'To serve the present age,
My calling to fulfil;
Oh, may it all my powers engage
To do my Maker's will!
Arm me with jealous care,
As in thy sight to live;
And oh! thy servant, Lord, prepare,
A strict account to give!' "
"An account of what?" said Ellen.
"You know what an account is. If I give Thomas a dollar to spend for me at Carra-carra, I expect he will give me an exact account, when he comes back, what he has done with every shilling of it. So must we give an account of what we have done with everything our Lord has committed to our care our hands, our tongues, our time, our minds, our influence; how much we have honoured him, how much good we have done to others, how fast and how far we have grown holy and fit for heaven."
"It almost frightens me to hear you talk, Miss Alice."
"Not frighten, dear Ellen that is not the word; sober we ought to be mindful to do nothing we shall not wish to remember in the great day of account. Do you recollect how that day is described? Where is your Bible?"
She opened at the 20th chapter of Revelation.
"And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven flew away; and there was found no place for them.
"And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God: and the books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works. And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death.
"And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire."
Ellen shivered. "That is dreadful!" she said.
"It will be a dreadful day to all but those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life; not dreadful to them, dear Ellen."
"But how shall I be sure, dear Alice, that my name is written there? and I can't be happy if I am not sure."
"My dear child," said Alice, tenderly, as Ellen's anxious face and glistening eyes were raised to hers, "if you love Jesus Christ, you may know you are his child, and none shall pluck you out of his hand."
"But how can I tell whether I do love him really? Sometimes I think I do, and then again sometimes I am afraid I don't at all."
Alice answered in the words of Christ: "He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me."
"Oh, I don't keep his commandments!" said Ellen, the tears running down her cheeks.
"Perfectly, none of us do. But, dear Ellen, that is not the question. Is your heart's desire and effort to keep them? Are you grieved when you fail? There is the point. You cannot love Christ without loving to please him."
Ellen rose, and putting both arms round Alice's neck, laid her head there, as her manner sometimes was, tears flowing fast.
"I sometimes think I do love him a little," she said; "but I do so many wrong things. But he will teach me to love him if I ask him, won't he, dear Alice?"
"Indeed he will, dear Ellen," said Alice, folding her arms round her little adopted sister "indeed he will. He has promised that. Remember what he told somebody who was almost in despair 'Fear not; only believe.' "
Alice's neck was wet with Ellen's tears; and after they had ceased to flow, her arms kept their hold, and her head its resting-place on Alice's shoulder for some time. It was necessary at last for Alice to leave her.
Ellen waited till the sound of her horse's footsteps died away on the road; and then, sinking on her knees beside her rocking-chair, she poured forth her whole heart in prayers and tears. She confessed many a fault and short-coming that none knew but herself; and most earnestly besought help that "her little rushlight might shine bright." Prayer was to little Ellen what it is to all that know it the satisfying of doubt, the soothing of care, the quieting of trouble. She had knelt down very uneasy; but she knew that God has promised to be the hearer of prayer, and she rose up very comforted, her mind fixing on those most sweet words Alice had brought to her memory "Fear not, only believe." When Miss Fortune returned, Ellen was quietly asleep again in her rocking-chair, with a face very pale, but calm as an evening sunbeam.
"Well, I declare if that child ain't sleeping her life away!" said Miss Fortune. "She's slept this whole blessed forenoon; I suppose she'll want to be alive and dancing the whole night, to pay for it."
"I can tell you what she'll want a sight more," said Mr. Van Brunt, who had followed her in it must have been to see about Ellen, for he was never known to do such a thing before or since "I'll tell you what she'll want, and that's a right hot supper. She's ate as nigh as possible nothing at all this noon. There ain't much danger of her dancing a hole in your floor this some time."
CHAPTER XXIV.
Sweeping and dusting.
Great preparations were making all Saturday and Monday for the expected gathering. From morning till night Miss Fortune was in a perpetual bustle. The great oven was heated no less than three several times on Saturday alone. Ellen could hear the breaking of eggs in the buttery, and the sound of beating or whisking, for a long time together; and then Miss Fortune would come out with floury hands, and plates of empty egg- shells made their appearance. But Ellen saw no more. Whenever the coals were swept out of the oven, and Miss Fortune had made sure that the heat was just right for her purposes, Ellen was sent out of the way, and when she got back there was nothing to be seen but the fast-shut oven door. It was just the same when the dishes, in all their perfection, were to come out of the oven again. The utmost Ellen was permitted to see was the napkin covering some stray cake or pie that by chance had to pass through the kitchen where she was.
As she could neither help nor look on, the day passed rather wearily. She tried studying; a very little, she found, was enough to satisfy both mind and body in their present state. She longed to go out again and see how the snow looked, but a fierce wind all the fore part of the day made it unfit for her. Towards the middle of the afternoon she saw with joy that it had lulled, and, though very cold, was so bright and calm, that she might venture. She had eagerly opened the kitchen door to go up and get ready, when a long weary yawn from her old grandmother made her look back. The old lady had laid her knitting in her lap, and bent her face down to her hand, which she was rubbing across her brow, as if to clear away the tired feeling that had settled there. Ellen's conscience immediately brought up Alice's words "Can't you do something to pass away a tedious hour now and then?" The first feeling was of vexed regret that they should have come into her head at that moment; then conscience said that was very selfish. There was a struggle. Ellen stood with the door in her hand, unable to go out or come in. But not long. As the words came back upon her memory "A charge to keep I have" her mind was made up; after one moment's prayer for help and forgiveness, she shut the door, came back to the fireplace, and spoke in a cheerful tone
"Grandma, wouldn't you like to have me read something to you?"
"Read!" answered the old lady "laws a me! I don't read nothing, deary."
"But wouldn't you like to have me read to you, Grandma?"
The old lady, in answer to this, laid down her knitting, folded both arms around Ellen, and, kissing her a great many times, declared she should like anything that came out of that sweet little mouth. As soon as she was set free, Ellen brought her Bible, sat down close beside her, and read chapter after chapter; rewarded even then by seeing that, though her grandmother said nothing, she was listening with fixed attention, bending down over her knitting as if in earnest care to catch every word. And when at last she stopped, warned by certain noises downstairs that her aunt would presently be bustling in, the old lady again hugged her close to her bosom, kissing her forehead and cheeks and lips, and declaring that she was "a great deal sweeter than any sugar-plums;" and Ellen was very much surprised to feel her face wet with a tear from her grandmother's cheek. Hastily kissing her again (for the first time in her life), she ran out of the room, her own tears starting, and her heart swelling big. "Oh! how much pleasure," she thought, "I might have given my poor Grandma, and how I have let her alone all this while! How wrong I have been! But it shan't be so in future!"
It was not quite sundown, and Ellen thought she might yet have two or three minutes in the open air. So she wrapped up very warm and went out to the chip-yard.
