cloud and the thunder and the hurricane have passed by. And they kissed each other before either of them spoke.
"You will not forget your Bible and prayer again, Ellen?"
"Oh, no, Maam."
"Then I am sure you will find your causes of trouble grow less. I will not hear the rest of them now. In a day or two I hope you will be able to give me a very different account from what you would have done an hour ago; but, besides that, it is getting late, and it will not do for us to stay too long up here; you have a good way to go to reach home. Will you come and see me to-morrow afternoon?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, indeed I will! if I can; and if you will tell me where."
"Instead of turning up this little rocky path, you must keep straight on in the road that's all: and it's the first house you come to. It isn't very far from here. Where were you going on the mountain?"
"Nowhere, Maam."
"Have you been any higher up than this?"
"No, Maam."
"Then, before we go away, I want to show you something. I'll take you over the Bridge of the Nose; it isn't but a step or two more: a little rough, to be sure, but you mustn't mind that."
"What is the 'Bridge of the Nose,' Maam?" said Ellen, as they left her resting-place, and began to toil up the path, which grew more steep and rocky than ever.
"You know this mountain is called the Nose. Just here it runs out to a very thin, sharp edge. We shall come to a place presently where you turn a very sharp corner to get from one side 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 of view this side of it looks very like a man's nose; but I never could find it out, and have some doubt about the fact. But now here we are! Just come round this great rock mind how you step, Ellen now, look there!"
The rock they had just turned was at their backs, and they looked towards the west. Both exclaimed at the beauty before them. The view was not so extended as the one they had left. On the north and south the broken wavy outline of mountains closed in the horizon; but far to the west stretched an opening between the hills, through which the setting sun sent his long beams, even to their feet. In the distance all was a golden haze; nearer, on the right and left, the hills were lit up singularly, and there was a most beautiful mingling of deep, hazy shadow, and bright, glowing mountain-sides and ridges. A glory was upon the valley. Far down below, at their feet, lay a large lake, gleaming in the sunlight; and at the upper end of it, a village of some size showed like a cluster of white dots.
"How beautiful!" said the lady again. "Ellen, dear, He whose hand raised up those mountains, and has painted them so gloriously, is the very same One who has said, to you and to me, 'Ask and it shall be given you.' "
Ellen looked up; their eyes met: her answer was in that grateful glance.
The lady sat down and drew Ellen close to her.
"Do you see that little white village yonder, down at the far end of the lake? that is the village of Carra-carra; and that is Carra-carra lake; that is where I go to church; you cannot see the little church from here. My father preaches there every Sunday morning."
"You must have a long way to go," said Ellen.
"Yes, a pretty long way, but it's very pleasant, though. I mount my little gray pony, and he carries me there in quick time, when I will let him. I never wish the way shorter. I go in all sorts of weathers, too, Ellen; Sharp and I don't mind frost 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 very cunning little fellow. Where do you go, Ellen? to Thirlwall?"
"To church, Maam! 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, Maam; I don't know what to do with myself all the day long. I get tired of being in the house, and I go out of doors; and then I get tired of being out of doors, and come in again. I wanted a kitten dreadfully, but Mr. Van Brunt said aunt Fortune would not let me keep one."
"Did you want a kitten to help you keep Sunday, Ellen?" said her friend, smiling.
"Yes, I did, Maam," said Ellen, smiling again. "I thought it would be a great deal of company for me. I got very tired of reading all day long, and I had nothing to read but the Bible; and you know, Maam, I told you I have been all wrong ever since I came here, and I didn't like to read that much."
"My poor child!" said the lady "you have been hardly bestead, I think. What if you were to come and spend next Sunday with me? Don't you think I should do instead of a kitten?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, I am sure of it," said Ellen, clinging to
her. "Oh, I'll come gladly, if you will let me and if aunt
Fortune will let me; and I hope she will, for she said last
Sunday 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, Maam."
