Alice presently drew a chair close to Ellen's side, and kissed her.
"I trust, my child," she said, "that you feel better to-day than you did yesterday?"
"Oh, I do, Maam a great deal better," Ellen answered.
"Then I hope the reason is that you have returned to your duty, and are resolved not to be a Christian by-and-by, but to lead a Christian's life now?"
"I have resolved so, Maam I did resolve so last night and this morning; but yet I have been doing nothing but wrong all to-day."
Alice was silent. Ellen's lips quivered for a moment, and then she went on
"Oh, Maam, how I have wanted to see you to-day to tell me what I should do! I resolved and resolved this morning; and then, as soon as I got down-stairs, I began to have bad feelings towards Aunt Fortune, and I have been full of bad feelings 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 towards your aunt?"
"She don't like me, Maam."
"But how happens that, Ellen? I am afraid you don't like her."
"No, Maam, I don't to be sure; how can I?"
"Why cannot you, Ellen?"
"Oh, I can't, Maam! I wish I could. But, oh! Maam, I should have liked her I might have liked her, if she had been kind, but she never has. Even that first night I came she never kissed me nor said she was glad to see me."
"That was failing in kindness, certainly, but is she unkind to you, Ellen?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, indeed she is. She talks to me, and talks to me, in a way that almost drives me out of my wits; and to-day she even struck me! She has no right to do it," said Ellen, firing with passion; "she has no right to! and she has no right to talk as she does about Mamma. She did it to-day, and she 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 her arms, for Ellen had risen from her seat "you must not talk so, Ellen; you are not feeling right now."
"No, Maam, I am not," said Ellen, coldly and sadly. She sat a moment, and then turning to her companion, put both arms round her neck, and hid her face on her shoulder again; and, without raising it, she gave her the history of the morning.
"What has brought about this dreadful state of things?" said
Alice, after a few minutes. "Whose fault is it, Ellen?"
"I think it is Aunt Fortune's fault," said Ellen, raising her head; "I don't think it is mine. If she had behaved well to me, 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 at all in the matter?"
"No, Maam, I do not mean to say that. I have been very much in fault, very often I know that. I get very angry and vexed, and sometimes I say nothing, but sometimes I get out of all patience and say things I ought not. I did so to-day; but it 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 I don't like the sight of her; I hate the very look of her bonnet hanging up on the wall. I know it isn't right; and it makes me miserable; and I can't help it, for I grow worse and worse 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 but one way. You know what I said to you yesterday?"
"I know it; but, dear Miss Alice, in my reading this morning I came to that verse that speaks about not being forgiven if we do not forgive others; and oh! how it troubles me! for I can't feel that I forgive Aunt Fortune; I feel vexed whenever the thought of her comes into my head; and how can I behave right to her while I feel so?"
"You are right there, my dear; you cannot, indeed. The heart must 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 I might forgive Aunt Fortune, and yet I cannot do it."
"Pray still, my dear," said Alice, pressing her closer in her arms "pray still; if you are in earnest, the answer will come. 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 the amends you can? Have you, as soon as you have seen yourself in the wrong, gone to your aunt Fortune and acknowledged it, and humbly asked her pardon?"
Ellen answered "No" in a low voice.
"Then, my child, your duty is plain before you. The next thing after 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 be half so disposed to quarrel with those of other people. But, Ellen, dear, if you will not humble yourself to this, you must not count upon an answer to your prayer. 'If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee' what then? 'Leave there thy gift before 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 is little love to Christ, and no just sense of his love to us, in the heart that finds it hard. Pride and selfishness make it hard; the heart full of love to the dear Saviour cannot lay up offences against itself."
"I have said quite enough," said Alice, after a pause; "you know what you want, my dear Ellen, and what you ought to do. I shall leave you for a little while to change my dress, for I have been walking and riding all the morning. Make a good use of the time while I am gone."
Ellen did make good use of the time. When Alice returned, she met her with another face than she had worn all that day, humbler and quieter; and flinging her arms around her, she said
"I will ask Aunt Fortune's forgiveness; I feel I can do it now."
"And how about forgiving, Ellen?"
"I think God will help me to forgive her," said Ellen; "I have asked 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 better Friend than I always near you; trust in Him; if I have done you any good, don't forget it was He brought me to you yesterday 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 as if 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, she would not give it to me if I were to ask her. But I'll try, if I can."
"Well, now to change the subject at what o'clock did you dine to-day?"
"I don't know, Maam at the same time we always do, I believe."
"And that is twelve o'clock, isn't it?"
"Yes, Maam; but I was so full of coming here and other things? that I couldn't eat."
"Then I suppose you would have no objection to an early tea?"
"No, Maam whenever you please," said Ellen? laughing.
"I shall please it pretty soon. I have had no dinner at all to-day, Ellen; I have been out and about all the morning, and had 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 opposite side; 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 that I do not like as well. Beyond this is a lower kitchen, where Margery does all her rough work; nothing comes up the steps that lead from that to this but the very nicest and daintiest of kitchen matters. Margery, is my father gone to Thirlwall?"
"No, Miss Alice he's at Carra-carra Thomas heard him say he wouldn't be back early."
