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HE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 BY 
 
 SUSAN WARNER 
 
 AUTHOR OF M OUEECHY," " DOLLARS AND CENTS," ETC* 
 
 VOL. I 
 
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 HURST AND COMPANY 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Enjoy .the spring of love and youth, 
 To some good angel leave the rest. 
 For time will teach thee soon the truth, 
 
 " There are no birds in last year's nest." 
 
 Longfsllow, 
 
 " Mamma, what was that I heard papa saying to 
 you this morning about his lawsuit ? " 
 
 " 1 cannot tell you just now. Ellen, pick up 
 that shawl, and spread it over me." 
 
 " Mamma ! — are you cold in this warm room ? " 
 
 " A little, — there, that will do. Now, my daughter, 
 let me be quiet awhile — don't disturb me." 
 
 There was no one else in the room. Driven 
 thus to her own resources, Ellen betook herself to 
 the window and sought amusement there. The 
 prospect without gave little promise of it. Rain 
 was falling, and made the street and everything in 
 it look dull and gloomy. The foot-passengers 
 plashed through the water, and the horses and car* 
 riages plashed through the mud ; gayety had for- 
 saken the sidewalks, and equipages were few, and 
 the people that were out were plainly there only 
 because they could not help it. But yet Ellen, 
 having seriously set herself to study everything 
 Jthat passed, presently became engaged in her 
 
4. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 occupation ; and her thoughts traveling dreamHy 
 from one thing to another, she sat for a long time 
 with her little face pressed against the window- 
 frame, perfectly regardless of all but the moving 
 World without. 
 
 Daylight gradually faded away, and the street 
 Wore a more and more gloomy aspect. The rain 
 poured, and now only an occasional carriage or 
 footstep disturbed the sound of its steady pattering. 
 Yet still Ellen sat with her face glued to the window 
 as if spell-bound, gazing out at every dusky form 
 that passed, as though it had some strange interest 
 for her. At length, in the distance, light after light 
 began to appear ; presently Ellen could see the dim 
 figure of the lamplighter crossing the street, from 
 side to side, with his ladder ; — then he drew near 
 enough for her to watch him as he hooked his 
 ladder on the lamp-irons, ran up and lit the lamp, 
 then shouldered the ladder and marched off quick, 
 the light glancing on his wet oil-skin hat, rough 
 great-coat and lantern, and on the pavement and 
 rron railings. The veriest moth could not have 
 followed the light with more perseverance than did 
 Ellen's eyes — till the lamplighter gradually dis- 
 appeared from view, and the last lamp she could 
 see was lit ; and not till then did it occur to her 
 that there was such a place as in-doors. She took 
 her face from the window. The room was dark 
 and cheerless ; and Ellen felt stiff and chilly. 
 However, she made her way to the fire, and having 
 found the poker, she applied it gently to the Liver- 
 pool coal with such good effect that a bright ruddy 
 blaze sprang up, and lighted the whole room. 
 Ellen smiled at the result of her experiment. " Tha* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 5 
 
 is something like," said she to herself : " who says 
 I can't poke the fire ? Now, let us see if I can't 
 do something else. Do but see how those chairs 
 are standing — one would think we had had a sew- 
 ing-circle here — there, go back to your places,— 
 that looks a little better ; now these curtains must 
 come down, and I may as well shut the shutters too 
 — and now this table-cloth must be content to hang 
 straight, and mamma's box and the books must lie 
 in their places, and not all helter-skelter. — Now, I 
 wish mamma would wake up ; I should think she 
 might. I don't believe she is asleep either — she 
 don't look as if she was." 
 
 Ellen was right in this ; her mother's face did 
 not wear the look of sleep, nor indeed of repose at 
 all ; the lips were compressed, and the brow not 
 calm. To try, however, whether she was asleep or 
 no, and with the half-acknowledged intent to rouse 
 her at all events, Ellen knelt down by her side, 
 and laid her face close to her mother's on the pil- 
 low. But this failed to draw either word or sign. 
 After a minute or two Ellen tried stroking her 
 mother's cheek very gently ; — and this succeeded, 
 for Mrs. Montgomery arrested the little hand as it 
 passed her lips, and kissed it fondly two or three 
 times. 
 
 " I haven't disturbed you, mamma, have I ? " 
 said Ellen. 
 
 Without replying, Mrs. Montgomery raised her- 
 self to a sitting posture, and lifting both hands to 
 her face, pushed back the hair from her forehead 
 and temples, with a gesture which Ellen knew 
 meant that she was making up her mind to some 
 disagreeable or painful effort. Then taking both 
 
6 THE WIDE, V/IDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen's hands, as she still knelt before her, she 
 gazed in her face with a look even more fond than 
 usual, Ellen thought, but much sadder too ; though 
 Mrs. Montgomery's cheerfulness had always been 
 of a serious kind. 
 
 " What question was that you were asking me a 
 while ago, my daughter ? " 
 
 " I thought, mamma, I heard papa telling you 
 this morning, or yesterday, that he had lost that 
 lawsuit." 
 
 " You heard right, Ellen, — he has lost it," said 
 Mrs. Montgomery, sadly. 
 
 " Are you sorry, mamma ? — does it trouble you ? " 
 
 " You know, my dear, that I am not apt to con- 
 cern myself overmuch about the gain or the loss of 
 money. I believe my Heavenly Father will give 
 me what is good for me." 
 
 "Then, mamma, why are you troubled ?" 
 
 " Because, my child, I cannot carry out this 
 principle in other matters, and leave quietly my all 
 in His hands." 
 
 " What is the matter, dear mother ? What makes 
 you look so ? '' 
 
 " This lawsuit, Ellen, has brought upon us more 
 trouble than I ever thought a lawsuit could— the 
 loss of it, I mean." 
 
 " How, mamma ? " 
 
 " It has caused an entire change of all our plans. 
 Your father says he is too poor now to stay here 
 any longer ; and he has agreed to go soon on some 
 government or military business to Europe." 
 
 " Well, mamma, that is bad, but he has been 
 away a great deal before, and I am sure we were 
 always very happy ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 7 
 
 " But, Ellen, he thinks now, and the doctor thinks 
 too, that it is very important for my health that I 
 should go with him." 
 
 " Does he mamma ? — and do you mean to go ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I must, my dear child." 
 
 " Not, and leave me, mother ? " 
 
 The imploring look of mingled astonishment, 
 terror, and sorrow with which Ellen uttered these 
 words, took from her mother all power of replying. 
 It was not necessary; her little daughter under- 
 stood only too well the silent answer of her eye. 
 With a wild cry she flung her arms round her 
 mother, and hiding her face in her lap, gave way 
 to a violent burst of grief that seemed for a few 
 moments as if it would rend soul and body in 
 twain. For her passions were by nature very 
 strong, and by education very imperfectly con- 
 trolled; and time, "that rider that breaks youth," 
 had not as yet tried his hand upon her. And Mrs. 
 Montgomery, in spite of the fortitude and calmness 
 to which she had steeled herself, bent down over 
 her, and folding her arms about her, yielded to 
 sorrow deeper still, and for a little while scarcely 
 less violent in its expression than Ellen's own. 
 
 Alas ! she had too good reason. She knew that 
 the chance of her ever returning to shield the little 
 creature who was nearest her heart from the future 
 evils and snares of life was very, very small. She 
 had at first absolutely refused to leave Ellen, when 
 her husband proposed it ; declaring that she would 
 rather stay with her and die than take the chance 
 of recovery at such a cost. But her physician as- 
 sured her she could not live long without a change 
 of climate ; Captain Montgomery urged that it was 
 
8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 better to submit to a temporary separation, than to 
 cling obstinately to her child for a few months and 
 then leave her forever ; said he must himself go 
 speedily to France, and that now was her best op- 
 portunity ; assuring her, however, that his circum- 
 stances would not permit him to take Ellen along, 
 but that she would be secure of a happy home with 
 his sister during her mother's absence ; and to the 
 pressure of argument Captain Montgomery added 
 the weight of authority — insisting on her compli- 
 ance. Conscience also asked Mrs. Montgomery 
 whether she had a right to neglect any chance of life 
 that was offered her ; and at last she yielded to the 
 combined influence of motives no one of which 
 would have had power sufficient to move her ; and 
 though with a secret consciousness it would be in 
 vain, she consented to do as her friends wished. 
 And it was for Ellen's sake she did it after all. 
 
 Nothing but necessity had given her the courage 
 to open the matter to her little daughter. She had 
 foreseen and endeavored to prepare herself for 
 Ellen's anguish ; but nature was too strong for her, 
 and they clasped each other in a convulsive em- 
 brace while tears fell like rain. 
 
 It was some minutes before Mrs. Montgomery 
 recollected herself, and then, though she struggled 
 hard, she could not immediately regain her com- 
 posure. But Ellen's deep sobs at length fairly 
 alarmed her ; she saw the necessity, for both 
 their sakes, of putting a stop to this state of 
 violent excitement ; self-command was restored 
 at once. 
 
 "Ellen! Ellen! listen to me," she said ; "my 
 child, — this is not right. Remember, my darling, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 9 
 
 who it is that brings this sorrow upon us — though 
 we must sorrow, we must not rebel." 
 
 Ellen sobbed more gently ; but that and the mute 
 pressure of her arms was her only answer. 
 
 " You will hurt both yourself and me, my daughter, 
 if you cannot command yourself. Remember, dear 
 Ellen, God sends no trouble upon His children but 
 in love ; and though we cannot see how, He will 
 no doubt make all this work for our good." 
 
 " I know it, dear mother," sobbed Ellen, " but 
 it's just as hard ! " 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery's own heart answered so 
 readily to the truth of Ellen's words that for the 
 moment she could not speak. 
 
 " Try, my daughter," she said after a pause, — 
 " try to compose yourself. I am afraid you will 
 make me worse, Ellen, if you cannot, — I am in- 
 deed." 
 
 Ellen had plenty of faults, but amidst them all 
 love to her mother was the strongest feeling her 
 heart knew. It had power enough now to move 
 her as nothing else could have done ; and exerting 
 all her self-command, of which she had sometimes 
 a good deal, she did calm herself ; ceased sobbing ; 
 wiped her eyes ; arose from her crouching posture, 
 and seating herself on the sofa by her mother, and 
 laying her head on her bosom, she listened quietly 
 to all the soothing words and cheering considerations 
 with which Mrs. Montgomery endeavored to lead 
 her to take a more hopeful view of the subject. 
 All she could urge, however, had but very partial 
 success, though the conversation was prolonged 
 far into the evening, Ellen said little, and did not 
 
IO THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 weep any more ; but in secret her heart refused 
 consolation. 
 
 Long before this the servant had brought in the 
 tea-things. Nobody regarded it at the time, but 
 the little kettle hissing away on the fire now by 
 chance attracted Ellen's attention, and she suddenly 
 recollected her mother had had no tea. To make 
 her mother's tea was Ellen's regular business. She 
 treated it as a very grave affair, and loved it as one 
 of the pleasantest in the course of the day. She 
 used in the first place to make sure that the kettle 
 really boiled ; then she carefully poured some water 
 into the tea-pot and rinsed it, both to make it clean 
 and to make it hot ; then she knew exactly how 
 much tea to put into the tiny little tea-pot, which 
 was just big enough to hold two cups of tea, and 
 having poured a very little boiling water to it, she 
 used to set it by the side of the fire while she made 
 half a slice of toast. How careful Ellen was about 
 that toast ! The bread must not be cut too thick, 
 nor too thin ; the fire must, if possible, burn clear 
 and bright, and she herself held the bread on a 
 fork, just at the right distance from the coals to get 
 nicely browned without burning. When this was 
 done to her satisfaction (and if the first piece failed 
 she would take another), she filled up the little tea- 
 pot from the boiling kettle, and proceeded to make 
 a cup of tea. She knew, and was very careful to 
 put in, just the quantity of milk and sugar that her 
 -.nother liked ; and then she used to carry the tea 
 and toast on a little tray to her mother's side, and 
 very often held it there for her while she ate. All 
 this Ellen did with the zeal that love gives, and 
 though the same thing was to be gone over every 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. n 
 
 night of the year, she was never wearied. It was 
 a real pleasure ; she had the greatest satisfaction 
 in seeing that the little her mother could eat was 
 prepared for her in the nicest possible manner ; she 
 knew her hands made it taste better ; her mother 
 often said so. 
 
 But this evening other thoughts had driven this 
 important business quite out of poor Ellen's mind. 
 Now, however, when her eyes fell upon the little 
 kettle, she recollected her mother had not had her 
 tea, and must want it very much ; and silently slip- 
 ping off the sofa, she set about getting it as usual. 
 There was no doubt this time whether the kettle 
 boiled or no ; it had been hissing for an hour or 
 more, calling as loud as it could to somebody to 
 come and make the tea. So Ellen made it, and 
 then began the toast. But she began to think too, 
 as she watched it, how few more times she would 
 be able to do so — how soon her pleasant tea-mak- 
 ings would be over — and the desolate feeling of 
 separation began to come upon her before the time. 
 These thoughts were too much for poor Ellen ; the 
 thick tears gathered so fast she could not see what 
 she was doing; and she had no more than just 
 turned the slice of bread on the fork when the sick- 
 ness of heart quite overcame her ; she could not go 
 on. Toast and fork and all dropped from her hand 
 into the ashes ; and rushing to her mother's side, 
 who was now lying down again, and throwing her- 
 self upon her, she burst into another fit of sorrow 
 — not so violent as the former, but with a touch 
 of hopelessness in it which went yet more to her 
 mother's heart. Passion in the first said, " I can- 
 not ; " despair now seemed to say, " I must." 
 
12 THE WIDE WIDE WORLD. 
 
 But Mrs. Montgomery was too exhausted to 
 either share or soothe Ellen's agitation. She lay 
 in suffering silence ; till after some time she said, 
 faintly, " Ellen, my love, I cannot bear this much 
 longer." 
 
 Ellen was immediately brought to herself by 
 these words. She arose, sorry and ashamed that 
 she should have given occasion for them ; and 
 tenderly kissing her mother, assured her most sin- 
 cerely and resolutely that she would not do so 
 again. In a few minutes she was calm enough to 
 finish making the tea, and having toasted another 
 piece of bread, she brought it to her mother. Mrs. 
 Montgomery swallowed a cup of tea, but no toast 
 could be eaten that night. 
 
 Both remained silent and quiet awhile after this, 
 till the clock struck ten. " You had better go to 
 bed, my daughter," said Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " I will, mamma." 
 
 " Do you think you can read me a little before 
 you go ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, mamma ; " and Ellen brought the 
 book ; " where shall I read ? " 
 
 " The twenty-third psalm." 
 
 Ellen began it, and went through it steadily and 
 tlowly, though her voice quavered a little. 
 
 " * The Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want. 
 
 " ' He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ; 
 He leadeth me beside the still waters. 
 
 " ' He restoreth my soul : He leadeth me in the 
 path of righteousness for His name's sake. 
 
 " ' Though I walk through the valley of the 
 shadow of death, T will fear no evil ; for Thou art 
 with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 13 
 
 " ' Thou preparest a table before me in the pres- 
 ence of mine enemies : Thou anointest my head 
 with oil ; my cup runneth over. 
 
 " l Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me 
 all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the 
 house of the Lord for ever.' " 
 
 Long before she had finished Ellen's eyes were 
 full, and her heart too. " If I only could feel these 
 words as mamma does ! " she said to herself. She 
 did not dare look up till the traces of tears had 
 passed away ; then she saw that her mother was 
 asleep. Those first sweet words had fallen like 
 balm upon the sore heart ; and mind and body had 
 instantly found rest together. 
 
 Ellen breathed the lightest possible kiss upon 
 her forehead, and stole quietly out of the room to 
 her own little bed. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Not all the whispers that the soft winds utter 
 
 Speak earthly things — 
 There mingle th there, sometimes, a gentle flutter 
 
 Of angel's wings. 
 
 Amy Lathrop. 
 
 Sorrow and excitement made Ellen's eyelids 
 heavy, and she slept late on the following morning. 
 The great dressing-bell waked her. She started 
 up with a confused notion that something was the 
 matter ; there was a weight on her heart that was 
 very strange to it. A moment was enough to bring 
 it all back ; and she threw herself again on her 
 pillow, yielding helplessly to the grief she had twice 
 been obliged to control the evening before. Yet 
 
14 THE WIDE WIDE WORLD. 
 
 love was stronger than grief still, and she was care- 
 ful to allow no sound to escape her that could reach 
 the ears of her mother, who slept in the next room, 
 Her resolve was firm to grieve her no more with 
 useless expressions of sorrow ; to keep it to herself 
 as much as possible. But this very thought that she 
 must keep it to herself gave an edge to poor Ellen's 
 grief, and the convulsive clasp of her little arms 
 round the pillow plainly showed that it needed 
 none. 
 
 The breakfast-bell again startled her, and she 
 remembered she must not be too late downstairs, 
 or her mother might inquire and find out the reason. 
 " I will not trouble mother — I will not — I will not," 
 she resolved to herself as she got out of bed, though 
 the tears fell faster as she said so. Dressing was 
 sad work to Ellen to-day ; it went on very heavily. 
 Tears dropped into the water as she stooped her 
 head to the basin ; and she hid her face in the 
 towel to cry, instead of making the ordinary use of 
 it. But the usual duties were dragged through at 
 last, and she went to the window. " I'll not go 
 down till papa is gone," she thought, " he'll ask me 
 what is the matter with my eyes." 
 
 Ellen opened the window. The rain was over ; 
 the lovely light of a fair September morning was 
 beautifying everything it shone upon. Ellen had 
 been accustomed to amuse herself a good deal at 
 this window, though nothing was to be seen from 
 it but an ugly city prospect of back walls of houses, 
 with the yards belonging to them, and a bit of nar- 
 row street. But she had watched the people that 
 showed themselves at the windows, and the chil- 
 dren that played in the yards, and the women that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 15 
 
 went to the pumps, till she had become pretty well 
 acquainted with the neighborhood : and though 
 they were for the most part dingy, dirty, and dis- 
 agreeable — women, children, houses, and all — she 
 certainly had taken a good deal of interest in their 
 proceedings. It was all gone now. She could not 
 bear to look at them ; she felt as ' if it made her 
 sick ; and turning away her eyes, she lifted them 
 to the bright sky above her head, and gazed into 
 its clear depth of blue till she almost forgot that 
 there was such a thing as a city in the world. 
 Little white clouds were chasing across it, driven by 
 the fresh wind that was blowing away Ellen's hair 
 from her face, and cooling her hot cheeks. That 
 wind could not have been long in coming from 
 the place of woods and flowers, it was so sweet still. 
 Ellen looked till, she didn't know why, she felt 
 calmed and soothed, — as if somebody was saying to 
 her softly, " Cheer up, my child, cheer up ; — things 
 are not as bad as they might be : — things will be 
 better." Her attention was attracted at length by 
 voices below ; she looked down, and saw there, in 
 one of the yards, a poor deformed child, whom she 
 had often noticed before, and always with sorrow- 
 ful interest. Besides his bodily infirmity, he had a 
 further claim on her sympathy, in having lost his 
 mother within a few months. Ellen's heart was 
 easily touched this morning ; she felt for him very 
 much. " Poor, poor little ' fellow ! " she thought ; 
 " he's a great deal worse off than I am. His 
 mother is dead ; mine is only going away for a few 5 
 months — not forever — oh, what a difference ! and 
 then the joy of coming back again ! " — poor Ellen 
 was weeping already at the thought — " and I will 
 
16 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 do, oh, how much ! while she is gone — I'll do more 
 than she can possibly expect from me — I'll astonish 
 her — I'll delight her — I'll work harder than ever I 
 did in my life before — I'll mend all my faults, and 
 give her so much pleasure ! But oh ! if she only 
 needn't go away ! Oh, mamma ! " Tears of mingled 
 sweet and bitter were poured out fast, but the bitter 
 had the largest share. 
 
 The breakfast-table was still standing, and her 
 father gone, when Ellen went downstairs. Mrs. 
 Montgomery welcomed her with her usual quiet 
 smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried to smile 
 in answer, but she was glad to hide her face in her 
 mother's bosom ; and the long close embrace was 
 too close and too long ; — it told of sorrow as well 
 as love ; and tears fell from the eyes of each that 
 the other did not see. 
 
 " Need I go to school to-day, mamma ? " whis- 
 pered Ellen. 
 
 " No ; I spoke to your father about that ; you 
 shall not go any more ; we will be together now 
 while we can." 
 
 Ellen wanted to ask how long that would be, but 
 could not make up her mind to it. 
 
 " Sit down, daughter, and take some breakfast." 
 
 " Have you done, mamma ? " 
 
 " No ; I waited for you." 
 
 " Thank you, dear mamma," with another em- 
 brace, " how good you are ; but I don't think I 
 want any." 
 
 They drew their chairs to the table, but it was 
 plain neither had much heart to eat ; although Mrs. 
 Montgomery with her own hands laid on Ellen's plate 
 half of the little bird that had been broiled for her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 17 
 
 own breakfast. The half was too much for each 
 of them. 
 
 '* What made you so late this morning, daughter ? " 
 
 " I got up late, in the first place, mamma ; and 
 then I was a long time at the window." 
 
 " At the window ! were you examining into your 
 neighbor's affairs as usual ? " said Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery, surprised that it should have been so. 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma, I didn't look at them at all — 
 except poor little Billy ; — I was looking at the sky." 
 
 " And what did you see there that pleased you 
 so much ? " 
 
 " I don't know, mamma ; it looked so lovely and 
 peaceful — that pure blue spread over my head, and 
 the little white clouds flying across it — I loved to 
 look at it ; it seemed to do me good." 
 
 " Could you look at it, Ellen, without thinking of 
 Him who made it ? " 
 
 " No, mamma," said Ellen, ceasing her break- 
 fast, and now speaking with difficulty ; " I did think 
 of Him ; perhaps that was the reason." 
 
 " And what did you think of Him, daughter ? " 
 
 " I hoped, mamma — I felt — I thought — He would 
 take care of me," said Ellen, bursting into tears, 
 and throwing her arms again round her mother. 
 
 " He will, my dear daughter, He will if you will 
 only put your trust in Him, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen struggled hard to get back her composure, 
 and after a few minutes succeeded. 
 
 " Mamma, will you tell me what you mean e* 
 actly by my ' putting my trust ' in Him ? " 
 
 " Don't you trust me, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Certainly, mamma." 
 
 ** How do you trust me ? — in what?" 
 2 
 
1 3 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Why, mamma : — in the first place, I trust every 
 word you say — entirely — I know nothing could be 
 truer ; if you were to tell me black is white, mamma, 
 I should think my eyes had been mistaken. Then 
 everything you tell or advise me to do, I know it is 
 right, perfectly. And I always feel safe when you 
 are near me, because I know you'll take care of 
 me. And I am glad to think I belong to you, and 
 you have the management of me entirely, and I 
 needn't manage myself, because I know I can't; 
 and if I could, I'd rather you would, mamma." 
 
 " My daughter, it is just so ; it \sjust so ; that I 
 wish you to trust in God. He is truer, wiser, 
 stronger, kinder, by far, than I am, even if I could 
 be always with you ; and what will you do when I 
 am away from you ? — and what would you do, my 
 child, if I were to be parted from you forever ? "' 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " said Ellen, bursting into tears, 
 and clasping her arms round her mother again — 
 " Oh, dear mamma, don't talk about it ! " 
 
 Her mother fondly returned her caress, and one 
 or two tears fell on Ellen's head as she did so, but 
 that was all, and she said no more. Feeling 
 severely the effects of the excitement and anxiety 
 of the preceding day and night, she now stretched 
 herself on the sofa and lay quite still. Ellen placed 
 herself on a little bench at her side, with her back 
 to the head of the sofa, that her mother might not 
 see her face ; and possessing herself of one of her 
 hands, sat with her little head resting upon her 
 mother, as quiet as she. They remained thus for 
 two or three hours, without speaking, and Mrs. 
 Montgomery was part of the time slumbering ; but 
 now and then a tear ran down the side of the sofa 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 19 
 
 and dropped on the carpet where Ellen sat ; and 
 now and then her lips were softly pressed to the 
 hand she held, as if they would grow there. 
 
 The doctor's entrance at last disturbed them. 
 Doctor Green found his patient decidedly worse 
 than he had reason to expect ; and his sagacious 
 eye had not passed back and forth many times 
 between the mother and daughter before he saw 
 how it was. He made no remark upon it, however, 
 but continued for some moments a pleasant chatty 
 conversation which he had begun with Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery. He then called Ellen to him ; he had 
 rather taken a fancy to her. 
 
 " Well, Miss Ellen," he said, rubbing one of her 
 hands in his, " what do you think of this fine 
 scheme of mine ? " 
 
 " What scheme, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, this scheme of sending this sick lady over 
 the water to get well ; what do you think of it, eh ? " 
 
 " Will it make her quite well, do you think, sir ? " 
 asked Ellen earnestly. 
 
 " ' Will it make her well ! ' to be sure it will ; do 
 you think I don't know better than to send people 
 all the way across the ocean for nothing ? Who 
 do you think would want Dr. Green if he sent 
 people on wild-goose chases in that fashion ? " 
 
 " Will she have to stay long there before she is 
 cured, sir ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, that I can't tell ; that depends entirely on 
 circumstances — perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. 
 But now, Miss Ellen, I've got a word of business 
 to say to you ; you know you agreed to be my little 
 nurse. Mrs. Nurse, this lady whom I put under 
 your care the other day, isn't quite as well as she 
 
20 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ought to be this morning ; I'm afraid you haven't 
 taken proper care of her ; she looks to me as if she 
 had been too much excited. I've a notion she has 
 been secretly taking half a bottle of wine, or reading 
 some furious kind of a novel, or something of that 
 sort — you understand? — Now mind, Mrs. Nurse,' 
 said the doctor, changing his tone, " she must not 
 be excited — you must take care that she is not — it 
 isn't good for her. You mustn't let her talk much, 
 or laugh much, or cry at all, on any account ; she 
 mustn't be worried in the least — will you remem- 
 ber ? Now you know what I shall expect of you ; 
 you must be very careful — if that piece of toast of 
 yours should chance to get burned, one of these 
 fine evenings, I won't answer for the consequences. 
 Good-bye," said he, shaking Ellen's hand — "you 
 needn't look sober about it, — all you have to do is 
 to let your mamma be as much like an oyster as 
 possible ; — you understand ? Good-bye." And 
 Dr. Green took his leave. 
 
 " Poor woman ! " said the doctor to himself as 
 he went downstairs (he was a humane man). " I 
 wonder if she'll live till she gets to the other side ! 
 That's a nice little girl, too. Poor child ! poor 
 child!" 
 
 Both mother and daughter silently acknowledged 
 the justice of the doctor's advice and determined 
 to follow it. By common consent, as it seemed, 
 each for several days avoided bringing the subject 
 of sorrow to the other's mind ; though no doubt it 
 was constantly present to both. It was not spoken 
 of — indeed, little of any kind was spoken of, but 
 that never. Mrs. Montgomery was doubtless em- 
 ployed during this interval in preparing for what 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 21 
 
 she believed was before her; endeavoring to resign 
 herself and her child to Him in whose hands they 
 were, and struggling to withdraw her affections 
 from a world which she had a secret misgiving she 
 was fast leaving. As for Ellen, the doctor's warn- 
 ing had served to strengthen the resolve she had 
 already made, that she would not distress her 
 mother with the sight of her sorrow ; and she kept 
 it, as far as she could. She did not let her mother 
 see but very few tears, and those were quiet ones ; 
 though she drooped her head like a withered flower, 
 and went about the house with an air of submissive 
 sadness that tried her mother sorely. But when 
 she was alone, and knew no one could see, sorrow 
 had its way ; and then there were sometimes 
 agonies of grief that would almost have broken 
 Mrs. Montgomery's resolution had she known 
 them. 
 
 This, however, could not last. Ellen was a child, 
 and of most buoyant and elastic spirit naturally ; 
 it was not for one sorrow, however great, to utterly 
 crush her. It would have taken years to do that. 
 Moreover, she entertained not the slightest hope of 
 being able by any means to alter her father's will. 
 She regarded the dreaded evil as an inevitable 
 thing. But though she was at first overwhelmed 
 with sorrow, and for some days evidently pined un- 
 der it sadly, hope at length wouZd come back to her 
 little heart ; and no sooner in again, hope began to 
 smooth the roughest, and soften the hardest, and 
 touch the dark spots with light, in Ellen's future. 
 The thoughts which had just passed through her 
 head that first morning as she stood at her window 
 now came back again Thoughts of wonderful 
 
22 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 improvement to be made during her mother's ab- 
 sence ; — of unheard-of efforts to learn and amend, 
 which should all be crowned with success ; and 
 above all, thoughts of that " coming home," when 
 all these attainments and accomplishments should 
 be displayed to her mother's delighted eyes, and 
 her exertions receive their long-desired reward; — 
 they made Ellen's heart beat, and her eyes swim, 
 and even brought a smile once more upon her lips. 
 Mrs. Montgomery was rejoiced to see the change ; 
 she felt that as much time had already been given 
 to sorrow as they could afford to lose, and she 
 had not known exactly how to proceed. Ellen's 
 amended looks and spirits greatly relieved her. 
 
 " What are you thinking about, Ellen ? " said 
 she, one morning. 
 
 Ellen was sewing, and while busy at her work 
 her mother had two or three times observed a slight 
 smile pass over her face. Ellen looked up, still 
 smiling, and answered, " Oh, mamma, I was think- 
 ing of different things — things that I mean to do 
 while you are gone." 
 
 " And what are these things ? " inquired her 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, it wouldn't do to tell you before- 
 hand ; I want to surprise you with them when you 
 come back." 
 
 A slight shudder passed over Mrs. Montgomery's 
 frame, but Ellen did not see it. Mrs. Montgomery 
 was silent. Ellen presently introduced another 
 subject. 
 
 " Mamma, what kind of a person is my aunt? " 
 
 " I do not know ; I have never seen her." 
 
 " How has that happened, mamma ? ' 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 23 
 
 " Your aunt has always lived in a remote country 
 town, and I have been very much confined to two 
 or three cities, and your father's long and repea ted 
 absences made traveling impossible to me." 
 
 Ellen thought, but she didn't say it, that it was 
 very odd her father should not sometimes, when he 
 was in the country, have gone to see his relations, 
 and taken her mother with him. 
 
 " What is my aunt's name, mamma ? " 
 
 " I think you must have heard that already, 
 Ellen : Fortune Emerson." 
 
 " Emerson ! I thought she was papa's sister ? " 
 
 " So she is." 
 
 " Then how comes her name not to be Mont- 
 gomery ? " 
 
 " She is only his half-sister ; the daughter of his 
 mother, not the daughter of his father." 
 
 " I am very sorry for that," said Ellen, gravely. 
 
 " Why, my daughter ? " 
 
 " I am afraid she will not be so likely to love me." 
 
 " You mustn't think so, my child. Her loving 
 or not loving you will depend solely and entirely 
 upon yourself, Ellen. Don't forget that. If you 
 are a good child, and make it your daily care to do 
 your duty, she cannot help liking you, be she what 
 she may ; and on the other hand, if she have all the 
 will in the world to love you, she cannot do it 
 unless you will let her — it all depends on your 
 behavior." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I can't help wishing dear Aunt 
 Bessy was alive, and I was going to her." 
 
 Many a time the same wish had passed through 
 Mrs. Montgomery's mind ! But she kept down hei 
 rising heart, and went on calmly. 
 
24 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " You must not expect, my child, to find any 
 body as indulgent as I am, or as ready to overlook 
 and excuse your faults. It would be unreasonable 
 to look for it ; and you must not think hardly of 
 your aunt when you find she is not your mother ; 
 >ut then it will be your own fault if she does not 
 iove you, in time, truly and tenderly. See that 
 you render her all the respect and obedience you 
 could render me ; that is your bounden duty ; she 
 will stand in my place while she has the care of 
 you, remember that, Ellen ; and remember, too, 
 that she" will deserve more gratitude at your hands 
 for showing you kindness than I do, because she 
 cannot have the same feeling of love to make 
 trouble easy." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma," said Ellen, " I don't think so ; 
 it's that very feeling of love that I am grateful for ; 
 I don't care a fig for anything people do for me 
 without that." 
 