"Well, my dear, I see I am getting upon another of your troubles, and we haven't time for that now. By your own account, you have been much in fault yourself, and I trust you will 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 were less plainly to be seen; still the mountain heads were as bright as ever. Gradually the shadows crept up their sides, while the gray of evening settled deeper and deeper upon the valley.
"There," said Ellen, "that's just what I was wondering at the other morning; only then the light shone upon the top of the mountains first, and walked down, and now it leaves the bottom first and walks up. I asked Mr. Van Brunt about it, and he could not tell me. That's another of my troubles; there's nobody that can tell me anything."
"Put me in mind of it to-morrow, and I'll try to make you understand it," said the lady. "But we must not tarry now. I see you are likely to find me work enough, Ellen."
"I'll not ask you a question, Maam, 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 as you please, my dear."
"Thank you, Maam," 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 at the place where Ellen had left the road to take the wood path.
"Here we part," said the lady. "Good night!"
"Good night, Maam."
There was a kiss and a squeeze of the hand; but when Ellen would have turned away, the lady still held her fast.
"You are an odd little girl," said she. "I gave you liberty to ask me questions."
"Yes, Maam," said Ellen, doubtfully.
"There is a question you have not asked me that I have been expecting. Do you know who I am?"
"No, Maam."
"Don't you want to know?"
"Yes, Maam, very much," said Ellen, laughing at her friend's look; "but Mamma told me never to try to find out anything about other people that they didn't wish me to know, or that wasn't my business."
"Well, I think this is your business decidedly. Who are you going to ask for when you come to see me to-morrow? Will you ask for 'the young lady that lives in this house?' or will you give a description of my nose and eyes and height?"
Ellen laughed.
"My dear Ellen," said the lady, changing her tone, "do you know you please me very much? For one person that shows herself well-bred in this matter, there are a thousand, I think, that ask impertinent questions. I am very glad you are an exception to the common rule. But, dear Ellen, I am quite willing you should know my name it is Alice Humphreys. Now, kiss me again, and run home; it is quite, quite time; I have kept you too late. Good night, my dear! Tell your aunt I beg she will allow you to take tea with me to-morrow."
They parted; and Ellen hastened homewards, urged by the rapidly-growing dusk of the evening. She trod the green turf with a step lighter and quicker than it had been a few hours before, and she regained her home in much less time than it had taken her to come from thence to the mountain. Lights were in the kitchen, and the table set; but though weary and faint, she was willing to forego her supper rather than meet her aunt just then, so she stole quietly up to her room. She did not forget her friend's advice. She had no light; she could not read; but Ellen did pray. She did carry all her heart- sickness, her wants, and her woes, to that Friend whose ear is always open to hear the cry of those who call upon Him in truth; and then, relieved, refreshed, almost healed, she went to bed and slept sweetly.
CHAPTER XVI.
Counsel, Cakes, and Captain Parry.
Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense that something pleasant had happened. Then the joyful reality darted into her mind, and jumping out of bed, she set about her morning work with a better heart than she had been able to bring to it for many a long day. When she had finished, she went to the window. She had found out how to keep it open now, by means of a big nail stuck in a hole under the sash. It was very early, and in the perfect stillness, the soft gurgle of the little brook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned her arms on the window-sill, and tasted the morning air; almost wondering at its sweetness, and at the loveliness of field and sky, and the bright eastern horizon. For days and days all had looked dark and 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 of duty; in the second place, she had found a friend. Her little heart bounded with delight and swelled with thankfulness at the thought of Alice Humphreys. She was once more at peace with herself, and had even some notion of being by-and-by at peace with her aunt; though a sad twinge came over her whenever she thought of her mother's letter.
"But there is only one way for me," she thought; "I'll do as that dear Miss Humphreys told me it's good and early, and I shall have a fine time before breakfast yet to myself. And I'll get up so every morning and have it! that'll be the very best plan I can hit upon."
As she thought this, she drew forth her Bible from its place at the bottom of her trunk; and opening it at hazard, she began to read the l8th chapter of Matthew. Some of it she did not quite understand; but she paused with pleasure at the 14th verse. "That means me," she thought. The 21st and 22d verses struck her a good deal, but when she came to the last she was almost startled.