Ellen's heart was very light; she had just been fulfilling a duty that cost her a little self-denial, and the reward had already come; and now it seemed to her that she had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful as the scene before her the brilliant snow that lay in a thick carpet over all the fields and hills, and the pale streaks of sunlight stretching across it between the long shadows that reached now from the barn to the house. One moment the light tinted the snow-capped fences and whitened barn-roofs; then the lights and the shadows vanished together, and it was all one cold, dazzling white. "Oh, how glorious!" Ellen almost shouted to herself. It was too cold to stand still; she ran to the barnyard to see the cows milked. There they were all her old friends Streaky and Dolly, and Jane and Sukey, and Betty Flynn sleek and contented; winter and summer were all the same to them. And Mr. Van Brunt was very glad to see her there again, and Sam Larkens and Johnny Low looked as if they were too, and Ellen told them with great truth she was very glad indeed to be there; and then she went in to supper with Mr. Van Brunt and an amazing appetite.
That was Saturday. Sunday passed quietly, though Ellen could not help suspecting it was not entirely a day of rest to her aunt; there was a savoury smell of cooking in the morning, which nothing that came on the table by any means accounted for; and Miss Fortune was scarcely to be seen the whole day.
With Monday morning began a grand bustle, and Ellen was well enough now to come in for her share. The kitchen, parlour, hall, shed, and lower kitchen, must all be thoroughly swept and dusted; this was given to her, and a morning's work pretty near she found it. Then she had to rub bright all the brass handles of the doors, and the big brass andirons in the parlour, and the brass candlesticks on the parlour mantel- piece. When at last she got through, and came to the fire to warm herself, she found her grandmother lamenting that her snuff-box was empty, and asking her daughter to fill it for her.
"Oh! I can't be bothered to be running upstairs to fill snuff- boxes," answered that lady; "you'll have to wait."
"I'll get it, Grandma," said Ellen, "if you'll tell me where."
"Sit down, and be quiet!" said Miss Fortune; "you go into my room just when I bid you, and not till then."
Ellen sat down. But no sooner was Miss Fortune hid in the buttery, than the old lady beckoned her to her side, and nodding her head a great many times, gave her the box, saying, softly
"You can run up now; she won't see you, deary. It's in a jar in the closet. Now's the time."
Ellen could not bear to say no. She hesitated a minute, and then boldly opened the buttery door.
"Keep out! what do you want?"
"She wanted me to go for the snuff," said Ellen, in a whisper; "please, do let me I won't look at anything, nor touch anything, but just get the snuff."
With an impatient gesture, her aunt snatched the box from her hand, pushed Ellen out of the buttery, and shut the door. The old lady kissed and fondled her, as if she had done what she had only tried to do; smoothed down her hair, praising its beauty, and whispered
"Never mind, deary you'll read to Grandma, won't you?"
It cost Ellen no effort now. With the beginning of kind offices to her poor old parent, kind feeling had sprung up fast; instead of disliking and shunning, she had begun to love her.
There was no dinner for any one this day. Mr. and Mrs. Van Brunt came to an early tea; after which, Ellen was sent to dress herself, and Mr. Van Brunt to get some pieces of board for the meat-choppers. He came back presently with an armful of square bits of wood; and sitting down before the fire, began to whittle the rough sawn ends over the hearth. His mother grew nervous. Miss Fortune bore it as she would have borne it from no one else, but vexation was gathering in her breast for the first occasion. Presently, Ellen's voice was heard singing down the stairs.
"I'd give something to stop that child's pipe!" said Miss Fortune; "she's eternally singing the same thing over and over something about 'a charge to keep' I'd a good notion to give her a charge to keep this morning; it would have been to hold her tongue."
"That would have been a public loss, I think," said Mr. Van
Brunt, gravely.
"Well, you are making a precious litter!" said the lady, turning short upon him.
"Never mind," said he, in the same tone "it's nothing but what the fire'll burn up, anyhow; don't worry yourself about it."
Just as Ellen came in, so did Nancy by the other door.
"What are you here for?" said Miss, Fortune with an ireful face.
"Oh, come to see the folks, and get some peaches," said Nancy;
"come to help along, to be sure."
"Ain't your Grandma coming?"
"No, Maam, she ain't. I knew she wouldn't be of much use, so
I thought I wouldn't ask her."
Miss Fortune immediately ordered her out. Half-laughing, half serious, Nancy tried to keep her ground, but Miss Fortune was in no mood to hear parleying. She laid violent hands on the passive Nancy, and between pulling and pushing, at last got her out and shut the door. Her next sudden move was to haul off her mother to bed. Ellen looked her sorrow at this, and Mr. Van Brunt whistled his thoughts; but that either made nothing, or made Miss Fortune more determined. Off she went, with her old mother under her arm. While she was gone, Ellen brought the broom to sweep up the hearth, but Mr. Van Brunt would not let her.
"No," said he; "it's more than you nor I can do. You know," said he, with a sly look, "we might sweep up the shavings into the wrong corner!"
This entirely overset Ellen's gravity, and unluckily she could not get it back again, even though warned by Mrs. Van Brunt that her aunt was coming. Trying only made it worse, and Miss Fortune's entrance was but the signal for a fresh burst of hearty merriment. What she was laughing at, was of course instantly asked, in no pleased tone of voice. Ellen could not tell; and her silence and blushing only made her aunt more curious.
"Come, leave bothering her," said Mr. Van Brunt, at last; "she was only laughing at some of my nonsense, and she won't tell on me."
"Will you swear to that?" said the lady, sharply.
"Humph! no, I won't swear; unless you will go before a magistrate with me; but it is true."
"I wonder if you think I am as easy blinded as all that comes to!" said Miss Fortune, scornfully.
And Ellen saw that her aunt's displeasure was all gathered upon her for the evening. She was thinking of Alice's words, and trying to arm herself with patience and gentleness, when the door opened, and in walked Nancy as demurely as if nobody had ever seen her before.
"Miss Fortune, granny sent me to tell you she is sorry she can't come to-night; she don't think it would do for her to be out so late; she's a little touch of the rheumatics, she says."
"Very well," said Miss Fortune. "Now, clear out."
"You had better not say so, Miss Fortune; I'll do as much for you as any two of the rest see if I don't!"
"I don't care if you did as much as fifty!" said Miss Fortune impatiently. "I won't have you here; so go, or I'll give you something to help you along."
Nancy saw she had no chance with Miss Fortune in her present humour, and went quickly out. A little while after, Ellen was standing at the window, from which, through the shed window, she had a view of the chip-yard, and there she saw Nancy lingering still, walking round and round in a circle, and kicking the snow with her feet in a discontented fashion.
"I am very glad she isn't going to be here," thought Ellen. "But, poor thing! I dare say she is very much disappointed. And how sorry she will feel going back all that long, long way home! What if I should get her leave to stay? wouldn't it be a fine way of returning good for evil? But, O dear! I don't want her here! But that's no matter "
The next minute, Mr. Van Brunt was half startled by Ellen's hand on his shoulder, and the softest of whispers in his ear. He looked up, very much surprised.
"Why, do you want her?" said he, likewise in a low tone.