 " But you can make her love you, Ellen, if you 
 toy." 
 
 " Well, I'll try, mamma." 
 
 " And don't be discouraged. Perhaps you may be 
 disappointed in first appearances, but never mind 
 that ; have patience ; and let your motto be (if 
 there's any occasion), overcome evil with good. 
 Will you put that among the things you mean to 
 do while I am gone ? " said Mrs. Montgomery, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " I'll try, dear mamma." 
 
 " You will succeed if you try dear, never fear ; 
 if you apply yourself in your trying to the only un- 
 failing source of wisdom and strength — to Him 
 without whom you can do nothing." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 25 
 
 There was silence for a little. 
 
 " What sort of a place is it where my aunt lives ? " 
 asked Ellen. 
 
 " Your father says it is a very pleasant place ; he 
 says the country is beautiful, and very healthy, and 
 full of charming walks and rides. You have never 
 lived in the country ; I think you will enjoy it very 
 much." 
 
 " Then it is not a town ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " No ; it is not far from the town of Thirlwall,. 
 but your aunt lives in the open country. Your 
 father says she is a capital housekeeper, and that 
 you will learn more, and be in all respects a great 
 deal happier and better off than you would be in a 
 boarding-school here or anywhere." 
 
 Ellen's heart secretly questioned the truth of this 
 last assertion very much. 
 
 " Is there any school near ? " she asked. 
 
 " Your father says there was an excellent one in 
 Thirlwall when he was there." 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, " I think the greatest 
 pleasure I shall have while you are gone will be 
 writing to you. I have been thinking of it a good 
 deal. I mean to tell you everything — absolutely 
 everything, mamma. You know there will be no- 
 body for me to talk to as I do to you " — Ellen's 
 words came out with difficulty—" and when I feel 
 badly, I shall just shut myself up and write to you." 
 She hid her face in her mother's lap. 
 
 " I count upon it, my dear daughter ; it wilt 
 make quite as much the pleasure of my life, Ellen, 
 as of yours." 
 
 " But then, mother," said Ellen, brushing away 
 the tears from her eyes, " it will be so long before 
 
2 6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 my letters can get to you ! The things I want you 
 to know right away, you won't know perhaps in a 
 month." 
 
 " That's no matter, daughter • they will be just 
 as good when they do get to me. Never think of 
 that ; write every day, and all manner of things that 
 concern you, — just as particularly as if you were 
 speaking to me." 
 
 " And you'll write to me too, mamma ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I will — when I can. But, Ellen, you 
 say that when I am away and cannot hear you, 
 there will be nobody to supply my place. Perhaps 
 it will be so — indeed ; but then, my daughter, let it 
 make you seek that Friend who is never far away 
 nor out of hearing. Draw nigh to God, and 
 He will draw nigh to you. You know He has 
 said of His children : ' Before they call, I will 
 answer ; and while they are yet speaking, I will 
 hear.' " 
 
 " But, mamma," said Ellen, her eyes filling in- 
 stantly, " you know He is not my friend in the 
 same way that He is yours." And hiding her face 
 again, she added, " Oh, I wish He was ! " 
 
 " You know the way to make Him so, Ellen. 
 He is willing ; it only rests with you. Oh, my child, 
 my child ! If losing your mother might be the means 
 of finding you that better Friend, I should be quite 
 willing — and glad to go — forever." 
 
 There was silence, only broken by Ellen's sobs. 
 Mrs. Montgomery's voice had trembled, and her 
 face was now covered with her hands ; but she was 
 not weeping ; she was seeking a better relief where 
 it had long been her habit to seek and find it. 
 Both soon resumed their usual composure, and the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 27 
 
 employments which had been broken off, but neither 
 chose to renew the conversation. Dinner, sleeping 
 and company prevented their having another oppor- 
 tunity during the rest of the day. 
 
 But when evening came, they were again left 
 to themselves. Captain Montgomery was away, 
 which indeed was the case most of the time ; friends 
 had taken their departure ; the curtains were down, 
 the lamp lit, the little room looked cozy and com- 
 fortable ; the servant had brought the tea-things, 
 and withdrawn, and the mother and daughter were 
 happily alone. Mrs. Montgomery knew that such 
 occasions were numbered, and fast drawing to an 
 end, and she felt each one to be very precious. 
 She now lay on her couch, with her face partially 
 shaded, and her eyes fixed upon her little daughter, 
 who was preparing the tea. She watched her, with 
 thoughts and feelings not to bespoken, as the little 
 figure went back and forward between the table and 
 the fire, and the light shining full upon her busy 
 face, showed that Ellen's whole soul was in her be- 
 loved duty. Tears would fall as she looked, and 
 were not wiped away ; but when Ellen, having fin- 
 ished her work, brought with a satisfied face the 
 little tray of tea and toast to her mother, there was 
 no longer any sign of them left ; Mrs. Montgomery 
 arose, with her usual kind smile, to show her grati- 
 tude by honoring as far as possible what Ellen had 
 provided. 
 
 " You have more appetite to-night, mamma." 
 
 " I am very glad, daughter," replied her mother, 
 
 " to see that you have made up your mind to bear 
 
 patiently this evil that has come upon us. I am 
 
 glad for your sake, and I am glad for mine ; and I 
 
2b THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 am glad, too, because we have a great deal to do 
 and no time to lose in doing it." 
 
 " What have we so much to do, mamma ? " said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, many things," said her mother ; "you will 
 see. But now, Ellen, if there is anything you wish 
 to talk to me about, any question you want to ask, 
 anything you would like particularly to have, or to 
 have done for you, — I want you to tell it me as soon 
 as possible, now while we can attend to it, — for by 
 and by perhaps we shall be hurried." 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, with brightening eyes, 
 '" there is one thing I have thought of that I should 
 like to have. Shall I tell it you now ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mamma, you know I shall want to be writing a 
 great deal ; wouldn't it be a good thing for me to 
 have a little box with some pens in it, and an ink- 
 stand, and some paper and wafers ? Because, 
 mamma, you know I shall be among strangers, at 
 first, and I sha'n't feel like asking them for these 
 things as often as I shall want them, and may be 
 they wouldn't want to let me have them if I did." 
 
 " I have thought of that already, my daughter," 
 said Mrs. Montgomery, with a smile and a sigh. " I 
 will certainly take care that you are well provided 
 in that respect before you go." 
 
 " How am I to go, mamma ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, who will go with me ? You know I 
 can't go alone, mamma." 
 
 " No, my daughter, I'll not send you alone. But 
 your father says it is impossible for him to take the 
 journey at present, and it is yet more impossible 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 29 
 
 for me. There is no help for it, daughter, but we 
 must intrust you to the care of some friend going 
 that way ; — but He that holds the winds and waters 
 in the hollow of His hand can take care of you 
 without any of our help, and it is to His keeping 
 above all that I shall commit you." 
 
 Ellen made no remark, and seemed much less 
 surprised and troubled than her mother had ex- 
 pected. In truth, the greater evil swallowed up the 
 less. Parting from her mother, and for so long a 
 time, it seemed to her comparatively a matter of 
 little importance with whom she went, or how, or 
 where. Except for this, the taking a long journey 
 under a stranger's care would have been a dreadful 
 thing to her. 
 
 " Do you know yet who it will be that I shall go 
 with, mamma ? " 
 
 " Not yet ; but it will be necessary to take the 
 first good opportunity, for I cannot go till I have 
 seen you off; and it is thought very desirable that 
 I should get to sea before the severe weather 
 comes." 
 
 It was with a pang that these words were spoken, 
 and heard, but neither showed it to the other. 
 
 " It has comforted me greatly, my dear child, 
 that you have shown yourself so submissive and 
 patient under this affliction. I should scarcely 
 have been able to endure it if you had not exerted 
 self-control. You have behaved beautifully." 
 
 This was almost too much for poor Ellen. It 
 required her utmost stretch of self-control to keep 
 within any bounds of composure : and for some 
 moments her flushed cheek, quivering lip, and heav- 
 ing bosom told what a tumult her mother's words 
 
30 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had raised. Mrs. Montgomery saw she had gone 
 too far, and willing to give both Ellen and herself 
 time to recover, she laid her head on the pillow 
 again and closed her eyes. Many thoughts com- 
 ing thick upon one another presently filled her 
 mind, and half an hour had passed before she 
 again recollected what she had meant to say. She 
 opened her eyes ; Ellen was sitting at a little dis- 
 tance, staring into the fire, evidently as deep in 
 meditation as her mother had been. 
 
 " Ellen," said Mrs. Montgomery, " did you ever 
 fancy what kind of a Bible you would like to 
 have ? " 
 
 " A Bible ! mamma," said Ellen, with sparkling 
 eyes ; " do you mean to give me a Bible ? " 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery smiled. 
 
 " But, mamma," said Ellen, gently, " I thought 
 you couldn't afford it ? " 
 
 " I have said so, and truly," answered hef 
 mother ; " and hitherto you have been able to use 
 mine, but I will not leave you now without one. I 
 will find ways and means," said Mrs. Montgomery, 
 smiling again. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, thank you ! " said Ellen, delighted ; 
 " how glad I shall be ! " And after a pause of 
 consideration, she added, " Mamma, I never 
 thought much about what sort of a one I should 
 like ; couldn't I tell better if I were to see the 
 different kinds in the store ? " 
 
 ' ' Perhaps so. Well, the first day that the weather 
 ^s fine enough and I am well enough, I will go out 
 with you, and we will see about it." 
 
 " I am afraid Dr. Green won't let you, mamma." 
 
 " I shall not ask him. I want to get you a Bible, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 31 
 
 and some other things that I will not leave you 
 without, and nobody can do it but myself. I shall 
 go, if I possibly can." 
 
 " What other things, mamma ? " asked Ellen, very 
 much interested in the subject. 
 
 " I don't think it will do to tell you to-night," 
 said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling. " I foresee that 
 you and I should be kept awake quite too late if 
 we were to enter upon it just now. We will leave 
 it till to-morrow. Now read to me, love, and then 
 to bed." 
 
 Ellen obeyed, and went to sleep with brighter 
 visions dancing before her eyes than had been the 
 case for some time. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sweetheart, we shall be rich ere we depart, 
 
 If fairings come thus plentifully in. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Ellen had to wait some time for the desired fine 
 day. The equinoctial storms would have their way 
 as usual, and Ellen thought they were longer than 
 ever this year. But after many stormy days had 
 tried her patience, there was at length a sudden 
 change, both without and within doors. The clouds 
 had done their work for that time, and fled away 
 before a strong northerly wind, leaving the sky 
 bright and fair. And Mrs. Montgomery's deceitful 
 disease took a turn, and for a little space raised the 
 hopes of her friends. All were rejoicing but two 
 persons : Mrs. Montgomery was not deceived, 
 neither was the doctor. The shopping project was 
 kept a profound secret from him and from every- 
 body except Ellen. 
 
32 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen watched now for a favorable day. Every 
 morning as soon as she rose she went to the window 
 to see what was the look of the weather ; and about 
 a week after the change above noticed, she was 
 greatly pleased one morning, on opening her window 
 as usual, to find the air and sky promising all that 
 could be desired. It was one of those beautiful 
 days in the end of September, that sometimes 
 herald October before it arrives — cloudless, brill- 
 iant, and breathing balm. " This will do," said 
 Ellen to herself, in great satisfaction. " I think 
 this will do ; I hope mamma will think so." 
 
 Hastily dressing herself, and a good deal excited 
 already, she ran downstairs ; and after the morning 
 salutations, examined her mother's looks with as 
 much anxiety as she had just done those of the 
 weather. All was satisfactory there also ; and 
 Ellen ate her breakfast with an excellent appetite ; 
 but she said not a word of the intended expedition 
 till her father should be gone. She contented her- 
 self with strengthening her hopes by making con- 
 stant fresh inspections of the weather and her 
 mother's countenance alternately ; and her eyes re- 
 turning from the window on one of these excur- 
 sions and meeting her mother's face, saw a smile 
 there which said all she wanted. Breakfast went 
 on more vigorously than ever. But after breakfast 
 it seemed to Ellen that her father never would go 
 away. He took the newspaper, an uncommon thing 
 for him, and pored over it mostperseveringly, while 
 Ellen was in a perfect fidget of impatience. Her 
 mother, seeing the state she was in, and taking pity 
 on her, sent her upstairs "to do some little matters 
 of business in her e>wn room. These Ellen di& 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 33 
 
 patched with all possible zeal and speed ; and coming 
 down again found her father gone, and her mother 
 alone. She flew to kiss her in the first place, and 
 then make the inquiry, " Don't you think to-day 
 will do, mamma ? " 
 
 " As fine as possible, daughter ; we could not 
 have a better ; but I must wait till the doctor has 
 been here." 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen after a pause, making a 
 great effort of self-denial, " I am afraid you oughtn't 
 to go out to get these things for me. Pray don't,, 
 mamma, if you think it will do you harm. I would 
 rather go without them ; indeed I would." 
 
 " Never mind that, daughter," said Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery, kissing her ; " I am bent upon it • it would 
 be quite as much of a disappointment to me as to 
 you not to go. We have a lovely day for it, and 
 we will take our time and walk slowly, and we 
 haven't far to go either. But I must let Dr. Green 
 make his visit first." 
 
 To fill up the time till he came, Mrs. Montgomery 
 employed Ellen in reading to her as usual. And 
 this morning's reading Ellen long after remembered. 
 Her mother directed her to several passages in dif- 
 ferent parts of the Bible that speak of heaven and 
 its enjoyments ; and though, when she began, her 
 own little heart was full of excitement, in view of 
 the day's plans, and beating with hope and pleasure, 
 the sublime beauty of the words and thoughts, as 
 she went on, awed her into quiet, and her mother's 
 manner at length turned her attention entirely from 
 herself. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa, 
 and for the most part listened in silence, with her 
 eyes closed ; but sometimes saying a word or two 
 3 
 
34 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 that made Ellen feel how deep was the interest her 
 mother had in the things she read of, and how pure 
 and strong the pleasure she was even now taking 
 in them ; and sometimes there was a smile on her 
 face that Ellen scarce liked to see ; it gave her 
 an indistinct feeling that her mother would not be 
 long away from that heaven to which she seemed 
 already to belong. Ellen had a sad consciousness, 
 too, that she had no part with her mother in this 
 matter. She could hardly go on. She came to 
 that beautiful passage in the seventh of Revel- 
 ation : — 
 
 " And one of the elders answered saying unto me, 
 What are these which are arrayed in white robes ? 
 and whence came they? And I said unto him, 
 Sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me, These 
 are they which came out of great tribulation, and 
 have washed their robes, and made them white 
 in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they 
 before the throne of God, and serve Him day and 
 night in His temple : and He that sitteth on the 
 throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger 
 no more, neither thirst any more ; neither shall 
 the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb 
 which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, 
 and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters ; 
 and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
 With difficulty, and a husky voice, Ellen got 
 through it. Lifting then her eyes to her mother's 
 face, she saw again the same singular sweet smile. 
 Ellen felt that she could not read another word ; to 
 her great relief the door opened, and Dr. Green 
 came in. His appearance changed the whole course 
 of her thoughts. All that was grave or painful fled 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 35 
 
 quickly away ; Ellen's head was immediately full 
 again of what had filled it before she began to read. 
 
 As soon as the doctor had retired, and was fairly 
 out of hearing, " Now, mamma, shall we go ? " 
 said Ellen. "You needn't stir, mamma ; I'll bring 
 all your things to you, and put them on ; may I, 
 mamma ? then you won't be a bit tired before you 
 set out." 
 
 Her mother assented ; and with a great deal of 
 tenderness, and a great deal of eagerness, Ellen 
 put on her stockings and shoes, arranged her hair, 
 and did all that she could toward changing her 
 dress, and putting on her bonnet and shawl ; and 
 greatly delighted she was when the business was 
 accomplished. 
 
 " Now, mamma, you look like yourself ; I haven't 
 seen you look so well this great while. I'm so 
 glad you're going out again," said Ellen, putting her 
 arms round her, " I do believe it will do you good. 
 Now, mamma, I'll go and get ready ; I'll be very 
 quick about it ; you sha'n't have to wait long for 
 me." - 
 
 In a few minutes the two set forth from the 
 house. The day was as fine as could be; there 
 was no wind, there was no dust ; the sun was not 
 oppressive , and Mrs. Montgomery did feel refreshed 
 and strengthened during the few steps they had to 
 take to their first stopping-place. 
 
 It was a jeweler's store. Ellen had never been 
 in one before in her life, and her first feeling on 
 entering was of dazzled wonderment at the glittering 
 splendors around ; this was presently forgotten in 
 curiosity to know what her mother could possibly 
 want there. She soon discovered that she had 
 
3 6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 come to sell and not to buy. Mrs. Montgomery 
 drew a ring from her finger, and after a little chaf- 
 fering parted with it to the owner of the store for 
 eighty dollars, being about three-quarters of its 
 real value. The money was counted out and she 
 left the store. 
 
 "Mamma," said Ellen in a low voice, "wasn't 
 that grandmamma's ring, which I thought you 
 loved so much ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did love it, Ellen, but I love you better." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I am very sorry ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " You need not be sorry, daughter. Jewels in 
 themselves are the merest nothings to me ; and as 
 for the rest, it doesn't matter ; I can remember my 
 mother without any help from a trinket." 
 
 There were tears, however, in Mrs. Montgomery's 
 eyes, that showed the sacrifice had cost her some- 
 thing ; and there were tears in Ellen's, that told it 
 was not thrown away upon her. 
 
 " I am sorry you should know of this," continued 
 Mrs. Montgomery ; " you should not if I could have 
 helped it. But set your heart quite at rest, Ellen ; 
 I assure you this use of my ring gives me more 
 pleasure on the whole than any other I could have 
 made of it." 
 
 A grateful squeeze of her hand and glance into 
 her face was Ellen's answer. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery had applied to her husband 
 for the funds necessary to fit Ellen comfortably for 
 the time they should be absent ; and in answer he 
 had given her a sum barely sufficient for her mere 
 clothing. Mrs. Montgomery knew him better than 
 to ask for a further supply, but she resolved to have 
 recourse to other means to do what she had deter* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 37 
 
 mined upon. Now that she was about to leave her 
 little daughter, and it might be forever, she had set 
 her heart upon providing her with certain things 
 which she thought important to her comfort and 
 improvement, and which Ellen would go very long 
 without if she did not give them to her, and now. 
 Ellen had had very few presents in her life, and 
 those always of the simplest and cheapest kind ; 
 her mother resolved that in the midst of the bitter- 
 ness of this time she would give her one pleasure, 
 if she could ; it might be the last. 
 
 They stopped next at a bookstore. " Oh, what a 
 delicious smell of new books ! " said Ellen, as they 
 entered. " Mamma, if it wasn't for one thing, I 
 should say I never was so happy in my life." 
 
 Children's books, lying in tempting confusion 
 near the door, immediately fastened Ellen's eyes 
 and attention. She opened one, and was already 
 deep in the interest of it, when the word " Bibles" 
 Struck her ear. Mrs. Montgomery was desiring the 
 shopman to show her various kinds and sizes that 
 she might choose from among them. Down went 
 Ellen's book, and she flew to the place, where a 
 dozen different Bibles were presently displayed. 
 Ellen's wits were ready to forsake her. Such beau- 
 tiful Bibles she had never seen ; she pored in ecstasy 
 over their varieties of type and binding, and was 
 very evidently in love with them all. 
 
 " Now, Ellen," said Mrs. Montgomery, " look 
 and choose ; take your time, and see which you like 
 best." 
 
 It was not likely that Ellen's " time " would be a 
 short one. Her mother, seeing this, took a chair 
 at a little distance to await patiently her decision 5 
 
38 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and while Ellen's eyes were riveced on the Bibles, 
 her own very naturally were fixed upon her. In the 
 excitement and eagerness of the moment, Ellen 
 had thrown off her light bonnet, and with flushed 
 cheek and sparkling eye, and a brow grave with 
 unusual care, as though a nation's fate were decid- 
 ing, she was weighing the comparative advantages 
 of large, small, and middle-sized ; — black, blue, 
 purple, and red ; — gilt and not gilt ; — clasp and no 
 clasp. Everything but the Bibles before her Ellen 
 had forgotten utterly ; she was deep in what was to 
 her the most important of business ; she did not see 
 the bystanders smile ; she did not know there were 
 any. To her mother's eye it was a most fair sight. 
 Mrs. Montgomery gazed with rising emotions of 
 pleasure and pain that struggled for the mastery, 
 but pain at last got the better and rose very high. 
 " How can I give thee up ! " was the one thought 
 of her heart. Unable to command herself, she rose 
 and went to a distant part of the counter, where 
 she seemed to be examining books • but tears, some 
 of the bitterest she had ever shed, were falling thick 
 upon the dusty floor, and she felt her heart like to 
 break. Her little daughter at one end of the counter 
 had forgotten there ever was such a thing as sorrow 
 in the world ; and she at the other was bowed be- 
 neath a weight of it that was nigh to crush her. 
 But in her extremity she betook herself to that 
 refuge she had never known to fail ; it did not fail 
 her now. She remembered the words Ellen had 
 been reading to her but that very morning, and 
 they came like the breath of heaven upon the fever 
 of her soul. " Not my will, but Thine be done.'' 
 She strove and prayed to say it, and not in vain j 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 39 
 
 and after a little while she was able to return to her 
 seat. She felt that she had been shaken by a tem- 
 pest, but she was calmer now than before. 
 
 Ellen was just as she had left her, and apparently 
 just as far from coming to any conclusion. Mrs. 
 Montgomery was resolved to let her take her way. 
 Presently Ellen came over from the counter with a 
 large royal octavo Bible, heavy enough to be a good 
 lift for her. " Mamma," said she, laying it on her 
 mother's lap and opening it, " what do you think of 
 that ? isn't that splendid ? " 
 
 " A most beautiful page indeed ; is this your 
 choice, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Well, mamma, I don't know ; what do you 
 think ? " 
 
 " I think it is rather inconveniently large and 
 heavy for everyday use. It is quite a weight upon 
 my lap. I shouldn't like to carry it in my hands 
 long. You would want a little table on purpose to 
 hold it." 
 
 " Well, that wouldn't do at all," said Ellen, laugh- 
 ing; "I believe you are right, mamma; I wonder 
 I didn't think of it. I might have known that 
 myself." 
 
 She took it back ; and there followed another 
 careful examination of the whole stock ; and then 
 Ellen came to her mother with a beautiful minia- 
 ture edition in two volumes, gilt and clasped, and 
 very perfect in all respects, but of exceeding small 
 print. 
 
 " I think I'll have this, mamma," said she, " isn't 
 it a beauty ? I could put it in my pocket, you 
 know, and carry it anywhere with the greatest 
 ease." 
 
40 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " It would have one great objection to me," said 
 Mrs. Montgomery, " inasmuch as I cannot possibly 
 see to read it." 
 
 " Cannot you, mamma ? But I can read it per- 
 fectly." 
 
 " Well, my dear, take it ; that is, if you will 
 make up your mind to put on spectacles before 
 your time." 
 
 " Spectacles, mamma ! I hope I shall never 
 wear spectacles." 
 
 " What do you propose to do when your sight fails. 
 if you shall live so long ? " 
 
 " Well, mamma, — if it comes to that, — but you 
 don't advise me then to take this little beauty ? " 
 
 " Judge for yourself ; I think you are old enough." 
 
 " I know what you think though, mamma, and I 
 dare say you are right, too ; I won't take it, though 
 it's a pity. Well, I must look again." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery came to her help, for it was 
 plain Ellen had lost the power of judging amidst 
 so many tempting objects. But she presently 
 simplified the matter by putting aside all that were 
 decidedly too large, or too small, or of too fine 
 print. There remained three of moderate size and 
 sufficiently large type, but different binding. 
 " Either of these I think will answer your purpose 
 nicely," said Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " Then, mamma, if you please, I will have the 
 red one. I like that best, because it will put me 
 in mind of yours." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery could find no fault with this 
 reason. She paid for the red Bible, and directed 
 it to be sent home. 
 
 " Sha'n't I carry it, mamma ? " said Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 41 
 
 " No, you would find it in the way ; we have 
 several things to do yet." 
 
 " Have we, mamma ? I thought we only came 
 to get a Bible." 
 
 " That is enough for one day, I confess ; I am a 
 little afraid your head will be turned ; but I must 
 run the risk of it. I dare not lose the opportunity 
 of this fine weather ; I may not have such another. 
 I wish to have the comfort of thinking, when I am 
 away, that I have left you with everything neces- 
 sary to the keeping up of good habits — everything 
 that will make them pleasant and easy. I wish you 
 to be always neat and tidy, and industrious ; depend 
 ing upon others as little as possible ; and careful 
 to improve yourself by every means, and especially 
 by writing to me. I will leave you no excuse 
 Ellen, for failing in any of these duties. I trust, 
 you will not disappoint me in a single particular." 
 
 Ellen's heart was too full to speak ; she again 
 looked up tearfully and pressed her mother's hand. 
 
 " I do not expect to be disappointed, love," re- 
 turned Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 They now entered a large fancy store. " What 
 are we to get here, mamma ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " A box to put your pens and paper in," said her 
 mother, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, to be sure," said Ellen, "I had almost for- 
 gotten that." She quite forgot it a minute after. 
 It was the first time she had ever seen the inside 
 of such a store ; and the articles displayed on every 
 side completely bewitched her. From one thing 
 to another she went, admiring and wondering ; in 
 her wildest dreams she had never imagined such 
 beautiful things. The store was fairy-land. 
 
, + 2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery meanwhile attended to busi- 
 ness. Having chosen a neat little japanned dress- 
 ing-box, perfectly plain, but well supplied with 
 everything a child could want in that line, she 
 called Ellen from the delightful journey of discov- 
 ery she was making round the store, and asked her 
 what she thought of it. " I think it is a little 
 beauty," said Ellen ; " but I never saw such a 
 place for beautiful things." 
 
 "You think it will do, then ? " said her mother. 
 
 " For me, mamma ! You don't mean to give it 
 to me ? Oh, mother, how good you are ! But I 
 know what is the best way to thank you, and I'll 
 do it. What a perfect little beauty ! Mamma, I'm 
 too happy." 
 
 " I hope not," said her mother, " for you know I 
 haven't got you the box for your pens and paper 
 yet." 
 
 "Well, mamma, I'll try and bear it," said Ellen, 
 laughing. " But do get me the plainest little thing 
 in the world, for you're giving me too much." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery asked to look at writing-desks, 
 and was shown to another part of the store for the 
 purpose. " Mamma," said Ellen, in a low tone, as 
 they went, " you're not going to get me a writing- 
 desk?" 
 
 " Why, that is the best kind of box for holding 
 writing materials," said her mother, smiling ; — 
 " don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I don't know what to say!" exclaimed Ellen. 
 " I can't thank you, mamma ; — I haven't any words 
 to do it. I think I shall go crazy." 
 
 She was truly overcome with the weight of happi- 
 ness. Words failed her, and tears came instead- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 43 
 
 From among a great many desks of all descrip- 
 tions, Mrs. Montgomery with some difficulty suc- 
 ceeded in choosing one to her mind. It was of 
 mahogany, not very large, but thoroughly well made 
 and finished, and very convenient and perfect in 
 its internal arrangements. Ellen was speechless ; 
 occasional looks at her mother, and deep sighs, 
 were all she had now to offer. The desk was quite 
 empty. " Ellen," said her mother, " do you re- 
 member the furniture of Miss Allen's desk, that you 
 were so pleased with a while ago ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, mamma ; I know all that was in u." 
 
 " Well, then, you must prompt me if I forget any- 
 thing. Your desk shall be furnished with every- 
 thing really useful. Merely showy matters we can 
 dispense with. Now let us see — Here is a great 
 empty place that I think wants some paper to fill 
 it. Show me some of different sizes, if you please." 
 
 The shopman obeyed, and Mrs. Montgomery 
 stocked the desk well with letter-paper, large and 
 small. Ellen looked on in great satisfaction. 
 "That will do nicely," she said: — "that large 
 paper will be beautiful whenever I am writing to 
 you, mamma, you know, and the other will do for 
 other times when I haven't so much to say ; though 
 I am sure I don't know who there is in the world 
 I should ever send letters to except you." 
 
 " If there is nobody now, perhaps there will be 
 at some future time," replied her mother. " I hope 
 I shall not always be your only correspondent. 
 Now what next ? " 
 
 " Envelopes, mamma ? " 
 
 " To be sure ; I had forgotten them. Envelopes 
 of both sizes to match." 
 
44 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Because, mamma, you know I might, and I 
 certainly shall want to write upon the fourth page 
 of my letter, and I couldn't do it unless I had en- 
 velopes." 
 
 A sufficient stock of envelopes was laid in. 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, " what do you think of a 
 little note paper ? " 
 
 " Who are the notes to be written to, Ellen ? " 
 said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling. 
 
 " You needn't smile, mamma; you know, as you 
 said, if I don't know now perhaps I shall by and by. 
 Miss Allen's desk had note-paper ; that made me 
 think of it." 
 
 " So shall yours, daughter ; while we are about 
 it we will do the thing well. And your note-paper 
 will keep quite safely in this nice little place pro- 
 vided for it, even if you should not want to use a 
 sheet of it in half a dozen years." 
 
 " How nice that is ! " said Ellen, admiringly. 
 
 " I suppose the note-paper must have envelopes 
 too," said Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " To be sure, mamma ; I suppose so," said Ellen, 
 smiling ; " Miss Allen's had." 
 
 " Well, now we got have all the paper we want, I 
 think," said Mrs. Montgomery; "the next thing is 
 ink, — or an inkstand rather." 
 
 Different kinds were presented for her choice. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, that one won't do," said Ellen, 
 anxiously ; " you know the desk will be knocking 
 about in a trunk, and the ink would run out, and 
 Spoil everything. It should be one of those that 
 shut tight. I don't see the right kind here." 
 
 The shopman brought one. 
 
 "There, mamma, do you see? " said Ellen; "it 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 45 
 
 shuts with a spring, and nothing can possibly come 
 out ; do you see, mamma ? You can turn it topsy- 
 turvy." 
 
 " I see you are quite right, daughter ; it seems I 
 should get on very ill without you to advise me. 
 Fill the inkstand, if you please." 
 
 " Mamma, what shall I do when my ink is gone ? 
 that inkstand will hold but a little, you know." 
 
 " Your aunt will supply you, of course, my dear, 
 when you are out." 
 
 " I'd rather take some of my own by half," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " You could not carry a bottle of ink in your 
 desk without great danger to everything else in it. 
 It would not do to venture." 
 
 " We have excellent ink-powder," said the shop- 
 man, " in small packages, which can be very con- 
 veniently carried about. You see, ma'am, there is 
 a compartment in the desk for such things ; and 
 the ink is very easily made at any time." 
 
 " Oh, that will do nicely," said Ellen, " that is 
 just the thing." 
 
 " Now what is to go in this other square place 
 opposite the inkstand ? " said Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " That is the place for the box of lights, mamma." 
 
 " What sort of lights ? " 
 
 " For sealing letters, mamma, you know. They 
 are not like your wax taper at all ; they are little 
 wax matches, that burn just long enough to seal 
 one or two letters ; Miss Allen showed me how she 
 used them. Hers were in a nice little box just like 
 the inkstand on the outside ; and there was a place 
 to light the matches, and a place to set them in 
 while they are burning. There, mamma, that's it," 
 
46 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 said Ellen, as the shopman brought forth the article 
 which she was describing, " that's it exactly ; and 
 that will just fit. Now, mamma, for the wax." 
 
 " You want to seal your letter before you have 
 written it," said Mrs. Montgomery, — " we have not 
 got the pens yet." 
 