"There it is again!" she said. "That is exactly what that gentleman said to me. I thought I was forgiven, but how can I be for I feel I have not forgiven Aunt Fortune."
Laying aside her book, Ellen kneeled down; but this one thought so pressed upon her mind, that she could think of scarce anything else; and her prayer this morning was an urgent and repeated petition that she might be enabled "from her heart" to forgive her Aunt Fortune "all her trespasses." Poor Ellen! she felt it was very hard work. At the very minute she was striving to feel at peace with her aunt, one grievance after another would start up to remembrance, and she knew the feelings that met them were far enough from the spirit of forgiveness. In the midst of this she was called down. She rose with tears in her eyes, and "what shall I do?" in her heart. Bowing her head once more, she earnestly prayed that if she could not yet feel right towards her aunt, she might be kept at least from acting or speaking wrong. Poor Ellen! In the heart is the spring of action; and she found it so this morning.
Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt were already at the table. Ellen took her place in silence, for one look at her aunt's face told her that no "good morning" would be accepted. Miss Fortune was in a particularly bad humour, owing, among other things, to Mr. Van Brunt's having refused to eat his breakfast unless Ellen were called. An unlucky piece of kindness. She neither spoke to Ellen nor looked at her; Mr. Van Brunt did what in him lay to make amends. He helped her very carefully to the cold pork and potatoes, and handed her the well-piled platter of griddle-cakes.
"Here's the first buckwheats of the season," said he, "and I told Miss Fortune I warn't agoing to eat one on 'em if you didn't come down to enjoy 'em along with us. Take two take two! 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 my mother's splitters. Buckwheat cakes and maple molasses that's food fit for a king, I think when they're good; and Miss 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 Brunt presently 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 put her up to any notions!" Miss Fortune said, in a kind of choked voice.
Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and said no more to the end of breakfast-time.
Ellen rather dreaded what was to come next, for her aunt's look was ominous. In dead silence the things were put away, and put up, and in course of washing and drying, when Miss Fortune 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 a truth-teller, I suppose?"
"Mamma used to say I was," said poor Ellen, striving to swallow her feelings.
"Your mother! I daresay mothers always are blind. I daresay she took everything you said for gospel!"
Ellen was silent, from sheer want of words that were pointed enough to suit her.
"I wish Morgan could have had the gumption to marry in his own country; but he must go running after a Scotchwoman! A Yankee would have brought up his child to be worth something. Give me Yankees!"
Ellen set down the cup she was wiping.
"You don't know anything about my mother," she said. "You oughtn't to speak so it's not right."
"Why ain't it right, I should like to know?" said Miss Fortune; "this is a free country, I guess. Our tongues ain't tied 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 sharper tone.
"I oughtn't to say what I was going to," said Ellen "I'd rather not."
"I don't care," said Miss Fortune; "you began, and you shall finish 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 to have heard it. I admire it very much. Now, what were you doing yesterday up on the Nose? Please to go on wiping. There's a pile 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, Maam."
"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 no matter what we were talking about it doesn't concern anybody but her and me."
"Yes it does, it concerns me," said her aunt, "and I choose to know; 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, or I'll find a way to make you. I'll give you such a "
"Stop! stop!" said Ellen wildly "you must not speak to me so! Mamma never did, and you have no right to! If Mamma or Papa were here, you would not dare talk to me so."
The answer to this was a sharp box on the ear from Miss Fortune's wet hand. Half stunned, less by the blow than the tumult of feeling it roused, Ellen stood a moment, and then throwing down her towel, she ran out of the room, shivering with passion, and brushing off the soapy water left on her face as if it had been her aunt's very hand. Violent tears burst forth as soon as she reached her own room tears at first of anger and mortification only; but conscience presently 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 had resolved so this morning why couldn't I be quiet? But she ought not to have provoked me so dreadfully I couldn't help it." "You are wrong," said conscience again, and her tears flowed faster. And then came back her morning trouble the duty and the difficulty of forgiving. Forgive her aunt Fortune! with her whole heart in a passion of displeasure against her. Alas! Ellen began to feel and acknowledge that indeed all was wrong. But what to do? There was just one comfort, the visit to Miss Humphreys in the afternoon. "She will tell me," thought Ellen; "she will help me. But in the mean while?"