"No," said Ellen, "but I know I should feel very sorry if I was in her place."
Mr. Van Brunt whistled quietly to himself. "Well!" said he, "you are a good-natured piece."
"Miss Fortune," said he, presently, "if that mischievous girl comes in again, I recommend you to let her stay."
"Why?"
" 'Cause it's true what she said she'll do you as much good as half-a-dozen. She'll behave herself this evening, I'll engage, or, if she don't, I'll make her."
"She's too impudent to live! But I don't care her grandmother is another sort; but I guess she is gone by this time."
Ellen waited only till her aunt's back was turned. She slipped down stairs and out at the kitchen door, and ran up the slope to the fence of the chip-yard.
"Nancy! Nancy!"
"What?" said Nancy, wheeling about.
"If you go in now, I guess Aunt Fortune will let you stay."
"What makes you think so?" said the other, surlily.
" 'Cause Mr.Van Brunt was speaking to her about it. Go in and you'll see."
Nancy looked doubtfully at Ellen's face, and then ran hastily in. More slowly Ellen went back by the way she came. When she reached the upper kitchen she found Nancy as busy as possible as much at home already as if she had been there all day; helping to set the table in the hall, and going to and fro between that and the buttery with an important face. Ellen was not suffered to help, nor even to stand and see what was doing; so she sat down in the corner, by her old friend Mrs. Van Brunt, and with her head in her lap watched, by the fire- light, the busy figures that went back and forward, and Mr. Van Brunt, who still sat working at his bits of board. There were pleasant thoughts in Ellen's head, that kept the dancing blaze company. Mr. Van Brunt once looked up, and asked her what she was smiling at; the smile brightened at his question, but he got no more answer.
At last the supper was all set out in the hall, so that it could very easily be brought into the parlour when the time came; the waiter, with the best cups and saucers, which always stood covered with a napkin on the table in the front room, was carried away; the great pile of wood in the parlour fire place, built ever since morning, was kindled; all was in apple-pie order, and nothing was left but to sweep up the shavings that Mr. Van Brunt had made. This was done; and then Nancy seized hold of Ellen.
"Come along," said she, pulling her to the window "come along, and let us watch the folks come in."
"But it isn't time for them to be here yet," said Ellen; "the fire is only just burning."
"Fiddle-de-dee! they won't wait for the fire to burn, I can tell you. They'll be along directly, some of them. I wonder what Miss Fortune is thinking of that fire had ought to have been burning this long time ago but they won't set to work till they all get here, that's one thing. Do you know what's going to be for supper?"
"No."
"Not a bit?"
"No."
"Ain't that funny! Then I'm better off than you. I say, Ellen, any one would think I was Miss Fortune's niece, and you was somebody else, wouldn't they? Goodness! I'm glad I ain't. I am going to make part of the supper myself what do you think of that? Miss Fortune always has grand suppers when she has 'em at all; 'tain't very often, that's one thing. I wish she'd have a bee every week, I know, and let me come and help. Hark! didn't I tell you? there's somebody coming this minute; don't you hear the sleigh-bells? I'll tell you who it is now; it's the Lawsons you see if it ain't. It's good it's such a bright night we can see 'em first-rate. There here they come just as I told you here's Mimy Lawson the first one if there's anybody I do despise, it's Mimy Lawson."
"Hush!" said Ellen. The door opened, and the lady herself walked in, followed by three others large, tall women, muffled from head to foot against the cold. The quiet kitchen was speedily changed into a scene of bustle. Loud talking and laughing a vast deal of unrobing pushing back and pulling up chairs on the hearth and Nancy and Ellen running in and out of the room with countless wrappers, cloaks, shawls, comforters, hoods, mittens, and moccasins.
"What a precious muss it will be to get 'em all their own things when they come to go away again," said Nancy. "Throw 'em all down there, Ellen, in that heap. Now, come quick somebody else'll be here directly."
"Which is Miss Mimy?" said Ellen.
"That big ugly woman in a purple frock. The one next her is
Kitty the black-haired one is Mary, and t'other is Fanny.
Ugh! don't look at 'em; I can't bear 'em."
"Why?"
" 'Cause I don't, I can tell you; reason good. They are as stingy as they can live. Their way is to get as much as they can out of other folks, and let other folks get as little as they can out of them. I know 'em. Just watch that purple frock when it comes to the eating. There's Mr. Bob."
"Mr. who?"
"Bob Bob Lawson. He's a precious small young man, for such a big one. There go take his hat. Miss Fortune," said Nancy, coming forward, "mayn't the gentlemen take care of their own things in the stoop, or must the young ladies wait upon them, too? t'other room won't hold everything neither."
This speech raised a general laugh, in the midst of which Mr. Bob carried his own hat and cloak into the shed, as desired. Before Nancy had done chuckling came another arrival a tall, lank gentleman, with one of those unhappy-shaped faces that are very broad at the eyes and very narrow across the chops, and having a particularly grave and dull expression. He was welcomed with such a shout of mingled laughter, greeting, and jesting, that the room was in a complete hurly-burly; and a plain-looking, stout, elderly lady, who had come in just behind him, was suffered to stand unnoticed.
"It's Miss Janet," whispered Nancy "Mr. Marshchalk's aunt. Nobody wants to see her here; she's one of your pious kind, and that's a kind your aunt don't take to."
Instantly Ellen was at her side, offering gently to relieve her of hood and cloak, and with a tap on his arm drawing Mr. Van Brunt's attention to the neglected person.
Quite touched by the respectful politeness of her manner, the old lady inquired of Miss Fortune, as Ellen went off with a load of mufflers, "who was that sweet little thing?"
"It's a kind of sweetmeats that is kept for company, Miss
Janet," replied Miss Fortune, with a darkened brow.
"She's too good for everyday use, that's a fact," remarked Mr.
Van Brunt.
Miss Fortune coloured and tossed her head, and the company were for a moment still with surprise. Another arrival set them agoing again.
"Here come the Hitchcocks, Ellen," said Nancy. "Walk in, Miss Mary walk in, Miss Jenny Mr. Marshchalk has been here this great while."
Miss Mary Hitchcock was in nothing remarkable. Miss Jenny, when her wrappers were taken off, showed a neat, little, round figure, and a round face of very bright and good-humoured expression. It fastened Ellen's eye, till Nancy whispered her to look at Mr. Juniper Hitchcock, and that young gentleman entered, dressed in the last style of elegance. His hair was arranged in a faultless manner unless, perhaps, it had a little too much of the tallow-candle; for when he had sat for a while before the fire, it had somewhat the look of being excessively wet with perspiration. His boots were as shiny as his hair; his waistcoat was of a startling pattern; his pantaloons were very tightly strapped down; and at the end of a showy watch-riband hung some showy seals.
The kitchen was now one buzz of talk and good-humour; Ellen stood half-smiling to herself to see the universal smile, when Nancy twitched her.
"Here's more coming Cilly Dennison, I guess no, it's too tall; who is it?"