 " That's true, mamma; let us have the pens. 
 And some quills too, mamma ? " 
 
 " Do you know how to make a pen, Ellen ? " 
 
 " No, mamma, not yet ; but I want to learn very 
 much. Miss Pichegru says, that every lady ought 
 to know how to make her own pens." 
 
 " Miss Pichegru is very right ; but I think you 
 are rather too young to learn. However, we will 
 try. Now here are steel points enough to last you 
 a great while, — and as many quills as it is needful 
 you should cut up for one year at least ; — we haven't 
 a pen-handle yet." 
 
 " Here, mamma," said Ellen, holding out a plain 
 ivory one, — " don't you like this ? I think it is 
 prettier than these that are all cut and fussed, or 
 those other gay ones either." 
 
 " I think so too, Ellen ; the plainer the prettier. 
 Now what comes next ? " 
 
 " The knife, mamma, to make the pens," said 
 Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " True, the knife. Let us see some of your best 
 pen-knives. Now, Ellen, choose. That one won't 
 do, my dear ; it should have two blades, — a large 
 as well as a small one. You know you want to 
 mend a pencil sometimes." 
 
 " So I do, mamma, to be sure, you're very right : 
 here's a nice one. Now, mamma, the wax." 
 
 " There is a box-full ; choose your own colors." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 47 
 
 Seeing it was likely to be a work of time, Mrs. 
 Montgomery walked away to another part of the 
 store. When she returned, Ellen had made up an 
 assortment of the oddest colors she could find. 
 
 " I won't have any red, mamma, it is so com- 
 mon," she said. 
 
 " I think it is the prettiest of all," said Mrs. 
 Montgomery. 
 
 " Do you, mamma ? then I will have a stick of 
 red on purpose to seal to you with." 
 
 " And who do you intend shall have the benefit 
 of the other colors ? " inquired her mother. 
 
 " I declare, mamma," said Ellen, laughing, " I 
 never thought of that ; I am afraid they will have 
 to go to you. You must not mind, mamma, if you 
 get green and blue and yellow seals once in a 
 while." 
 
 " I dare say I shall submit myself to it with a 
 good grace," said Mrs. Montgomery. " But come, 
 my dear, have we got all that we want ? This desk 
 has been very long in furnishing." 
 
 " You haven't given me a seal yet, mamma." 
 
 " Seals ! There are a variety before you ; see if 
 you can find one that you like. By the way, you 
 cannot seal a letter, can you ? " 
 
 " Not yet, mamma," said Ellen, smiling again ; 
 " that is another of the things I have got to learn." 
 
 " Then I think you had better have some wafers 
 in the mean time." 
 
 While Ellen was picking out her seal, which took 
 not a little time, Mrs. Montgomery laid in a good 
 supply of wafers of all sorts ; and then went on 
 further to furnish the desk with an ivory leaf-cutter, 
 a paper-folder, a pounce-box, a ruler, and a neat 
 
48 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 little silver pencil ; also, some drawing-pencils, 
 India-rubber, and sheets of drawing-paper. She 
 took a sad pleasure in adding everything she could 
 think of that might be for Ellen's future use or ad- 
 vantage ; but as with her own hands she placed in 
 the desk one thing after another, the thought crossed 
 her mind how Ellen would make drawings with 
 those very pencils, on those very sheets of paper, 
 which her eyes would never see ! She turned away 
 with a sigh, and receiving Ellen's seal from her 
 hand, put that also in its place. Ellen had chosen 
 one with her own name. 
 
 " Will you send these things at once ? " said Mrs. 
 Montgomery ; " I particularly wish to have them 
 at home as early in the day as possible." 
 
 The man promised. Mrs. Montgomery paid the 
 bill, and she and Ellen left the store. 
 
 They walked a little way in silence. 
 
 " I cannot thank you, mamma," said Ellen. 
 
 " It is not necessary, my dear child," said Mrs. 
 Montgomery, returning the pressure of her hand ; 
 "" I know all that you would say." 
 
 There was as much sorrow as joy at that moment 
 in the heart of the joyfullest of .the two. 
 
 " Where are we going now, mamma ? " said Ellen 
 again, after a while. 
 
 " I wished and intended to have gone to St. 
 Clair and Fleury's, to get you some merino and 
 other things ; but we have been detained so long 
 already that I think I had better go home. I feel 
 somewhat tired." 
 
 " I am very sorry, dear mamma," said Ellen, — 
 " I am afraid I kept you too long about that desk." 
 
 '" You did not keep me, daughter, any longer than 
 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 49 
 
 I chose to be kept. But I think I will go home 
 now, and take the chance of another fine day for 
 the merino." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 How can I live without thee ! how forego 
 
 Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined. — Milton. 
 
 When dinner was over and the table cleared 
 away, the mother and daughter were left, as they 
 always loved to be, alone. It was late in the after- 
 noon, and already somewhat dark, for clouds had 
 gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, and 
 the wind rising now and then made its voice heard. 
 Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa as usual, 
 seemingly at ease ; and Ellen was sitting on a little 
 bench before the fire, very much at her ease indeed 
 without any seeming about it. She smiled as she 
 met her mother's eyes. 
 
 " You have made me very happy to-day, mamma." 
 
 " I am glad of it, my dear child. I hoped I should. 
 I believe the whole affair has given me as much 
 pleasure, Ellen, as it has you." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Mamma, I will take the greatest possible care 
 of my new treasures." 
 
 " I know you will. If I had doubted it, Ellen, 
 most assuredly I should not have given them to 
 you, sorry as I should have been to leave you with- 
 out them. So you see you have not established a 
 character for carefulness in vain." 
 
 " And, mamma, I hope you have not given them 
 to me in vain, either. I will try to use them in the 
 way that I know you wish me to ; that will be the 
 best way I can thank you." 
 4 
 
50 THE WIDE WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Well, I have left you no excuse, Ellen. You 
 know fully what I wish you to do and to be ; and 
 when I am away I shall please myself with thinking 
 that my little daughter is following her mother's 
 wishes ; I shall believe so, Ellen. You will not let 
 me be disappointed ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma,'' said Ellen, who was now in 
 her mother's arms. 
 
 "Well, my child," said Mrs. Montgomery, in a 
 lighter tone, " my gifts will serve as reminders for 
 you if you are ever tempted to forget my lessons. 
 If you fail to send me letters, or if those you send 
 are not what they ought to be, I think the desk 
 will cry shame upon you. And if you ever go 
 an hour with a hole in your stocking, or a tear 
 in your dress, or a string off your petticoat, I 
 hope the sight of your work-box will make you 
 blush." 
 
 " Work-box, mamma ? " 
 
 " Yes. Oh, I forgot ; you've not seen that." 
 
 " No, mamma ; what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear, that was one of the things you 
 most wanted, but I thought it best not to over- 
 whelm you quite this morning ; so while you were 
 on an exploring expedition round the store, I chose 
 and furnished one for you." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " said Ellen getting up 
 and clasping her hands, " what shall I do ? I 
 don't know what to say ; I can't say anything. 
 Mamma, it's too much." 
 
 So it seemed, for Ellen sat down and began to 
 cry. Her mother silently reached out a hand to 
 her, which she squeezed and kissed with all the 
 energy of gratitude, love, and sorrow ; till gently 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 51 
 
 drawn by the same hand she was placed again in 
 her mother's arms and upon her bosom. And in 
 that tired resting-place she lay, calmed and quieted, 
 till the shades of afternoon deepened into evening 
 and evening into night, and the light of the fire 
 was all that was left to them. 
 
 Though not a word had been spoken for a long 
 time, Ellen was not asleep ; her eyes were fixed on 
 the red glow of the coals in the grate, and she was 
 busily thinking, but not of them. Many sober 
 thoughts were passing through her little head, and 
 stirring her heart ; a few were of her new posses- 
 sions and bright projects — more of her mother. 
 She was thinking how very very precious was the 
 heart she could feel beating where her cheek lay — • 
 she thought it was greater happiness to lie there than 
 anything else in life could be — she thought she had 
 rather even die so, on her mother's breast, than 
 live long without her in the world — she felt that in 
 earth or in heaven there was nothing so dear. 
 Suddenly she broke the silence. 
 
 " Mamma, what does that mean, ' He that loveth 
 father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of 
 Me ' ?." 
 
 " It means just what it says. If you love any- 
 body or anything better than Jesus Christ, you 
 cannot be one of His children.'^ 
 
 "But, then, mamma," said Ellen, raising her 
 head, " how can I be one of His children ? I do 
 love you a great deal better ; how can I help it, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " You cannot help it, I know, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Montgomery, with a sigh, " except by His 
 grace who has promised to change the hearts of 
 
5 2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 His people — to take away the heart of stone and 
 give them a heart of flesh." 
 
 " But is mine a heart of stone then, mamma, be- 
 cause I cannot help loving you best ? " 
 
 " Not to me, dear Ellen," replied Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery, pressing closer the little form that lay in 
 her arms ; " I have never found it so. But yet I 
 know that the Lord Jesus is far, far more worthy of 
 your affection than I am, and if your heart were 
 not hardened by sin you would see Him so ; it is 
 only because you do not know Him that you love 
 me better. Pray, pray, my dear child, that He 
 would take away the power of sin, and show you 
 Himself ; that is all that is wanting." 
 
 " I will, mamma," said Ellen, tearfully. " Oh, 
 mamma, what shall I do without you ? " 
 
 Alas ! Mrs. Montgomery's heart echoed the 
 question ; she had no answer. 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, after a few minutes, " can 
 I have no true love to Him at all unless I love 
 Him best ? " 
 
 " I dare not say that you can," answered her 
 mother seriously. 
 
 " Mamma," said Ellen, after a little, again rais- 
 ing her head and looking her mother full in the face, 
 as if willing to apply the severest test to this hard 
 doctrine, and speaking with an indescribable ex- 
 pression, " do you love Him better than you do me ? " 
 
 She knew her mother loved the Saviour, but she 
 thought it scarcely possible that herself could have 
 but the second place in her heart ; she ventured a 
 bold question to prove whether her mother's prac- 
 tice would not contradict her theory. 
 
 But Mrs. Montgomery answered steadily, " I do, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLE. 53 
 
 my daughter ; " and with a gush of tears Ellen sunk 
 her head again upon her bosom. She had no more 
 to say ; her mouth was stopped forever as to the 
 right of the matter, though she still thought it an 
 impossible duty in her own particular case. 
 
 " I do, indeed, my daughter," repeated Mrs. 
 Montgomery ; " that does not make my love to you 
 the less, but the more, Ellen." 
 
 ■ " Oh, mamma, mamma," said Ellen, clinging to 
 her, " I wish you would teach me ! I have only 
 you, and I am going to lose you. What shall I do, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 With a voice that strove to be calm Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery answered, " ' I love them that love Me, 
 and they that seek Me early shall find Me.' " And 
 after a minute or two she added, " He who says 
 this has promised too that He will \ gather the 
 lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom.' " 
 
 The words fell soothingly on Ellen's ear, and the 
 slight tremor in the voice reminded her also that 
 her mother must not be agitated. She checked 
 herself instantly, and soon lay as before, quiet and 
 still on her mother's bosom, with her eyes fixed on 
 the fire ; and Mrs. Montgomery did not know that 
 when she now and then pressed a kiss upon the 
 forehead that lay so near her lips, it every time 
 brought the water to Ellen's eyes and a throb to 
 her heart But after some half or three-quarters of 
 an hour had passed away, a sudden knock at the 
 door found both mother and daughter asleep ; it 
 had to be repeated once or twice before the knocker 
 Could gain attention. 
 
 " What is that, mamma ? " said Ellen, starting up. 
 
 " Somebody at the door. Open it quickly, love»" 
 
54 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen did so, and found a man standing there, 
 with his arms rather full of sundry packages. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, my things ! " cried Ellen, clapping 
 her hands ; " here they are ! " 
 
 The man placed his burden on the table, and 
 withdrew. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I am so glad they are come ! Now 
 if I only had a light — this is my desk, I know, for 
 it's the largest ; and I think this is my dressing- 
 box, as well as I can tell by feeling — yes, it is, 
 here's the handle on top ; and this is my dear work' 
 box — not so big as the desk, nor so little as the 
 dressing-box. Oh, mamma, mayn't I ring for a 
 light ? " 
 
 There was no need, for a servant just then entered, 
 bringing the wished-for candles, and the not- 
 wished-for tea. Ellen was capering about in the 
 most fantastic style, but suddenly stopped short at 
 sight of the tea-things, and looked very grave. 
 
 " Well, mamma, I'll tell you what I'll do," she 
 said, after a pause of consideration ; " I'll make 
 the tea the first thing, before I untie a single knot ; 
 won't that be best, mamma ? Because I know if I 
 once begin to look I sha'n't want to stop. Don't 
 you think that is wise, mamma ? " 
 
 But alas ! the fire had got very low ; there wa3 
 no making the tea quickly, and the toast was a 
 work of time. And when all was over at length, it 
 was then too late for Ellen to begin to undo pack- 
 ages. She struggled with impatience a minute or 
 two, and then gave up the point very gracefully, 
 and went to bed. 
 
 She had a fine opportunity the next day to make 
 up for the evening's disappointment. It was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 5^ 
 
 cloudy and stormy ; going out was not to be 
 thought of, and it was very unlikely that anybody 
 would come in. Ellen joyfully allotted the whole, 
 morning to the examination and trial of her new 
 possessions ; and as soon as breakfast was over and 
 the room clear she set about it. She first went 
 through the desk and everything in it, making a 
 running commentary on the excellence, fitness, and 
 beauty of all it contained ; then the dressing-box 
 received a share, but a much smaller share, of 
 attention ; and, lastly, with fingers trembling with 
 eagerness, she untied the packthread that was- 
 wound round the work-box, and slowly took off 
 cover after cover • she almost screamed when the 
 last was removed. The box was of satin-wood, 
 beautifully finished, and lined with crimson silk ; 
 and Mrs. Montgomery had taken good care it 
 should want nothing that Ellen might need to keep 
 her clothes in perfect order. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, how beautiful! Oh, mamma, 
 how good you are ! Mamma, I promise you I'll 
 never be a slattern. Here is more cotton than I 
 can use up in a great while — every number, I do 
 think ; and needles, oh, the needles ! what a parcel 
 of them! and, mamma! what a lovely scissors! 
 did you choose it, mamma, or did it belong to the. 
 box ? " 
 
 " I chose it." 
 
 " I might have guessed it, mamma, it's just like 
 you. And here's a thimble — fits me exactly ; and 
 an emery-bag ! how pretty ! — and a bodkin ! this is 
 a great deal nicer than yours, mamma — yours is 
 decidedly the worse for wear ; — and, what's this ? — 
 oh, to make eyelet holes with, I know. And oh, 
 
56 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 mamma ! here is almost everything, I think — here 
 are tapes, and buttons, and hooks and eyes, and 
 darning cotton, and silk-winders, and pins, and all 
 sorts of things. What's this for, mamma ? " 
 
 " That's a scissors to cut buttonholes with. Try 
 it on that piece of paper that lies by you, and you 
 will see how it works." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " said Ellen, " how very nice that 
 is. Well, I shall take great pains now to make my 
 buttonholes very handsomely." 
 
 One survey of her riches could by no means 
 satisfy Ellen. For some time she pleased herself 
 with going over and over the contents of the box, 
 finding each time something new to like. At 
 length she closed it, and keeping it still in her lap, 
 sat awhile looking thoughtfully into the fire ; till, 
 turning toward her mother she met her gaze, fixed 
 mournfully, almost tearfully, on herself. The box 
 was instantly shoved aside, and getting up and 
 bursting into tears, Ellen went to her. 
 
 " Oh, dear mother," she said, "I wish they were 
 all back in the store, if I could only keep you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery answered only by folding her 
 to her heart. 
 
 " Is there no help for it, mamma ? " 
 
 "There is none. — We know that all things shall 
 work together for good to them that love God." 
 
 " Then it will be all good for you, mamma, but 
 what will it be for me ? " And Ellen sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 " It will be all well, my precious child, I doubt 
 not. I do not doubt it, Ellen. Do you not doubt 
 it either, love ; but from the hand that wounds, 
 seek the healing. He wounds that He may heal. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 57 
 
 He does not afflict willingly. Perhaps He sees, 
 Ellen, that you never would seek Him while you 
 had me to cling to." 
 
 Ellen clung to her at that moment, yet not more 
 than her mother clung to her. 
 
 " How happy we were, mamma, only a year ago, 
 — even a month." 
 
 "We have no continuing city here," answered 
 her mother, with a sigh. " But there is a home, 
 Ellen, where changes do not come ; and they that 
 are once gathered there are parted no more for- 
 ever ; and all tears are wiped from their eyes. I 
 believe I am going fast to that home ; and now my 
 greatest concern is, that my little Ellen — my 
 precious baby — may follow me and come there 
 too." 
 
 No more was said, nor could be said, till the 
 sound of the doctor's steps upon the stair ob- 
 liged each of them to assume an appearance of 
 composure as speedily as possible. But they could 
 not succeed perfectly enough to blind him. He 
 did not seem very well satisfied, and told Ellen he 
 believed he should have to get another nurse, — he 
 was afraid she didn't obey orders. 
 
 While the doctor was there Ellen's Bible was 
 brought in ; and no sooner was he gone than it un- 
 derwent as thorough an examination as the boxes 
 had received. Ellen went over every part of it 
 with the same great care and satisfaction, but 
 mixed with a different feeling. The words that 
 caught her eye as she turned over the leaves 
 seemed to echo what her mother had been say- 
 ing to her. It began to grow dear already. After 
 a little she rose and brought it to the sofa. 
 
^3 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Are you satisfied with it, Ellen ? " 
 
 f* Oh, yes, mamma ; it is perfectly beautiful, out 
 side and inside. Now, mamma, will you please ta 
 write my name in this precious book — my name, 
 and anything else you please, mother. I'll bring 
 you my new pen to write it with, and I've got ink 
 here ;— shall I ? " 
 
 She brought it ; and Mrs. Montgomery wrote 
 Ellen's name, and the date of the gift. The pen 
 played a moment in her fingers, and then she wrote 
 below the date : 
 
 " ' I love them that love Me ; and they that seek 
 Me early shall find Me.' " 
 
 This was for Ellen ; but the next words were not 
 for her; what made her write them ? — 
 
 " ' I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after 
 thee.' " 
 
 They were written almost unconsciously, and as 
 if bowed by an unseen force, Mrs. Montgomery's 
 head sank upon the open page ; and her whole soul 
 went up with her petition : 
 
 " Let these words be my memorial, that I have 
 trusted in Thee. And oh, when these miserable 
 lips are silent forever, remember the word unto Thy 
 servant, upon which Thou hast caused me to hope ; 
 and be unto my little one all Thou hast been to me. 
 Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, O Thou that 
 dwellest in the heavens ! " 
 
 She raised her face from the book, closed it, and 
 gave it silently to Ellen. Ellen had noticed her 
 action, but had no suspicion of the cause ; she 
 supposed that one of her mother's frequent feelings 
 of weakness or sickness had made her lean her head 
 upon the Bible, and she thought no more about it 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 59 
 
 However, Ellen felt that she wanted no more of her 
 boxes that day. She took her old place by the side 
 of her mother's sofa, with her head upon her 
 mother's hand, and an expression of quiet sorrow in 
 her face that it had not worn for several days. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 My child is yet a stranger in the world, 
 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years. 
 
 Shakspearb. 
 
 The next day would not do for the intended, 
 shopping ; nor the next. The third day was nne 7 
 though cool and windy. 
 
 " Do you think you can venture out to-day y 
 mamma ? " said Ellen 
 
 " I am afraid not. I do not feel quite equal to 
 it ; and the wind is a great deal too high for me 
 besides." 
 
 " Well," said Ellen, in the tone of one who is 
 making up her mind to something, " we shall have 
 a fine day by and by, I suppose, if we wait long 
 enough ; we had to wait a great while for our first 
 shopping day. I wish such another would come 
 round." 
 
 " But the misfortune is," said her mother, " that 
 we cannot afford to wait. November will soon be 
 here, and your clothes may be suddenly 1 wanted 
 before they are ready, if we do not bestir ourselves. 
 And Miss Rice is coming in a few days— I ought 
 to have the merino ready for her." 
 
 " What will you do, mamma ? " 
 
 " I do not know, indeed, Ellen ; I am greatly at 
 a loss." 
 
 " Couldn't papa get the stuffs for you. mamma? f 
 
60 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " No, he's too busy ; and besides, he knows noth- 
 ing at all about shopping for me ; he would be sure 
 to bring me exactly what I do not want. I tried 
 that once." 
 
 " Well, what will you do, mamma ? Is there no- 
 body else you could ask to get the things for you ? 
 Mrs. Foster would do it, mamma ! " 
 
 " I know she would, and I should ask her with- 
 out any difficulty, but she is confined to her room 
 with a cold. I see nothing for it but to be patient 
 and let things take their course, though if a favor- 
 able opportunity should offer you would have to go, 
 clothes or no clothes ; it would not do to lose the 
 chance of a good escort." 
 
 And Mrs. Montgomery's face showed that this 
 possibility, of Ellen's going unprovided, gave her 
 some uneasiness. Ellen observed it. 
 
 " Never mind me, dearest mother ; don't be in 
 the least worried about my clothes. You don't 
 know how little I think of them or care for them. 
 It's no matter at all whether I have them or not." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery smiled, and passed her hand 
 fondly over her little daughter's head, but presently 
 resumed her anxious look out of the window. 
 
 " Mamma ! " exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting 
 up, " a bright thought has just come into my head ! 
 /'// do it for you, mamma ! " 
 
 " Do what ? " 
 
 " I'll get the merino and things for you, mamma. 
 You needn't smile, — I will, indeed, if you will let 
 me?" 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said her mother, " I don't 
 doubt you would if good will only were wanting ; 
 but a great deal of skill and experience is necessary 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 61 
 
 for a shopper, and what would you do without 
 either ? " 
 
 " But see, mamma," pursued Ellen, eagerly, "I'll 
 tell you how I'll manage, and I know I can manage 
 very well. You tell me exactly what colored merino 
 you want, and give me a little piece to show me how 
 fine it should be, and tell me what price you wish to 
 give, and then I'll go to the store and ask them to 
 show me different pieces, you know, and if I see any 
 I think you would like, I'll ask them to give me a 
 little bit of it to show you; and then I'll bring it 
 home, and if you like it, you can give me the money, 
 and tell me how many yards you want, and I can go 
 back to the store and get it. Why can't I, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you could ; but, my dear child, I am 
 afraid you wouldn't like the business." 
 
 " Yes, I should ; indeed, mamma, I should like 
 it dearly if I could help you so. Will you let me 
 try, mamma ? " 
 
 " I don't like, my child, to venture you alone on 
 such an errand, among crowds of people ; I should 
 be uneasy about you." 
 
 " Dear mamma, what would the crowds of people 
 do to me ? I am not a bit afraid. You know, 
 mamma, I have often taken walks alone, — that's 
 nothing new ; and what harm could come to me 
 while I am in the store ? You needn't be the least 
 uneasy about me ; — may I go ? " 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but was silent. 
 
 " May I go, mamma ? " repeated Ellen. " Let 
 me go at least and try what I can do. What do 
 you say, mamma ? " 
 
 " I don't know what to say, my daughter, but I 
 
b 2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 am in difficulty on either hand. I will let you g<\ 
 and see what you can do. It would be a great 
 relief to me to get this merino by any means." 
 " Then shall I go right away, mamma ? " 
 " As well now as ever. You are not afraid of 
 the wind ? " 
 
 " I should think not," said Ellen ; and away she 
 scampered upstairs to get ready. With eager haste 
 she dressed herself; then with great care and par- 
 ticularity took her mother's instructions as to the 
 article wanted ; and finally set out, sensible that 
 a great trust was reposed in her, and feeling busy 
 and important accordingly. But at the very bottom 
 of Ellen's heart there was a little secret doubtful- 
 ness respecting her undertaking. She hardly knew 
 it was there, but then she couldn't tell what it was 
 that made her fingers so inclined to be tremulous 
 while she was dressing, and that made her heart 
 beat quicker than it ought, or than was pleasant, and 
 one of her cheeks so much hotter than the other. 
 However, she set forth upon her errand with a very 
 brisk step, which she kept up till on turning a 
 corner she came in sight of the place she was go- 
 ing to. Without thinking much about it, Ellen had 
 directed her steps to St. Clair and Fleury's. It was 
 one of the largest and best stores in the city, and 
 the one she knew where her mother generally made 
 her purchases ; and it did not occur to her that it 
 might not be the best for her purpose on this oc- 
 casion. But her steps slackened as soon as she 
 came in sight of it, and continued to slacken as she 
 drew nearer, and she went up the broad flight of 
 marble steps in front of the store very slowly in- 
 deed, though they were exceeding low and easy. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD C3 
 
 Pleasure was not certainly the uppermost feeling in 
 her mind now ; yet she never thought of turning 
 back. She knew that if she could succeed in the 
 object of her mission, her mother would be relieved 
 from some anxiety ; that was enough ; she was 
 bent on accomplishing it. 
 
 Timidly she entered the large hall of entrance. 
 It was full of people, and the buzz of business was 
 heard on all sides. Ellen had for some time 
 past seldom gone a-shopping with her mother, and 
 had never been in this store but once or twice 
 before. She had not the remotest idea where, or 
 in what apartment of the building, the merino 
 counter was situated, and she could see no one to 
 speak to. She stood irresolute in the middle of the 
 floor. Everybody seemed to be busily engaged 
 with somebody else ; and whenever an opening on 
 one side or another appeared to promise her ajffl op- 
 portunity, it was sure to be filled up before^she 
 could reach it, and, disappointed and abashed, she 
 would return to her old station in the middle of the 
 floor. Clerks frequently passed her, crossing the 
 store in all directions, but they were always bus- 
 tling along in a great hurry of business ; they did 
 not seem to notice her at all, and were gone before 
 poor Ellen could get her mouth open to speak to 
 them. She knew well enough now, poor child, 
 what it was that made her cheeks burn as they did, 
 and her heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. 
 She felt confused, and almost confounded, by the 
 incessant hum of voices, and moving crowd of 
 strange people all around her, while her little figure 
 stood alone and unnoticed in the midst of them ; 
 and there seemed no prospect that she would be 
 
64 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 able to gain the ear or the eye of a single person. 
 Once she determined to accost a man she saw ad- 
 vancing toward her from a distance, and actually 
 made up to him for the purpose, but with a hur- 
 ried bow, and " I beg your pardon, miss ! " he 
 brushed past. Ellen almost burst into tears. She 
 longed to turn and run« out of the store, but a faint 
 hope remaining, and an unwillingness to give up 
 her undertaking, kept her fast. At length one of 
 the clerks in the desk observed her, and remarked 
 to Mr. St. Clair who stood by, " There is a little 
 girl, sir, who seems to be looking for something, or 
 waiting for somebody ; she has been standing there 
 a good while." Mr. St. Clair, upon this, advanced 
 to poor Ellen's relief. 
 
 " What do you wish, miss ? " 
 
 But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences, 
 trying to utter them and failing in the attempt, that 
 now; r.when an opportunity to speak and be heard 
 was given her, the power of speech seemed to be 
 gone. 
 
 " Do you wish anything, miss ? " inquired Mr. 
 St. Clair again. 
 
 " Mother sent me," stammered Ellen, — " I wish, 
 if you please, sir, — mamma wished me to look at 
 merinoes, sir, if you please." 
 
 " Is your mamma in the store ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, " she is ill, and cannot 
 come out, and she sent me to look at merinoes for 
 her, if you please, sir." 
 
 "Here, Saunders," said Mr. St. Clair, "show 
 this young lady the merinoes." 
 
 Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among 
 a little group of clerks, with whom he had been in- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 65 
 
 dulging in a few jokes by way of relief from the 
 tedium of business. " Come this way," he said to 
 Ellen ; and sauntering before her, with a rather dis- 
 satisfied air, led the way out of the entrance hall 
 into another and much larger apartment. There 
 were plenty of people here too, and just as busy as 
 those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having 
 brought Ellen to the merino counter, placed him- 
 self behind it ; and leaning over it and fixing his 
 eyes carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted 
 to look at. His tone and manner struck Ellen most 
 unpleasantly, and made her again wish herself out 
 of the store. He was a tall lank young man, with 
 a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side 
 of his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most dis- 
 agreeable pair of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever 
 beheld. She could not bear to meet them, and 
 cast down her own. Their look was bold, ill-bred, 
 and ill-humored ; and Ellen felt, though she couldn't 
 have told why, that she need not expect either kind- 
 ness or politeness from him. 
 
 " What do you want to see, little one ? " inquired 
 this gentleman, as if he had a business on hand he 
 would like to be rid of. Ellen heartily wished he 
 was rid of it, and she too. " Merinoes, if you 
 please," she answered, without looking up. 
 
 " Well, what kind of merinoes ? Here are all 
 sorts, and descriptions of merinoes, and I can't pull 
 them all down, you know, for you to look at. What 
 kind do you want ? " 
 
 " I don't know without looking," said Ellen, 
 ''won't you please to show me some ? " 
 
 He tossed down several pieces upon the counteTj 
 and tumbled them about before her. 
 
66 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " There," said he, " is that anything like what 
 you want ? There's a pink one, — and there's a blue 
 one, — and there's a green one. Is that the kind ? " 
 
 " This is the kind," said Ellen ; " but this isn't 
 the color I want." 
 
 " What color do you want ? " 
 
 " Something dark, if you please." 
 
 " Well, there, that green's dark ; won't that do ? 
 See, that would make up very pretty for you." 
 
 "No," said Ellen, "mamma don't like green." 
 
 " Why don't she come and choose her stuffs her- 
 self, then ? What color does she like ? " 
 
 " Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray, would 
 do," said Ellen, " if it is fine enough." 
 
 " * Dark blue,' or ' dark brown,' or a ' nice gray,' 
 eh ? Well, she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue 
 I've showed you already, — what's the matter with 
 that ? " 
 
 " It isn't dark enough," said Ellen. 
 
 " Well," said he, discontentedly, pulling down 
 another piece, " how'll that do ? That's dark 
 enough." 
 
 .. It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different 
 from those he had shown her at first. Even Ellen 
 could see that, and fumbling for her little pattern 
 of merino, she compared it with the piece. They 
 agreed perfectly as to fineness. 
 
 " What is the price of this ? " she asked, with 
 trembling hope that she was going to be rewarded 
 by success for all the trouble of her enterprise. 
 
 " Two dollars a yard." 
 
 Her hopes and her countenance fell together. 
 ••That's too high," she said, with a sigh. 
 
 " Then take this other blue ; come, — it's a great 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 67 
 
 deal prettier than that dark one, and not so dear ; 
 and I know your mother will like it better." 
 
 Ellen's cheeks were tingling and her heart throb- 
 bing, but she couldn't bear to give up. 
 
 " Would you be so good as to show me some 
 gray?" 
 
 He slowly and ill-humoredly complied, and took 
 down an excellent piece of dark gray, which Ellen 
 fell in love with at once ; but she was again disap* 
 pointed ; it was fourteen shillings. 
 
 " Well, if you won't take that, take something 
 else," said the man; "you can't have everything 
 at once ; if you will have cheap goods, of course 
 you can't have the same quality that you like ; but 
 now here's this other blue, only twelve shillings, 
 and I'll let you have it for ten if you'll take it." 
 
 " No, it is too light and too coarse," said Ellen, 
 " mamma wouldn't like it." 
 
 " Let me see," said he, seizing her pattern and 
 pretending to compare it ; " it's quite as fine as this, 
 if that's all you want." 
 
 " Could you," said Ellen, timidly, " give me a 
 little bit of this gray to show to mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said he, impatiently, tossing over the 
 cloths and throwing Ellen's pattern on the floor; 
 " we can't cut up our goods ; if people don't 
 choose to buy of us they may go somewhere else, 
 and if you cannot decide upon anything, I must go 
 and attend to those that can. I can't wait here all 
 day." 
 
 "* What's the matter, Saunders ? " said one of his 
 brother clerks, passing him. 
 