Ellen had not much time to think; her aunt called her down and set her to work. She was very busy till dinner-time, and very unhappy; but twenty times in the course of the morning did Ellen pause for a moment, and covering her face with her hands pray that a heart to forgive might be given her.
As soon as possible after dinner, she made her escape to her room that she might prepare for her walk. Conscience was not quite easy that she was going without the knowledge of her aunt. She had debated the question with herself, and could not make up her mind to hazard losing her visit.
So she dressed herself very carefully. One of her dark merinos was 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 lay upon the bed ready to be put on the last thing, when she heard her aunt's voice calling
"Ellen! come down and do your ironing right away, now! the irons are hot."
For one moment Ellen stood still in dismay; then slowly undressed, dressed again, and went down stairs.
"Come! you've been an age," said Miss Fortune; "now make haste; 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 soon done, even to taking off the ironing blanket and putting up the irons. In the mean time she had changed her mind as to stealing 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 you do with yourself," was Miss Fortune's reply.
Full of delight at this ungracious permission, Ellen fled up stairs, and dressing much quicker than before, was soon on her way.
But at first she went rather sadly. In spite of all her good resolves and wishes, everything that day had gone wrong; and Ellen 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 on the greensward. Hope and expectation quickened her steps; and when at length she passed the little wood-path, it was almost on a run. Not very far beyond that, her glad eyes saw the house she was in quest of.
It was a large white house; not very white either, for its last dress of paint had grown old long ago. It stood close by the road, and the trees of the wood seemed to throng round it on every side. Ellen mounted the few steps that led to the front door, and knocked; but as she could only just reach the high knocker, she was not likely to alarm anybody with the noise she made. After a great many little faint raps, which, if anybody heard them, might easily have been mistaken for the attacks of some rat's teeth upon the wainscot, Ellen grew weary of her fruitless toil, and of standing on tiptoe, and resolved, though doubtfully, to go round the house and see if there was any other way of getting in. Turning the far corner, she saw a long, low out-building or shed, jutting out from the side of the house. On the further side of this, Ellen found an elderly woman, standing in front of the shed, which was there open and paved, and wringing some clothes out of a tub of water. She was a pleasant woman to look at, very trim and tidy, 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 so far round to find me, will you go a little further and find Miss Alice? Just go round this corner, and keep straight along till you come to the glass-door there you'll find her. Stop! may be she's asleep; I may as well go along with you myself."
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 house like a very narrow lawn; at the edge of it shot up the high forest-trees nothing between them and the house but the smooth grass, and a narrow, worn footpath. The woods were now all brown stems, except here and there a superb hemlock and some scattered silvery birches. But the grass was still green, and the last day of the Indian summer hung its soft veil over all; the foliage of the forest was hardly missed. They passed another hall door, opposite the one where Ellen had tried her strength and patience upon the knocker; a little further on they paused at the glass-door. One step led to it. Ellen's conductress looked in first through one of the panes, and then opening the door, motioned her to enter.
"Here you are, my new acquaintance," said Alice, smiling and kissing her. "I began to think something was the matter, you tarried so late. We don't keep fashionable hours in the country, you know. But I'm very glad to see you. Take off your things, and lay them on that settee by the door. You see I've a settee for summer and a sofa for winter; for here I am, in this room, at all times of the year; and a very pleasant room I think it don't you?"
"Yes, indeed I do, Maam," said Ellen, pulling off her last glove.
"Ah, but wait till you have taken tea with me half a dozen times, and then see if you don't say it is pleasant. Nothing can be so pleasant that is quite new. But now come here and look out of this window or door, whichever you choose to call it. Do you see what a beautiful view I have here? The wood was just as thick all along as it is on the right and left; I felt half smothered to be so shut in, so I got my brother and Thomas to take axes and go to work there; and many a large tree they cut down for me, till you see they opened a way through the woods, for the view of that beautiful stretch of country. I should grow melancholy if I had that wall of trees pressing on my vision all the time; it always comforts me to look off, far away, to those distant blue hills."