But Ellen flung open the door with a half-uttered scream, and threw herself into the arms of Alice, and then led her in; her face full of such extreme joy, that it was perhaps one reason why her aunt's wore a very doubtful air as she came forward. That could not stand, however, against the graceful politeness and pleasantness of Alice's greeting. Miss Fortune's brow smoothed, her voice cleared, she told Miss Humphreys she was very welcome and she meant it. Clinging close to her friend as she went from one to another, Ellen was delighted to see that everyone echoed the welcome. Every face brightened at meeting hers, every eye softened, and Jenny Hitchcock even threw her arms round Alice and kissed her.
Ellen left now the window to Nancy, and stood fast by her adopted sister, with a face of satisfaction it was pleasant to see, watching her very lips as they moved. Soon the door opened again, and various voices hailed the new-comer as "Jane," "Jany," and "Jane Huff." She was a decidedly plain- looking country girl; but when she came near, Ellen saw a sober, sensible face, and a look of thorough good-nature, which immediately ranked her next to Jenny Hitchcock in her fancy. Mr. Bill Huff followed, a sturdy young man; quite as plain, and hardly so sensible-looking; he was still more shining with good-nature. He made no pretensions to the elegance of Mr. Juniper Hitchcock; but, before the evening was over, Ellen had a vastly greater respect for him.
Last, not least, came the Dennisons; it took Ellen some time to make up her mind about them. Miss Cilly, or Cecilia, was certainly very elegant indeed. Her hair was in the extremest state of nicety, with a little round curl plastered in front of each ear; how she coaxed them to stay there, Ellen could not conceive. She wore a real watch there was no doubt of that and there was even a ring on one of her fingers, with two or three blue or red stones in it. Her dress was smart, and so was her figure, and her face was pretty; and Ellen overheard one of the Lawsons whisper to Jenny Hitchcock that "there wasn't a greater lady in the land than Cilly Dennison." Her brother was very different; tall and athletic, and rather handsome, he made no pretensions to be a gentleman. He valued his fine farming and fine cattle a great deal higher than Juniper Hitchcock's gentility.
CHAPTER XXV.
Shows what noise a bee can make when it gets into the house.
As the party were all gathered, it was time to set to work. The fire in the front room was burning up finely now, but Miss Fortune had no idea of having pork-chopping or apple-paring done there. One party was despatched down-stairs into the lower kitchen; the others made a circle round the fire. Every one was furnished with a sharp knife, and a basket of apples was given to each two or three. Now it would be hard to say whether talking or working went on best. Not faster moved the tongues than the fingers; not smoother went the knives than the flow of talk; while there was a constant leaping of quarters of apples from the hands that had prepared them into the bowls, trays, or whatnot, that stood on the hearth to receive them. Ellen had nothing to do: her aunt had managed it so, though she would gladly have shared the work that looked so pretty and pleasant in other people's hands. Miss Fortune would not let her; so she watched the rest and amused herself as well as she could with hearing and seeing; and standing between Alice and Jenny Hitchcock, she handed them the apples out of the basket as fast as they were ready for them. It was a pleasant evening that. Laughing and talking went on merrily; stories were told; anecdotes, gossip, jokes, passed from mouth to mouth; and not one made himself so agreeable, or had so much to do with the life and pleasure of the party, as Alice. Ellen saw it, delighted. The pared apples kept dancing into the bowls and trays; the baskets got empty surprisingly fast; Nancy and Ellen had to run to the barrels in the shed again for fresh supplies.
"Do they mean to do all these to-night?" said Ellen to Nancy, on one of these occasions.
"I don't know what they mean, I am sure," replied Nancy, diving down into the barrel to reach the apples; "if you had asked me what Miss Fortune meant, I might ha' given a guess."
"But only look," said Ellen "only so many done, and all these to do! Well, I know what 'busy as a bee' means now, if I never did before."
"You'll know it better to-morrow, I can tell you."
"Why?"
"Oh, wait till you see. I wouldn't be you to-morrow for something, though. Do you like sewing?"
"Sewing!" said Ellen. But "Girls! girls! what are you leaving the door open for!" sounded from the kitchen, and they hurried in.
" 'Most got through, Nancy?" inquired Bob Lawson. (Miss
Fortune had gone downstairs.)
"Han't begun to, Mr. Lawson. There's every bit as many to do as there was at your house t'other night."
"What on airth does she want with such a sight of 'em," inquired Dan Dennison.
"Live on pies and apple-sass till next summer," suggested Mimy
Lawson.
"That's the stuff for my money!" replied her brother; "taters and apple-sass is my sass in the winter."
"It's good those is easy got," said his sister Mary; "the sass is the most of the dinner to Bob, most commonly."
"Are they fixing for more apple-sass down-stairs?" Mr.
Dennison went on rather drily.
"No hush!" said Juniper Hitchcock "sassages!"
"Humph!" said Dan, as he speared up an apple out of the basket on the point of his knife "ain't that something like what you can call killing two"
"Just that, exactly," said Jenny Hitchcock, as Dan broke off short, and the mistress of the house walked in. "Ellen," she whispered, "don't you want to go downstairs and see when the folks are coming up to help us? And tell the doctor he must be spry, for we ain't agoing to get through in a hurry," she added, laughing.
"Which is the doctor, Maam?"
"The doctor! Doctor Marshchalk! don't you know?"
"Is he a doctor?" said Alice.
"No, not exactly, I suppose, but he's just as good as the real. There was a man broke his leg horribly at Thirlwall, the other day, and Gibson was out of the way, and Marshchalk set it, and did it famously they said. So go, Ellen, and bring us word what they are all about."
Mr. Van Brunt was head of the party in the lower kitchen. He stood at one end of the table, cutting, with his huge knife, the hard-frozen pork into very thin slices, which the rest of the company took, and, before they had time to thaw, cut up into small dice on the little boards Mr. Van Brunt had prepared. As large a fire as the chimney would hold was built up and blazing finely; the room looked as cozy and bright as the one upstairs, and the people as busy and as talkative. They had less to do, however, or they had been more smart, for they were drawing to the end of their chopping; of which Miss Janet declared herself very glad, for, she said, "the wind came sweeping in under the doors, and freezing her feet the whole time, and she was sure the biggest fire ever was built couldn't warm that room;" an opinion in which Mrs. Van Brunt agreed perfectly. Miss Janet no sooner spied Ellen standing in the chimney-corner, than she called her to her side, kissed her, and talked to her a long time, and finally, fumbling in her pocket, brought forth an old, little, three-cornered pin- cushion, which she gave her for a keepsake. Jane Huff and her brother also took kind notice of her; and Ellen began to think the world was full of nice people. About half-past eight the choppers went up and joined the company, who were paring apples; the circle was a very large one now, and the buzz of the tongues grew quite furious.
"What are you smiling at?" asked Alice of Ellen, who stood at her elbow.
"Oh, I don't know," said Ellen, smiling more broadly; and presently added "they're all so kind to me."
"Who?"