"Well, I shall not wait for him. Margery, if you will put the kettle on and see to the fire, I'll make some of my cakes for tea."
"I'll do it, Miss Alice; it's not good for you to go so long without eating."
Alice now rolled up her sleeves above the elbows, and tying a large white apron before her, set about gathering the different things she wanted for her work, to Ellen's great amusement. A white moulding-board was placed upon a table as white; and round it soon grouped the pail of flour, the plate of nice yellow butter, the bowl of cream, the sieve, tray, and sundry etceteras. And then, first sifting some flour into the tray, Alice began to throw in the other things one after another, and toss the whole about with a carelessness that looked as if all would go wrong, but with a confidence that seemed to say all was going right. Ellen gazed in comical wonderment.
"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 afraid of your hands."
"Did you never see your mother do this?" said Alice, who was now turning and rolling about the dough upon the board in a way that seemed to Ellen curious beyond expression.
"No, never," she said. "Mamma never kept house, and I never saw anybody do it."
"Then your aunt does not let you into the mysteries of bread and butter-making!"
"Butter-making! Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh, "I have enough of that!"
Alice now applied a smooth wooden roller to the cake with such quickness and skill, that the lump forthwith lay spread upon the board in a thin even layer, and she next cut it into little round cakes with the edge of a tumbler. Half the board was covered with the nice little white things, which Ellen declared looked good enough to eat already; and she had quite forgotten all possible causes of vexation, past, present, or future, when suddenly a large gray cat jumped upon the table, and coolly walking upon the moulding-board, planted his paw directly in the middle of one of his mistress's cakes.
"Take him off oh, Ellen!" cried Alice, "take him off! I can't touch him."
But Ellen was a little afraid.
Alice then tried gently to shove puss off with her elbow; but he seemed to think that was very good fun, purred, whisked his great tail over Alice's bare arm, and rubbed his head against it, having evidently no notion that he was not just where he ought to be. Alice and Ellen were too much amused to try any violent method of relief, but Margery happily coming in, 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 delicate about his eating."
"Captain Parry!" said Ellen, "is that his name?"
"Yes," said Alice, laughing; "I don't wonder you look astonished, Ellen. I have had that cat five years, and when he was first given me, by my brother Jack, who was younger then than 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 when her face was again turned to Ellen, it was unruffled as ever.
"Margery, my cakes are ready," said she, "and Ellen and I are ready too."
"Very well, Miss Alice the kettle is just going to boil; you shall have tea in a trice. I'll do some eggs for you."
"Something anything," said Alice; "I feel one cannot live without eating. Come, Ellen, you and I will go and set the tea-table."
Ellen was very happy arranging the cups and saucers and other things that Alice handed her from the cupboard; and when, a few minutes after, the tea and the cakes came in, and she and Alice were cozily seated at supper, poor Ellen hardly knew herself, in such a pleasant state of things.
CHAPTER XVII.
Difficulty of doing right.
"Ellen dear," said Alice as she poured out Ellen's second cup of tea, "have we run through the list of your troubles?"
"Oh, no, Miss Alice, indeed we haven't; but we have got through 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, I promised myself I would learn so much while Mamma was away, and surprise her when she came back, but instead of that I am not learning anything. I don't mean not learning anything," said Ellen, correcting herself; "but I can't do much. When I found Aunt Fortune wasn't going to send me to school, I determined 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 so doleful," said Alice, smiling; "this is a matter I can help you in. What are you studying?"
"Some things I can manage well enough," said Ellen "the easy things; but I cannot understand my arithmetic without some one to 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 I want to ask questions about my history."
"Suppose," said Alice, "you go on studying by yourself as much and as well as you can, and bring your books up to me two or three times a week; I will hear and explain and answer questions to your heart's content, unless you should be too hard for me. What do you say to that?"
Ellen said nothing to it, but the colour that rushed to her cheeks the surprised look of delight were answer enough.
"It will do, then," said Alice; "and I have no doubt we shall untie the knot of those arithmetical problems very soon. But, Ellen, my dear, I cannot help you in French, for I do not know it myself. What will you do about that?"
"I don't know, Maam; I am sorry."
"So am I, for your sake. I can help you in Latin, if that would 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 French a great deal more; I don't care about Latin except to please her."
"Permit me to ask if you know English?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, I hope so; I knew that a great while ago."
"Did you? I am very happy to make your acquaintance then; for the number of young ladies who do know English is, in my opinion, 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 shall not have one fault of grammar, nor one word spelt wrong, nor anything in it that is not good English? You may take for a subject the history of this afternoon."
"Yes, Maam, if you wish it. I hope I can write a note that long without making mistakes."
Alice smiled.
"I will not stop to inquire," she said, "whether that long is
Latin 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 hearing Aunt Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt say it; I don't think I ever did 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 a great many people; and papa and I always wanted to be able to talk it too; and Mamma wanted me to learn it; she said there were a great many French books I ought to read."
"That last is true, no doubt. Ellen, I will make a bargain with you, if you will study English with me, I will study French with you."
"Dear Miss Alice," said Ellen, caressing her, "I'll do it without that; I'll study anything you please."