 "Why, I've been here this half hour showing 
 cloths to a child that doesn't know merino from a 
 
68 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 sheep's back," said he, laughing. And some other 
 customers coming up at the moment, he was as 
 good as his word, and left Ellen to attend to 
 them. 
 
 Ellen stood a moment stock-still, just where he 
 had left her, struggling with her feelings of morti- 
 fication; she could not endure to let them be 
 seen. Her face was on fire ; her head was dizzy. 
 She could not stir at first, and in spite of her 
 utmost efforts she could not command back one or 
 two rebel tears that forced their way ; she lifted 
 her hand to her face to remove them as quietly as 
 possible. " What is all this about, my little girl ? " said 
 a strange voice at her side. Ellen started, and turned 
 her face, with the tears but half wiped away, toward 
 the speaker. It was an old gentleman, an odd old 
 gentleman, too, she thought; one she certainly 
 would have been rather shy of if she had seen him 
 under other circumstances. But though his face 
 was odd, it looked kindly upon her, and it was a 
 kind tone of voice in which his question had been 
 put ; so he seemed to her like a friend. " What is 
 all this ? " repeated the old gentleman. Ellen 
 began to tell what it was, but the pride which had 
 forbidden her to weep before strangers gave way at 
 one touch of sympathy, and she poured out tears 
 much faster than words as she related her story, so 
 that it was some little time before the old gentle- 
 man could get a clear notion of her case. He 
 Waited very patiently till she had finished ; but 
 then he set himself in good earnest about righting 
 the wrong. " Hallo ! you, sir ! " he shouted, in a 
 voice that made everybody look round ; " you 
 merino man ! come and show your goods : why 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 69 
 
 aren't you at your post, sir ? " — as Mr. Saunders 
 came up with an altered countenance — "here's a 
 young lady you've left standing unattended to I 
 don't know long ; are these your manners ? " 
 
 " The young lady did not wish anything, I be- 
 lieve, sir," returned Mr. Saunders, softly. 
 
 " You know better, you scoundrel," retorted the 
 old gentleman, who was in a great passion • " I 
 saw the whole matter with my own eyes. You are 
 a disgrace to the store, sir, and deserve to be sent 
 out of it, which you are like enough to be." 
 
 " I really thought, sir," said Mr. Saunders, 
 smoothly, — for he knew the old gentleman, and 
 knew very well he was a person that must not be 
 offended, — " I really thought — I was not aware, sir, 
 that the young lady had any occasion for my 
 services." 
 
 "Well, show your wares, sir, and hold your 
 tongue. Now, my dear, what did you want ? " 
 
 " I wanted a little bit of this gray merino, sir, to 
 show to mamma; — I couldn't buy it, you know, sir, 
 until I found out whether she would like it." 
 
 " Cut a piece, sir, without any words," said 
 the old gentleman. Mr. Saunders obeyed. 
 
 " Did you like this best ? " pursued the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I liked this dark blue very much, sir, and I 
 thought mamma would ; but it's too high." 
 
 " How much is it ! " inquired he. 
 
 " Fourteen shillings," replied Mr. Saunders. 
 
 " He said it was two dollars ! " exclaimed Ellen, 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the crest-fallen Mr. Saun- 
 ders, " the young lady mistook me ; I was speak- 
 ing of another piece when I said two dollars." 
 
70 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " He said this was two dollars, and the graj 
 fourteen shillings," said Ellen. 
 
 " Is the gray fourteen shillings ? " inquired the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 " I think not, sir," answered Mr. Saunders — " I 
 believe not, sir, — I think it's only twelve, — I'll 
 inquire, if you please, sir." 
 
 " No, no," said the old gentleman, " I know it 
 was only twelve — I know your tricks, sir. Cut a 
 piece off the blue. Now, my dear, are there any 
 more pieces of which you would like to take pat- 
 terns, to show your mother ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said the overjoyed Ellen ; " I sure she 
 will like one of these." 
 
 " Now, shall we go, then ? " 
 
 " If you please, sir," said Ellen, " I should like 
 to have my bit of merino that I brought from home ; 
 mamma wanted me to bring it back again." 
 
 " Where is it ? " 
 
 " That gentleman threw it on the floor." 
 
 " Do you hear, sir ? " said the old gentleman ; 
 " find it directly." 
 
 Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stoop- 
 ing in search of it till he was very red in the face ; 
 and he was left, wishing heartily that he had some 
 safe means of revenge, and obliged to come to the 
 conclusion that none was within his reach, and 
 that he must stomach his indignity in the best 
 manner he could. But Ellen and her protector went 
 forth most joyously together from the store. 
 
 " Do you live far from here ? " asked the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," s-*d Ellen, " not very ; it's only 
 at Green's Hotel, in Southing Street." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 7 1 
 
 " I'll go with you," said he, " and when your 
 mother has decided which merino she will have, 
 we'll come right back and get it. I do not want to 
 trust you again to the mercy of that saucy clerk." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir ! " said Ellen, " that is just 
 what I was afraid of. But I shall be giving you 
 a great deal of trouble, sir," she added, in another 
 tone. 
 
 " No, you won't," said the old gentleman, " I 
 can't be troubled, so you needn't say anything about 
 that." 
 
 They went gayly along — Ellen's heart about five 
 times as light as the one with which she had trav- 
 eled that very road a little while before. Her old 
 friend was in a very cheerful mood too, for he as- 
 sured Ellen laughingly that it was of of no manner 
 of use for her to be in a hurry, for he could not 
 possibly set off and skip to Green's Hotel, as she 
 seemed inclined to do. They got there at last 
 Ellen showed the old gentleman into the parlor, 
 and ran upstairs in great haste to her mother. But 
 in a few minutes she came down again, with a very 
 April face, for smiles were playing in every feature, 
 while the tears were yet wet upon her cheeks. 
 
 " Mamma hopes you'll take the trouble, sir, to 
 come upstairs," she said, seizing his hand ; " she 
 wants to thank you herself, sir." 
 
 " It is not necessary," said the old gentleman, — 
 " it is not necessary at all ; " but he followed hi? 
 little conductor nevertheless, to the door of hex 
 mother's room, into which she ushered him with 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery was looking very ill — he saw 
 that at a glance. She rose from her sofa, and ex- 
 
y-j THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 tending her hand, thanked him with glistening eyes 
 for his kindness to her child. 
 
 " I don't deserve any thanks, ma'am," said the 
 old gentleman ; " I suppose my little friend has 
 told you what made us acquainted ? " 
 
 " She gave me a very short account of it," said 
 Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " She was very disagreeably tried," said the old 
 gentleman. " I presume you do not need to be told, 
 ma'am, that her behavior was such as would have 
 become any years. I assure you, ma'am, if I had 
 had no kindness in my composition to feel for 
 the child, my honor as a gentleman would have 
 made me interfere for the lady." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but looked through 
 glistening eyes again on Ellen. " I am very glad 
 to hear it," she replied. " I was very far from 
 thinking, when I permitted her to go on this errand, 
 that I was exposing her to anything more serious 
 than the annoyance a timid child would feel at hav- 
 ing to transact business with strangers." 
 
 " I suppose not," said the old gentleman ; " but 
 it isn't a sort of thing that should be often done. 
 There are all sorts of people in this world, and a 
 little one alone in a crowd is in danger of being 
 trampled upon." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery's heart answered this with an 
 involuntary pang. He saw the shade that passed 
 over her face as she said sadly : 
 
 " I know it, sir, and it was with strong unwilling- 
 ness that I allowed Ellen this morning to do as she 
 had proposed ; but in truth I was but making a 
 choice between difficulties. I am very sorry I chose 
 as I did. If you are a father, sir, you know better 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 73 
 
 than I can tell you, how grateful I am for your kind 
 interference." 
 
 " Say nothing about that, ma'am ; the less the 
 better. I am an old man, and not good for much 
 now, except to please young people. I think my- 
 self best off when I have the best chance to do that. 
 So if you will be so good as to choose that merino, 
 and let Miss Ellen and me go and dispatch our 
 business, you will be conferring and not receiving 
 a favor. And any other errand that you please to 
 entrust her with I'll undertake to see her safe 
 through." 
 
 His look and manner obliged Mrs. Montgomery 
 - to take him at his word. A very short examination 
 of Ellen's patterns ended in favor of the gray me- 
 rino ; and Ellen was commissioned not only to get 
 , and pay for this, but also to choose a dark dress of 
 j the same stuff, and enough of a certain article 
 called nankeen for a coat ; Mrs. Montgomery truly 
 opining that the old gentleman's care would do 
 more than see her scathless,— that it would have 
 some regard to the justness and prudence of her 
 purchases. 
 
 In great glee Ellen set forth again with her new 
 old friend. Her hand was fast in his, and her 
 tongue ran very freely, for her heart was completely 
 opened to him. He seemed as pleased to listen as 
 she was to talk ; and by little and little Ellen told 
 him all her history; the troubles that had come 
 upon her in consequence of her mother's illness, and 
 her intended journey and prospects. 
 
 That was a happy day to Ellen. They returned 
 to St. Clair and Fleury's, bought the gray merino, 
 and the nankeen, and a dark brown merino for a 
 
74 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 4ress„ " Do you want only one of these ? " asked 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 " Mamma said only one," said Ellen ; " that will 
 last me all the winter." 
 
 " Well," said he, " I think two will do better. 
 Let us have another off the same piece, Mr. Shop- 
 man." 
 
 " But I am afraid mamma won't like it sir," said 
 Ellen, gently. 
 
 " Pho, pho," said he, " your mother has nothing 
 to do with this ; this is my affair." He paid for 
 it accordingly. " Now, Miss Ellen," said he, when 
 they left the store, " have you got anything in the 
 shape of a good warm winter bonnet ? For its as 
 cold as the mischief up there in Thirlwall ; your 
 pasteboard things won't do ; if you don't take good 
 care of your ears you will lose them some fine 
 frosty day. You must quilt and pad, and all sorts 
 of things, to keep alive and comfortable. So you 
 haven't a hood, eh ? Do you think you and I 
 could make out to choose one that your mother 
 would think wasn't quite a fright ? Come this way, 
 and let us see. If she don't like it she can give it 
 away, you know." 
 
 He led the delighted Ellen into a milliner's shop, 
 and after turning over a great many different 
 articles chose her a nice warm hood, or quilted 
 bonnet. It was of dark blue silk, well made and 
 pretty. He saw with great satisfaction that it 
 fitted Ellen well, and would protect her ears nicely ; 
 and having paid for it and ordered it home, he and 
 Ellen sallied forth into the street again. But he 
 wouldn't let her thank him. " It is just the very 
 thing I wanted, sir," said Ellen ; " mamma was 
 
THE WWII, WIDE WORLD. 75 
 
 speaking about it the other day, and she did not 
 see how I was ever to get one, because she did not 
 feel at all able to go out, and I could not get one 
 myself ; I know she'll like it very much." 
 
 " Would you rather have something for yourself 
 or your mother, Ellen, if you could choose, and 
 have but one ? " 
 
 " Oh, for mamma, sir," said Ellen — " a great 
 deal ! " 
 
 " Come in here," said he ; " let us see if we can 
 find anything she would like." 
 
 It was a grocery store. After looking about a 
 little, the old gentleman ordered sundry pounds of 
 figs and white grapes to be packed up in papers; 
 and being now very near home, he took one parcel 
 and Ellen the other, till they came to the door of 
 Green's Hotel, where he committed both to her 
 care. 
 
 " Won't you come in, sir ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " No," said he, " I can't this time — I must go 
 home to dinner." 
 
 " And sha'n't I see you any more, sir ? " said 
 Ellen, a shade coming over her face, which a minute 
 before had been quite joyous. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said he, kindly — " I hope 
 you will. You shall hear from me again at any 
 rate, I promise you. We've spent one pleasant 
 morning together, haven't we ? Good-bye, good- 
 bye." 
 
 Ellen's hands were full, but the old gentleman 
 took them in both his, packages and all, and shook 
 them after a fashion, and again bidding her good- 
 bye, walked away down the street. 
 
 The next morning Ellen and her mother were 
 
76 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 sitting quietly together, and Ellen had not finished 
 her accustomed reading, when there came a knock 
 at the door. " My old gentleman ! " cried Ellen, 
 as she sprung to open it. No, — there was no old 
 gentleman, but a black man with a brace of beauti- 
 ful woodcock in his hand. He bowed very civilly, 
 and said he had been ordered to leave the birds 
 with Miss Montgomery. Ellen, in surprise, took 
 them from him, and likewise a note which he de- 
 livered into her hand. Ellen asked from whom 
 the birds came, but with another polite bow the 
 man said the note would inform her, and went 
 away. In great curiosity she carried them and the 
 note to her mother, to whom the latter was directed. 
 It read thus : — 
 
 " Will Mrs. Montgomery permit an old man to 
 please himself in his own way, by showing his 
 regard for her little daughter ? And not feel that 
 he is taking a liberty. The birds are for Miss 
 Ellen." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " exclaimed Ellen, jumping with 
 delight, " did you ever such a dear old gentleman ? 
 Now I know what he meant yesterday, when he 
 asked me if I would rather have something for my- 
 self or for you. How kind he is ! to do just the 
 very thing for me that he knows would give me the 
 most pleasure. Now, mamma, these birds are 
 mine, you know, and I give them to you. You 
 must pay me a kiss for them, mamma ; they are 
 worth that. Aren't they beauties ? " 
 
 " They are very fine indeed," said Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery ; " this is just the season for woodcock, and 
 these are in beautiful condition." 
 
 " Do you like woodcocks, mamma ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. tf 
 
 " Yes, very much." 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am!" said Ellen. "I'll ask 
 Sam to have them done very nicely for you, and 
 then you will enjoy them so much." 
 
 The waiter was called, and instructed accord- 
 ingly, and to him the birds were committed, to be 
 delivered to the care of the cook. 
 
 "Now, mamma," said Ellen, "I think these 
 birds have made me happy for all day." 
 
 " Then I hope, daughter, they will make you busy 
 for all day. You have ruffles to hem, and the skirts 
 of your dresses to make ; we need not wait for 
 Miss Rice to do that ; and when she comes you 
 will have to help her, for I can do little. You can't 
 be too industrious." 
 
 "Well, mamma, I am as willing as can be." 
 
 This was the beginning of a pleasant two weeks 
 to Ellen — weeks to which she often looked back 
 afterwards, so quietly and swiftly the days fled 
 away in busy occupation and sweet intercourse 
 with her mother. The passions which were apit 
 enough to rise in Ellen's mind upon occasion were 
 for the present kept effectually in check. She 
 could not forget that her days with her mother 
 would very soon be at an end, for a long time at 
 least; and this consciousness, always present to 
 her mind, forbade even the wish to do anything 
 that might grieve or disturb her. Love and ten- 
 derness had absolute rule for the time, and even 
 had power to overcome the sorrowful thoughts that 
 would often rise, so that in spite of them peace 
 reigned. And perhaps both mother and daughter 
 enjoyed this interval the more keenly because they 
 knew that sorrow was at hand. 
 
78 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 All this while there was scarcely a day that the 
 old gentleman's servant did not knock at their 
 door, bearing a present of game. The second time 
 he came with some fine larks ; next was a superb 
 grouse ; then woodcock again. Curiosity strove 
 With astonishment and gratitude in Ellen's mind. 
 " Mamma," she said, after she had admired the 
 grouse for five minutes, " I cannot rest without 
 finding out who this old gentleman is." 
 
 "I am sorry for that," replied Mrs. Montgomery, 
 gravely, "for I see no possible way of your do- 
 ing it". 
 
 " Why, mamma, couldn't I ask the man that 
 brings the birds what his name is? He must 
 know it." 
 
 " Certainly not ; it would be very dishonorable." 
 
 " Would it, mamma ? — why? " 
 
 " This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you 
 his name ; he wrote his note without signing it, and 
 his man has obviously been instructed not to dis- 
 close it ; don't you remember, he did not tell it 
 when you asked him, the first time he came? 
 Now, this shows that the old gentleman wishes to 
 keep it secret, and to try to find it out in any way 
 would be a very unworthy return for his kindness." 
 
 " Yes, it wouldn't be doing as I would be done 
 by, to be sure ; but would it be dishonorable, 
 mamma? " 
 
 " Very. It is very dishonorable to try to find 
 out that about other people which does not con- 
 cern you, and which they wish to keep from you. 
 Remember that, my dear daughter." 
 
 "I will, mamma. I'll never do it, I promise 
 you." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 79 
 
 " Even in talking with people, if you discern in 
 them any unwillingness to speak upon a subject, 
 avoid it immediately, provided, of course, that some 
 higher interest do not oblige you to go on. That 
 is true politeness, and true kindness, which are 
 nearly the same ; and not to do so, I assure you, 
 Ellen, proves one wanting in true honor." 
 
 "Well, mamma, I don't care what his name is,— 
 at least I won't try to find out ; — but it does worry 
 me that I cannot thank him. I wish he knew how 
 much I feel obliged to him." 
 
 " Very well ; write and tell him so." 
 
 " Mamma ! " said Ellen, opening her eyes very 
 wide, — " can I ? — would you ? " 
 
 " Certainly, — if you like. It would be very 
 proper." 
 
 " Then I will ! I declare that is a good notion. 
 I'll do it the first thing, and then I can give it to 
 that man if he comes to-morrow, as I suppose he 
 will. Mamma," said she, on opening her desk, 
 " how funny ! don't you remember you wondered 
 who I was going to write notes to ? here is one now, 
 mamma ; it is very lucky I have got note-paper." 
 
 More than one sheet of it was ruined before 
 Ellen had satisfied herself with what she wrote. It 
 was a full hour from the time she began when she 
 brought the following note for her mother's in- 
 spection : — 
 
 " Ellen Montgomery does not know how to thank 
 the old gentleman who is so kind to her. Mamma 
 enjoys the birds very much, and I think I do more ; 
 for I have the double pleasure of giving them to 
 mamma, and of eating them afterwards ; but yqur 
 
So THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 kindness is the best of all. I can't tell you how 
 much I am obliged to you, sir, but I will always 
 love you for all you have done for me. 
 
 " Ellen Montgomery." 
 
 This note Mrs. Montgomery approved ; and 
 Ellen having with great care and great satisfaction 
 enclosed it in an envelope, succeeded in sealing it 
 according to rule and very well. Mrs. Montgomery 
 laughed when she saw the direction, but let it go. 
 Without consulting her, Ellen had written on the 
 outside, "To the old gentleman." She sent it the 
 next morning by the hands of the same servant, who 
 this time was the bearer of a plump partridge " To 
 Miss Montgomery ; " and her mind was a great 
 deal easier on this subject from that time. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mac. What is the night? 
 
 JLady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 October was now far advanced. One evening, 
 the evening of the last Sunday in the month, Mrs. 
 Montgomery was lying in the parlor alone. Ellen 
 had gone to bed some time before ; and now in the 
 stillness of the Sabbath evening the ticking of the 
 clock was almost the only sound to be heard. The 
 hands were rapidly approaching ten. Captain 
 Montgomery was abroad ; and he had been so, — 
 according to custom, — or in bed the whole day. 
 The mother and daughter had had the Sabbath to 
 themselves; and m»st quietly and sweetly it had 
 passed. They had read together, prayed together, 
 talked together, a great ^eal ; and the evening had 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 8 I 
 
 been spent in singing hymns ; but Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery's strength failed here, and Ellen sang alone. 
 She was not soon weary. Hymn succeeded hymn, 
 with fresh and varied pleasure ; and her mother 
 could not tire of listening. The sweet words, and 
 the sweet airs, — which were all old friends, and 
 brought of themselves many a lesson of wisdom and 
 consolation, by the mere force of association, — 
 needed not the recommendation of the clear childish 
 voice in which they were sung, which was of all 
 things the sweetest to Mrs. Montgomery's ear. She 
 listened, — till she almost felt as if earth were left 
 behind, and she and her child already standing 
 within the walls of that city where sorrow and sigh- 
 ing shall be no more, and the tears shall be wiped 
 from all eyes forever. Ellen's next hymn, however, 
 brought her back to earth again, but though her 
 tears flowed freely while she heard it, all her causes 
 of sorrow could not render them bitter. 
 
 God in Israel sows the seeds 
 
 Of affliction, pain, and toil ; 
 These_ spring up and choke the weeds 
 
 Which would else o'erspread the soil. 
 Trials make the promise sweet, — ■ 
 
 Trials give new life to prayer,— 
 Trials bring me to His feet, 
 
 Lay me low, and keep me there. 
 
 " It is so indeed, dear Ellen," said Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery when she had finished, and folding the 
 little singer to her breast, — " I have always found 
 it so. God is faithful. I have seen abundant 
 cause to thank Him for all the evils He has made 
 me suffer heretofore, and I do not doubt it will be 
 the same with this last and worst one. Let us 
 glorify Him in the fires, my daughter ; and if 
 earthly joys be stripped from us, and if we be torn 
 6 
 
&2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 from each other, let us cling the closer to Him,^» 
 He can and He will in that case make up to us 
 more than all we have lost." 
 
 Ellen felt her utter inability to join in her mother's 
 expressions of confidence and hope ; to her there 
 was no brightness on the cloud that hung over 
 them, — it was all dark. She could only press her 
 lips in tearful silence to the one and the other of her 
 mother's cheeks alternately. How sweet the sense 
 of the coming parting made every such embrace J 
 This one, for particular reasons, was often and 
 long remembered. A few minutes they remained 
 thus in each other's arms, cheek pressed against 
 cheek, without speaking ; but then Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery remembered that Ellen's bed-time was 
 already passed, and dismissed her. 
 
 For a while after Mrs. Montgomery remained 
 just where Ellen had left her, her busy thoughts 
 roaming over many things in the far past, and the 
 sad present, and the uncertain future. She was 
 unconscious of the passage of time, and did not 
 notice how the silence deepened as the night drew 
 on, till scarce a footfall was heard in the street, and 
 the ticking of the clock sounded with that sad dis- 
 tinctness which seems to say, — " Time is going on 
 — time is going on, — and you are going with it, — ■ 
 do what you will you can't help that." It was just 
 upon the stroke of ten, and Mrs. Montgomery was 
 still wrapped in her deep musings, when a sharp, 
 brisk footstep in the distance aroused her, rapidly 
 approaching ; — and she knew very well whose it 
 was, and that it would pause at the door, before 
 she heard the quick run up the steps, succeeded 
 by her husband's tread upon the staircase. And 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 8$ 
 
 yet she saw him open the door with a kind of 
 startled feeling which his appearance now invariably 
 caused her ; the thought always darted through 
 her head, " Perhaps he brings news of Ellen's go- 
 ing." Something, it would have been impossible 
 to say what, in his appearance or manner, confirmed 
 this fear on the present occasion. Her heart felt 
 sick, and she waited in silence to hear what he 
 would say. He seemed very well pleased ; sat 
 down before the fire, rubbing his hands, partly with 
 cold and partly with satisfaction ; and his first 
 words were, "Well! we have got a fine opportunity 
 for her at last." 
 
 How little he was capable of understanding the 
 pang this announcement gave his poor wife ! But 
 she only closed her eyes and kept perfectly quiet, 
 and he never suspected it. 
 
 He unbuttoned his coat, and taking the poker in 
 his hand began to mend the fire, talking the while. 
 
 " I am very glad of it, indeed," said he, — " it's 
 quite a load off my mind. Now we'll be gone 
 directly, and high time it is — I'll take passage in 
 the ' England ' the first thing to-morrow. And this 
 is the best possible chance for Ellen — everything 
 we could have desired. I began to feel very uneasy 
 about it, — it was getting so late, — but I am quite 
 relieved now." 
 
 " Who is it ? " said Mrs. Montgomery, forcing 
 herself to speak. 
 
 " Why, it's Mrs. Dunscombe," said the Captain, 
 flourishing his poker by way of illustration, — you 
 know her, don't you ? — Captain Dunscombe's wife 
 — she's going right through Thirlwall, and will take 
 charge of Ellen as far as that, and there my sister 
 
84 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 will meet her with a wagon and take her straight 
 home. Couldn't be anything better. I wrote to 
 let Fortune know when to expect her. Mrs. Duns- 
 combe is a lady of the first family and fashion — in 
 the highest degree respectable ; she is going on to 
 Fort Jameson, with her daughter and a servant, 
 and her husband is to follow her in a few days. I 
 happened to hear of it to-day, and I immediately 
 seized the opportunity to ask if she would not 
 take Ellen with her as far as Thirlwall, and 
 Dunscombe was only too glad to oblige me. I'm a 
 very good friend of his, and he knows it." 
 
 " How soon does she go ?" 
 
 " Why — that's the only part of the business I'm 
 afraid you won't like, — but there is no help for it ; 
 — and after all it is a great deal better so than 
 if you had time to wear yourselves out with mourn- 
 ing — better and easier too, in the end." 
 
 " How soon ? " repeated Mrs. Montgomery, with 
 an agonized accent. 
 
 " Why, I'm a little afraid of startling you — 
 Dunscombe's wife must go, he told me, to-morrow 
 morning ; and we arranged that she should call in 
 the carriage at six o'clock to take up Ellen." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery put her hands to her face and 
 sank back against the sofa. 
 
 " I was afraid you would take it so,' said her 
 husband, — " but I don't think it is worth while. It 
 is a great deal better as it is, — a great deal better 
 than if she had a long warning. You would fairly 
 wear yourself out if you had time enough ; and you 
 haven't any strength to spare." 
 
 It was some while before Mrs. Montgomery 
 could recover composure and firmness enough to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 85 
 
 go on with what she had to do, though knowing 
 the necessity, she strove hard for it. For several 
 minutes she remained quite silent and quiet, en- 
 deavoring to collect her scattered forces ; then, 
 sitting upright and drawing her shawl around her, 
 she exclaimed, " I must waken Ellen immediately 1 " 
 
 " Waken Ellen ! " exclaimed her husband in his 
 turn, — " what on earth for ? That's the very last 
 thing to be done." 
 
 " Why, you would not put off telling her until 
 to-morrow morning ? " said Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 " Certainly I would — that's the only proper way 
 to do. Why in the world should you wake her up, 
 just to spend the whole night in useless grieving ? 
 unfitting her utterly for her journey, and doing 
 yourself more harm than you can undo in a week. 
 No, no, — just let her sleep quietly, and you go to 
 bed and do the same. Wake her up, indeed ! I 
 thought you were wiser." 
 
 " But she will be so dreadfully shocked in the 
 morning ! " 
 
 " Not one bit more than she would be to-night, 
 and she won't have so much time to feel it. In 
 the hurry and bustle of getting off she will not have 
 time to think about her feelings ; and once on the 
 way she will do well enough; — children always 
 do." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery looked undecided and un- 
 satisfied. 
 
 " I'll take the responsibility of this matter on 
 myself, — you must not waken her, absolutely. It 
 would not do at all," said the Captain, poking the 
 fire very energetically, — " it would not do at all, — - 
 I cannot allow it." 
 
B6 The wide, wide world. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery silently rose and lit a lamp. 
 
 " You are not going into Ellen's room ? " said 
 the husband. 
 
 " I must — I must put her things together." 
 
 " But you'll not disturb Ellen ? " said he, in a 
 tone that required a promise. 
 
 " Not if I can help it." 
 
 Twice Mrs. Montgomery stopped before she 
 reached the door of Ellen's room, for her heart 
 failed her. But she must go on, and the necessary 
 preparations for the morrow must be made ; — she 
 knew it ; and repeating this to herself, she gently 
 turned the handle of the door and pushed it open, 
 and guarding the light with her hand from Ellen's 
 eyes, she set it where it would not shine upon her. 
 Having done this, she set herself, without once 
 glancing at her little daughter, to put all things in 
 order for her early departure on the following 
 morning. But it was a bitter piece of work for her. 
 She first laid out all that Ellen would need to wear, 
 — the dark merino, the new nankeen coat, the 
 white bonnet, the clean frill that her own hands 
 had done up, the little gloves and shoes, and all 
 the etceteras, with the thoughtfulness and the 
 carefulness of love ; but it went through and 
 through her heart that it was the very last time 
 a mother's fingers would ever be busy in arranging 
 or preparing Ellen's attire ; — the very last time she 
 would ever see or touch even the little inanimate 
 things that belonged to her; and painful as the 
 task was, she was loth to have it come to an end. 
 It was with a kind of lingering unwillingness to 
 quit her hold of them that one thing after another 
 was stowed carefully and neatly away in the trunk. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORl^D. 8j 
 
 She felt it was love's last act ; words might indeed 
 a few times yet come over the ocean on a sheet of 
 paper ; — but sight, and hearing, and touch must all 
 have done henceforth forever. Keenly as Mrs- 
 Montgomery felt this, she went on busily with her 
 work all the while; and when the last thing was 
 safely packed, shut the trunk and locked it without 
 allowing herself to stop and think, and even drew 
 the straps. And then, having finished all her task, 
 she went to the bedside ; she had not looked that 
 way before. 
 
 Ellen was lying in the deep sweet sleep of child- 
 hood ; the easy position, the gentle breathing, and 
 the flush of health upon the cheek showed that all 
 causes of sorrow were for the present far removed. 
 Yet not so far either ; — for once when Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery stooped to kiss her, light as the touch of 
 that kiss had been upon her lips, it seemed to 
 awaken a train of sorrowful recollections in the 
 little sleeper's mind. A shade passed over her 
 face, and with a gentle, but sad accent the word 
 " Mamma ! " burst from the parted lips. Only a 
 moment, — and the shade passed away, and the 
 expression of peace settled again upon her brow ; 
 but Mrs. Montgomery dared not try the experiment 
 a second time. Long she stood looking upon her, 
 as if she knew she was looking her last ; then she 
 knelt by the bedside and hid her face in the cover- 
 ings, — but no tears came; the struggle in her mind 
 and her anxious fear of the morning's trial made 
 weeping impossible. Her husband at length came 
 to seek her, and it was well he did ; she would have 
 remained there on her knees all night. He feared 
 something of the kind, and came to prevent it 
 
88 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery suffered herself to be led away 
 without making any opposition, and went to bed 
 as usual, but sleep was far from her. The fear of 
 Ellen's distress when she should be awakened and 
 suddenly told the truth, kept her in an agony. In 
 restless wakefulness she tossed and turned uneasily 
 upon her bed, watching for the dawn, and dreading 
 unspeakably to see it. The Captain, in happy un- 
 consciousness of his wife's distress and utter 
 inability to sympathize with it, was soon in a sound 
 sleep, and his heavy breathing was an aggravation 
 of her trouble ; it kept repeating what indeed she 
 knew already, that the only one in the world who 
 ought to have shared and soothed her grief was 
 not capable of doing either. Wearied with watch- 
 ing and tossing to and fro, she at length lost 
 herself a moment in uneasy slumber, from which 
 she suddenly started in terror, and seizing her hus- 
 band's arm to arouse him, exclaimed, " It is time 
 to wake Ellen ! " but she had to repeat her efforts 
 two or three times before she succeeded in making 
 herself heard. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said he, heavily, and not 
 overwell pleased at the interruption. 
 
 " It is time to wake Ellen." 
 
 " No, it isn't," said he, relapsing, — " it isn't time 
 yet this great while." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is," said Mrs. Montgomery, — " I am 
 sure it is ; I see the beginning of dawn in the east." 
 
 " Nonsense ! it's no such thing ; it's the glimmer 
 of the lamp-light ; what is the use of your exciting 
 yourself so for nothing ? It won't be dawn these 
 two hours. Wait till I find my repeater, and I'll 
 convince you." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 89 
 
 He found and struck it. 
 
 " There ! I told you so — only one quarter after 
 four ; it would be absurd to wake her yet. Do go 
 to sleep and leave it to me ; I'll take care it is done 
 in proper time." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery sighed heavily, and again ar- 
 ranged herself to watch the eastern horizon, or 
 rather with her face in that direction ; for she could 
 see nothing. But more quietly now she lay gazing 
 into the darkness which it was in vain to try to 
 penetrate ; and thoughts succeeding thoughts in a 
 more regular train, at last fairly cheated her into 
 sleep, much as she wished to keep it off. She slept 
 soundly for near an hour ; and when she awoke the 
 dawn had really begun to break in the eastern sky. 
 She again aroused Captain Montgomery, who this 
 time allowed it might be as well to get up ; but it 
 was with unutterable impatience that she saw him 
 lighting a lamp, and moving about as leisurely as 
 if he had nothing more to do than to get ready for 
 breakfast at eight o'clock. 
 