"Oh, everybody Miss Jenny, and Miss Jane Huff, and Miss Janet, and Mrs. Van Brunt, and Mr. Huff they all speak so kindly, and look so kindly at me. But it's very funny what a notion people have for kissing I wish they hadn't I've run away from three kisses already, and I'm so afraid somebody else will try next."
"You don't seem very bitterly displeased," said Alice, smiling.
"I am, though I can't bear it," said Ellen, laughing and blushing. "There's Mr. Dennison caught me, in the first place, and tried to kiss me, but I tried so hard to get away, I believe he saw I was really in good earnest, and let me go. And just now only think of it! while I was standing talking to Miss Jane Huff, downstairs, her brother caught me, and kissed me, before I knew what he was going to do. I declare it's too bad!" said Ellen, rubbing her cheek very hard, as if she would rub off the affront.
"You must let it pass, my dear; it is one way of expressing kindness. They feel kindly towards you, or they would not do it."
"Then I wish they wouldn't feel quite so kindly," said Ellen "that's all. Hark! what was that?"
"What is that?" said somebody else; and instantly there was silence, broken again, after a minute or two, by the faint blast of a horn.
"It's old Father Swaim, I reckon," said Mr. Van Brunt; "I'll go fetch him in."
"Oh, yes! bring him in bring him in," was heard on all sides.
"That horn makes me think of what happened to me once," said Jenny Hitchcock to Ellen. "I was a little girl at school, not so big as you are; and one afternoon, when we were all as still as mice, and studying away, we heard Father Swaim's horn "
"What does he blow it for?" said Ellen, as Jenny stooped for her knife, which she had let fall.
"Oh to let people know he's there, you know; did you never see
Father Swaim?"
"No."
"La! he's the funniest old fellow! He goes round and round the country, carrying the news-papers; and we get him to bring our letters from the post-office, when there are any. He carries 'em in a pair of saddle-bags hanging across that old white horse of his I don't think that horse will ever grow old, no more than his master; and in summer he has a stick so long with a horse's tail tied to the end of it, to brush away the flies, for the poor horse has had his tail cut off pretty short. I wonder if it isn't the very same," said Jenny, laughing heartily: "Father Swaim thought he could manage it best, I guess."
"But what was it that happened to you that time at school?" said Ellen.
"Why, when we heard the horn blow, our master the schoolmaster, you know went out to get a paper; and I was tired with sitting still, so I jumped up, and ran across the room and then back again, and over and back again, five or six times; and when he came in, one of the girls up and told of it. It was Fanny Lawson," said Jenny, in a whisper to Alice, "and I think she ain't much different now from what she was then. I can hear her now 'Mr. Starks, Jenny Hitchcock's been running all around the room.' Well, what do you think he did to me? He took hold of my two hands, and swung me round and round by the arms, till I didn't know which was head and which was feet."
"What a queer schoolmaster!" said Ellen.
"Queer enough; you may say that. His name was Starks; the boys used to call him Starksification. We did hate him, that's a fact. I'll tell you what he did to a black boy of ours you know our black Sam, Alice? I forget what he had been doing; but Starks took him so by the rims of the ears and danced him up and down upon the floor."
"But didn't that hurt him?"
"Hurt him! I guess it did, he meant it should. He tied me under the table once. Sometime, when he wanted to punish two boys at a time, he would set them to spit in each other's faces."
"Oh! don't tell me about him!" cried Ellen, with a face of horror: "I don't like to hear it."
Jenny laughed; and just then the door opened, and Mr. Van
Brunt and the old news-carrier came in.
He was a venerable, mild-looking man, with thin hair as white as snow. He wore a long snuff-coloured coat and a broad- brimmed hat, the sides of which were oddly looped up to the crown, with twine; his tin horn or trumpet was in his hand. His saddle-bags were on Mr. Van Brunt's' arm. As soon as she saw him, Ellen was fevered with the notion that perhaps he had something for her; and she forgot everything else. It would seem that the rest of the company had the same hope, for they crowded round him, shouting out welcomes, and questions, and inquiries for letters all in a breath.
"Softly softly," said the old man, sitting down, slowly; "not all at once; I can't attend to you all at once; one at a time one at a time."
"Don't attend to 'em at all till you're ready," said Miss
Fortune "let 'em wait." And she handed him a glass of cider.
He drank it off at a breath, smacking his lips as he gave back the glass to her hand, and exclaiming, "That's prime!" Then taking up his saddle-bags from the floor, he began slowly to undo the fastenings.
"You are going to our house to-night, ain't you, Father
Swaim?" said Jenny.
That's where I was going," said the old man "I was agoing to stop with your father, Miss Jenny; but since I've got into farmer Van Brunt's hands, I don't know any more what's going to become of me; and after that glass of cider, I don't much care! Now let's see let's see 'Miss Jenny Hitchcock,' here's something for you. I should like very much to know what's inside of that letter there's a blue seal to it. Ah, young folks! young folks!
Jenny received her letter amidst a great deal of laughing and joking, and seemed herself quite as much amused as anybody.
" 'Jedediah B. Lawson' there's for your father, Miss Mimy; that saves me a long tramp if you've twenty-one cents in your pocket, that is; if you han't, I shall be obleeged to tramp after that. Here's something for 'most all of you, I'm thinking. 'Miss Cecilia Dennison' your fair hands how's the squire? rheumatism, eh? I think I'm a younger man now than your father, Cecilly; and yet I must ha' seen a good many years more than Squire Dennison; I must, surely. 'Miss Fortune Emerson' that's for you; a double letter, Maam."
Ellen with a beating heart had pressed nearer and nearer to the old man, till she stood close by his right hand, and could see every letter as he handed it out. A spot of deepening red was on each cheek as her eye eagerly scanned letter after letter; it spread to a sudden flush when the last name was read. Alice watched in some anxiety her keen look as it followed the letter from the old man's hand to her aunt's, and thence to the pocket, where Miss Fortune coolly bestowed it. Ellen could not stand this; she sprang forward across the circle.
"Aunt Fortune, there's a letter inside of that for me won't you give it to me? won't you give it to me?" she repeated, trembling.
Her aunt did not notice her by so much as a look; she turned away and began talking to some one else. The red had left Ellen's face when Alice could see it again it was livid and spotted from stifled passion. She stood in a kind of maze. But as her eye caught Alice's anxious and sorrowful look, she covered her face with her hands, and as quick as possible made her escape out of the room.
For some minutes Alice heard none of the hubbub around her. Then came a knock at the door, and the voice of Thomas Grimes saying to Mr. Van Brunt that Miss Humphreys' horse was there.
"Mr. Swaim," said Alice, rising, "I don't like to leave you with these gay friends of ours; you'll stand no chance of rest with them to-night. Will you ride home with me?"