"Aren't those the hills I was looking at yesterday?" said
Ellen.
"From up on the mountain? the very same; this is part of the very same view, and a noble view it is. Every morning, Ellen, the sun, rising behind those hills, shines in through this door and lights up my room; and in winter he looks in at that south window, so I have him all the time. To be sure, if I want to see him set, I must take a walk for it but that isn't unpleasant; 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 the forest; the wall of trees on each side serving as a frame to shut it in, and the descent of the mountain, from almost the edge of the lawn, being very rapid. The opening had been skilfully cut; the effect was remarkable, and very fine; the light on the picture being often quite different from that on the frame or on the hither side of the frame.
"Now, Ellen," said Alice, turning from the window, "take a good look at my room. I want you to know it and feel at home in it; for whenever you can run away from your aunt's, this is your home do you understand?"
A smile was on each face. Ellen felt that she was understanding it very fast.
"Here, next the door, you see, is my summer settee; and in summer it very often walks out of doors to accommodate people on the grass-plat. I have a great fancy for taking tea out of doors, Ellen, in warm weather; and if you do not mind a musquito or two, I shall be always happy to have your company. That door opens into the hall; look out and see, for I want you to get the geography of the house. That odd-looking, lumbering, painted concern is my cabinet of curiosities. I tried my best to make the carpenter man at Thirlwall understand what sort of a thing I wanted, and did all but show him how to make it; but, as the southerners say, 'he hasn't made it right nohow!' There I keep my dried flowers, my minerals, and a very odd collection of curious things of all sorts that I am constantly picking up. I'll show you them some day, Ellen. Have you a fancy for curiosities?"
"Yes, Maam, I believe so."
"Believe so! not more sure than that? Are you a lover of dead moths, and empty beetle-skins, and butterflies' wings, and dry tufts of moss, and curious stones, and pieces of ribbon-grass, and strange birds' nests? These are some of the things I used to delight in when I was about as old as you."
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen. "I never was where I could get them."
"Weren't you? Poor child! Then you have been shut up to brick walls and paving-stones all your life?"
"Yes, Maam, all my life."
"But now you have seen a little of the country don't you think you shall like it better?"
"Oh, a great deal better!"
"Ah, that's right. I am sure you will. On that other side, you see, 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 I remember them as far back as I remember anything."
There was a sigh here; but Alice passed on, and opened a door near 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 was painted white. The furniture was common but neat as wax. Ample curtains of white dimity clothed the three windows, and lightly draped the bed. The toilet-table was covered with snow-white muslin, and by the toilet-cushion stood, late as it was, a glass of flowers. Ellen thought it must be a pleasure to sleep there.
"This," said Alice, when they came out, "between my door and the fireplace, is a cupboard. Here be cups and saucers, and so forth. In that other corner beyond the fireplace you see my flower-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 in the winter; but I can't keep a great many here; I haven't room for them. I have hard work to save these from frost. There's a beautiful daphne that will be out by-and-by, and make the whole house sweet. But here, Ellen, on this side, between the windows, is my greatest treasure my precious books. All these are mine. Now, my dear, it is time to introduce you to my most excellent of easy-chairs the best things in the room, aren't they? Put yourself in that; now do you feel at home?"
"Very much indeed, Maam," said Ellen, laughing, as Alice placed her in the deep easy-chair.
There were two things in the room that Alice had not mentioned; and while she mended the fire, Ellen looked at them. One was the portrait of a gentleman, grave and good- looking; this had very little of her attention. The other was the counter-portrait of a lady; a fine, dignified countenance that had a charm for Ellen. It hung over the fireplace in an excellent light; and the mild eye, and somewhat of a peculiar expression about the mouth, bore such likeness to Alice, though older, that Ellen had no doubt whose it was.