"Dear Ellen, I believe you would. But I should like to know it for my own sake; we'll study it together; we shall get along nicely, I have no doubt; we can learn to read it at least, and that 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 afraid we should hit upon a style of pronunciation that a Frenchman would make nothing of. I have it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands; "where there's a will there's a way it always happens so. Ellen, I have an old friend upon the mountain who will give us exactly what we want, unless I am greatly mistaken. We'll go and see her; that is the very thing! my old friend Mrs. Vawse."
"Mrs. Vawse!" repeated Ellen; "not the grandmother of that
Nancy Vawse?"
"The very same. Her name is not Vawse the country people call it so, and I being one of the country people have fallen into the way of it; but her real name is Vosier. She was born a Swiss, and brought up in a wealthy French family, as the personal attendant of a young lady to whom she became exceedingly attached. This lady finally married an American gentleman; and so great was Mrs. Vawse's love to her, that she left country and family to follow her here. In a few years her mistress died; she married; and since that time she has been tossed from trouble to trouble a perfect sea of troubles till now she is left like a wreck upon this mountain top. A fine wreck she is! I go to see her very often, and next time I will call for you and we will propose our French plan; nothing will please her better, I know. By the way, Ellen, are you as well versed in the other common branches of education as you are in your mother tongue?"
"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"
"Geography, for instance; do you know it well?"
"Yes, Maam; I believe so; I am sure I have studied it till I am 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't remember those queer countries in Asia and South America, half so well as Europe and North America."
"Do you know anything about the surface of the country in Italy or France the character and condition of the people what kind of climate they have, and what grows there most freely?"
"Why, no, Maam," said Ellen; "nobody ever taught me that."
"Would you like to go over the atlas again, talking about all these matters, as well as the mere outlines of the countries you have studied before?"
"Oh, yes, dearly!" exclaimed Ellen.
"Well, I think we may let Margery have the tea-things. But here 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 he is very particular. Give him some of the egg, too he likes that. Now, where is the Captain?"
Not far off; for scarcely had Alice opened the door and called him 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 a particular 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 very sensible for a cat. Do you see how prettily his paws are marked? Jack used to say he had white gloves on."
"And white boots, too," said Ellen. "No, only one leg is white; 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 not
permit anybody to take liberties with him. He is a character,
Captain Parry. Come out on the lawn, Ellen, and we will let
Margery clear away."
"What a pleasant face Margery has!" said Ellen, as the door closed behind them; "and what a pleasant way she has of speaking! I like to hear her; the words come out so clear, and I don't know how, but not like other people."
"You have a quick ear, Ellen; you are very right. Margery had lived too long in England before she came here to lose her trick of speech afterwards. But Thomas speaks as thick as a Yankee, and always did."
"Then Margery is English?" said Ellen.
"To be sure. She came over with us twelve years ago for the pure love of my father and mother; and I believe now she looks upon John and me as her own children. I think she could scarcely love us more if we were so in truth. Thomas you haven't seen Thomas yet, have you?"
"No."
"He is an excellent good man in his way, and as faithful as the day is long but he isn't equal to his wife. Perhaps I am partial; Margery came to America for the love of us, and Thomas 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, Aunt
Fortune 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 life here. Come this way, Ellen, and I'll show you my garden. It is some distance off, but as near as a spot could be found fit for it."
They quitted the house by a little steep path leading down the mountain, which in two or three minutes brought them to a clear bit of ground. It was not large, but lying very prettily among 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 a rude bench, well sheltered by the towering forest trees. Here Alice and Ellen sat down.
It was near sunset; the air cool and sweet; the evening light upon field and sky.
"How fair it is!" said Alice, musingly "how fair and lovely! Look at those long shadows of the mountains, Ellen; and how bright the light is on the far hills! It won't be so long. A little while more, and our Indian summer will be over and then 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 sorry enough 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 every morning where I do?"
"Why, where is that?"
"Down at the spout."
"At the spout what is that, pray?"
"The spout of water, Maam, just down a little way from the kitchen door. The water comes in a little, long, very long, trough from a spring at the back of the pig-field; and at the end 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, Maam. I have washed at the spout ever since I have been here," said Ellen, laughing in spite of her vexation.
"And do the pigs share the water with you?"
"The pigs! Oh, no, Maam; the trough is raised up from the ground on little heaps of stones; they can't get at the water, unless they drink at the spring, and I don't think they do that, so many big stones stand around it."
"Well, Ellen, I must say that is rather uncomfortable, even without 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 you remember, 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 my clothes all about; and then that board before the spout that I have to stand on, is always kept wet by the spattering of the water, and it's muddy besides, and very slippery there's a kind of green stuff comes upon it; and I can't stoop down for fear of muddying myself; I have to tuck my clothes round me and bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water to my face in the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to do that a great many times before I get enough. I can't help laughing," said Ellen, "but it isn't a laughing matter, for all that."
"So you wash your face in your hands, and have no pitcher but a long wooden trough? Poor child! I am sorry for you; I think you must have some other way of managing before the snow comes."