 " Oh, do speak to Ellen ! " she said, unable to 
 control herself. " Never mind brushing your hair 
 till afterwards. She will have no time tor anything. 
 Oh, do not wait any longer ! what are you thinking 
 of?" 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " said the Captain \ 
 — "there's plenty of time. Do quiet yourself— 
 you're getting as nervous as possible. I'm going 
 immediately." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery fairly groaned with impatience 
 and an agonizing dread of what was to follow the 
 disclosure to Ellen. But her husband coolly went 
 on with his preparations, which indeed were not 
 
go THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 long in finishing ; and then taking the lamp, he at last 
 went. He had in truth delayed on purpose, wish* 
 ing the final leave-taking to be as brief as possible ; 
 and the gray streaks of light in the east were plainly 
 showing themselves when he opened the door of 
 his little daughter's room. He found her lying very 
 much as her mother had left her, — in the same quiet 
 sleep, and with the same expression of calmness 
 and peace spread over her whole face and person. 
 It touched even him, — and he was not readily 
 touched by anything ; — it made him loth to say the 
 word that would drive all that sweet expression so 
 quickly and completely away. It must be said, how- 
 ever ; the increasing light warned him he must not 
 tarry ; but it was with a hesitating and almost falter- 
 ing voice that he said, " Ellen ! " 
 
 She stirred in her sleep, and the shadow came 
 over her face again. 
 
 " Ellen ! Ellen ! " 
 
 She started up, — broad awake now ; — and both 
 the shadow and the peaceful expression were gone 
 from her face. It was a look of blank astonish- 
 ment at first with which she regarded her father, 
 but very soon indeed that changed into one of 
 t>lank despair. He saw that she understood per- 
 fectly what he was there for, and that there was no 
 need at all for him to trouble himself with making 
 painful explanations. 
 
 " Come, Ellen," he said, — " that's a good child, 
 make haste and dress. There's no time to lose now 
 for the carriage will soon be at the door ; and your 
 mother wants to see you, you know." 
 
 Ellen hastily obeyed him, and began to put on 
 tier stockings and shoes. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. q\ 
 
 " That's right — now you'll be ready directly. 
 You are going with Mrs. Dunscombe — I have 
 engaged her to take charge of you all the way quite 
 to Thirlwall ; she's the wife of Captain Dunscombe, 
 whom you saw here the other day, you know ; and 
 her daughter is going with her, so you will have 
 charming company. I dare say you will enjoy the 
 journey very much ; and your aunt will meet you at 
 Thirlwall. Now, make haste — I expect the carriage 
 every minute. I meant to have called you before, 
 but I overslept myself. Don't be long." 
 
 And nodding encouragement, her father left her. 
 
 " How did she bear it ? " asked Mrs. Montgom- 
 ery, when he returned. 
 
 " Like a little hero. She didn't say a word, or 
 shed a tear. I expected nothing but that she 
 would make a great fuss ; but she has all the old 
 spirit that you used to have, — and have yet, for 
 anything I know. She behaved admirably." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery sighed deeply. She under- 
 stood far better than her husband what Ellen's feel- 
 ings were, and could interpret much more truly 
 than he the signs of them ; the conclusions she 
 drew from Ellen's silent and tearless reception of 
 the news differed widely from his. She now 
 waited anxiously and almost fearfully for her ap- 
 pearance, which did not come as soon as she 
 expected it. 
 
 It was a great relief to Ellen when her father ended 
 his talking, and left her to herself ; for she felt she 
 could not dress herself so quick with him standing 
 there and looking at her, and his desire that she 
 should be speedy in what she had to do could not be 
 greater than her own. Her fingers did their work as 
 
92 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 fast as they could, with every joint trembling. But 
 though a weight like a mountain was upon the poor 
 child's heart, she could not cry ; and she could not 
 pray, — though true to her constant habit she fell on 
 her knees by her bedside as she always did : it was in 
 vain ; all was in a whirl in her heart and head, and 
 after a minute she rose again, clasping her little 
 hands together with an expression of sorrow that it 
 was well her mother could not see. She was 
 dressed very soon, but she shrank from going to her 
 mother's room while her father was there. To save 
 time she put on her coat, and everything but her 
 bonnet and gloves ; and then stood leaning against 
 the bedpost, for she could not sit down, watching 
 with most intense anxiety to hear her father's step 
 come out of the room and go downstairs. Every 
 minute seemed too long to be borne ; poor Ellen 
 began to feel as if she could not contain herself. 
 Yet five had not passed away when she heard the 
 roll of carriage wheels which came to the door and 
 then stopped, and immediately her father opening 
 the door to come out. Without waiting any longer 
 Ellen opened her own, and brushed past him into 
 the room he had quitted. Mrs. Montgomery was 
 still lying on the bed, for her husband had insisted 
 on her not rising. She said not a word, but opened 
 her arms to receive her little daughter ; and with a 
 cry of indescribable expression Ellen sprang upon 
 the bed, and was folded in them. But then neither 
 of them spoke or wept. What could words say ? 
 Heart met heart in that agony, for each knew all 
 that was in the other. No, — not quite all. Ellen 
 did not know that the whole of bitterness death had 
 for her mother she was tasting then. But it was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 93 
 
 true. Death had no more power to give her pain 
 after this parting should be over. His after-work, 
 — the parting between soul and body, — would be 
 welcome rather ; yes, very welcome. Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery knew it all well. She knew this was the last 
 embrace between them. She knew it was the very 
 last time that dear little form would ever lie on her 
 bosom, or be pressed in her, arms ; and it almost 
 seemed to her that soul and body must part com- 
 pany too when they should be rent asunder. 
 Ellen' s grief was not like this ; — she did not think it 
 was the last time ; — but she was a child of very 
 high spirit and violent passions, untamed at all by 
 sorrow's discipline ; and in proportion violent was 
 the tempest excited by this first real trial. Perhaps, 
 too, her sorrow was sharpened by a sense of wrong 
 and a feeling of indignation at her father's cruelty 
 in not waking her earlier. 
 
 Not many minutes had passed in this sad em- 
 brace, and no word had yet been spoken, no sound 
 uttered except Ellen's first inarticulate cry of 
 mixed affection and despair, when Captain Mont- 
 gomery's step was again heard slowly ascending the 
 stairs. " He is coming to take me away ! " thought 
 Ellen ; and in terror lest she should go without 
 a word from her mother, she burst forth with, 
 " Mamma ! speak ! " 
 
 A moment before, and Mrs. Montgomery could 
 not have spoken. But she could now ; and as 
 clearly and calmly the words were uttered as if 
 nothing had been the matter, only her voice fell a 
 little towards the last. 
 
 " God bless my darling child ! and make hei 
 His own, — and bring her to that home where part- 
 ing cannot be." 
 
94 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen's eyes had been dry until now ; but when 
 she heard the sweet sound of her mother's voice, it 
 opened ail the fountains of tenderness within her. 
 She burst into uncontrollable weeping ; it seemed 
 as if she would pour out her very heart in tears ; 
 and she clung to her mother with a force that made 
 it a difficult task for her father to remove her. He 
 could not do it at first ; and Ellen seemed not to 
 hear anything that was said to her. He was very 
 unwilling to use harshness ; and after a little, 
 though she had paid no attention to his entreaties 
 or commands, yet sensible of the necessity of the 
 case, she gradually relaxed her hold and suffered 
 him to draw her away from her mother's arms. He 
 carried her downstairs, and put her on the front 
 seat of the carriage, beside Mrs. Dunscombe's 
 maid, — but Ellen could never recollect how she 
 got there, and she did not feel the touch of her 
 father's hand, nor hear him when he bid her good- 
 bye ; and she did not know that he put a large 
 paper of candies and sugar-plums in her lap. She 
 knew nothing but that she had lost her mother. 
 
 " It will not be so long," said the Captain, in 
 a kind of apologizing way ; " she will soon get 
 over it, and you will not have any trouble with 
 her." 
 
 "I hope so," returned the lady, rather shortly ; 
 and then, as the Captain was making his parting 
 bow, she added, in no very pleased tone of voice, 
 " Pray, Captain Montgomery, is this young lady to 
 travel without a bonnet ? " 
 
 " Bless me ! no," said the Captain. " How is 
 this? hasn't she a bonnet? I beg a thousand 
 pardons, ma'am, — I'll bring it on the instant." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 95 
 
 After a little delay, the bonnet was found, but 
 the Captain overlooked the gloves in hb hurry. 
 
 " I am very sorry you have been delayed, 
 ma'am," said he. 
 
 " I hope we may be able to reach the boat yet," 
 replied the lady. " Drive on as fast as you can." 
 
 A very polite bow from Captain Montgomery — 
 a very slight one from the lady — and off they 
 drove. 
 
 " Proud enough," thought the Captain, as he 
 went up the stairs again. "I reckon she don't 
 thank me for her traveling companion. But Ellen's 
 off — that's one good thing : — and now I'll go and 
 engage berths in the ' England.' " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " So fair and foul a day I have not seen." 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The long drive to the boat was only a sorrowful 
 blank to Ellen's recollection. She did not see the 
 frowns that passed between her companions on her 
 account. She did not know that her white bonnet 
 was such a matter of merriment to Margaret Duns- 
 combe and the maid that they could hardly contain 
 themselves. She did not find out that Miss Mar- 
 garet's fingers were busy with her paper of sweets, 
 which only a good string and a sound knot kept 
 her from rifling. Yet she felt very well that nobody 
 there cared in the least for her sorrow. It mattered 
 nothing ; she wept on in her loneliness, and 
 knew nothing that happened till the carriage 
 
96 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 stopped on the wharf ; even then she did not raise 
 her head. Mrs. Dunscombe got out, and saw her 
 daughter and servant do the same ; then, after 
 giving some orders about the baggage, she returned 
 to Ellen. 
 
 " Will you get out, Miss Montgomery ? or would 
 you prefer to remain in the carriage ? We must go 
 on board directly." 
 
 There was something, not in the words, but in 
 the tone, that struck Ellen's heart with an en- 
 tirely new feeling. Her tears stopped instantly, 
 and, wiping away quickly the traces of them as 
 well as she could, she got out of the carriage with- 
 out a word, aided by Mrs. Dunscombe's hand. The 
 party were presently joined by a fine-looking man, 
 whom Ellen recognized as Captain Dunscombe. 
 
 " Dunscombe, do put these girls on board, will 
 you, and then come back to me ; I want to speak 
 to you. Timmins, you may go along and look 
 after them." 
 
 Captain Dunscombe obeyed. When they reached 
 the deck, Margaret Dunscombe and the maid 
 Timmins went straight to the cabin. Not feeling 
 at all drawn towards their company, as indeed they 
 had given her no reason, Ellen planted herself 
 by the guards of the boat, not far from the gang- 
 way, to watch the busy scene that at another time 
 would have had a great deal of interest and amuse- 
 ment for her. And interest it had now ; but it was 
 with a very, very grave little face that she looked 
 on the bustling crowd. The weight on her heart 
 was just as great as ever, but she felt this was not 
 the time or the place to let it be seen ; so for the 
 present she occupied herself with what was passing 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 97 
 
 before her, though it did not for one moment make 
 her forget her sorrow. 
 
 At last the boat rang her last belL Captain 
 Dunscombe put his wife on board, and had barely 
 time to jump off the boat again when the plank 
 was withdrawn. The men on shore cast off the 
 great loops of ropes that held the boat to enormous 
 wooden posts on the wharf, and they were off ! 
 
 At first it seemed to Ellen as if the wharf and 
 the people upon it were sailing away from them 
 backwards; but she presently forgot to think of 
 them at all. She was gone ! — she felt the bitterness 
 of the whole truth ; — the blue water already lay 
 between her and the shore, where she so much 
 longed to be. In that confused mass of buildings 
 at which she was gazing, but which would be so 
 soon beyond even gazing distance, was the only 
 spot she cared for in the world ; her heart was 
 there. She could not see the place, to be sure, nor 
 tell exactly whereabouts it lay in all that wide-spread 
 city ; but it was there, somewhere, — and every 
 minute was making it farther and farther off. It's 
 a bitter thing, that sailing away from all one loves ; 
 and poor Ellen felt it so. She stood leaning both 
 her arms upon the rail, the tears running down her 
 cheeks, and blinding her so that she could not see 
 the place toward which her straining eyes were bent. 
 Somebody touched her sleeve, — it was Timmins. 
 
 " Mrs. Dunscombe sent me to tell you she wants 
 you to come into the cabin, miss." 
 
 Hastily wiping her eyes, Ellen obeyed the sum- 
 mons, and followed Timmins into the cabin. It 
 was full of groups of ladies, children, and nurses, 
 — bustling and noisy enough. Ellen wished she 
 
98 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 might have stayed outside ; she wanted to be by 
 herself ; but as the next best thing, she mounted 
 upon the bench which ran all round the saloon, 
 and kneeling on the cushion by one of the windows, 
 placed herself with the edge of her bonnet just 
 touching the glass, so that nobody could see a bit 
 of her face, while she could look out near by as 
 well as from the deck. Presently her ear caught, 
 as she thought, the voice of Mrs. Dunscombe, say- 
 ing in rather an undertone, but laughing too, " What 
 a figure she does cut in that outlandish bonnet ! " 
 
 Ellen had no particular reason to think she was 
 meant, and yet she did think so. She remained 
 quite still, but with raised color and quickened 
 breathing waited to hear what would come next. 
 Nothing came at first, and she was beginning to 
 think she had perhaps been mistaken, when she 
 plainly heard Margaret Dunscombe say, in a loud 
 whisper, "Mamma, I wish you could contrive some 
 way to keep her in the cabin, — can't you ? she looks 
 so odd in that queer sunbonnet kind of a thing, 
 that anybody would think she had come out of the 
 woods, — and no gloves, too ; I shouldn't like to 
 have the Miss M'Arthurs think she belonged to us ; 
 can't you, mamma ? " 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen at Ellen's feet, the 
 shock would hardly have been greater. The light- 
 ning of passion shot through every vein. And it was 
 not passion only ; there was hurt feeling and 
 wounded pride, and the sorrow of which her heart 
 was full enough before, now awakened afresh. 
 The child was beside herself. One wild wish for a 
 hiding-place was the most pressing thought, — to be 
 wher^ tears could burst and her haart could break 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 99 
 
 unseen. She slid off her bench and rushed through 
 the crowd to the red curtain that cut off the far end 
 of the saloon ; and from there down to the cabin 
 below, — people were everywhere. At last she spied 
 a nook where she could be completely hidden. It 
 was in the far-back end of the boat, just under the 
 stairs by which she had come down. Nobody was 
 sitting on the three or four large mahogany steps 
 that ran round that end of the cabin and sloped up 
 to the little cabin window ; and creeping beneath 
 the stairs, and seating herself on the lowest of these 
 steps, the poor child found that she was quite 
 screened and out of sight of every human creature. 
 It was time indeed; her heart had been almost 
 bursting with passion and pain, and now the pent- 
 up tempest broke forth with a fury that racked her 
 little frame from head to foot ; and the more because 
 she strove to stifle every sound of it as much as pos- 
 sible. It was the very bitterest of sorrow, without 
 any softening thought to allay it, and sharpened 
 and made more bitter by mortification and a pas- 
 sionate sense of unkindness and wrong. And 
 through it all, how constantly in her heart the poor 
 child was reaching forth longing arms towards her 
 far-off mother and calling in secret on her beloved 
 name. " Oh, mamma ! mamma ! " was repeated 
 numberless times, with the unspeakable bitterness 
 of knowing that she would have been a sure refuge 
 and protection from all this trouble, but was now 
 where she could neither reach nor hear her. Alas ! 
 how soon and how sadly missed. 
 
 Ellen's distress was not soon quieted, or if quieted 
 for a moment, it was only to break out afresh. 
 And then she was glad to sit still and rest herself. 
 
ioo THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Presently she heard the voice of the chambermaid 
 upstairs, at a distance at first, and coming nearer 
 and nearer. " Breakfast ready, ladies — Ladies, 
 breakfast ready ! " — and then came all the people 
 in a rush, pouring down the stairs over Ellen's head. 
 She kept quite still and close, for she did not want 
 to see anybody, and could not bear that anybody 
 should see her. Nobody did see her ; they all 
 went off into the next cabin, where breakfast was 
 set. Ellen began to grow tired of her hiding-place 
 and to feel restless in her confinement ; she thought 
 this would be a good time to get away ; so she crept 
 from her station under the stairs and mounted 
 them as quickly and as quietly as she could. She 
 found almost nobody left in the saloon, — and breath- 
 ing more freely, she possessed herself of her de- 
 spised bonnet, which she had torn off her head in 
 the first burst of her indignation, and passing gently 
 out at the door, went up the stairs which led to the 
 promenade deck ; — she felt as if she could not get 
 far enough from Mrs. Dunscombe. 
 
 The promenade deck was very pleasant in the 
 bright morning sun ; and nobody was there except 
 a few gentlemen. Ellen sat down on one of the 
 settees that were ranged along the middle of it, and, 
 much pleased at having found herself such a nice 
 place of retreat, she once more took up her inter- 
 rupted amusement of watching the banks of the 
 river. 
 
 It was a fair, mild day, near the end of October, 
 and one of the loveliest of that lovely month. Poor 
 Ellen, however, could not fairly enjoy it just now. 
 There was enough darkness in her heart to put a 
 veil over all nature's brightness. . The thought did 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. ioi 
 
 pass through her mind when she first went 
 up, how very fair everything was ; — but she soon 
 forgot to think about it at all. They were now in 
 a wide part of the river ; and the shore towards 
 which she was looking was low and distant, and 
 offered nothing to interest her. She ceased to look 
 at it, and presently lost all sense of everything 
 around and before her, for her thoughts went home. 
 She remembered that sweet moment last night when 
 she lay in her mother's arms, after she had stopped 
 singing. Could it be only last night ? — it seemed a 
 long, long time ago. She went over again in imagi- 
 nation her shocked waking up that very morning, 
 — how cruel that was ! — her hurried dressing, — the 
 miserable parting, — and those last words of her 
 mother, that seemed to ring in her ears yet. " That 
 home where parting cannot be." " Oh," thought 
 Ellen, " how shall I ever get there ? who is there 
 to teach me now ? Oh, what shall I do without 
 you ? Oh, mamma ! how much I want you 
 already ! " 
 
 While poor Ellen was thinking these things over 
 and over, her little face had a deep sadness of 
 expression it was sorrowful to see. She was per- 
 fectly calm ; her violent excitement had all left her ; 
 her lip quivered a very little sometimes, but that 
 was all ; and one or two tears rolled slowly down the 
 side of her face. Her eyes were fixed upon the 
 dancing water, but it was very plain her thoughts 
 were not, nor on anything else before her; and 
 there was a forlorn look of hopeless sorrow on her 
 lip and cheek and brow, enough to move anybody 
 whose heart was not very hard. She was noticed, 
 and with a feeling of compassion, by several peo 
 
102 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 pie ; but they all thought it was none of their busi- 
 ness to speak to her, or they didn't know how. At 
 length, a gentleman, who had been for some time 
 walking up and down the deck, happened to look, as 
 he passed, at her little pale face. He went to the 
 end of his walk that time, but in coming back he 
 stopped just in front of her, and bending down his 
 face towards hers, said, " What is the matter with 
 you, my little friend ? " 
 
 Though his figure had passed before her a great 
 many times Ellen had not seen him at all ; for 
 " her eyes were with her heart, and that was far 
 away." Her cheeks flushed with surprise as she 
 looked up. But there was no mistaking the look of 
 kindness in the eyes that met hers, nor the gentle- 
 ness and grave truthfulness of the whole counte- 
 nance. It won her confidence immediately. All the 
 floodgates of Ellen's heart were at once opened. 
 She could not speak, but rising and clasping the 
 hand that was held out to her in both her own, she 
 bent down her head upon it, and burst into one of 
 those uncontrollable agonies of weeping, such as 
 the news of her mother's intended departure had 
 occasioned that first sorrowful evening. He gently, 
 and as soon as he could, drew her to a retired part 
 of the deck where they were comparatively free 
 from other people's eyes and ears ; then taking her 
 in his arms, he endeavored by many kind and 
 soothing words to stay the torrent of her grief. 
 This fit of weeping did Ellen more good than the 
 former one ; that only exhausted, this in some little 
 measure relieved her. 
 
 " What is all this about ? " said her friend, kindly. 
 " Nay, never mind shedding any more tears about 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 103 
 
 it, my child. Let me hear what it is ; and perhaps 
 we can find some help for it." 
 
 " Oh, no, you can't, sir," said Ellen, sadly. 
 
 " Well, let us see," said he, — " perhaps I can. 
 What is it that has troubled you so much ? " 
 
 " I have lost my mother, sir," said Ellen. 
 
 " Your mother ! Lost her ! — how ? " 
 
 " She is very ill, sir, and obliged to go away over 
 the sea to France to get well ; and papa could not 
 take me with her," said poor Ellen, weeping again, 
 " and I am obliged to go to be among strangers. 
 Oh, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Have you left your mother in the city ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! I left her this morning." 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Ellen Montgomery." 
 
 " Is your mother obliged to go to Europe for her 
 health?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; nothing else would have made 
 her go, but the doctor said she would not live long 
 if she didn't go, and that would cure her." 
 
 " Then you hope to see her come back by and 
 by, don't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; but it won't be this great, great, 
 long while ; it seems to me as if it was forever." 
 
 " Ellen, do you know who it is that sends sick- 
 ness and trouble upon us ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I know ; but I don't feel that that 
 makes it any easier." 
 
 " Do you know why He sends it ? He is the 
 God of love, — He does not trouble us willingly, — 
 He has said so ; — why does He ever make us suffer ? 
 do you know ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
104 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Sometimes He sees that if He lets them alone, 
 His children will love some dear thing on the earth 
 better than Himself, and He knows they will not 
 be happy if they do so ; and then because He loves 
 them, He takes it away, — perhaps it is a dear 
 mother, or a dear daughter, — or else He hinders 
 their enjoyment of it; that they may remember 
 Him, and give their whole hearts to Him. He 
 wants their whole hearts, that He may bless 
 them. Are you one of his His children, Ellen ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, with swimming eyes, but 
 cast down to the ground. 
 
 " How do you know that you are not ? " 
 
 " Because I do not love the Saviour." 
 
 " Do you not love Him, Ellen ?" 
 
 " I am afraid not, sir." 
 
 " Why are you afraid not ? what makes you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " Mamma said I could not love Him at all if I 
 ; id not love Him best; and oh, sir," said Ellen, 
 v/eeping, " I do love mamma a great deal better." 
 
 " You love your mother better than you do the 
 Saviour ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said Ellen ; " how can I help it ? " 
 
 " Then if He had left you your mother, Ellen, 
 you would never have cared or thought about 
 Him ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " Is it so ? — would you, do you think ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said Ellen, weeping again, 
 — " oh, sir ! how can I help it ? " 
 
 "Then, Ellen, can you not see the love of your 
 Heavenly Father in this trial ? He saw that His 
 little child was in danger of forgetting Him, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 1 05 
 
 He loved you, Ellen ; and so He has taken your 
 dear mother, and sent you away where you will 
 have no one to look to but Him ; and now He says 
 to you, ' My daughter, give Me thy heart.' — Will 
 you do it, Ellen ? " 
 
 Ellen wept exceedingly while the gentleman was 
 saying these words, clasping his hands still in 
 both hers ; but she made no answer. He waited 
 till she had become calmer, and then went on in a 
 low tone, — 
 
 " What is the reason that you do not love the 
 Saviour, my child ? " 
 
 " Mamma says it is because my heart is so 
 hard." 
 
 " That is true ; but you do not know how good 
 and how lovely He is, or you could not help loving 
 Him. Do you often think of Him, and think much 
 of Him, and ask Him to show you Himself thaf 
 you may love Him ? " 
 
 "No, sir," said Ellen,— "not often." 
 
 " You pray to Him, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but not so." 
 
 " But you ought to pray to Him so. We are all 
 blind by nature, Ellen ;— we are all hard-hearted ; 
 none of us can see Him or love Him unless He 
 opens our eyes and touches our hearts ; but He 
 has promised to do this for those that seek Him. 
 Do you remember what the blind man said when 
 Jesus asked Him what He should do for him ?— 
 he answered, ' Lord, that I may receive my sight ! ' 
 That ought to be your prayer now, and mine too ; 
 and the Lord is just as ready to hear us as He was 
 to hear the poor blind man; and you know He 
 cured him. Will you ask Him, Ellen ? " 
 
Io6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 A smile was almost struggling through Ellen's 
 tears as she lifted her face to that of her friend, but 
 she instantly looked down again. 
 
 " Shall I put you in mind, Ellen, of some things 
 about Christ that ought to make you love Him with 
 all your heart ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! if you please." 
 
 " Then tell me first what it is that makes you 
 love your mother so much ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can't tell you, sir ; — everything, I 
 think." 
 
 " I suppose the great thing is that she loves you 
 so much ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said Ellen, strongly. 
 
 " But how do you know that she loves you ? how 
 has she shown it ? " 
 
 Ellen looked at him, but could give no answer ; 
 it seemed to her that she must bring the whole 
 experience of her life before him to form one. 
 
 "I suppose," said her friend, "that, to begin 
 with the smallest thing, she has always been watch- 
 fully careful to provide everything that could be 
 useful or necessary for you : — she never forgot 
 your wants, or was careless about them ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir." 
 
 " And perhaps you recollect that she never 
 minded trouble or expense or pain where your good 
 was concerned ; — she would sacrifice her own 
 pleasure at any time for yours ? " 
 
 Ellen's eyes gave a quick and strong answer to 
 this, but she said nothing. 
 
 " And in all your griefs and pleasures you were 
 sure of finding her ready and willing to feel with 
 you and for you, and to help you if she could ? 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 107 
 
 And in all the times you have seen her tried, no 
 fatigue ever wore out her patience, nor any naughti- 
 ness of yours ever lessened her love ; she could 
 not be weary of waiting upon you when you were 
 sick, nor of bearing with you when you forgot your 
 duty, — more ready always to receive you than you 
 to return. Isn't it so ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 " And you can recollect a great many words and 
 looks of kindness and love — many and many 
 endeavors to teach you and lead you in the right 
 way — all showing the strongest desire for your 
 happiness in this world, and in the next ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said Ellen, tearfully ; and then 
 added, " Do you know my mother, sir ? " 
 
 " No," said he, smiling, " not at all ; but my own 
 mother has been in many things like this to me, 
 and I judged yours might have been such to you. 
 Have I described her right ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, sir," said Ellen ; — " exactly." 
 
 " And in return for all this, you have given this 
 dear mother the love and gratitude of your whole 
 heart, haven't you ? " 
 
 " Indeed I have, sir ; " and Ellen's face said it 
 more than her words. 
 
 " You are very right," he said, gravely, " to love 
 such a mother — to give her all possible duty and 
 affection ; — she deserves it. But, Ellen, in all these 
 very things I have been mentioning, Jesus Christ 
 has shown that He deserves it far more. Do you 
 think, if you had never behaved like a child to your 
 mother — if you had never made her the least 
 return of love or regard — that she would have con- 
 tinued to love you as she does . ? " 
 
X08 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, — " I do not think she 
 would." 
 
 " Have you ever made any fit return to God for 
 His goodness to you ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, in a low tone. 
 
 " And yet there has been no change in His kind- 
 ness. Just look at it, and see what He has done 
 and is doing for you. In the first place, it is not 
 your mother, but He, who has given you every 
 good and pleasant thing you have enjoyed in your 
 whole life. You love your mother because she is 
 so careful to provide for all your wants ; but who 
 gave her the materials to work with ? she has only 
 been, as it were, the hand by which He supplied 
 you. And who gave you such a mother ? — there 
 are many mothers not like her ; — who put into her 
 heart the truth and love that have been blessing 
 you ever since you were born ? It is all — all God's 
 doing, from first to last ; but His child has for- 
 gotten Him in the very gifts of His mercy.'.' 
 
 Ellen was silent, but looked very grave. 
 
 " Your mother never minded her own ease or 
 pleasure when your good was concerned. Did 
 Christ mind His ? You know what He did to 
 save sinners, don't you ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I know ; mamma often told me." 
 
 " ' Though He was rich, yst for our sake He 
 became poor, that we through His poverty might 
 be rich.' He took your burden of sin upon Him- 
 self, and suffered that terrible punishment — all to 
 save you, and such as you. And now He asks His 
 children to leave off sinning and come back to Him 
 who has bought them with His own blood. He 
 did this because He loved you; does He not 
 deserve to be loved in return ? " 
 
. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 109 
 
 Ellen had nothing to say ; she hung down her 
 head further and further. 
 
 " And patient and kind as your mother is, the 
 Lord Jesus is kinder and more patient still. In all 
 your life so far, Ellen, you have not loved or 
 obeyed Him ; and yet He loves you, and is ready 
 to be your friend. Is He not even to-day taking 
 away your dear mother for the very purpose that 
 He may draw you gently to Himself and fcld you 
 in His arms, as He has promised to do with His 
 lambs ? He knows you can never be happy any- 
 where else." 
 
 The gentleman paused again, for he saw that 
 the little listener's mind was full. 
 
 " Has not Christ shown that He 'ove^ you better 
 even than your mother does ? And were there ever 
 sweeter words of kindness than these ? — • 
 
 " ' Suffer the little children to come unto Me, 
 and forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom 
 of heaven.' 
 
 " * I am the good shepherd ; the good shepherd 
 giveth his life for the sheep.' 
 
 " ' I have loved thee with an everlasting love ; 
 therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.' " 
 
 He waited a minute, and then added, gently, 
 " Will you come to Him, Ellen ? " 
 
 Ellen lifted her tearful eyes to his : but there 
 were tears there too, and her own sank instantly. 
 She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed 
 out in broken words, " Oh, if I could ! — but I don't 
 know how." 
 
 " Do you wish to be His child, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir — if I could." 
 
 u I know, my child, that sinful heart of yours is 
 
no THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 in the way, but the Lord Jesus can change it, and 
 will, if you will give it to Him. He is looking 
 upon you now, Ellen, with more kindness and love 
 than any earthly father or mother could, waiting 
 for you to give that little heart of yours to Him, 
 that He may make it holy and fill it with blessing. 
 He says, you know, ' Behold I stand at the door 
 and knock.' Do not grieve Him away, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen sobbed, but all the passion and bitterness 
 of her tears was gone. Her heart was completely 
 melted. 
 
 " If your mother were here, and could do for you 
 what you want, would you doubt her love to do it ? 
 — would you have any difficulty in asking her ? " 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 " Then do not doubt His love who loves you 
 better still. Come to Jesus. Do not fancy He is 
 away up in heaven out of reach or hearing, — He is 
 here, close to you, and knows every wish and throb 
 of your heart. Think you are in His presence and 
 at His feet, — even now, — and say to Him in your 
 heart, ' Lord, look upon me — I am not fit to come 
 to Thee, but Thou hast bid me come — take me and 
 make me Thine own — take this hard heart that I 
 can do nothing with, and make it holy and fill it 
 with Thy love — I give it and myself into Thy hands, 
 O dear Saviour ! ' " 
 
 These words were spoken very low, that only 
 Ellen, could catch them. Her bowed head sank 
 lower and lower till he ceased speaking. He added 
 no more for some time ; waited till she had resumed 
 her usual attitude and appearance, and then 
 said, — 
 
 " Ellen, could you join in heart with my words ?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. m 
 
 " I did, sir,— I couldn't help it,— all but the last." 
 
 "All but the last?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " But, Ellen, if you say the first part of my prayer 
 with your whole heart, the Lord will enable you to 
 say the last too, — do you believe that ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you not make that your constant prayer 
 till you are heard and answered ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 And he thought he saw that she was in earnest. 
 