Many of the party began to beg Alice would stay to supper, but she said her father would be uneasy. The old news-carrier concluded to go with her, for, he said, "there was a pint he wanted to mention to Parson Humphreys that he had forgotten to bring for'ard when they were talking on that 'ere subject two months ago." So Nancy brought her things from the next room, and helped her on with them, and looked pleased, as well she might, at the smile and kind words with which she was rewarded. Alice lingered at her leave-taking, hoping to see Ellen but it was not till the last moment that Ellen came in. She did not say a word, but the two little arms were put around Alice's neck, and held her with a long, close earnestness, which did not pass from her mind all the evening afterwards.
When she was gone, the company sat down again to business; and apple-paring went on more steadily than ever for a while, till the bottom of the barrels was seen, and the last basketful of apples was duly emptied. Then there was a general shout; the kitchen was quickly cleared, and everybody's face brightened, as much as to say, "Now for fun!" While Ellen and Nancy, and Miss Fortune and Mrs. Van Brunt were running all ways with trays, pans, baskets, knives, and buckets, the fun began by Mr. Juniper Hitchcock's whistling in his dog, and setting him to do various feats for the amusement of the company. There followed such a rushing, leaping, barking, laughing, and scolding on the part of the dog and his admirers, that the room was in an uproar. He jumped over a stick; he got into a chair, and sat up on two legs; he kissed the ladies' hands; he suffered an apple-paring to be laid across his nose, then threw it up with a jerk and caught it in his mouth. Nothing very remarkable, certainly, but, as Miss Fortune observed to somebody, "if he had been the learned pig, there couldn't ha' been more fuss made over him."
Ellen stood looking on, smiling partly at the dog and his master, and partly at the antics of the company. Presently Mr. Van Brunt, bending down to her, said
"What is the matter with your eyes?"
"Nothing," said Ellen, starting "at least nothing that's any matter, I mean."
"Come here," said he, drawing her on one side; "tell me all about it what is the matter?"
"Never mind please don't ask me, Mr. Van Brunt, it's nothing
I ought to tell you it isn't any matter."
But her eyes were full again, and he still held her fast doubtfully.
"I'll tell you about it, Mr. Van Brunt," said Nancy, as she came past them "you let her go, and I'll tell you by-and- by."
And Ellen tried in vain afterwards to make her promise she would not.
"Come, June," said Miss Jenny, "we have got enough of you and
Jumper turn him out; we are going to have the cat now. Come!
Puss, puss in the corner! Go off in t'other room, will you,
everybody that don't want to play. Puss, puss!"
Now the fun began in good earnest, and but few minutes had passed before Ellen was laughing with all her heart, as if she never had had anything to cry for in her life. After "puss, puss in the corner" came "blind-man's-buff;" and this was played with great spirit, the two most distinguished being Nancy and Dan Dennison, though Miss Fortune played admirably well. Ellen had seen Nancy play before; but she forgot her own part of the game in sheer amazement at the way Mr. Dennison managed his long body, which seemed to go where there was no room for it, and vanish into air just when the grasp of some grasping "blind man" was ready to fasten upon him. And when he was blinded, he seemed to know by instinct where the walls were, and keeping clear of them, he would swoop like a hawk from one end of the room to the other, pouncing upon the unlucky people who could by no means get out of the way fast enough. When this had lasted awhile, there was a general call for "the fox and the goose," and Miss Fortune was pitched upon for the latter, she having in the other game showed herself capable of good generalship. But who for the fox? Mr. Van Brunt?
"Not I," said Mr. Van Brunt "there ain't nothing of the fox about me; Miss Fortune would beat me all hollow."
"Who then, farmer?" said Bill Huff; "come! who is the fox?
Will I do?"
"Not you, Bill; the goose 'ud be too much for you."
There was a general shout, and cries of "Who then? who then?"
"Dan Dennison," said Mr. Van Brunt. "Now look out for a sharp fight."
Amidst a great deal of laughing and confusion, the line was formed, each person taking hold of a handkerchief or band passed round the waist of the person before him, except when the women held by each other's skirts. There were ranged according to height, the tallest being next their leader, the "goose." Mr. Van Brunt and the elder ladies, and two or three more, chose to be lookers-on, and took post outside the door.
Mr. Dennison began by taking off his coat, to give himself more freedom in his movements; for his business was to catch the train of the goose, one by one, as each in turn became the hindmost; while her object was to baffle him and keep her family together, meeting him with outspread arms at every rush he made to seize one of her brood; while the long train behind her, following her quick movements, and swaying from side to side to get out of the reach of the furious fox, was sometimes in the shape of the letter C, and sometimes in that of the letter S, and sometimes looked like a long snake with a curling tail. Loud was the laughter, shrill the shrieks, as the fox drove them hither and thither, and seemed to be in all parts of the room at once. He was a cunning fox that, as well as a bold one. Sometimes, when they thought him quite safe, held at bay by the goose, he dived under or leaped over her outstretched arms, and almost snatched hold of little Ellen, who being the least, was the last one of the party. But Ellen played very well, and just escaped him two or three times, till he declared she gave him so much trouble, that when he caught her he would "kiss her the worst kind." Ellen played none the worse for that; however she was caught at last, and kissed, too; there was no help for it, so she bore it as well as she could. Then she watched and laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks, to see how the fox and the goose dodged each other, what tricks were played, and how the long train pulled each other about. At length Nancy was caught, and then Jenny Hitchcock, and then Cecilia Dennison, and then Jane Huff, and so on, till at last the fox and the goose had a long struggle for Mimy Lawson, which would never have come to an end if Mimy had not gone over to the enemy.
There was a general pause. The hot and tired company were seated around the room, panting and fanning themselves with their pocket-handkerchiefs, and speaking broken sentences; glad to rest even from laughing. Miss Fortune had thrown herself down on a seat close by Ellen, when Nancy came up and softly asked, "Is it time to beat the eggs now?" Miss Fortune nodded, and then drew her close to receive a long, low whisper in her ear, at the end of which Nancy ran off.
"Is there anything I can do, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen, so gently and timidly, that it ought to have won a kind answer.
"Yes," said her aunt, "you may go and put yourself to bed; it's high time, long ago." And looking round as she moved off, she added, "Go!" with a little nod that as much as said, "I am in earnest."
Ellen's heart throbbed she stood doubtful. One word to Mr. Van Brunt, and she need not go that she knew. But as surely, too, that word would make trouble and do harm. And then she remembered, "A charge to keep I have!" She turned quick, and quitted the room.
Ellen sat down on the first stair she came to, for her bosom was heaving up and down, and she was determined not to cry. The sounds of talking and laughing came to her from the parlour, and there at her side stood the covered-up supper; for a few minutes it was hard to keep her resolve. The thick breath came and went very fast. Through the fanlights of the hall door, opposite to which she was sitting, the bright moonlight streamed in; and presently, as Ellen quieted, it seemed to her fancy, like a gentle messenger from its Maker bidding his child remember Him; and then came up some words in her memory that her mother's lips had fastened there long ago "I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me." She remembered her mother had told her it is Jesus who says this. Her lost pleasure was well nigh forgotten; and yet, as she sat gazing into the moonlight, Ellen's eyes were gathering tears very fast.