"The water is bitter cold already," said Ellen; "it's the coldest water I ever saw. Mamma gave me a nice dressing-box before I came away, but I found very soon this was a queer place for a dressing-box to come to. Why, Miss Alice, if I take out my brush or comb, I haven't any table to lay them on but one that's too high, and my poor dressing-box has to stay on the floor. And I haven't a sign of a bureau all my things are tumbling about in my trunk."
"I think if I were in your place I would not permit that, at any rate," said Alice; "if my things were confined to my truck, I would have them keep good order there, at least."
"Well, so they do," said Ellen "pretty good order; I didn't mean 'tumbling about' exactly."
"Always try to say what you mean exactly.
"But now, Ellen, love, do you know I must send you away? Do you see, the sunlight has quitted those distant hills, and it will 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 wrapped around her. Both were quite still for a minute.
"Next week, if nothing happens, we will begin to be busy with our books. You shall come to me Tuesday and Friday; and all the other days you must study as hard as you can at home; for I 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 and ask 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 grow wiser and better every day."
"Dear Miss Alice, how can I promise that?"
"Dear Ellen, it is very easy. There is One who has promised to hear and answer you when you cry to him; he will make you in his own likeness again; and to know and love him and not be happy is impossible. That blessed Saviour!" said Alice "oh, what should you and I do without him, Ellen? 'as rivers of waters in a dry place; as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land;' how beautiful how true! how often I think of that!"
Ellen was silent, though entering into the feeling of the words.
"Remember Him, dear Ellen; remember your best Friend. Learn more of Christ, our dear Saviour, and you can't help but be happy. Never fancy you are helpless and friendless while you have him to go to. Whenever you feel wearied and sorry, flee to the shadow of that great rock will you? and do you understand me?"
"Yes, Maam yes, Maam," said Ellen, as she lifted her lips to kiss her friend. Alice heartily returned the kiss, and pressing 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 the house; and Ellen was putting on her things.
"Next Tuesday remember, but before that! Sunday you are to spend Sunday with me; come bright and early."
"How early?"
"Oh, as early as you please before breakfast and our Sunday morning breakfasts aren't late, Ellen; we have to set off betimes to go to church."
Kisses and good-byes; and then Ellen was running down the road at a great rate; for twilight was beginning to gather, and she had a good way to go.
She ran till out of breath; then walked awhile to gather breath; then ran again. Running down hill is a pretty quick way of travelling; so before very long she saw her aunt's house at a distance. She walked now. She had come all the way in good spirits, though with a sense upon her mind of something disagreeable to come; when she saw the house, this disagreeable something swallowed up all her thoughts, and she walked leisurely on, pondering what she had to do, and what she was like to meet in the doing of it.
"If Aunt Fortune should be in a bad humour and say something to vex me but I'll not be vexed. But it will be very hard to help it; but I will not be vexed; I have done wrong, and I'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 I have done right." "But," said conscience, "you must not say it stiffly and proudly; you must say it humbly and as if you really felt and meant it." "I will," said Ellen.
She paused in the shed, and looked through the window, to see what was the promise of things within. Not good; her aunt's step sounded heavy and ominous; Ellen guessed she was not in a pleasant state of mind. She opened the door no doubt of it the whole air of Miss Fortune's figure, to the very handkerchief that was tied round her head, spoke displeasure.
"She isn't in a good mood," said Ellen, as she went upstairs to leave her bonnet and cape there; "I never knew her to be good-humoured when she had that handkerchief on."
She returned to the kitchen immediately. Her aunt was busied in 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 about that. 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 was about to put some of them away, her aunt took them out of her hands, bidding her "go and sit down!"
Ellen obeyed, and was mute; while Miss Fortune dashed round with a display of energy there seemed to be no particular call for, and speedily had everything in its place, and all straight and square about the kitchen. When she was, as a last thing, brushing the crumbs from the floor into the fire, she broke the silence again. The old grandmother sat in the chimney corner, but she seldom was very talkative in the presence of her stern daughter.
"What did you come home for, to-night? Why didn't you stay at
Mr. Humphreys'?"
"Miss Alice didn't ask me."
"That means, I suppose, that you would if she had?"
"I don't know, Maam; Miss Alice wouldn't have asked me to do anything that wasn't right."
"Oh, no! of course not! Miss Alice is a piece of perfection; everybody says so; and I suppose you'd sing the same song who haven't seen her three times."
"Indeed I would," said Ellen; "I could have told that in one seeing. I'd do anything in the world for Miss Alice."
"Ay I daresay that's the way of it. You can show not one bit of goodness or pleasantness to the person that does the most for you, and has all the care of you but the first stranger that comes along, you can be all honey to them, and make yourself out too good for common folks, and go and tell great tales how you are used at home, I suppose. I am sick of it!" said Miss Fortune, setting up the hand-irons and throwing the tongs and shovel into the corner in a way that made the iron 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 to bed."
The old lady rose with the meekness of habitual submission, and went up-stairs with her daughter. Ellen had time to bethink herself while they were gone, and resolved to lose no time when her aunt came back in doing what she had to do. She would fain have persuaded herself to put it off. "It is late," she said to herself; "it isn't a good time. It will be better to 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 Ellen could get any words out, her aunt prevented her.
"Come, light your candle and be off I want you out of the way; I can't do anything with half a dozen people about."