 " Perhaps the answer may not come at once, — 
 it does not always ; — but it will come, as surely as 
 the sun will rise to-morrow morning. ' Then shall 
 we know, if we follow on to know the Lord.' But 
 then you must be in earnest. And if you are in 
 earnest, is there nothing you have to do besides 
 praying ? " 
 
 Ellen looked at him without making any answer. 
 
 " When a person is in earnest, how does he show 
 it?" 
 
 " By doing everything he possibly can to get 
 what he wants." 
 
 " Quite right," said her friend, smiling ; " and 
 has God bidden us do nothing besides pray for a 
 new heart ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, — He has told us to do a great 
 many things." 
 
 " And will He be likely to grant that prayer, 
 Ellen, if He sees that you do not care about dis- 
 pleasing Him in those ' great many things ' ? — will 
 He judge that you are sincere in wishing for a new 
 heart ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! " 
 
112 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Then if you are resolved to be a Christian, you 
 will not be contented with praying for a new heart, 
 but you will begin at once to be a servant of God. 
 You can do nothing well without help, but you are 
 sure the help will come ; and from this good day you 
 will seek to know and to do the will of God, trusting 
 in His dear Son to perfect that which concerneth 
 you. My little child," said the gentleman, softly 
 and kindly, "are you ready to say you will do 
 this?" 
 
 As she hesitated, he took a little book from his 
 pocket, and turning over the leaves, said, " I am 
 going to leave you for a little while — I have a few 
 moments' business downstairs to attend to ; and I 
 want you to look over this hymn and think care- 
 fully of what I have been saying, will you ? — and 
 resolve what you will do." 
 
 Ellen got off his knee, where she had been sit- 
 ting all this while, and silently taking the book, sat 
 down in the chair he had quitted. Tears ran fast 
 again, and many thoughts passed through her 
 mind, as her eyes went over and over the words to 
 which he had pointed : 
 
 " Behold the Saviour at thy door, 
 
 He gently knocks, —has knocked before, — 
 
 Has waited long, — is waiting still, — 
 
 You treat no other friend so ill. 
 *' Oh, lovely attitude ! —He stands 
 
 With open heart and outstretched hands. 
 
 Oh matchless kindness! — and He shows 
 
 This matchless kindness to His foes. 
 *' Admit Him — for the human breast 
 
 Ne'er entertained so kind a guest. 
 
 Admit Him — or the hour's at hand 
 
 When at His door, denied, you'll stand. 
 *' Open my heart, Lord, enter in ; 
 
 Slay every foe, aid conoue'' sin 
 
 Here now to The^ I all r sisrn, — 
 
 My body, soul, ; ■ 1 ■ Thine." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 113 
 
 The last two lines Ellen longed to say, but could 
 not; the two preceding were the very speech of 
 her heart. 
 
 Not more than fifteen minutes had passed when 
 her friend came back again. The book hung in 
 Ellen's hand ; her eyes were fixed on the floor. 
 
 "Well," he said kindly, and taking her hand, 
 " what's your decision ? " 
 
 Ellen looked up. 
 
 " Have you made up your mind on that matter 
 we were talking about ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," Ellen said, in a low voice, casting her 
 eyes down again. 
 
 " And how have you decided, my child ? " 
 
 " I will try to do as you said, sir." 
 
 " You will begin to follow your Saviour, and to 
 please Him, from this day forward ? " 
 
 " I will try, sir," said Ellen, meeting his eyes as 
 she spoke. Again the look she saw made her 
 burst into tears. She wept violently. 
 
 " God bless you and help you, my dear Ellen," 
 said he, gently passing his hand over her head ; — 
 " but do not cry any more — you have shed too 
 many tears this morning already. We will not talk 
 about this any more now." 
 
 And he spoke only soothing and quieting words 
 for a while to her ; and then asked if she would like 
 to go over the boat and see the different parts of 
 it. Ellen's joyful agreement with this proposal was 
 only qualified by the fear of giving him trouble. 
 But he put that entirely by. 
 8 
 
ri4 THE WIDE WIDE WORLD, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Time and the hour run though the roughest day. 
 
 Shakspearr. 
 
 The going over the boat held them a long time, 
 for Ellen's new friend took kind pains to explain to 
 her whatever he thought he could make interesting ; 
 he was amused to find how far she pushed her in- 
 quiries into the how and the why of things. For 
 the time her sorrows were almost forgotten. 
 
 " What shall we do now ? " said he, when they 
 had at last gone through the whole ; — " would you 
 like to go to your friends ? " 
 
 " I haven't any friends on board, sir," said Ellen, 
 with a swelling heart. 
 
 " Haven't any friends on board ! what do you 
 mean ? Are you alone ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, — " not exactly alone ; my 
 father put me in the care of a lady that is going to 
 Thirlwall ; — but they are strangers and not friends." 
 
 " Are they z^friends ? I hope you don't think, 
 Ellen, that strangers cannot be friends, too ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir, I don't ! " said Ellen, looking 
 up with a face that was fairly brilliant with its 
 expression of gratitude and love. But casting it 
 down again, she added, " But they are not my 
 friends, sir." 
 
 " Well, then," he said smiling, " will you come 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! if you will let me, — and if I sha'n't 
 be a trouble to you, sir." 
 
 " Come this wav," said he, " and we'll see if we 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 115 
 
 cannot find a nice place to sit down, where no one 
 will trouble us." 
 
 Such a place was found. And Ellen would have 
 been quite satisfied though the gentleman had done 
 no more than merely permit her to remain there by 
 his side ; but he took out his little Bible, and read 
 and talked to her for some time, so pleasantly that 
 neither her weariness nor the way could be thought 
 of. 
 
 When he ceased reading to her and began to read 
 to himself, weariness and faintness stole over her. 
 She had had nothing to eat, and had been violently 
 excited that day. A little while she sat in a dreamy 
 sort of quietude, — then her thoughts grew misty, — ■ 
 and the end of it was, she dropped her head 
 against the arm of her friend and fell fast asleep. 
 He smiled at first, but one look at the very pale 
 little face changed the expression of his own. He 
 gently put his arm round her and drew her head to 
 a better resting-place than it had chosen. 
 
 And there she slept till the dinner-bell rang. 
 Timmins was sent out to look for her, but Timmins 
 did not choose to meddle with the grave protector 
 Ellen seemed to have gained ; and Mrs. Dunscombe 
 declared herself rejoiced that any other hands should 
 have taken the charge of her. 
 
 After dinner, Ellen and her friend went up to the 
 promenade deck again, and there for a while they 
 paced up and down, enjoying the pleasant air and 
 quick motion, and the lovely appearance of every- 
 thing in the mild hazy sunlight. Another gentle- 
 man, however, joining them, and entering into con- 
 versation, Ellen silently quitted her friend's hand 
 and went and sat down at the side of the boat. 
 
/i6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 After taking a few turns more, and while still 
 engaged in talking, he drew his little hymn-book 
 out of his pocket, and with a smile put it into Ellen's 
 hand as he passed. She gladly received it, and 
 spent an hour or more very pleasantly in studying 
 and turning it over. At the end of that time, the 
 stranger Laving left him, Ellen's friend came and 
 sat down by her side. 
 
 " How do you like my little book ? " said he. 
 
 " Oh, very much indeed, sir." 
 
 " Then you love hymns, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, sir, dearly." 
 
 " Do you sometimes learn them by heart ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, often ; mamma often made me. 
 I have learnt two since I have been sitting there." 
 
 " Have you ? " said he ; — " which are they ? " 
 
 " One of them is the one you showed me this 
 morning, sir." 
 
 " And what is your mind now about the question 
 I asked you this morning ? " 
 
 Ellen cast down her eyes from his inquiring 
 glance, and answered in a low tone, " Just what it 
 was then, sir." 
 
 " Have you been thinking of it since ? " 
 
 " I have thought of it the whole time, sir." 
 
 " And you are resolved you will obey Christ 
 henceforth ? " 
 
 " I am resolved to try, sir." 
 
 " My dear Ellen, if you are in earnest you will 
 not try in vain. He never yet failed any that sin- 
 cerely sought Him. Have you a Bible ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! a beautiful one ; mamma gave it 
 to me the other day." 
 
 He took the hymn-book from her hand, and turn* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO'KLD. 117 
 
 ing over the leaves, marked several places in 
 pencil. 
 
 " I am going to give you this," he said,, "that it 
 may serve to remind you of what we have talked 
 of to-day, and of your resolution." 
 
 Ellen flushed high with pleasure. 
 
 *' I have put this mark," said he, showing her a 
 particular one, " in a few places of this book, for 
 you ; wherever you find it, you may know there is 
 something I want you to take special notice of. 
 There are some other marks here, too^ but they are 
 mine ; these are for you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Ellen, delighted ; " I shall 
 not forget." 
 
 He knew from her face what she meant ; — not 
 the marks. 
 
 The day wore on, thanks to the unwearied kind- 
 ness of her friend, with great comparative comfort 
 to Ellen. Late in the afternoon they were resting 
 from a long walk up and down the deck. 
 
 " What have you got in this package that you 
 take such care of ? " said he smiling. 
 
 " Oh ! candies," said Ellen ; " I am always for- 
 getting them. I meant to ask you to take some. 
 Will you have some, sir ? " 
 
 " Thank you. What are they ? " 
 
 " Almost all kinds, I believe, sir ; I think the 
 almonds are the best." 
 
 He took one. 
 
 " Pray, take some more, sir," said Ellen ; — " I 
 don't care for them in the least." 
 
 " Then I am more of a child than you, — in this, at 
 any rate, — for I do care for them. But I have a little 
 headache to-day ; I mustn't meddle with sweets." 
 
Ji8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Then take some for to-morrow, sir ; — please 
 do ! " said Ellen, dealing them out very freely. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " said he, — " not a bit more ; this 
 won't do, — I must put some of these back again , 
 you'll want them to-morrow, too." 
 
 " I don't think I shall," said Ellen ;— " I haven't 
 wanted to touch them to-day." 
 
 " Oh, you'll feel brighter to-morrow, after a night's 
 sleep. But aren't you afraid of catching cold ? 
 This wind is blowing pretty fresh, and you've been 
 fconnetless all day : — what's the reason ? " 
 
 Ellen looked down, and colored a good deal. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said he, laughing ; " has 
 any mischief befallen your bonnet ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen in a low tone, her color 
 mounting higher and higher ; — " it was laughed at 
 this morning." 
 
 " Laughed at ! — who laughed at it ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter, and hex 
 maid." 
 
 " Did they ? I don't see much reason in that, I 
 confess. What did they think was the matter 
 with it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir ; — they said it was outlandish, 
 and what a figure I looked in it." 
 
 ' ' Well, certainly that was not very polite. Put 
 it on and let me see." 
 
 Ellen obeyed. 
 
 " I am not the best judge of ladies' bonnets, it is 
 true," said he, " but I can see nothing about it 
 that is not perfectly proper and suitable, — nothing 
 in the world ! So that is what has kept you bare- 
 headed all day ? Didn't your mother wish you to 
 wear that bonnet ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 119 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then that ought to be enough for you. Will you 
 be ashamed of what she approved, because some 
 people that haven't probably half her sense choose 
 to make merry with it ? — is that right ? " he. said, 
 gently. " Is that honoring her as she deserves ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, looking up into his face, 
 " but I never thought of that before ; — I am sorry." 
 
 " Never mind being laughed at, my child. If 
 your mother says a thing is right, that's enough for 
 you — let them laugh ! " 
 
 " I won't be ashamed of my bonnet any more," 
 said Ellen, tying it on ; " but they made me very 
 unhappy about it, and very angry too." 
 
 " I am sorry for that," said her friend, gravely. 
 " Have you quite got over it, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, — long ago." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " I am not angry now, sir." 
 
 " Is there no unkindness left towards the people 
 who laughed at you ? " 
 
 " I don't like them much," said Ellen ; — " how 
 can I ? " 
 
 " You cannot of course like the company of ill- 
 behaved people, and I do not wish that you should ; 
 but you can and ought to feel just as kindly dis- 
 posed towards them as if they had never offended 
 you — just as willing and inclined to please them or 
 do them good. Now, could you offer Miss — what's 
 her name ? — some of your candies with as hearty 
 good- will as you could before she laughed at you ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I couldn't. I don't feel as if I ever 
 wished to see them again." 
 
 " Then, uiy dear Ellen, you have something to do, 
 
120 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 if you were in earnest in the resolve you made this 
 morning, f If ye forgive unto men their trespasses, 
 My Heavenly Father will also forgive you ; but if 
 ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will My 
 Father forgive your trespasses ! ' " 
 
 He was silent, and so was Ellen, for some time. 
 His words had raised a struggle in her mind ; and 
 she kept her face turned towards the shore, so that 
 her bonnet shielded it from view ; but she did not 
 in the least know what she was looking at. The 
 sun had been some time descending through a sky 
 of cloudless splendor, and now was just kissing 
 the mountain tops of the western horizon. Slowly 
 and with great majesty he sank behind the distant 
 blue line, till only a glittering edge appeared, — and 
 then that was gone. There were no clouds hang- 
 ing over his setting, to be gilded and purpled by 
 the parting rays, but a region of glory long remained, 
 to show where his path had been. 
 
 The eyes of both were fixed upon this beautiful 
 scene, but only one was thinking of it. Just as the 
 last glimpse of the sun disappeared Ellen turned 
 her face, bright again, towards her companion. 
 He was intently gazing towards the hills that had 
 so drawn Ellen's attention a while ago, and think- 
 ing still more intently, it was plain ; so, though her 
 mouth had been open to speak, she turned her face 
 away again as suddenly as it had just sought his. 
 He saw the motion, however. 
 
 " What is it, Ellen ? " he said. 
 
 Ellen looked again with a smile. 
 
 " I have been thinking, sir, of what you said to 
 me." 
 
 " Well ? " said he, smiling in answer. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 12 1 
 
 " I can't like Mrs. Dunscombe and Miss Duns- 
 combe as well as if they hadn't done so to me, but 
 I will try to behave as if nothing had been the 
 matter, and be as kind and polite to them as if 
 they had been kind and polite to me." 
 
 " And how about the sugar-plums ? " 
 
 " The sugar-plums ! Oh," said Ellen, laughing, 
 " Miss Margaret may have them all if she likes — ■ 
 I'm quite willing. Not but I had rather give them 
 to you, sir." 
 
 " You give me something a great deal better 
 when I see you try to overcome a wrong feeling 
 You mustn't rest till you get rid of every bit of ill- 
 will that you feel for this and any other unkindness- 
 you may suffer. You cannot do it yourself, but you 
 know who can help you. I hope you have asked 
 Him, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I have, sir, indeed." 
 
 " Keep asking Him, and He will do everything 
 for you." 
 
 A silence of some length followed. Ellen began 
 to feel very much the fatigue of this exciting day, 
 and sat quietly by her friend's side, leaning against 
 him. The wind had changed about sundown, and 
 now blew light from the south, so that they did not 
 feel it at all. 
 
 The light gradually faded away, till only a silver 
 glow in the west showed where the sun had set y 
 and the sober gray of twilight was gently stealing 
 over all the bright colors of sky, and river, and 
 hill ; now and then a twinkling light began to ap- 
 pear along the shores. 
 
 "You are very tired," said Ellen's friend to 
 her, — " I see you are. A little more patience, my 
 
122 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 child ; — we shall be at our journey's end before a 
 very great while." 
 
 " I am almost sorry," said Ellen, "though I am 
 tired. We don't go in the steamboat to-morrow ; 
 do we, sir ? " 
 
 " No, — in the stage." 
 
 " Shall you be in the stage, sir ? " 
 
 " No, my child. But I am glad you and I have 
 spent this day together." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " said Ellen, " I don't know what I 
 should have done if it hadn't been for you ! " 
 
 There was silence again, and the gentleman al- 
 most thought his little charge had fallen asleep, 
 she sat so still. But she suddenly spoke again, 
 and in a tone of voice that showed sleep was far 
 away. 
 
 " I wish I knew where mamma is now ? " 
 
 " I do not doubt, my child, from what you told 
 me, that it is well with her wherever she is. Let 
 that thought comfort you whenever you remember 
 her." 
 
 " She must want me so much," said poor Ellen, 
 in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 " She has not lost her best friend, my child." 
 
 " I know it, sir," said Ellen, with whom grief was 
 now getting the mastery, — " but oh ! it's just near 
 the time when I used to make the tea for her — ■ 
 who'll make it now ? she'll want me, — oh, what 
 shall I do ! " and overcome completely by this 
 recollection, she threw herself into her friend's 
 arms and sobbed aloud. 
 
 There was no reasoning against this. He did 
 not attempt it ; but with the utmost gentleness and 
 tenderness endeavored, as soon as he might, to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 123 
 
 soothe and calm her. He succeeded at last ; with 
 a sort of despairing submission, Ellen ceased her 
 tears, and arose to her former position. But he did 
 not rest from his kind endeavors till her mind was 
 really eased and comforted ; which, however, was 
 not long before the lights of a city began to appear 
 in the distance. And with them appeared a dusky 
 figure ascending the stairs, which upon nearer ap- 
 proach, proved by the voice to be Timmins. 
 
 " Is this Miss Montgomery ? " said she ; — " I 
 can't see, I am sure, it's so dark. Is that you, Miss 
 Montgomery ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, " it is I ; do you want me ? " 
 
 " If you please, miss, Mrs. Dunscombe wants 
 you to come right down ; we're almost in, she says, 
 miss." 
 
 " I'll come directly, Miss Timmins," said Ellen. 
 " Don't wait for me, — I won't be a minute, — I'll 
 come directly." 
 
 Miss Timmins retired, standing still a good deal 
 in awe of the grave personage whose protection 
 Ellen seemed to have gained. 
 
 " I must go," said Ellen, standing up and extend- 
 ing her hand ; — " good-bye, sir.' 
 
 She could hardly say it. He drew her towards 
 him and kissed her cheek once or twice ; it was 
 well he did ; for it sent a thrill of pleasure to El- 
 len's heart that she did not get over that evening, 
 nor all the next day. 
 
 " God bless you, my child," he said, gravely but 
 cheerfully ; " and good-night ! — you will feel better, 
 I trust, when you have had some rest and refresh- 
 ment." 
 
 He took care of her down the stairs, and saw hef 
 
124 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 safe to the very door of the saloon, and within it; 
 and there again took her hand and kindly bade her 
 good-night ! 
 
 Ellen entered the saloon only to sit down and 
 cry as if her heart would break. She saw and 
 heard nothing till Mrs. Dunscombe's voice bade 
 her make haste and be ready, for they were going 
 ashore in five minutes. 
 
 And in less than five minutes ashore they 
 went. 
 
 " Which hotel, ma'am ? " asked the servant who 
 carried her baggage, — " the Eagle, or Foster's ? " 
 
 " The Eagle," said Mrs. Dunscombe. 
 
 " Come this way then, ma'am," said another 
 man, the driver of the Eagle carriage, — " now, 
 ma'am, step In, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Dunscombe put her daughter in. 
 
 " But it's full ! " said she to the driver ; " there 
 isn't room for another one ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, there is," said the driver, hold- 
 ing the door open ; " there's plenty of room for 
 you, ma'am, — just get in, ma'am, if you please, — 
 we'll be there in less than two minutes." 
 
 " Timmins, you'll have to walk," said Mrs. 
 Dunscombe. " Miss Montgomery, would you 
 rather ride, or walk with Timmins ? " 
 
 " How far is it, ma'am ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, bless me ! how can I tell how far it is ? 
 I don't know, I am sure, — not far ; — say quick, — ■ 
 would you rather walk or ride ? " 
 
 " I would rather walk, ma'am, if you please/' 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, getting in j 
 — " Timmins, you know the way." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 125 
 
 And off went the coach with its load ; but tired 
 as she was, Ellen did not wish herself along. 
 
 Picking a passage-way out of the crowd, she and 
 Timmins now began to make their way up one of 
 the comparatively quiet streets. 
 
 It was a strange place — that she felt. She had 
 lived long enough in the place she had left to feel 
 at home there ; but here she came to no street or 
 crossing that she had ever seen before ; nothing 
 looked familiar ; all reminded her that she was a 
 traveler. Only one pleasant thing Ellen saw on 
 her walk, and that was the sky ; and that looked 
 just as it did at home ; and very often Ellen's gaze 
 was fixed upon it, much to the astonishment of 
 Miss Timmins, who had to be not a little watchful 
 for the safety of Ellen's feet while her eyes were 
 thus employed. She had taken a great fancy to 
 Ellen, however, and let her do as she pleased, 
 keeping all her wonderment to herself. 
 
 " Take care, Miss Ellen ! " cried Timmins, giv- 
 ing her arm a great pull, — " I declare I just saved 
 you out of that gutter ! Poor child ! you are dread- 
 fully tired, ain't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am very tired, Miss Timmins," said 
 Ellen, " have we much further to go ? " 
 
 " Not a great deal, dear ; cheer up ! we are 
 almost there. I hope Mrs. Dunscotnbe will want 
 to ride one of these days herself, and can't." 
 
 " Oh, don't say so, Miss Timmins," said Ellen, 
 — " I don't wish so, indeed." 
 
 " Well, I should think you would," said Tim- 
 mins, — " I should think you'd be fit to poison 
 her ; — /should, I know, if I was in your place." 
 
126 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Ellen, " that wouldn't be right,— 
 that would be very wrong." 
 
 " Wrong ! " said Timmins, — " why would it be 
 wrong ? — she hasn't behaved good to you." 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, — "but don't you know the 
 Bible says if we do not forgive people what they 
 do to us, we shall not be forgiven ourselves ? " 
 
 u Well, I declare ! " said Miss Timmins, " you 
 beat all ! But here's the Eagle hotel at last, — and 
 I am glad for your sake, dear." 
 
 Ellen was shown into the ladies' parlor. She 
 was longing for a place to rest, but she saw directly 
 it was not to be there. The room was large and 
 barely furnished ; and round it were scattered part 
 of the carriage-load of people that had arrived a 
 quarter of an hour before her. They were waiting 
 till their rooms should be ready. Ellen silently 
 found herself a chair and sat down to wait with 
 the rest, as patiently as she might. Few of them 
 had as much cause for impatience ; but she was the 
 only perfectly mute and uncomplaining one there. 
 Her two companions, however, between them, 
 fully made up her share for fretting. At length, a 
 servant brought the welcome news that their room 
 was ready, and the three marched upstairs. It 
 made Ellen's very heart glad when they got there, 
 to find a good-sized, cheerful-looking bedroom, 
 comfortably furnished, with a bright fire burning, 
 large curtains let down to the floor, and a nice 
 warm carpet upon it. Taking off her bonnet, and 
 only that, she sat down on a low cushion by the 
 corner of the fire place, and leaning her head 
 against the jamb, fell fast asleep almost immediately. 
 Mrs. Dunscombe set about arranging herself for 
 the tea-table. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 127 
 
 " Well ! " she said, — " one day of this precious 
 journey is over ! " 
 
 " Does Ellen go with us to-morrow, mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes !— quite to Thirlwall." 
 
 " Well, you haven't had much plague with her 
 to-day, mamma." 
 
 " No — I am sure I am much obliged to whoever 
 has kept her out of my way." 
 
 " Where is she going to sleep to-night ? " asked 
 Miss Margaret. 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure, — I suppose I shall 
 have to have a cot brought in here for her." 
 
 " What a plague ! " said Miss Margaret. " It 
 will lumber up the room so ! There's no place to 
 put it. Couldn't she sleep with Timmins ? " 
 
 " Oh, she could, of course — just as well as not, 
 only people would make such a fuss about it ; — it 
 wouldn't do ; we must bear it for once. I'll try 
 and not be caught in such a scrape again." 
 
 " How provoking ! " said Miss Margaret ; — " how 
 came father to do so without asking you about it ? " 
 
 " Oh, he was bewitched, I suppose, — men always 
 are. Look here, Margaret, — I can't go down to 
 tea with a train of children at my heels. — I shall 
 leave you and Ellen up here, and I'll send up your 
 tea to you." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma ! " said Margaret, eagerly ; 
 " I want to go down with you. Look here, mamma ! 
 she's asleep and you needn't wake her up — that's 
 excuse enough ; you can leave her to have her 
 tea up here, and let me go down with you." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, — " I don't care 
 — but make haste to get ready, for I expect every 
 minute when the tea-bell will ring. " 
 
128 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Timmins ! Timmins ! " cried Margaret,— 
 " come here and fix me — quick ! — and step softly, 
 will you ? — or you'll wake that young one up, and 
 then, you see, I shall have to stay upstairs." 
 
 This did not happen, however. Ellen's sleep 
 was much too deep to be easily disturbed. The 
 tea-bell itself, loud and shrill as it was, did not 
 even make her eyelids tremble. After Mrs. and 
 Miss Dunscombe were gone down, Timmins em- 
 ployed herself a little while in putting all things 
 about the room to rights ; and then sat down to 
 take her rest, dividing her attention between the 
 fire and Ellen, towards whom she seemed to feel 
 more and more kindness, as she saw that she was 
 likely to receive it from no one else. Presently 
 came a knock at the door ; — " The tea for the 
 young lady, " on a waiter. Miss Timmins silently 
 took the tray from the man and shut the door. 
 " Well ! " said she to herself, — " if that ain't a pretty 
 supper to send up to a child that has gone two 
 hundred miles to-day, and had no breakfast ! — a cup 
 of tea, cold enough I'll warrant, — bread and butter 
 enough for a bird, — and two little slices of ham as 
 thick as a wafer ! — well, I just wish Mrs. Duns- 
 combe had to eat it herself, and nothing else ! — 
 I'm not going to wake her up for that, I know, till 
 I see whether something better ain't to be had for 
 love nor money. So just you sleep on, darling, 
 till I see what I can do for you." 
 
 In great indignation, downstairs went Miss Tim- 
 mins ; and at the foot of the stairs she met a rosy- 
 cheeked, pleasant-faced girl coming up. 
 
 " Are you the chambermaid ? " said Timmins. 
 
 " I'm one of the chambermaids," said the girl, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 129 
 
 smiling ,- " there's three of us in this house, 
 dear." 
 
 "Well, I am a stranger here," said Timmins, 
 " and I want you to help me, and I am sure you 
 will. I've got a dear little girl upstairs that I want 
 some supper for — she's a sweet child, and she's 
 under the care of some proud folks here in the tea- 
 room that think it's too much trouble to look at 
 her ; and they've sent her up about supper enough 
 for a mouse, — and she half starving ; she lost her 
 breakfast this morning by their ugliness. Now ask 
 one of the waiters to give me something nice for 
 her, will you ? — there's a good girl." 
 
 " James ! " — said the girl in a loud whisper to 
 one of the waiters who was crossing the hall. He 
 instantly stopped and came towards them, tray in 
 hand, and making several extra polite bows as he 
 drew near. 
 
 " What's on the supper-table, James ? " said the 
 smiling damsel. 
 
 " Everything that ought to be there, Miss Johns," 
 said the man, with another flourish. 
 
 " Come, stop your nonsense," said the girl, " and 
 tell me quick — I'm in a hurry." 
 
 " It's a pleasure to perform your commands, Miss 
 Johns. I'll give you the whole bill of fare. There's 
 a very fine beefsteak, fricasseed chickens, stewed 
 oysters, sliced ham, cheese, preserved quinces, — 
 with the usual complement of bread and toast and 
 muffins, and doughnuts, and new-year cake, and 
 plenty of butter, — likewise salt and pepper, — like* 
 wise tea and coffee, and sugar, — likewise " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the girl. " Do stop, will you ? " 
 — and then, laughing and turning to Miss Timmins, 
 she added, " What will you have ? " 
 
130 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I guess I'll have some of the chickens and 
 Oysters," said Timmins ; " that will be the nicest 
 for her, — and a muffin or two." 
 
 " Now, James, do you hear ? " said the chamber- 
 maid ; " I want you to get me now, right away, a 
 nice little supper of chickens and oysters and a muffin 
 — it's for a lady upstairs. Be as quick as you 
 can." 
 
 " I should be very happy to execute impossi- 
 bilities for you, Miss Johns, but Mrs. Custers is at 
 the table herself." 
 
 " Very well — that's nothing — she'll think it's for 
 somebody upstairs — and so it is." 
 
 " Ay, but the upstairs people is Tim's business — 
 I should be hauled over the coals directly." 
 
 " Then ask Tim, will you ? How slow you are ! 
 Now, James, if you don't, I won't speak to you 
 again." 
 
 " Till to-morrow ?— I couldn't stand that. It shall 
 be done, Miss Johns, instantum." 
 
 Bowing and smiling, away went James, leaving 
 the girls giggling on the staircase and highly 
 gratified. 
 
 " He always does what I want him to," said the 
 good-humored chambermaid, " but he generally 
 makes a fuss about it first. He'll be back directly 
 with what you want." 
 
 Till he came, Miss Timmins filled up the time 
 with telling her new friend as much as she knew 
 about Ellen and Ellen's hardships ; with which 
 Miss Johns was so much interested that she de 
 clared she must go up and see her ; and when 
 James in a few minutes returned with a tray of nice 
 things, the two wom^n proceeded together to Mrs. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 13I 
 
 Dunscombe's room. Ellen had moved so far as to 
 put herself on the floor with her head on the cush- 
 ion for a pillow, but she was as sound asleep as 
 ever. 
 
 " Just see now ! " said Timmins ; " there she lies 
 on the floor — enough to give her her death of cold ; 
 poor child, she is tired to death 3 and Mrs. Duns- 
 combe made her walk up from the steamboat to- 
 night rather than do it herself ; — I declare I wished 
 the coach would break down, only for the other 
 folks. I am glad I have got a good supper for her 
 though, — thank you, Miss Johns." 
 
 " And I'll tell you what, I'll go and get you some 
 nice hot tea," said the chambermaid, who was quite 
 touched by the sight of Ellen's little pale face. 
 
 " Thank you," said Timmins, — " you're a darling. 
 This is as cold as a stone." 
 
 While the chambermaid went forth on her kind 
 errand, Timmins stooped down by the little sleeper's 
 side. " Miss Ellen ! " she said ; — " Miss Ellen !— 
 wake up, dear — wake up and get some supper — - 
 come ! . you'll feel a great deal better for it — you 
 shall sleep as much as you like afterwards." 
 
 Slowly Ellen raised herself and opened her eyes. 
 " Where am I ? " she asked, looking bewildered. 
 
 " Here, dear," said Timmins; — "wake up and 
 eat something — it will do you good." 
 
 With a sigh, poor Ellen arose and came to the 
 fire. " You're tired to death, ain't you ? " said 
 Timmins. 
 
 " Not quite," said Ellen. " I shouldn't mind 
 that if my legs would not ache so — and my head, 
 too." 
 
 "Now I'm sorry!" said Timmins; "but youf 
 
t$2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 head will be better for eating, I know. See here 
 - — I've got you some nice chicken and oysters, — 
 and I'll make this muffin hot for you by the fire ; 
 and here comes your tea. Miss Johns, I'm your 
 servant and I'll be your bridesmaid with the greatest 
 pleasure in life. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, just you 
 put yourself on that low chair, and I'll fix you off." 
 
 Ellen thanked her, and did as she was told. 
 Timmins brought another chair to her side, and 
 placed the tray with her supper upon it, and pre- 
 pared her muffin and tea ; and having fairly seen 
 Ellen begin to eat, she next took off her shoes, and 
 seating herself on the carpet before her, she made 
 her lap the resting-place for Ellen's feet, chafing 
 them in her hands and heating them at the fire ; 
 saying there was nothing like rubbing and roasting 
 to get rid of the leg-ache. By the help of the 
 supper, the fire, and Timmins, Ellen mended rapidly. 
 With tears in her eyes, she thanked the latter for 
 her kindness. 
 
 " Now just don't say one word about that," said 
 Timmins ; " I never was famous for kindness, as I 
 know ; but people must be kind sometimes in their 
 lives, — unless they happen to be made of stone, 
 which I believe some people are. You feel better, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " A great deal," said Ellen. " Oh, if I only could 
 go to bed, now ! " 
 
 " And you shall," said Timmins. " I know about 
 your bed, and I'll go right away and have it brought 
 in." And away she went. 
 