"Well, I am seeking Him," she thought "can it be that he loves me! Oh, I'm so glad!"
And they were glad tears that little Ellen wiped away as she went upstairs, for it was too cold to sit there long, if the moon was ever so bright.
She had her hand on the latch of the door, when her grandmother called out from the other room to know who was there.
"It's I, grandma."
"Ain't somebody there? Come in here who is it?"
"It's I, Grandma," said Ellen, coming to the door.
"Come in here, deary," said the old woman, in a lower tone "what is it all? what's the matter? who's down stairs?"
"It's a bee, Grandma; there's nothing the matter."
"A bee! who's been stung? what's all the noise about?"
" 'T isn't that kind of bee, Grandma; don't you know? there's a parcel of people that came to pare apples, and they've been playing games in the parlour that's all."
"Paring apples, eh? Is there company below?"
"Yes, Maam a whole parcel of people."
"Dear me!" said the old lady, "I oughtn't to ha' been abed! Why han't Fortune told me? I'll get right up. Ellen, you go in that fur closet and bring me my paddysoy, that hangs there, and then help me on with my things I'll get right up. Dear me! what was Fortune thinking about?"
The moonlight served very well instead of candles. After twice bringing the wrong dresses, Ellen at last hit upon the "paddysoy," which the old lady knew immediately by the touch. In haste, and not without some fear and trembling on Ellen's part, she was arrayed in it; her best cap put on, not over hair in the best order, Ellen feared, but the old lady would not stay to have it made better; Ellen took care of her down the stairs, and after opening the door for her went back to her room.
A little while had passed, and Ellen was just tying her nightcap strings, and ready to go peacefully to sleep, when Nancy burst in.
"Ellen! Hurry! you must come right downstairs."
"Downstairs! why, I am just ready to go to bed."
"No matter you must come right away down. There's Mr. Van
Brunt says he won't begin supper till you come."
"But does Aunt Fortune want me too?"
"Yes, I tell you! and the quicker you come the better she'll be pleased. She sent me after you in all sorts of a hurry. She said she didn't know where you was!"
"Said she didn't know where I was! Why, she told me herself,"
Ellen began, and stopped short.
"Of course!" said Nancy; "don't you think I know that? But he don't, and if you want to plague her, you'll just tell him. Now come, and be quick, will you? The supper's splendid."
Ellen lost the first view of the table, for everything had begun to be pulled to pieces before she came in. The company were all crowded round the table, eating and talking, and helping themselves; and ham and bread and butter, pumpkin-pies and mince-pies and apple-pies, cake of various kinds, and glasses of egg-nogg and cider, were in everybody's hands. One dish in the middle of the big table had won the praise of every tongue; nobody could guess, and many asked how it was made, but Miss Fortune kept a satisfied silence, pleased to see the constant stream of comers to the big dish, till it was near empty. Just then, Mr. Van Brunt, seeing Ellen had nothing, gathered up all that was left, and gave it to her.
It was sweet, and cold, and rich. Ellen told her mother afterwards it was the best thing she had ever tasted except the ice-cream she once gave her in New York. She had taken, however, but one spoonful, when her eye fell upon Nancy, standing at the back of all the company, and forgotten. Nancy had been upon her good behaviour all the evening, and it was a singular proof of this that she had not pushed in and helped herself among the first. Ellen's eye went once or twice from her plate to Nancy, and then she crossed over and offered it to her. It was eagerly taken, and, a little disappointed Ellen stepped back again. But she soon forgot the disappointment. "She'll know now that I don't bear her any grudge," she thought.
"Han't you got nothing?" said Nancy, coming up presently; "that wasn't your'n that you gave me was it?"
Ellen nodded, smilingly.
"Well, there ain't no more of it," said Nancy. "The bowl is empty."
"I know it," said Ellen.
"Why, didn't you like it?"
"Yes very much."
"Why, you're a queer little fish," said Nancy. "What did you get Mr. Van Brunt to let me in for?"
"How did you know I did?"
" 'Cause he told me. Say what did you do it for? Mr. Dennison, won't you give Ellen a piece of cake or something? Here take this," said Nancy, pouncing upon a glass of egg- nog, which a gap in the company enabled her to reach; "I made it more than half myself. Ain't it good?"
"Yes, very," said Ellen, smacking her lips; "what's in it?"
"Oh, plenty of good things. But what made you ask Mr. Van Brunt to let me stop to-night? you didn't tell me did you want me to stay?"
"Never mind," said Ellen; "don't ask me any questions."
"Yes, but I will though: and you've got to answer me. Why did you? Come! do you like me? say!"
"I should like you, I dare say, if you would be different."
"Well, I don't care," said Nancy, after a little pause; "I like you, though you're as queer as you can be. I don't care whether you like me or not. Look here, Ellen, that cake there is the best I know it is, for I've tried 'em all. You know I told Van Brunt that I would tell him what you were crying about?"
"Yes, and I asked you not. Did you?"
Nancy nodded, being at the moment still further engaged in "trying" the cake.
"I am sorry you did. What did he say?"
"He didn't say much to me somebody else will hear of it, I guess. He was mad about it, or I am mistaken. What makes you sorry?"
"It will only do harm, and make Aunt Fortune angry."
"Well, that's just what I should like, if I were you. I can't make you out."
"I'd a great deal rather have her like me," said Ellen. "Was she vexed when Grandma came down?"
"I don't know, but she had to keep it to herself if she was; everybody else was so glad, and Mr. Van Brunt made such a fuss. Just look at the old lady, how pleased she is! I declare if the folks ain't talking of going! Come, Ellen! now for the cloaks! you and me'll finish our supper afterwards."
That, however, was not to be. Nancy was offered a ride home to Mrs. Van Brunt's, and a lodging there. They were ready cloaked and shawled, and Ellen was still hunting for Miss Janet's things in the moonlit hall, when she heard Nancy close by, in a lower tone than common, say
"Ellen, will you kiss me?"
Ellen dropped her armful of things, and, taking Nancy's hands, gave her truly the kiss of peace.
When she went up to undress for the second time, she found on her bed her letter! And with tears Ellen kneeled down and gave earnest thanks for this blessing, and that she had been able to gain Nancy's good-will.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Sundry things round a pot of chocolate.
It was Tuesday, the 22nd of December, and late in the day. Not a pleasant afternoon. The grey snow-clouds hung low; the air was keen and raw. It was already growing dark, and Alice was sitting alone in the firelight, when two little feet came running round the corner of the house; the glass door opened, and Ellen rushed in.
"I have come! I have come!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear Alice,
I'm so glad!"
So was Alice, if her kiss meant anything.
"But how late, my child! how late you are!"
"Oh, I thought I never was going to get done!" said Ellen, pulling off her things in a great hurry, and throwing them on the sofa "but I am here at last. Oh, I'm so glad!"
"Why, what has been the matter?" said Alice, folding up what
Ellen laid down.
"Oh, a great deal of matter! I couldn't think what Nancy meant last night I know very well now. I shan't want to see any more apples all winter. What do you think I have been about all to-day, dear Miss Alice?"