Ellen rose. "I want to say something to you first, Aunt
Fortune."
"Say it, and be quick; I haven't time to stand talking."
"Aunt Fortune," said Ellen, stumbling over her words "I want to tell you that I know I was wrong this morning, and I am sorry, 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 see people mend their ways than stand and make speeches about them. 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 is something in it. Actions speak louder than words. I don't believe 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 into this sudden fit of dutifulness and fine talking?"
"Miss Alice told me I ought to ask your pardon for what I had done wrong," said Ellen, scarce able to keep from crying; "and I know I did wrong this morning, and I did wrong the other day about the letter; and I am sorry, whether you believe it or no."
"Miss Alice told you, did she? So all this is to please Miss Alice. I suppose you were afraid your friend Miss Alice would hear of some of your goings on, and thought you had better make up with me. Is that it?"
Ellen answered, "No, Maam," in a low tone, but had no voice to say more.
"I wish Miss Alice would look after her own affairs, and let other people's houses alone. That's always the way with your pieces of perfection they're eternally finding out something that isn't as it ought to be among their neighbours. I think people 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 to believe that all this talk means something, I'll tell you what you shall do you shall just tell Mr. Van Brunt to-morrow about it all, and how ugly you have been these two days, and let him know you were wrong and I was right. I believe he thinks you cannot do anything wrong, and I should like him to know it for once."
Ellen struggled hard with herself before she could speak; Miss
Fortune's lips began to wear a scornful smile.
"I'll tell him!" said Ellen, at length; "I'll tell him I was wrong, if you wish me to."
"I do wish it. I like people's eyes to be opened. It'll do him good, I guess, and you too. Now, have you anything more to say?"
Ellen hesitated; the colour came and went; she knew it wasn't a good time, but how could she wait?
"Aunt Fortune," she said, "you know I told you I behaved very ill 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 it some other time; take your candle and go to bed now, if you've nothing more to say."
Ellen took her candle and went. Some tears were wrung from her by hurt feeling and disappointment; but she had the smile of conscience, and, as she believed, of Him whose witness conscience is. She remembered that "great rock in a weary land," and she went to sleep in the shadow of it.
The next day was Saturday. Ellen was up early; and after carefully performing her toilet duties, she had a nice long hour before it was time to go down stairs. The use she made of this hour had fitted her to do cheerfully and well her morning work; and Ellen would have sat down to breakfast in excellent spirits if it had not been for her promised disclosure to Mr. Van Brunt. It vexed her a little. "I told Aunt Fortune that was all right; but why I should be obliged to tell Mr. Van Brunt, I don't know. But if it convinces aunt Fortune that I am 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 the reason of both; but make up her mind to speak she could not, during all breakfast time. She ate, without knowing what she was eating.
Mr. Van Brunt at length, having finished his meal, without
saying a syllable, arose, and was about to go forth, when Miss
Fortune 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 words were 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. Van Brunt," she said, "Aunt Fortune wants me to tell you what I told her last night that I knew I behaved as I ought not to her 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 in the wrong, and I was in the right then he'll believe it, I suppose."
"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 mean what you say."
"I can't," said Ellen.
"Why, you said you were wrong," said Miss Fortune; "that's only half of the business; if you were wrong, I was right; why don't you say so, and not make such a shilly-shally piece of work of it?"
"I said I was wrong," said Ellen "and so I was; but I never said you were right, Aunt Fortune, and I don't think so."
These words, though moderately spoken, were enough to put Miss
Fortune in a rage.
"What did I do that was wrong?" she said; "come, I should like to know. What was it, Ellen? Out with it; say everything you can think of; stop and hear it, Mr. Van Brunt; come, Ellen: let's hear the whole!"
"Thank you, Maam, I've heerd quite enough," said that gentleman, as he went out and closed the door.
"And I have said too much," said Ellen. "Pray forgive me, Aunt Fortune. I shouldn't have said that if you hadn't pressed me so; I forgot myself a moment. I am sorry I said that."
"Forgot yourself!" said Miss Fortune; "I wish you'd forget yourself out of my house. Please to forget the place where I am 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 tell her you are coming on finely."
Gladly would Ellen, indeed, have gone to Miss Alice, but as the next day was Sunday, she thought it best to wait. She went sorrowfully to her own room. "Why couldn't I be quiet?" said Ellen. "If I had only held my tongue that unfortunate minute! what possessed me to say that?"
Strong passion strong pride both long unbroken; and Ellen had yet to learn that many a prayer and many a tear, much watchfulness, much help from on high, must be hers before she could be thoroughly dispossessed of these evil spirits. But she knew her sickness; she had applied to the Physician; she was in a fair way to be well.
One thought in her solitary room that day drew streams of tears down Ellen's cheeks. "My letter! my letter! what shall I do to get you?" she said to herself. "It serves me right; I oughtn't to have got in a passion; oh! I have got a lesson this time!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
Loses care on the cat's back.