 While she was gone, Ellen drew from her pocket 
 her little hymn-book, to refresh herself with look- 
 ing at it. How quickly and freshly it brought back 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 133 
 
 to her mind the friend who had given it, and his 
 conversations with her, and the resolve she had 
 made; and again Ellen's whole heart offered the 
 prayer she had repeated many times that day, — 
 
 " Open my heart, Lord, enter in : 
 Slay every foe, and conquer sin.'' 
 
 Her head was still bent upon her little book 
 when Timmins entered. Timmins was not alone; 
 Miss Johns and a little cot bedstead came in with 
 her. The latter was put at the foot of Mrs/ Duns- 
 combe's bed, and speedily made up by the chamber- 
 maid, while Timmins undressed Ellen; and very 
 soon all the sorrows and vexations of the day were 
 forgotten in a sound, refreshing sleep. But not till 
 she had removed her little hymn-book from the 
 pocket of her frock to a safe station under her 
 pillow; it was with her hand upon it that Ellen 
 went to sleep; and it was in her hand still when 
 she was waked the next morning. 
 
 The next day was spent in a wearisome stage- 
 coach, over a rough, jolting road. Ellen's compan- 
 ions did nothing to make her way pleasant, but she 
 sweetened theirs with her sugar-plums. Somewhat 
 mollified, perhaps, after that, Miss Margaret con- 
 descended to enter into conversation with her, and 
 Ellen underwent a thorough cross-examination as 
 to all her own and her parents' affairs, past, pres- 
 ent, and future, and likewise as to all that could 
 be known of her yesterday's friend, t?' 1 she was 
 heartily worried and out of patience. 
 
 It was just five o'clock when they reached her 
 stopping-place. Ellen knew of no particular house 
 to go to; so Mrs. Dunscombe set her down at the 
 
134 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 door of the principal inn of the town, called the 
 " Star " of Thirlwall. 
 
 The driver smacked his whip, and away went the 
 stage again, and she was left standing alone, beside 
 her trunk, before the piazza of the inn, watching 
 Timmins, who was looking back at her out of the 
 stage window, nodding and waving good-bye. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Gadsby. — Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London ! 
 zd. Car. — Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. 
 
 King Henry IV. 
 
 Ellen had been whirled along over the roads 
 for so many hours, — the rattle of the stage-coach 
 had filled her ears for so long, — that now, suddenly 
 still and quiet, she felt half stunned. She stood 
 with a kind of dreamy feeling, looking after the 
 departing stage-coach. In it there were three 
 people whose faces she knew, and she could not 
 count a fourth within many a mile. One of those 
 was a friend, too, as the fluttering handkerchief of 
 poor Miss Timmins gave token still. Yet Ellen did 
 not wish herself back in the coach, although she 
 continued to stand and gaze after it as it rattled 
 off at a great rate down the little street, its huge 
 body lumbering up and down every now and then, 
 reminding her of sundry uncomfortable jolts ; till 
 the horses making a sudden turn to the right, it dis- 
 appeared round a corner. Still for a minute Ellen 
 watched the whirling cloud of dust it had left be- 
 hind ; but then the feeling of strangeness and lone- 
 liness came over her, and her heart sank. She cast 
 a look up and down the street. The afternoon 
 *as lovely ; the slant beams of the setting sun came 
 
 ; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 135 
 
 back from gilded windows, and the houses and 
 chimney-tops of the little town were in a glow ; but 
 she saw nothing bright anywhere ; — in all the glory 
 of the setting sun the little town looked strange 
 and miserable. There was no sign of her having 
 been expected ; nobody was waiting to meet her. 
 What was to be done next ? Ellen had not the 
 slightest idea. 
 
 Her heart growing fainter and fainter, she turned 
 again to the inn. A tall, awkward young country- 
 man, with a cap set. on one side of his head, was 
 busying himself with sweeping off the floor of the 
 piazza, but in a very leisurely manner ; and between 
 every two strokes of his broom he was casting long 
 looks at Ellen, evidently wondering who she was 
 and what she could want there. Ellen saw it, and 
 hoped he would ask her in words, for she could not 
 answer his looks of curiosity, — but she was disap- 
 pointed. As he reached the end of the piazza and 
 gave his broom two or three knocks against the 
 edge of the boards to clear it of dust, he indulged 
 himself with one good long finishing look at Ellen, 
 and then she saw he was going to take himself and 
 his broom into the house. So in despair she ran 
 up the two or three low steps of the piazza and 
 presented herself before him. He stopped short. 
 
 " Will you please to tell me, sir," said poor Ellen, 
 " if Miss Emerson is here ? " 
 
 " Miss Emerson ? " said he, — " what Miss Emer- 
 son ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir, — Miss Emerson that lives not 
 far from Thirlwall." 
 
 Eying Ellen from head to foot, the man then 
 trailed his broom into the house. Ellen followed him. 
 
136 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Mr. Forbes ! " said he, — " Mr. Forbes ! do you 
 know anything of Miss Emerson ? " 
 
 " What Miss Emerson ? " said another man, with 
 a big red face and a big round body, showing him- 
 self in a doorway which he nearly filled. 
 
 " Miss Emerson that lives a little way out of 
 town." 
 
 " Miss Fortune Emerson ? yes, I know her. 
 What of her ? " 
 
 " Has she been here to-day ? " 
 
 " Here ? what, in town ? No — not as I've seen 
 or heerd. Why, who wants her ? " 
 
 " This little girl." 
 
 And the man with the broom, stepping back, dis- 
 closed Ellen to the view of the red-faced landlord. 
 He advanced a step or two towards her. 
 
 " What do you want with Miss Fortune, little 
 one ? " said he. 
 
 " I expected she would meet me here, sir," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Where have you come from ? " 
 
 " From New York." 
 
 " The stage set her down just now," put in the 
 other man. 
 
 " And you thought Miss Fortune would meet 
 you, did you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; she was to meet me and take me 
 home." 
 
 " Take you home ! Are you going to Miss 
 Fortune's home ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir.'' 
 
 " Why, you don't belong to her anyway, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, " but she's my aunt." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 137 
 
 9 She's your what ? " 
 
 " My aunt, sir, — my father's sister." 
 
 " Your father's sister ! You ben't the daughter 
 of Morgan Montgomery, be you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am," said Ellen, half-smiling. 
 
 "And you are come to make a visit to Miss 
 Fortune, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, smiling no longer. 
 
 " And Miss Fortune ha'n't come up to meet you ; 
 — that's real shabby of her ; and how to get you 
 down there to-night, I am sure is more than I can 
 tell."— And he shouted, " Wife ! " 
 
 " What's the matter, Mr. Forbes ? " said a fat 
 landlady, appearing in the doorway, which she 
 filled near as well as her husband would have done. 
 
 " Look here," said Mr. Forbes, " here's Morgan 
 Montgomery's daughter come to pay a visit to her 
 aunt, Fortune Emerson. Don't you think she'll be 
 glad to see her ? " 
 
 Mr. Forbes put this question with rather a 
 curious look at his wife. She didn't answer him. 
 She only looked at Ellen, looked grave, and gave a 
 queer little nod of her head, which meant, Ellen 
 could not make out what. 
 
 " Now, what's to be done ? " continued Mr. 
 Forbes. " Miss Fortune was to have come up to 
 meet her, but she ain't here, and I don't know how 
 in the world I can take the child down there to- 
 night. The horses are both out to plough, you 
 know ; and besides, the tire is come off that wagon 
 wheel. I couldn't possibly use it. And then it's a 
 great question in my mind what Miss Fortune 
 would say to me. I should get paid, I s'pose ? " 
 
 "Yes, you'd get paid," said his wife, with 
 
138 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 another little shake of her head , " but whether 
 it would be the kind of pay you'd like, / don't 
 know." 
 
 " Well, what's to be done, wife ? Keep the 
 child over night, and send word down yonder ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Forbes, " I'll tell you. I think I 
 saw Van Brunt go by two or three hours ago with 
 the ox-cart, and I guess he's somewhere up town 
 yet ; I ha'n't seen him go back. He can take the 
 child home with him. Sam ! " shouted Mrs. 
 Forbes, — " Sam ! — here ! — Sam, run up street di- 
 rectly, and see if you see Mr. Van Brunt's ox- 
 cart standing anywhere — I dare say he's at Mr. 
 Miller's, or maybe at Mr. Hammersley's, the black- 
 smith — and ask him to stop here before he goes 
 home. Now hurry ! — and don't run over him, and 
 then come back and tell me he ain't in town." 
 
 Mrs. Forbes herself followed Sam to the door, 
 and cast an exploring look in every direction. 
 
 " I don't see no signs of him, — up nor down," 
 said she, returning to Ellen ; " but I'm pretty sure 
 he ain't gone home. Come in here — come in here, 
 dear, and make yourself comfortable ; it'll be a 
 while yet maybe afore Mr. Van Brunt comes, but 
 he'll be along by and by ; — come in here and rest 
 yourself." 
 
 She opened a door, and Ellen followed her into 
 a large kitchen, where a fire was burning that 
 showed wood must be plenty in those regions. 
 Mrs. Forbes placed a low chair for her on the 
 hearth, but herself remained standing by the side 
 of the fire, looking earnestly and with a good deal 
 of interest upon the little stranger. Ellen drew her 
 white bonnet from her head, and sitting down with 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 139 
 
 a wearied air, gazed sadly into the flames that were 
 shedding their light upon her. 
 
 " Are you going to stop a good while with Miss 
 Fortune ? " said Mrs. Forbes. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, — yes, I believe so," said 
 Ellen, faintly. 
 
 " Ha'n't you got no mother ? " asked Mrs. 
 Forbes, suddenly, after a pause. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Ellen, looking up. But the 
 question had touched the sore spot. Her head 
 sank on her hands, and " Oh, mamma ! " was 
 uttered with a bitterness that even Mrs. Forbes 
 could feel. 
 
 " Now what made me ask you that ? " said she. 
 * Don't cry ! — don't, love ; poor little dear ! you're 
 as pale as a sheet ; you're tired, I know — ain't 
 you ? Now cheer up, do, — I can't bear to see you 
 cry. You've come a great ways to-day, ha'n't you ? " 
 
 Ellen nodded her head, but could give no 
 answer. 
 
 " I know what will do you good," said Mrs. 
 Forbes, presently, getting up from the crouching 
 posture she had taken to comfort Ellen; "you 
 want something to eat, — that's the matter. I'll 
 warrant you're half-starved ; — no wonder you feel 
 bad. Poor little thing ! you shall have something 
 good, directly." 
 
 And away she bustled to get it. Left alone, 
 Ellen's tears flowed a few minutes very fast. She 
 felt forlorn ■ and she was besides, as Mrs. Forbes 
 opined, both tired and faint. But she did not wish 
 to be found weeping; she checked her tears, and 
 was sitting again quietly before the fire when the 
 landlady returned. 
 
140 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mrs. Forbes had a great bowl of milk in one 
 hand, and a plate of bread in the other, which she 
 placed on the kitchen table, and setting a chair, 
 called Ellen to come and partake of it. 
 
 " Come, dear, — here is something that will do 
 you good. I thought there was a piece of pie in the 
 buttery, and so there was, but Mr. Forbes must 
 have got hold of it, for it ain't there now ; and 
 there ain't a bit of cake in the house for you ; but I 
 thought maybe you would like this as well as any- 
 thing. Come ! " 
 
 Ellen thanked her, but said she did not want any- 
 thing. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do," said Mrs. Forbes, "I 
 know better. You're as pale as I don't know what. 
 Come ! this'll put roses in your cheeks. Don't you 
 like bread and milk ? " 
 
 " Yes, very much indeed, ma'am," said Ellen, 
 "but I'm not hungry." She rose, however, and 
 came to the table. 
 
 " Oh, well, try to eat a bit, just to please me. 
 It's real good country milk — not a bit of cream off. 
 You don't get such milk as that in the city, I 
 guess. That's right ! — I see the roses coming 
 back to your cheeks already. — Is your pa in New 
 York now ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " You expect your pa and ma up to Thirlwall by 
 and by, don't you ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Forbes was surprised, and longed to ask 
 why not, and what Ellen had come for ; but the 
 shade that had passed over her face as she an- 
 swered the last question warned the landlady she 
 was getting upon dangerous ground. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 141 
 
 " Does your aunt expect you to-night ? " 
 
 " I believe so, ma'am, — I don't know, — she was 
 to have met me ; papa said he would write." 
 
 " Oh, well ! maybe something hindered her from 
 coming. It's no matter ; you'll get home just as 
 well. Mr. Van Brunt will be here soon, I guess ; 
 it's most time for him to be along." 
 
 She went to the front door to look out for him, 
 but returned without any news. A few minutes 
 passed in silence, for though full of curiosity, the 
 good landlady dared not ask what she wanted to 
 know, for fear of again exciting the sorrow of her 
 little companion. She contented herself with look- 
 ing at Ellen, who on her part, much rested and 
 refreshed, had turned from the table and was 
 again, though somewhat less sadly, gazing into the 
 fire. 
 
 Presently the great wooden clock struck half- 
 past five, with a whirling rickety voice, for all the 
 world like a hoarse grasshopper. Ellen at first 
 wondered where it came from, and was looking at 
 the clumsy machine that reached nearly from the 
 floor of the kitchen to the ceiling, when a door at 
 the other end of the room opened, and " Good-day, 
 Mrs. Forbes," in a rough but not unpleasant voice, 
 brought her head quickly round in that direction. 
 There stood a large strong-built man, with an ox- 
 whip in his hand. He was well made and rather 
 handsome, but there was something of heaviness in 
 the air of both face and person mixed with his cer- 
 tainly good-humored expression. His dress was as 
 rough as his voice — a coarse gray frock-coat, green 
 velveteen pantaloons, and a fur cap that had seen 
 its best days some time ago. 
 
142 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Good-day, Mrs. Forbes," said this personage ; 
 " Sam said you wanted me to stop as I went 
 along." 
 
 " Ah, how d'ye do, Mr. Van Brunt ? " said the 
 landlady, rising ; — " you've got the ox-cart here 
 with you, ha'n't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, — I've got the ox-cart," said the person 
 addressed, — " I came in town for a barrel of flour ; 
 and then the near ox had lost both his fore-shoes 
 off, and I had to go over there ; and Hammersley 
 has kept me a precious long time. What's wanting, 
 Mrs. Forbes ? I can't stop." 
 
 " You've no load in the cart, have you ? " said 
 the landlady, 
 
 " No ; I should have had though, but Miller had no 
 shorts nor fresh flour, nor won't till next week. 
 What's to go down, Mrs. Forbes ? " 
 
 u The nicest load ever you carried, Mr. Van 
 Brunt. Here's a little lady come to stay with Miss 
 Fortune. She's a daughter of Captain Montgomery. 
 Miss Fortune's brother, you know. She came by 
 the stage a little while ago, and the thing is how to 
 get her down to-night. She can go in the cart, 
 can't she ? " 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked a little doubtful, and pull- 
 ing off his cap with one hand, while he scratched his 
 head with the other, he examined Ellen from head 
 tc foot ; much as if she had been some great bale 
 of goods, and he were considering whether his cart 
 "would hold her or not. 
 
 * l Well," said he at length, — " I don't know but 
 she can ; but there ain't nothing on 'arth for her to 
 sit down upon." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ; I'll fix that," said Mrs. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. I4 3 
 
 Forbes. "Is there any straw in the bottom of the 
 
 cart ? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Well, I'll fix it," said Mrs. Forbes. " You get 
 her trunk into the cart, will you, Mr. Van Brunt 2 
 and I'll see to the rest." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt moved off without another word 
 to do what was desired of him, — apparently quite 
 confounded at having a passenger instead of his 
 more wonted load of bags and barrels. And his 
 face still continued to wear the singular doubtful ex« 
 pression it had put on at first hearing the news. 
 Ellen's trunk was quickly hoisted in, however ; and 
 Mrs. Forbes presently appeared with a little arm- 
 chair, which Mr. Van Brunt with an approving 
 look bestowed in the cart, planting it with its back 
 against the trunk to keep it steady. Mrs. Forbes 
 then raising herself on tiptoe by the side of the cart, 
 took a view of the arrangements. 
 
 " That won't do yet," said she ; " her feet will 
 be cold on that bare floor, and 'tain't over clean 
 neither. Here, Sally ! run up and fetch me that 
 piece of carpet you'll find lying at the top of the 
 back stairs. Now, hurry ! — Now, Mr. Van Brunt, 
 I depend upon you to get my things back again ; 
 will you see and bring 'em the first time you come 
 in town ? " 
 
 " I'll see about it. But what if I can't get hold 
 of them ? " answered the person addressed, with a 
 half smile. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Forbes, with another, " I leave 
 that to you ; you have your ways and means. Now, 
 just spread this carpet down nicely under her chair ; 
 and then she'll be fixed. Now, my darling you'tf 
 
144 THE WIDE.. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ride like a queen. But how are you going to get 
 in ? Will you let Mr. Van Brunt lift you up ? " 
 
 Ellen's " Oh, no, ma'am, if you please ! " was 
 accompanied with such an evident shrinking from 
 the proposal, that Mrs. Forbes did not press it. 
 A chair was brought from the kitchen, and by 
 making a long step from it to the top of the wheel, 
 and then to the edge of the cart, Ellen was at 
 length safely stowed in her place. Kind Mrs. 
 Forbes then stretched herself up over the side of 
 the cart to shake hands with her and bid her good- 
 bye, telling her again she would ride like a queen. 
 Ellen answered only " Good-bye, ma'-am ; " but 
 it was said with a look of so much sweetness, 
 and eyes swimming half in sadness and half in 
 gratefulness, that the good landlady could not 
 forget it. 
 
 "I do think," said she, when she went back to 
 her husband, " that is the dearest little thing, about, 
 I ever did see." 
 
 " Humph ! " said her husband, " I reckon Miss 
 Fortune will think so too." 
 
 The doubtful look came back to Mrs. Forbes, 
 face, and with another little grave shake of her 
 head, she went into the kitchen. 
 
 " How kind she is ! how good everybody is to 
 me ! " thought little Ellen, as she moved off in 
 state in her chariot drawn by oxen. Quite a con- 
 trast this new way of traveling was to the noisy stage 
 and swift steamer. Ellen did net know at first 
 whether to like or dislike it ; but she came to the 
 conclusion that it was very funny, and a remark- 
 ably amusing way of getting along. There was 
 one disadvantage about it certainly — their rate oi 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. i.^ 
 
 travel was very slow. Ellen wondered her char- 
 ioteer did not make his animals go faster ; but she 
 soon forgot their lazy progress in the interest of 
 novel sights and new scenes. 
 
 Slowly, very slowly, the good oxen drew the cart 
 and the little queen in the arm-chair out of the 
 town, and they entered upon the open country. 
 The sun had already gone down when they left the 
 inn, and the glow of his setting had faded a good 
 deal by the time they got quite out of the town ; 
 but light enough was left still to delight Ellen with 
 the pleasant look of the country. It was a lovely 
 evening, and quiet as summer ; not a breath stir- 
 ring. The leaves were all off the trees ; the hills 
 were brown ; but the soft warm light that still lin- 
 gered upon them forbade any look of harshness 
 or dreariness. These hills lay towards the 
 west, and at Thirlwall were not more than two 
 miles distant, but sloping off more to the west as 
 the range extended in a southerly direction. Be- 
 tween, the ground was beautifully broken. Rich 
 fields and meadows lay on all sides, sometimes 
 level, and sometimes with a soft wavy surface, 
 where Ellen thought it must be charming to run up 
 and down. Every now and then these were varied 
 by a little rising ground capped with a piece of 
 woodland ; and beautiful trees, many of them were 
 seen standing alone, especially by the road-side. 
 All had a cheerful, pleasant look. The houses 
 were very scattered ; in the whole way they passed 
 but few. Ellen's heart regularly began to beat 
 when they came in sight of one, and " I wonder 
 if that is Aunt Fortune's house ! " — " Perhaps it 
 is ! " — or, " I hope it is not ! " were the thoughts 
 to 
 
146 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 chat rose in her mind. But slowly the oxen brought 
 her abreast of the houses, one after another, and 
 slowly they passed on beyond, and there was no 
 sign of getting home yet. Their way was through 
 pleasant lanes towards the south, but constantly 
 approaching the hills. About half a mile from 
 Thirl wall, they crossed a little river, not more than 
 thirty yards broad, and after that the twilight 
 deepened fast. The shades gathered on field and 
 hill ; everything grew brown, and then dusky ; and 
 then Ellen was obliged to content herself with 
 what was very near, for further than that she could 
 only see dim outlines. She began again to think 
 of their slow traveling, and to wonder that Mr. 
 Van Brunt could be content with it. She wondered, 
 too, what made him walk, when he might just as 
 well have sat in the cart ; the truth was he had 
 chosen that for the very purpose that he might 
 have a good look at the little queen in the arm- 
 chair. Apparently, however, he too now thought 
 it might be as well to make a little haste, for he 
 thundered out some orders to his oxen, accompa- 
 nied with two or three strokes of his heavy lash, 
 which, though not cruel by any means, went to 
 Ellen's heart. 
 
 " Them lazy critters won't go fast anyhow," said 
 he to Ellen, — " they will take their own time ; it 
 ain't no use to cut them." 
 
 " Oh, no ! pray don't, if you please ! '" said Ellen 
 in a voice of earnest entreaty. 
 
 " 'Tain't fair neither," continued Mr. Van Brunt, 
 lashing his great whip from side to side without 
 touching anything. " I have seen critters that 
 would take any quantity of whipping to make them 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 147 
 
 go, but them 'ere ain't of that kind ; they'll work as 
 long as they can stand, poor fellows ! " 
 
 There was a little silence, during which Ellen 
 eyed her rough charioteer, not knowing exactly what 
 to make of him. 
 
 " I guess this is the first time you ever rid in an 
 ox-cart, ain't it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen ; " I never saw one before." 
 
 " Ha'n't you never seen an ox-cart ? Well — how 
 do you like it ? " 
 
 " I like it very much indeed. Have we much 
 farther to go before we get to Aunt Fortune's 
 house ? " 
 
 " 'Aunt Fortune's house ? ' — a pretty good bit yet. 
 You see that mountain over there ? " — pointing with 
 his whip to a hill directly west of them, and about 
 a mile distant. 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen. 
 
 " That's the Nose. Then you see that other ? " 
 — pointing to one that lay some two miles further 
 south ; — " Miss Fortune's house is just this side of 
 that ; it's all of two miles from here." 
 
 And urged by this recollection, he again scolded 
 and cheered the patient oxen, who for the most part 
 kept on their steady way without any reminder. 
 But perhaps it was for Ellen's sake that he scarcely 
 touched them with the whip. 
 
 " That don't hurt them, not a bit," he remarked 
 to Ellen, — " it only lets them know that I'm here, 
 and they must mind their business. So you're Miss 
 Fortune's niece, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen. 
 
 ' Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, with a desperate 
 attempt at being complimentary, " I shouldn't care 
 if you was mine too." 
 
I4 8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen was somewhat astounded, and so utterly 
 unable to echo the wish, that she said nothing. 
 She did not know it, but Mr. Van Brunt had made, 
 for him, most extraordinary efforts at sociability. 
 Having quite exhausted himself, he now mounted 
 into the cart and sat silent, only now and then utter- 
 ing energetic " Gee's " and " Haw's ! " which greatly 
 excited Ellen's wonderment. She discovered they 
 were meant for the ears of the oxen, but more than 
 that she could not make out. 
 
 They plodded along very slowly, and the evening 
 fell fast. As they left behind the hill which Mr. 
 Van Brunt had called "the Nose," they could see, 
 through an opening in the mountains, a bit of the 
 western horizon, and some brightness still lingering 
 there ; but it was soon hid from view, and darkness 
 veiled the whole country. Ellen could amuse her- 
 self no longer with looking about ; she could see 
 nothing very clearly but the outline of Mr. Van 
 Brunt's broad back, just before her. But the stars 
 had come out ! — and, brilliant and clear, they were 
 looking down upon her with their thousand eyes. 
 Ellen's heart jumped when she saw them, with a 
 mixed feeling of pleasure and sadness. They car- 
 ried her right back to the last evening when she was 
 walking up the hill with Timmins ; she remembered 
 her anger against Mrs. Dunscombe, and her kind 
 friend's warning not to indulge it, and all his teach- 
 ing that day ; and tears came with the thought, 
 how glad she should be to hear him speak to her 
 again. Still looking up at the beautiful quiet stars, 
 she thought of her dear far-off mother, — how long 
 it was already since she had seen her; — faster and 
 faster the tears dropped ; — and then she thought of 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 149 
 
 that glorious One who had made the stars, and was 
 above them all, and who could and did see her 
 mother and her, though ever so far apart, and could 
 hear and bless them both. The little face was no 
 longer upturned — it was buried in her hands, and 
 bowed to her lap, and tears streamed as she prayed 
 that God would bless her dear mother and take 
 care of her. Not once nor twice ; — the fullness of 
 Ellen's heart could not be poured out in one ask- 
 ing. Greatly comforted at last, at having as it 
 were laid over the care of her mother upon One 
 who was able, she thought of herself, and her late 
 resolution to serve Him. She was in the same mind 
 still. She could not call herself a Christian yet, 
 but she was resolved to be one : and she earnestly 
 asked the Saviour she sought to make her 
 and keep her* His child. And then Ellen felt 
 happy. 
 
 Quiet, and weariness, and even drowsmt^' suc- 
 ceeded. It was well the night was still, for it had 
 grown quite cool, and a breeze would have gone 
 through and through Ellen's nankeen coat. As it 
 was she began to be chilly, when Mr. Van Brunt, 
 who since he got into the cart had made no remarks 
 except to his oxen, turned round a little and spoke 
 to her again. 
 
 " It's only a little bit of way we've got to go now," 
 said he ; " we're turning the corner." 
 
 The words seemed to shoot through Ellen's heart. 
 She was wide awake instantly, and quite warm ; 
 and leaning forward in her little chair, she strove 
 to pierce the darkness on either hand of her, to see 
 whereabouts the house stood, and how things looked. 
 She could discern nothing but misty shadows, and 
 
150 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 outlines of she could not tell what ; the starlight 
 was too dim to reveal anything to a stranger. 
 
 " There's the house," said Mr. Van Brunt, aftei 
 a few minutes more, — " do you see it yonder ? " 
 
 Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out 
 nothing, — not even a glimpse of white. She sat 
 back in her chair, her heart beating violently. 
 Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down and opened 
 a gate at the side of the road ; and with a great 
 deal of " gee " -ing the oxen turned to the right, 
 and drew the cart a little way uphill, — then stopped 
 on what seemed level ground. 
 
 " Here we are ! " cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he 
 threw his whip on the ground, — " and late enough ! 
 You must be tired of that little arm-cheer by this 
 time. Come to the side of the cart and I'll lift 
 you down." 
 
 Poor Ellen ! There was no help for it. She 
 came to the side of the cart, and taking her in his 
 arms her rough charioteer set her very gently and 
 carefully on the ground. 
 
 " There ! " said he, " now you can run right in ; 
 do you see that little gate ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, " I can't see anything." 
 
 "Well, come here," said he, " and I'll show 
 you. Here — you're running agin the fence — this 
 way ! " 
 
 And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen 
 managed to stumble through. 
 
 " Now," said he, " go straight up to that door 
 yonder, and open it, and you'll see where to go. 
 Don't knock, but just pull the latch and go in." 
 
 And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw 
 no door, and did not even know where to look fol 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 151 
 
 it; by degrees, as her head became clearer, the 
 large dark shadow of the house stood before her, 
 and a little glimmering line of a path seemed to 
 lead onward from where she stood. With unsteady 
 steps, Ellen pursued it till her foot struck against, 
 the stone before the door. Her trembling fingers 
 found the latch — lifted it — and she entered. All 
 was dark there ; but at the right a window showed 
 light glimmering within. Ellen made toward it, 
 and groping, came to another door-latch. This 
 was big and clumsy ; however, she managed it, 
 and pushing open the heavy door, went in. 
 
 It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. 
 A fine fire was burning in the enormous fire-place ; 
 the white walls and ceiling were yellow in the light 
 of the flame. No candles were needed, and none 
 were there. The supper table was set, and with 
 its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, 
 looked very comfortable indeed. But the only 
 person there was an old woman, sitting by the side 
 of the fire, with her back towards Ellen. She 
 seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor look 
 round. Ellen had come a step or two into the 
 room, and there she stood, unable to speak or to 
 go any farther. "Can that be Aunt Fortune?" 
 she thought; " she can't be as old as that ? " 
 
 In another minute a door opened at her right, 
 just behind the old woman's back, and a second 
 figure appeared at the top of a flight of stairs which 
 led down from the kitchen. She came in, shutting 
 the door behind her with her foot ; and indeed 
 both hands were full, one holding a lamp and a 
 knife, and the other a plate of butter. The sight 
 of Ellen stopped her short. 
 
152 THE WIDE WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What is this ? — and what do you leave the doot 
 open for, child?" she said. 
 
 She advanced towards it, plate and lamp in hand, 
 and setting her back against the door, shut it 
 vigorously. 
 
 " Who are you ? and what's wanting ? " 
 
 " I am Ellen Montgomery, ma'am," said Ellen, 
 timidly. 
 
 " What ? " said the lady, with some emphasis. 
 
 " Didn't you expect me, ma'am ? " said Ellen ; 
 " papa said he would write." 
 
 " Why, is this Ellen Montgomery ? " said Miss 
 Fortune, apparently forced to the conclusion that 
 it must be. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Ellen. 
 
 Miss Fortune went to the table and put the 
 butter and the lamp in their places. 
 
 " Did you say your father wrote to tell me of 
 your coming ? " 
 
 " He said he would, ma'am," said Ellen. 
 
 " He didn't ! Never sent me a line. Just like 
 him ! I never yet knew Morgan Montgomery do 
 a thing when he promised he would." 
 
 Ellen's face flushed, and her heart swelled. She 
 stood motionless. 
 
 " How did you get down here to-night ? " 
 
 " I came in Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart ? Then he's got home, 
 has he ? " And hearing at this instant a noise out- 
 side, Miss Fortune swept to the door, saying, as 
 she opened it, " Sit down, child, and take off your 
 things." 
 
 The first command, at least, Ellen obeyed gladly ; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 153 
 
 she did not feel enough at home to comply with 
 the second. She only took off her bonnet. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Van Brunt," said Miss Fortune at 
 the door, " have you brought me a barrel of flour ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Fortune," said the voice of Ellen's 
 charioteer, " I've brought you something better 
 than that." 
 
 " Where did you find her ? " said Miss Fortune, 
 something shortly. 
 
 " Up at Forbes's." 
 
 " What have you got there ? " 
 
 " A trunk. Where is it to go ? " 
 
 " A trunk ! Bless me ! it must go upstairs ; but 
 how it is ever to get there, I am sure I don't 
 know." 
 
 " I'll find a way to get it there, I'll engage, if 
 you'll be so good as to open the door for me, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "Indeed you won't! That'll never do. With 
 your shoes ! " said Miss Fortune, in a tone of indig- 
 nant housewifery. 
 
 "Well — without my shoes, then," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt, with a half giggle, as Ellen heard the shoes 
 kicked off. " Now, ma'am, out of my way ! give 
 me a road." 
 
 Miss Fortune seized the lamp, and opening 
 another door, ushered Mr. Van Brunt and the trunk 
 out of the kitchen, and up, Ellen saw not whither. 
 In a minute or two they returned, and he of the 
 ox-cart went out. 
 
 " Supper's just ready, Mr. Van Brunt," said the 
 mistress of the house. 
 
 " Can't stay, ma'am ; — it's so late ; must hurrj 
 home." And he closed the door behind him. 
 
^54 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What made you so late ? " asked Miss Fortune 
 of Ellen. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am — I believe Mr. Van Brunt 
 said the blacksmith had kept him." 
 