"Nothing that has done you much harm," said Alice, smiling "if I am to guess from your looks. You are as rosy as a good Spitzenberg yourself."
"That's very funny," said Ellen, laughing, "for Aunt Fortune said a while ago that my cheeks were just the colour of two mealy potatoes."
"But about the apples?" said Alice.
"Why, this morning I was thinking I would come here so early, when the first thing I knew, Aunt Fortune brought out all those heaps and heaps of apples into the kitchen, and made me sit down on the floor, and then she gave me a great big needle, and set me to stringing them all together; and as fast as I strung them, she hung them up all round the ceiling. I tried very hard to get through before, but I could not; and I am so tired! I thought I never should get to the bottom of that big basket."
"Never mind, love come to the fire we'll try and forget all disagreeable things while we are together."
"I have forgotten it almost already," said Ellen, as she sat down in Alice's lap, and laid her face against hers; "I don't care for it at all now."
But her cheeks were fast fading into the uncomfortable colour Miss Fortune had spoken of; and weariness and weakness kept her for awhile quiet in Alice's arms, overcoming even the pleasure of talking. They sat so till the clock struck half- past five; then Alice proposed they should go into the kitchen, and see Margery, and order the tea made, which she had no doubt Ellen wanted. Margery welcomed her with great cordiality. She liked anybody that Alice liked, but she had besides declared to her husband that Ellen was "an uncommon well-behaved child." She said she would put the tea to draw, and they should have it in a very few minutes.
"But, Miss Alice, there's an Irish body, out by, waiting to speak to you. I was just coming in to tell you; will you please to see her now?"
"Certainly let her come in. Is she in the cold, Margery?"
"No, Miss Alice there's a fire there this evening. I'll call her."
The woman came up from the lower kitchen at the summons. She was young, rather pretty, and with a pleasant countenance, but unwashed, uncombed, untidy, no wonder Margery's nicety had shrunk from introducing her into her spotless upper kitchen. The unfailing Irish cloak was drawn about her, the hood brought over her head, and on the head and shoulders the snow lay white, not yet melted away.
"Did you wish to speak to me, my friend?" said Alice, pleasantly.
"If ye plase, Maam, it the master I'm wanting," said the woman, dropping a courtesy.
"My father? Margery, will you tell him?"
Margery departed.
"Come nearer the fire," said Alice, "and sit down; my father will be here presently. It is snowing again, is it not?"
"It is, Maam a bitter storm."
"Have you come far?"
"It's a good bit, my lady it's more nor a mile beyant Carra just right forgin the ould big hill they call the Catchback; in Jemmy Morrison's woods where Pat M'Farren's clearing is it's there I live, my lady."
"That is a long distance, indeed, for a walk in the snow," said Alice, kindly; "sit down, and come nearer the fire. Margery will give you something to refresh you."
"I thank ye, my lady, but I want nothing man can give me the night; and when one's on an arrant of life and death, it's little the cold or the storm can do to put out the heart's fire."
"Life and death! who is sick?" said Alice.
"It's my own child, Maam my own boy all the child I have and I'll have none by the morning light."
"Is he so ill?" said Alice; "what is the matter with him?"
"Myself doesn't know."
The voice was fainter; the brown cloak was drawn over her face; and Alice and Ellen saw her shoulders heaving with the grief she kept from bursting out. They exchanged glances.
"Sit down," said Alice again presently, laying her hand upon the wet shoulder; "sit down and rest; my father will be here directly. Margery oh, that's right a cup of tea will do her good. What do you want with my father?"
"The Lord bless ye! I'll tell you, my lady."
She drank off the tea, but refused something more substantial that Margery offered her.
"The Lord bless ye! I couldn't. My lady, there wasn't a stronger, nor a prettier, nor a swater child, nor couldn't be, nor he was when we left it it'll be three years come the fifteenth of April next; but I'm thinking the bitter winters of this cowld country has chilled the life o' him and troubles cowlder than all," she added, in a lower tone. "I seed him grow waker and waker, an' his dair face grown thinner and thinner, and the red all left it, only two burning spots was on it some days; an' I worried the life out o' me for him, an' all I could do, I couldn't do nothing at all to help him, for he just growed waker an' waker. I axed the father wouldn't he see the doctor about him, but he's an aisy kind o' man, my lady, an' he said he would, an' he never did to this day; an' John, he always said it was no use sinding for the doctor, an' looked so swate at me, an' said for me not to fret, for sure he'd be better soon, or he'd go to a better place. An' I thought he was already like a heavenly angel itself, an' always was, but then more nor ever. Och! it's soon that he'll be one entirely! let Father Shannon say what he will."
She sobbed for a minute, while Alice and Ellen looked on, silent and pitying.
"An' to-night, my lady, he's very bad," she went on, wiping away the tears that came quickly again "an' I seed he was going fast from me, an' I was breaking my heart wid the loss of him, whin I heard one of the men that was in it say, 'What's this he's saying?' says he. 'An' what is it, thin?' says I. 'About the gintleman that praiches at Carra,' says he 'he's a calling for him,' says he. I knowed there wasn't a praist at all at Carra, an' I thought he was draiming, or out o' his head, or crazy wid his sickness, like; an' I went up close to him, an' says I, 'John,' says I, 'what is it you want,' says I 'an' sure, if it's anything in heaven above or in earth beneath that yer own mother can get for ye,' says I, 'ye shall have it,' says I. An' he put up his two arms around my neck, an' pulled my face down to his lips, that was hot wid the faver, an' kissed me he did 'An',' says he, 'mother dair,' says he 'if ye love me,' says he, 'fetch me the good gintleman that praiches at Carra, till I spake to him.' 'Is it the praist you want, John, my boy?' says I 'sure he's in it,' says I'; for Michael had been for Father Shannon, an' he had come home wid him half an hour before. 'Oh no, mother,' says he, 'it's not him at all that I mane it's the gintleman that spakes in the little white church at Carra he's not a praist at all,' says he. 'An' who is he thin?' says I, getting up from the bed, 'or where will I find him, or how will I get to him?' 'Ye'll not stir a fut for him, thin, the night, Kitty Dolan,' says my husband 'are ye mad,' says he; 'sure it's not his own head the child has at all at all, or it's a little hiritic he is,' says he; 'an' ye won't show the disrespect to the praist in yer own house.' 'I'm maining none,' says I 'nor more, he isn't a hiritic; but if he was, he's a born angel to you, Michael Dolan, anyhow,' says I; 'an' wid the kiss of his lips on my face, wouldn't I do the arrant of my own boy, an' he a dying? by the blessing, an' I will, if twenty men stud between me an' it. So tell me where I'll find him, this praist, if there's the love o' mercy in any sowl o' ye,' says I. But they wouldn't spake a word for me, not one of them; so I axed an' axed at one place an' other, till here I am. An' now, my lady, will the master go for me to my poor boy? for he'd maybe be dead while I stand here."