The Sunday with Alice met all Ellen's hopes. She wrote a very long letter to her mother, giving the full history of the day. How pleasantly they had ridden to church on the pretty gray pony she half the way and Alice the other half, talking to each other all the while; for Mr. Humphreys had ridden on before. How lovely the road was, "winding about round the mountain, up and down," and with such a wide fair view, and "part of the time close along by the edge of the water." This had been Ellen's first ride on horseback. Then the letter described 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 how Ellen had four little ones put under her care; and told how while Mr. Humphreys went on to hold a second service at a village some six miles off, his daughter ministered to two infirm old women at Carra-carra reading and explaining the Bible to the one and to the other, who was blind, repeating the whole substance of her father's sermon. "Miss Alice told me that nobody could enjoy a sermon better than that old woman, but she cannot go out, and every Sunday Miss Alice goes and preaches to her, she says." How Ellen went home in the boat with Thomas and Margery, and spent the rest of the day and the night also at the parsonage; and how polite and kind Mr. Humphreys had been. "He's a very grave-looking man, indeed," said the letter, "and not a bit like Miss Alice; he is a great deal older than I expected."
This letter was much the longest Ellen had ever written in her life; but she had set her heart on having her mother's sympathy in her new pleasures, though not to be had but after the lapse of many weeks, and beyond a sad interval of land and sea. Still she must have it; and her little fingers travelled busily over the paper hour after hour, as she found time, till the long epistle was finished. She was hard at work at it Tuesday afternoon when her aunt called her down; and obeying the call, to her great surprise and delight she found Alice seated in the chimney-corner and chatting away with her old grandmother, who looked remarkably pleased. Miss Fortune was bustling round, as usual, looking at nobody, though putting in her word now and then.
"Come, Ellen," said Alice, "get your bonnet; I am going up the mountain to see Mrs. Vawse, and your aunt has given leave for you 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, Miss
Alice."
"Can't expect pretty days in December, Miss Fortune. I am only too happy it doesn't storm; it will by to-morrow, I think. But I have learned not to mind weathers."
"Yes, I know you have," said Miss Fortune. "You'll stop up on the mountain till supper-time, I guess won't you?"
"Oh, yes; I shall want something to fortify me before coming home after such a long tramp. You see I have brought a basket along. 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, and to lose our supper is not a thing to be thought of."
"Well, have you looked out for butter, too? for you'll find none where you're going. I don't know how the old lady lives up there, but it's without butter, I reckon."
"I have taken care of that, too, thank you, Miss Fortune. You see I'm a far-sighted creature."
"Ellen," said her aunt, as Ellen now, cloaked and hooded, came in, "go into the buttery and fetch out one of them pumpkin pies to put in Miss Alice's basket."
"Thank you, Miss Fortune," said Alice, smiling; "I shall tell Mrs. Vawse who it comes from. Now, my dear, let's be off; we have a long walk before us."
Ellen was quite ready to be off. But no sooner had she opened the outer shed door than her voice was heard in astonishment.
"A cat! What cat is this? Miss Alice! look here! here's the 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 his great tail against her dress, seemed to say that he had come for her sake, and that it made no difference to him where she was going.
"He was sitting as gravely as possible," said Ellen, "on the stone just outside the door, waiting for the door to be opened. How could he have come here?"
"Why, he has followed me," said Alice; "he often does; but I came quick, and I thought I had left him at home to-day. This is too long an expedition for him. Kitty, I wish you had stayed at home."
Kitty did not think so; he was arching his neck and purring in acknowledgment 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, but he could by no means understand such an order. No, we must let him 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 them to slacken. It was somewhat as Miss Fortune had said, an ugly afternoon. The clouds hung cold and gray, and the air had a raw chill feeling, that betokened a coming snow. The wind blew strong, too, and seemed to carry the chillness through all manner of wrappers. Alice and Ellen, however, did not much care for it; they walked and ran by turns, only stopping once in a while, when poor Captain's uneasy cry warned them they had left him too far behind. Still he would not submit to be carried, but jumped down whenever Alice attempted it, and trotted on most perseveringly. As they neared the foot of the mountain, they were somewhat sheltered from the wind, and could 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 know exactly 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 very disagreeable. She didn't seem to believe I was in earnest, and wanted me to tell Mr. Van Brunt that I had been wrong. I thought that was rather hard; but at any rate I said I would; and next morning I did tell him so; and I believe all would have done well if I could only have been quiet; but Aunt Fortune said something that vexed me, and almost before I knew it I said something that vexed her dreadfully. It was nothing very bad, Miss Alice, though I ought not to have said it, and I was sorry two minutes after; but I just got provoked, and what shall I do? for it is so hard to prevent it."
"The only thing I know," said Alice, with a slight smile, "is to be full of that charity which among other lovely ways of showing 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 watched and prayed and guarded against; it is no little matter to be acquainted with one's own weak points."
"I tried so hard to keep quiet that morning," said Ellen; "and if I only could have let that unlucky speech alone but somehow 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 have
Mr. Van Brunt not like me."
"Well," said Alice, "what then?"
"Nothing, I suppose, Maam."
"I hope you are not going to lay it up against her?"
"No, Maam, I hope not."
"Take care, dear Ellen don't take up the trade of suspecting evil; you could not take up a worse; and even when it is forced upon you, see as little of it as you can, and forget as soon as you can what you see. Your aunt, it may be, is not a very happy person, and no one can tell but those that are unhappy how hard it is not to be unamiable too. Return good for evil as fast as you can, and you will soon either have nothing to complain of or be very well able to bear it."
They now began to go up the mountain, and the path became in places steep and rugged enough. "There is an easier way on the other side," said Alice, "but this is the nearest for us." Captain Parry now showed signs of being decidedly weary, and permitted Alice to take him up. But he presently mounted from her arms to her shoulder, and to Ellen's great amusement, kept his place there, passing from one shoulder to the other, and every now and then sticking his nose up into her bonnet as if to kiss her.
"What does he do that for?" said Ellen.
"Because he loves me, and is pleased," said Alice. "Put your ear close, Ellen, and hear the quiet way he is purring to himself do you hear? That's his way; he very seldom purrs aloud."
"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 to be laughed at, Ellen, I can tell you."
The travellers went on with good will; but the path was so steep, and the way so long that when about half-way up the mountain they were fain to follow the example of their four- footed companion, and rest themselves. They sat down on the ground. They had warmed themselves with walking, but the weather was as chill and disagreeable and gusty as ever; every now and then the wind came sweeping by, catching up the dried leaves at their feet, and whirling and scattering them off to a distance winter's warning voice.
"I never was in the country before when the leaves were off the trees," said Ellen. "It isn't so pretty, Miss Alice; do you think so?"
"So pretty! No, I suppose not, if we were to have it all the while; 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 trees that you cannot see in summer. Just look, Ellen no, I cannot find you a nice specimen here, they grow too thick; but where they have room, the way the branches spread and ramify, or branch 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 fine stems. And when the snow falls gently on them oh, Ellen, winter has its own beauties. I love it all; the cold, and the wind, and the snow, and the bare forests, and our little river of ice. What pleasant sleigh-rides to church I have had upon that river! And then the evergreens, look at them; you don't know in summer how much they are worth. Wait till you see the hemlock branches bending with a weight of snow, and then, if you don't say the winter is beautiful, I'll give you up as a young lady of bad taste."
"I dare say I shall," said Ellen; "I am sure I shall like what you like. But, Miss Alice, what makes the leaves fall when the cold weather comes?"
"A very pretty question, Ellen, and one that can't be answered in a breath."
"I asked Aunt Fortune the other day," said Ellen, laughing very 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 she wouldn't make herself a simpleton if she was in my place; so I thought I might as well be quiet."
"By the time the cold weather comes, Ellen, the leaves have done their work, and are no more needed. Do you know what work they have to do? do you know what is the use of leaves?"
"Why, for prettiness, I suppose," said Ellen, "and to give shade; I don't know anything else."
"Shade is one of their uses, no doubt, and prettiness too. He who made the trees, made them 'pleasant to the eyes,' as well as 'good for food.' So we have an infinite variety of leaves; one shape would have done the work just as well for every kind of tree, but then we should have lost a great deal of pleasure. But, Ellen, the tree could not live without leaves. In the spring, the thin sap which the roots suck up from the ground is drawn into the leaves; there, by the help of the sun and air, it is thickened and prepared in a way you cannot understand, and goes back to supply the wood with the various matters necessary for its growth and hardness. After this has gone on some time, the little vessels of the leaves become clogged and stopped up with earthy and other matter; they cease to do their work any longer; the hot sun dries them up more and more, and by the time the frost comes they are as good as dead. That finishes them, and they drop off from the branch that needs them no more. Do you understand all this?"
"Yes, Maam, very well," said Ellen; "and it's exactly what I wanted to know, and very curious. So the trees couldn't live without leaves?"
"No more than you could without a heart and lungs."
"I am very glad to know that," said Ellen. "Then how is it with the evergreens, Miss Alice? Why don't their leaves die and 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 know what the people in cold countries would do else. They have the fate of all other leaves, however; they live awhile, do their work, and then die; not all at once, though; there is always a supply left on the tree. Are we rested enough to begin again?"
"I am," said Ellen; "I don't know about the Captain. Poor fellow! he's fast asleep. I declare it's too bad to wake you up, 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 their upward march; "I would I might be all the while learning something."
"But you have been teaching, Miss Alice, and that's as good. Mamma used to say, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' "
"Thank you, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "that ought to satisfy me, certainly."
They bent themselves against the steep hill again, and pressed on. As they rose higher, they felt it grow more cold and bleak; the woods gave them less shelter, and the wind swept round the mountain head and over them with great force, making their way quite difficult.
"Courage, Ellen!" said Alice, as they struggled on; "we shall soon be there."
"I wonder," said the panting Ellen, as, making an effort, she came up alongside of Alice "I wonder why Mrs. Vawse will live in such a disagreeable place."
"It is not disagreeable to her, Ellen; though I must say I should not like to have too much of this wind."
"But does she really like to live up here better than down below, where it is warmer? and all alone, too?"
"Yes, she does. Ask her why, Ellen, and see what she will tell you. She likes it so much better, that this little cottage was built on purpose for her, near ten years ago, by a good old friend of hers, a connection of the lady whom she followed to this country."
"Well," said Ellen, "she must have a queer taste that is all
I can say."
They were now within a few easy steps of the house, which did not look so uncomfortable when they came close to it. It was small and low, of only one story, though it is true the roof ran up very steep to a high and sharp gable. It was perched so snugly, in a niche of the hill, that the little yard was completely sheltered with a high wall of rock. The house itself stood out more boldly, and caught pretty well near all the winds that blew; but so, Alice informed Ellen, the inmate liked to have it.
"And that roof," said Alice, "she begged Mr. Marshman when the cottage was building, that the roof might be high and pointed; she said her eyes were tired with the low roofs of this country, and if he would have it made so it would be a great relief to them."
The odd roof Ellen thought was pretty. But they now reached the door, protected with a deep porch. Alice entered, and knocked at the other door. They were bade to come in. A woman was there stepping briskly back and forth before a large spinning-wheel. She half turned her head to see who the comers were, then stopped her wheel instantly, and came to meet them with 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's another friend you must welcome for my sake little Ellen Montgomery."
"I am very glad to see Miss Ellen," said the old woman, kissing her also; and Ellen did not shrink from the kiss, so pleasant were the lips that tendered it; so kind and frank the smile, so winning the eye; so agreeable the whole air of the person. She turned from Ellen again to Miss Alice.
"It's a long while that I have not seen you, dear not since you went to Mrs. Marshman's. And what a day you have chosen to come at last!"
"I can't help that," said Alice, pulling off her bonnet, "I couldn'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 get a lesson of quiet contentment."
"I never thought you wanted such a lesson, Miss Alice. What's the matter?"
"I can't get over John's going away."
Her lip trembled and her eye was swimming as she said so. The old woman passed her hands over the gentle head, and kissed her brow.
"So I thought so I felt, when my mistress died, and my husband, and my sons, one after the other. But now I think I can say, with Paul, 'I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.' I think so maybe that I deceive myself; but they are all gone, and I am certain that I am content now."
"Then surely I ought to be," said Alice.
"It is not till one looses one's hold of other things, and looks to Jesus alone, that one finds how much he can do. 'There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother;' but I never knew all that meant till I had no other friends to lean upon; nay, I should not say no other friends; but my dearest were taken away. You have your dearest still, Miss Alice."
"Two of them," said Alice, faintly, "and hardly that, now."
"I have not one," said the old woman, "I have not one; but my home is in heaven, and my Saviour is there, preparing a place for me. I know it I am sure of it and I can wait a little while, and rejoice all the while I am waiting. Dearest Miss Alice 'none of them that trust in him shall be desolate;' don't you believe that?"
"I do, surely, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, wiping away a tear or two; "but I forget it sometimes; or the pressure of present pain 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.' I know 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 to hear you say it. I thought I should become accustomed to John's absence, but I do not at all; the autumn winds all the while seem to sing to me that he is away."
"My dear love," said the old lady, "it sorrows me much to hear you speak so; I would take away this trial from you if I could; but He knows best. Seek to live nearer to the Lord, dear Miss Alice, and he will give you much more than he has taken away."
Alice again brushed away some tears.
"I felt I must come and see you to-day," said she, "and you have comforted me already. The sound of your voice always does me good. I catch courage and patience from you, I believe."
" 'As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance 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 went before, but the low tone of voice now seemed to be not meant for her ear, and turning away her attention, she amused herself with taking a general survey.
It was easy to see that Mrs. Vawse lived in this room, and probably had no other to live in. Her bed was in one corner; cupboards filled the deep recesses on each side of the chimney; and in the wide fireplace, the crane and the hooks and trammels hanging upon it showed that the bedroom and sitting-room was the kitchen too. Most of the floor was covered with a thick rag carpet; where the boards could be seen they were beautifully clean and white, and everything else in the room, in this respect, matched with the boards. The panes of glass in the little windows were clean and bright as panes of glass could be made; the hearth was clean swept up; the cupboard doors were unstained and unsoiled, though fingers had worn the paint off; dust was nowhere. On a little stand by the chimney corner lay a large Bible and another book; close beside stood a cushioned arm-chair. Some other apartment there probably was where wood and stores were kept; nothing was to be seen here that did not agree with the very comfortable face of the whole. It looked as if one might be happy there; it looked as if somebody was happy there; and a glance at the old lady of the house would not alter the opinion. Many a glance Ellen gave her as she sat talking with Alice; and with every one she felt more and more drawn towards her. 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. Those storms had all passed away; the last shadow of a cloud had departed; her evening sun was shining clear and bright towards the setting; and her brow was beautifully placid, not as though it never had been, but as if it never could be ruffled again. Respect no one could help feeling for her; and more than respect, one felt, would grow with acquaintance. Her dress was very odd, Ellen thought. It was not American, and what it was she did not know, but supposed Mrs. Vawse must have a lingering fancy for the costume as well as for the roofs of her fatherland. More than all, her eye turned again and again to the face, which seemed to her, in its changing expression, winning and pleasant exceedingly. The mouth had not forgotten to smile, nor the eye to laugh; and though this was not often seen, the constant play of feature showed a deep and lively sympathy in all Alice was saying, and held Ellen's charmed gaze; and when the old lady's looks and words were at length turned to herself, she blushed to think how long she had been looking steadily at a stranger.