 Miss Fortune bustled about a few minutes in 
 silence, setting some things on the table and filling 
 the tea-pot. 
 
 " Come," she said to Ellen, "take off your coat 
 and come to the table. You must be hungry by 
 this time. It's a good while since you had your 
 dinner, ain't it ? Come, mother." 
 
 The old lady rose, and Miss Fortune, taking her 
 chair, set it by the side of the table next the fire. 
 Ellen was opposite to her, and now for the first 
 time the old lady seemed to know that she was in 
 the room. She looked at her very attentively, but 
 with an expressionless gaze which Ellen did not 
 like to meet, though otherwise her face was calm 
 and pleasant. 
 
 " Who is that ? " inquired the old lady presently 
 of Miss Fortune, in a half whisper. 
 
 " That's Morgan's daughter," was the answer. 
 
 " Morgan's daughter ! Has Morgan a daughter ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, mother ; don't you remember I told 
 you a month ago he was going to send her here ? " 
 
 The old lady turned again with a half shake of 
 her head towards Ellen. " Morgan's daughter," 
 she repeated to herself softly, " she's a pretty little 
 girl, — very pretty. Will vou come round here and 
 give me a kiss, dear ? " 
 
 Ellen submitted. The old lady folded her in 
 her arms and kissed her affectionately. " That's 
 your grandmother, Ellen," said Miss Fortune as 
 Ellen went back to her seat. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 155 
 
 Ellen had no words to answer. Her aunt saw 
 her weary, down look, and soon after supper pn> 
 posed to take her upstairs. Ellen gladly followed 
 her. Miss Fortune showed her to her room, and 
 first asking if she wanted anything, left her to her- 
 self. It was a relief. Ellen's heart had been 
 brimful and ready to run over for some time, but 
 the tears could not come then. They did not now, 
 till she had undressed and laid her weary little 
 body on the bed ; then they broke forth in an agony. 
 " She did not kiss me ; she didn't say she was 
 glad to see me ! " thought poor Ellen. But weari- 
 ness this time was too much for sorrow and disap- 
 pointment. It was but a few minutes, and Ellen's 
 brow was calm again, and her eyelids still, and with 
 the tears wet upon her cheeks, she was fast asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Nimble mischance, that com'st so swift of foot ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The morning sun was shining full and strong in 
 Ellen's eyes when she awoke. Bewildered at the 
 strangeness of everything round her, she raised 
 herself on her elbow, and took a long look at her 
 new home. It could not help but seem cheerful. 
 The bright beams of sunlight streaming in through 
 the windows lighted on the wall and the old wains- 
 coting ; and paintless and rough as they were, 
 nature's own gilding more than made amends for 
 their want of comeliness. Still Ellen was not much 
 pleased with the result of her survey. The room 
 was good-sized, and perfectly neat and clean ; it 
 had two large windows opening to the east, through 
 
156 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 which, morning by morning, the sun looked in,— 
 that was another blessing. But the floor was with- 
 out a sign of a carpet ; and the bare boards looked 
 to Ellen very comfortless. The hard-finished walls 
 were not very smooth, nor particularly white. The 
 doors and wood-work, though very neat, and even 
 carved with some attempt at ornament, had never 
 known the touch of paint, and had grown in the 
 course of years to be of a light brown color. The 
 room was very bare of furniture too. A dressing- 
 table, pier-table or what-not, stood between the 
 windows, but it was only a half-circular top of pine 
 board set upon three very long bare-looking legs 
 — altogether of a most awkward and unhappy ap- 
 pearance, Ellen thought, and quite too high for her 
 to use with any comfort. No glass hung over it, 
 nor anywhere else. On the north side of the room 
 was a fire-place ; against the opposite wall stood 
 Ellen's trunk and two chairs ; — that was all, except 
 the cot bed she was lying on, and which had its 
 place opposite the windows. The coverlet of that 
 ome in for a share of her displeasure, being of home- 
 made white and blue worsted mixed with cotton, 
 exceeding thick and heavy. 
 
 " I wonder what sort of a blanket is under it," 
 said Ellen, " if I can ever get it off to see ! — pretty 
 .good ; but the sheets are cotton, and so is the pil- 
 low-case ! " 
 
 She was still leaning on her elbow, looking around 
 her with a rather discontented face, when some 
 <loor being opened Sownstairs, a great noise of hiss- 
 ing and sputtering came to her ears, and presently 
 after there stole to her nostrils a steaming odor of 
 something very savory from the kitchen. It said as 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 157 
 
 plainly as a dressing-bell that she had better rise. 
 So up she jumped, and set about dressing herself 
 with great alacrity. Where was the distress of last 
 night ? Gone — with the darkness. She had slept 
 well ; the bracing atmosphere had restored strength 
 and spirits ; and the bright morning light made it 
 impossible to be dull or down-hearted, in spite of 
 the new cause she thought she had found. She 
 went on quick with the business of the toilet. But 
 when it came to the washing, she suddenly discov- 
 ered that there were no conveniences for it in her 
 room — no sign of pitcher or basin or stand to hold 
 them. Ellen was slightly dismayed ; but presently 
 recollected her arrival had not been looked for so 
 soon, and probably the preparations for it had not 
 been completed. So she finished dressing, and 
 then set out to find her way to the kitchen. On 
 opening the door, there was a little landing-place 
 from which the stairs descended just in front of 
 her, and at the left hand another door, which she 
 supposed must lead to her aunt's room. At the 
 foot of the stairs Ellen found herself in a large 
 square room or hall, for one of its doors, on the 
 east, opened to the outer air, and was in fact the 
 front door of the house. Another Ellen tried on 
 the south side ; it would not open. A third, under 
 the stairs, admitted her to the kitchen. 
 
 The noise of hissing and sputtering now became 
 quite violent, and the smell of the cooking, to Ellen's 
 fancy, rather too strong to be pleasant. Before a 
 good fire stood Miss Fortune, holding the end of a 
 very long iron handle by which she was kept in 
 communication with a flat vessel sitting on the fire, 
 in which Ellen soon discovered all this noisy and 
 
158 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 odorous cooking was going on. A tall tin coffee- 
 pot stood on some coals in the corner of the fire- 
 place, and another little iron vessel in front also 
 claimed a share of Miss Fortune's attention, for 
 she every now and then leaned forward to give a 
 stir to whatever was in it, making each time quite a 
 spasmodic effort to do so without quitting her hold 
 of the end of the long handle. Ellen drew near 
 and looked on with great curiosity, and not a little 
 appetite ; but Miss Fortune was far too busy to give 
 her more than a passing glance. At length the 
 hissing pan was brought to the hearth for some new 
 arrangement of its contents, and Ellen seized the 
 moment of peace and quiet to say, " Good-morn- 
 ing, Aunt Fortune." 
 
 Miss Fortune was crouching by the pan turning 
 her slices of pork. " How do you do this morn- 
 ing ? " she answered, without looking up. 
 
 Ellen replied she felt a great deal better. 
 
 " Slept warm, did you ? " said Miss Fortune, as 
 she set the pan back on the fire. And Ellen could 
 hardly answer, " Quite warm, ma'am," when the 
 hissing and sputtering began again as loud as ever. 
 
 " I must wait," thought Ellen, " till this is over 
 before I say what I want to. I can't scream out to 
 ask for a basin and towel." 
 
 Tn a few minutes the pan was removed from the 
 fire, and Miss Fortune went on to take out the 
 brown slices of nicely fried pork and arrange them 
 in a deep dish, leaving a small quantity of clear fat 
 in the pan. Ellen, who was greatly interested, and 
 observing every step most attentively, settled in her 
 own mind that certainly this would be thrown away, 
 being fit for nothing but the pigs. But Miss Fort* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 159 
 
 line didn't think so, for she darted into some 
 pantry close by, and returning with a cup of cream 
 in her hand, emptied it all into the pork fat. Then 
 she ran into the pantry again for a little round tin 
 box, with a cover full of holes, and shaking this 
 gently over the pan, a fine white shower of flour fell 
 upon the cream. The pan was then replaced on 
 the fire and stirred ; and to Ellen's astonishment 
 the whole changed, as if by magic, to a thick, stiff, 
 white froth. It was not till Miss Fortune was care- 
 fully pouring this over the fried slices in the dish, 
 that Ellen suddenly recollected that breakfast was 
 ready, and she was not. 
 
 " Aunt Fortune," she said, timidly, " I haven't 
 washed yet, — there's no basin in my room." 
 
 Miss Fortune made no answer nor gave any sign 
 of hearing ; she went on dishing up breakfast. 
 Ellen waited a few minutes. 
 
 "Will you please, ma'am, to show me where I 
 can wash myself ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Fortune, suddenly standing 
 erect, " you'll have to go down to the spout." 
 
 "The spout, ma'am," said Ellen, — "what's 
 that ? " 
 
 " You'll know it when you see it, I guess," an- 
 swered her aunt, again stooping over her prepara- 
 tions. But in another moment she arose and said, 
 " Just open that door there behind you, and go 
 down the stairs and out at the door, and you'll see 
 where it is, and what it is too." 
 
 Ellen still lingered. " Would you be so good as 
 to give me a towel, ma'am ? " she said, timidly. 
 
 Miss Fortune dashed past her and out of an- 
 other door, whence she presently returned with a 
 
160 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 clean towel, which she threw over Ellen's arm, and 
 then went back to her work- 
 Opening the door by which she had first seen 
 her aunt enter the night before, Ellen went down a 
 steep flight of steps, and found herself in a lower 
 kitchen, intended for common purposes. It seemed 
 to be not used at all, at least there was no fire 
 there, and a cellar-like feeling and smell instead. 
 That was no wonder, for beyond the fire-place on 
 the left hand was the opening to the cellar, which, 
 running under the other part of the house, was on 
 a level with this kitchen. It had no furniture but 
 a table and two chairs. The thick, heavy door 
 stood open. Passing out, Ellen looked around her 
 for water, — in what shape or form it was to present 
 itself she had no very clear idea. She soon spied, 
 a few yards distant, a little stream of water pour- 
 ing from the end of a pipe or trough raised about a 
 foot and a half from the ground, and a well-worn 
 path leading to it, left no doubt of its being " the 
 spout." But when she had reached it Ellen was in 
 no small puzzle as to how she should manage. The 
 water was clear and bright, and poured very 
 fast into a shallow wooden trough underneath, 
 whence it ran off into the meadow and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " But what shall I do without a basin/' thought 
 Ellen, " I can't catch any water in my hands, it 
 runs too fast. If I only could get my face under 
 there — that v.ould be fine ! " 
 
 Very carefully and cautiously she tried it, but 
 the continual spattering of the water had made the 
 board on which she stood so slippery that before 
 her face could reach the stream she came very neal 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. i6l 
 
 tumbling headlong, and so taking more of a cold 
 bath than she wished for. So she contented her- 
 self with the drops her hands could bring to her 
 face, — a scanty supply ; but those drops were de- 
 liciously cold and fresh. And afterwards she 
 pleased herself with holding her hands in the run- 
 ning water, till they were red with the cold. On 
 the whole Ellen enjoyed her washing very much. 
 The morning air came playing about her ; its cold 
 breath was on her cheek with health in its touch. 
 The early sun was shining on tree, and meadow, 
 and hill ; the long shadows stretched over the 
 grass, and the very brown outhouses looked bright. 
 She thought it was the loveliest place she ever had 
 seen. And that sparkling, trickling water was cer- 
 tainly the purest and sweetest she had ever tasted. 
 Where could it come from ? It poured from a 
 small trough, made of the split trunk of a tree with 
 a little groove or channel two inches wide hollowed 
 out in it. But at the end of one of these troughs 
 another lapped on, and another at the end of that, 
 and how many there were Ellen could not see, nor 
 where the beginning of them was. Ellen stood gaz- 
 ing and wondering, drinking in the fresh air, hope 
 and spirits rising every minute, when she suddenly 
 recollected breakfast ! She hurried in. As she ex- 
 pected, her aunt was at the table ; but to her sur- 
 prise, and not at all to her gratification, there was 
 Mr. Van Brunt at the other end of it, eating away, 
 very much at home indeed In silent dismay Ellen 
 drew her chair to the side of the table. 
 
 " Did you find the spot ? " asked Miss Fortune. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 * Well, how do you like it ? " 
 
1 62 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, I like it very much indeed," said Ellen. 
 " I think it is beautiful." 
 
 Miss Fortune's face rather softened at this, and 
 she gave Ellen an abundant supply of all that was 
 on the table. Her journey, the bracing air, and 
 her cool morning wash, altogether, had made Ellen 
 very sharp, and she did justice to the breakfast. 
 She thought never was coffee so good as this coun- 
 try coffee ; nor anything so excellent as the brown 
 bread and butter, both as sweet as bread and but- 
 ter could be ; neither was any cookery ever so en- 
 tirely satisfactory as Miss Fortune's fried pork and 
 potatoes. Yet her teaspoon was not silver ; her 
 knife could not boast of being either sharp or 
 bright ; and her fork was certainly made for any- 
 thing else in the world but comfort and conven- 
 ience, being of only two prongs, and those so far 
 apart that Ellen had no small difficulty to carry the 
 potato safely from her plate to her mouth. It mat- 
 tered nothing ; she was now looking on the bright 
 side of things, and ail this only made her breakfast 
 taste the sweeter. 
 
 Ellen ros~ from the table when she had finished, 
 and stood a few minutes thoughtfully by the fire. 
 
 " Aunt Fortune," she said at length, timidly, " if 
 you've no objection, I should like to go and take a 
 good look all about." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Miss Fortune, "go where you 
 like ; I'll give you a week to do what you please 
 with yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am," said Ellen, as she ran off 
 for her bonnet; "a week's a long time. I sup- 
 pose," thought she, " I shall go to school at the 
 end of that." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 163 
 
 Returning quickly with her white bonnet, Ellen 
 opened the heavy kitchen door by which she had 
 entered last night, and went out. She found her- 
 self in a kind of long shed. It had very rough 
 walls and floor, and overhead showed the brown 
 beams and rafters ; two little windows and a door 
 were on the side. All manner of rubbish lay there, 
 especially at the farther end. There were scattered 
 about and piled up various boxes, boards, farming 
 and garden tools, old pieces of rope and sheepskin, 
 old iron, a cheese press, and what not. Ellen did 
 not stay long to look, but went out to find some- 
 thing pleasanter. A few yards from the shed door 
 was the little gate through which she had stumbled 
 in the dark, and outside of that Ellen stood still 
 awhile. It was a fair, pleasant day, and the country 
 scene she looked upon was very pretty. Ellen 
 thought so. Before her, at a little distance, rose 
 the great gable end of the barn, and a long row of 
 outhouses stretched away from it towards the left. 
 The ground was strewn thick with chips ; and the 
 reason was not hard to find, for a little way off, 
 under an old stunted apple-tree, lay a huge log, 
 well chipped on the upper surface, with the axe 
 resting against it ; and close by were some sticks of 
 wood both chopped and unchopped. To the right, 
 the ground descended gently to a beautiful plane 
 meadow, skirted on the hither side with a row of 
 fine apple-trees. The smooth green flat tempted 
 Ellen to a run, but first she looked to the left. 
 There was the garden, she guessed, for there was a 
 paling fence which enclosed the pretty large piece 
 of ground ; and between the garden and the house 
 a green slope ran down to the spout. That re* 
 
.164 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 aninded her that she had intended making a journey 
 of discovery up the course of the long trough. No 
 time could be better than now, and she ran down 
 the slope. 
 
 The troug.h was supported at some height from 
 the ground by little heaps of stones placed here and 
 there along its whole course. Not far from the 
 spout it crossed a fence. Ellen must cross it, too, 
 to gain her object, and how that could be done 
 was a great question ; she resolved to try, however. 
 But first she played awhile with the water, which 
 had great charms for her. She dammed up the 
 little channel with her fingers, forcing the water to 
 flow over the side of the trough ; — there was some- 
 thing very pleasant in stopping the supply of the 
 spout, and seeing the water trickling over where it 
 had no business to go ; and she did not heed that 
 some of the drops took her frock in their way. She 
 stooped her lips to the trough and drank of its sweet 
 current, — only for fun's sake, for she was not thirsty. 
 Finally, she set out to follow the stream up to its 
 head. But poor Ellen had not gone more than 
 half-way towards the fence, when she all at once 
 plunged into the mire. The green grass growing 
 there had looked fair enough, but there was run- 
 ning water and black mud under the green grass, she 
 found to her sorrow. Her shoes, her stockings, 
 were full. What was to be done, now ? The jour- 
 ney of discovery must be given up. She forgot to 
 think about where the water came from, in the 
 more pressing question, " What will Aunt Fortune 
 say ? " — and the quick wish came that she had 
 her mother to go to. However, she got out of 
 the slough, and wiping her shoes as well as she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 165 
 
 could on the grass, she hastened back to the 
 house. 
 
 The kitchen was all put in order, the hearth 
 swept, the irons at the fire, and Miss Fortune just 
 pinning her ironing blanket or the table. " Well, 
 — what's the matter ? " she said, when she saw 
 Ellen's face ; but as her glance reached the floor, 
 her brow darkened. " Mercy on me ! " she ex- 
 claimed, with slow emphasis, — " what on earth have 
 you been about ? where have you been ? " 
 
 Ellen explained. 
 
 " Well, you have made a figure of yourself ! Sit 
 down ! " said her aunt, shortly, as she thrust a chair 
 down on the hearth before the fire ; "I should have 
 thought you'd have had wit enough at your age to 
 keep out of the ditch." 
 
 " I didn't see any ditch," said Ellen. 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said Miss Fortune, who 
 was energetically twitching off Ellen's shoes and 
 stockings with her forefinger and thumb ; I sup- 
 pose not ! you were staring up at the moon or stars, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " It all looked green and smooth," said poor 
 Ellen ; " one part just like another ; and the first 
 thing I knew I was up to my ankles." 
 
 " What were you there at all for ? " said Miss 
 Fortune, shortly enough. 
 
 " I couldn't see where the water came from, and 
 I wanted to find out." 
 
 " Well, you've found out enough for one day, I 
 hope. Just look at those stockings ! Ha'n't you 
 got never a pair of colored stockings, that you 
 must go poking into the mud with white ones ? " 
 
 * No, ma'am." 
 
166 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you never wore anj but 
 white ones at home ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; I never had any others." 
 
 Miss Fortune's thoughts seemed too much for 
 speech, from the way in which she jumped up and 
 went off without saying anything more. She 
 presently came back with an old pair of gray socks, 
 which she bade Ellen put on as soon as her feet 
 were dry. 
 
 " How many of those white stockings have you ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Mamma bought me half a dozen pair ot new 
 ones just before I came away, and I had as many 
 as that of old ones besides." 
 
 " Well, now, go up to your trunk and bring 'em 
 all down to me — every pair of white stockings you 
 have got. There's. a pair of old slippers you can 
 put on till your shoes are dry," she said, flinging 
 them to her ; " they aren't much too big for you." 
 
 " They're not much too big for the socks — they're 
 a great deal too big for me," thought Ellen. But 
 she said nothing. She gathered all her stockings 
 together and brought them downstairs, as her 
 aunt had bidden her. 
 
 " Now you may run out to the barn, to Mr. Van 
 Brunt, — you'll find him there, — and tell him I want 
 him to bring me some white maple bark, when he 
 comes home to dinner, — white maple bark, do you 
 hear ? " 
 
 Away went Ellen, but in a few minutes came 
 back. " I can't get in," she said. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Those great doors are shut, and I can't open 
 them. I knocked, but nobody came." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. $3f 
 
 " Knock at a barn door ! " said Miss Fortune. 
 " You must go in at the little cowhouse door, at 
 the left, and go round. He's in the lower barn- 
 floor." 
 
 The barn stood lower than the level of the chip- 
 yard, from which a little bridge led to the great 
 doorway of the second floor. Passing down the 
 range of outhouses, Ellen came to the little door her 
 aunt had spoken of. " But what in the world should I 
 do if there should be cows inside there ? " said she 
 to herself. She peeped in ; — the cowhouse was 
 perfectly empty ; and cautiously, and with many a 
 fearful glance to the right and left, lest some 
 terrible horned animal should present itself, Ellen 
 made her way across the cowhouse, and through 
 the barn-yard, littered thick with straw, wet and 
 dry, to the lower barn-floor. The door of this stood 
 wide open. Ellen looked with wonder and pleasure 
 when she got in. It was an immense room — the 
 sides showed nothing but hay up to the ceiling, 
 except here and there an enormous upright post ; 
 the floor was perfectly clean, only a few locks of 
 hay and grains of wheat scattered upon it ; and a 
 pleasant sweet smell was there, Ellen could not 
 tell of what. But no Mr. Van Brunt. She looked 
 about for him, she dragged her disagreeable slip- 
 pers back and forth over the floor, in vain. 
 
 " Hilloa ! what's wanting ? " at length cried a 
 rough voice she remembered very well. But where 
 was the speaker ? On every side, to every corner, 
 her eyes turned without finding him. She looked 
 up at last. There was the round face of Mr. Van 
 Brunt peering down at her through a large opening 
 or trap-door, in the upper floor. 
 
1 68 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Well ! " said he, - ■ have you come out here to 
 help me thrash wheat ? " 
 
 Ellen told him what she had come for. 
 
 " White maple bark, — well," — said he, in his slow 
 way, " I'll bring it. I wonder what's in the wind 
 now." 
 
 So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back 
 to the house ; and yet more, when her aunt set 
 her to tacking her stockings together by two and 
 two. 
 
 " What are you going to do with them, Aunt 
 Fortune ? " she at last ventured to say. 
 
 " You'll see, — when the time comes." 
 
 " Mayn't I keep out one pair ? " said Ellen, who 
 had a vague notion that by some mysterious means 
 her stockings were to be prevented from evei 
 looking white any more. 
 
 " No ; — just do as I tell you." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt came at dinner-time with the 
 white maple bark. It was thrown forthwith into a 
 brass kettle of water which Miss Fortune had 
 already hung over the fire. Ellen felt sure this had 
 something to do with her stockings, but she could 
 ask no questions ; and as soon as dinner was over 
 she went up to her room. It didn't look pleasant 
 now. The brown wood-work and rough dingy 
 walls had lost their gilding. The sunshine was out 
 of it ; and what was more, the sunshine was out of 
 Ellen's heart too. She went to the window and 
 opened it, but there was nothing to keep it open ; 
 it slid down again as soon as she let it go. Baffled 
 and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on the win- 
 dow-sill, looking out on the grass-plat that lay be- 
 fore the door, and the little gate that opened on the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 169 
 
 lane, and the smooth meadow, and rich broken 
 country beyond. It was a very fair and pleasant 
 scene in the soft sunlight of the last of October ; 
 but the charm of it was gone for Ellen ; it was 
 dreary. She looked without caring to look or 
 knowing what she was looking at ; she felt the 
 tears rising to her eyes ; and sick of the window, 
 turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk ; her next 
 thought was of her desk inside of it ; and suddenly 
 her heart sprang ; — " I will write to mamma ! " 
 No sooner said than done. The trunk was quickly 
 opened, and hasty hands pulled out one thing after 
 another till the desk was reached. 
 
 " But what shall I do ? " thought she, — " there 
 isn't a sign of a table. Oh, what a place ! I'll 
 shut my trunk and put it on that. But here are all 
 these things to put back first." 
 
 They were eagerly stowed away ; and then kneel- 
 ing by the side of the trunk, with loving hands 
 Ellen opened her desk. A sheet of paper was 
 drawn from her store, and properly placed before 
 her ; the pen dipped in the ink, and at first with 
 a hurried, then with a trembling hand, she wrote, 
 " My dear Mamma." But Ellen's heart had been 
 swelling and swelling with every letter of those 
 three words, and scarcely was the last " a " finished, 
 when the pen was dashed down, and flinging away 
 from the desk, she threw herself on the floor in a 
 passion of grief. It seemed as if she had her mother 
 again in her arms, and was clinging with a death- 
 grasp not to be parted from her. And then the 
 feeling that she was parted ! — As much bitter sor- 
 row as a little heart can know was in poor Ellen's 
 now. In her childish despair she wished she could 
 
170 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 die, and almost thought she should. After a time, 
 however, though not a short time, she rose from the 
 floor and went to her writing again ; her heart a 
 little eased by weeping, yet the tears kept coming 
 all the time, and she could not quite keep her paper 
 from being blotted. The first sheet was spoiled 
 before she was aware ; she took another. 
 
 " My dearest Mamma, — 
 
 " It makes me so glad and so sorry to write to 
 you, that 1 don't know what to do. I want to see 
 you so much, mamma, that it seems to me some- 
 times as if my heart would break. Oh, mamma, if 
 I could just kiss you once more, I would give any- 
 thing in the whole world. I can't be happy as 
 long as you are away, and I am afraid I can't be 
 e;ood either ; but I will try. Oh, I will try, mam- 
 ma. I have so much to say to you that I don't 
 know where to begin. I am sure my paper will 
 never hold it all. You will want to know about my 
 journey. The first day was on the steamboat, you 
 know. I should have hid a dreadful time that 
 day, mamma, but for something I'll tell you about. 
 I was sitting up on the upper deck, thinking 
 about you, and feeling very badly indeed, when a 
 gentleman came and spoke to me, and asked me 
 what was the matter. Mamma, I can't tell you 
 how kind he was to me. He kept me with him the 
 whole day. He took me all over the boat, and 
 showed me all about a great many things, and he 
 talked to me a great deal. Oh, mamma, how he 
 talked to me. He read in the Bible to me, and ex- 
 plained it, and he tried to make me be a Christian. 
 And oh, mamma, when he was talking to me, how 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 17 j 
 
 I wanted to do as he ^id, and I resolved I would. 
 I did, mamma, and I have not forgotten it. I will 
 try indeed, but I am afraid it will be very hard 
 without you or him, or anybody else to help me. 
 You couldn't have been kinder yourself, mamma ; 
 he kissed me at night when I bid him good-bye, 
 and I was very sorry indeed. I wish I could see 
 him again. Mamma, I will always love that gentle- 
 man if I never see him again in the world. I wish 
 there was somebody here that I could love, but 
 there is not. You will want to know what sort of 
 a person my Aunt Fortune is, I think she is very 
 good-looking, or she would be if her nose was not 
 quite so shar^ : but, mamma, I can'c tell you what 
 sort of a feeling I have about her ; it seems to me 
 as if she was sharp all over. I am sure her eyes 
 are as sharp as two needles. And she don't walk 
 like other people ; at least sometimes. She makes 
 queer little jerks and starts and jumps, and flies 
 about like I don't know what. I am afraid it is 
 not right for me to. write so about her ; but may I 
 not tell you, mamma ? There's nobody else forme 
 to talk to. I can't like Aunt Fortune much yet, 
 and I am sure she don't like me ; but I will try to 
 make her. I have not forgotten what you said to 
 me about that. Oh, dear mamma, I will try to mind 
 everything you ever said to me. in your life. I am 
 afraid you won't like what I have written about 
 Aunt Fortune ; but indeed I have done nothing to 
 displease her, and I will try not to. If you were 
 only here, mamma, I should say it was the loveliest 
 place I ever saw in my life. Perhaps, after all, I 
 shall feel better, and be quite happy by and by ; 
 but oh, mamma, how glad I shall be when I get a 
 
172 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 letter from you. I shall begin to look for it soon, 
 and I think I shall go out of my wits with joy when 
 it comes. I had the funniest ride down here from 
 Thirlwall that you can think ; how do you guess I 
 came ? In a cart drawn by oxen. They went so 
 slow we were an age getting here ; but I liked it 
 very much. There was a good-natured man driv- 
 ing the oxen, and he was kind to me ; but, mamma, 
 what do you think ? he eats at the table. I know 
 what you would tell me ; you would say I must not 
 mind trifles. Well, I will try not, mamma. Oh, 
 darling mother, I can't think much of anything but 
 you. I think of you the whole time. Who makes 
 tea for you now ? Are you better ? Are you going 
 to leave New York soon ? It seems dreadfully 
 long since I saw you. I am tired, dear mamma, 
 and cold ; and it is getting dark. I must stop. I 
 have a good big room to myself ; that is a good 
 thing. I should not like to sleep with Aunt Fort- 
 une. Good-night, dear mamma. I wish I could 
 sleep with you once more. Oh, when will that be 
 again, mamma? Good-night. Good-night. 
 
 " Your affectionate Ellen." 
 
 The letter finished, was carefully folded, en- 
 closed, and directed ; and then with an odd 
 mixture of pleasure and sadness, Ellen lit one of 
 her little wax matches, as she called them, and 
 sealed it very nicely. She looked at it fondly a 
 minute when all was done, thinking of the dear fingers 
 that would hold and open it ; her next movement 
 was to sink her face in her hands, and pray most 
 earnestly for a blessing upon her mother, and help 
 for herself, — poor Ellen felt she needed it. She 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 173 
 
 was afraid of lingering lest tea should be ready y 
 so, locking up her letter, she went downstairs. 
 
 The tea was ready. Miss Fortune and Mr. 
 Van Brunt were at the table, and so was the old 
 lady, whom Ellen had not seen before that day. 
 She quietly drew up her chair to its place. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Fortune, " I hope you feel 
 better for your long stay upstairs." 
 
 " I do, ma'am," said Ellen ; " a great deal 
 better." 
 
 " What have you been about ? " 
 
 " I have been writing, ma'am." 
 
 " Writing what ? " 
 
 " I have been writing to mamma." 
 
 Perhaps Miss Fortune heard the trembling of 
 Ellen's voice, or her sharp glance saw her lip 
 quiver and eyelid droop. Something softened her. 
 She spoke in a different tone ; asked Ellen if her 
 tea was good ; took care she had plenty of the 
 bread and butter, and excellent cheese, which was 
 on the table ; and lastly cut her a large piece of the 
 pumpkin pie. Mr. Van Brunt, too, looked once or 
 twice at Ellen's face as if he thought all was not 
 right there. He was not so sharp as Miss Fortune, 
 but the swollen eyes and tear-stains were not quite 
 lost upon him. 
 
 After tea, when Mr. Van Brunt was gone, and 
 the tea-things cleared away, Ellen had the pleasure 
 of finding out the mystery of the brass kettle and 
 the white maple bark. The kettle now stood in 
 the chimney corner. Miss Fortune, seating herself 
 before it, threw in all Ellen's stockings except one 
 pair, which she flung over to her, saying, " There — 
 I don't care if you keep that one." Then, tucking; 
 
I 7 4 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 up her sleeves to the elbows, she fished up pah 
 after pair out of the kettle, and wringing them out, 
 hung them on chairs to dry. But, as Ellen had 
 opined, they were no longer white, but of a fine 
 slate color. She looked on in silence, too much 
 vexed to ask questions. 
 
 " Well, how do you like that ? " said Miss 
 Fortune, at length, when she had got two or three 
 chairs around the fire pretty well hung with a 
 display of slate-colored cotton legs. 
 
 " I don't like it at all," said Ellen. 
 
 11 Well, I do. How. many pair of white stockings 
 would you like to drive into the mud and let me 
 wash out every week ? " 
 
 " You wash ! :f said Ellen, in surprise ; " I didn't 
 think of your doing it." 
 
 " Who did you think was going to do it ? 
 There's nothing in this house but goes through my 
 hands, I can tell you, and so must you. I suppose 
 you've lived all your life among people that thought 
 a great deal of wetting their little finger ; but I'm 
 not one of 'em, I guess you'll find." 
 
 Ellen was convinced of that already. 
 
 " Well, what are you thinking of ? " said Miss 
 Fortune, presently. 
 
 " I am thinking of my nice white darning-cotton," 
 said Ellen. " I might just as well not have had it." 
 
 " Is it wound or in the skein ? " 
 
 " In the skein." 
 
 " Then just go right up and get it. I'll warrant 
 I'll fix it so that you'll have a use for it." 
 
 Ellen obeyed, but musing rather uncomfortably 
 what else there was of hers that Miss Fortune 
 could lay hands on. She seemed in imagination 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 175 
 
 to see all her white things turning brown. She 
 resolved she would keep her trunk well locked up ; 
 but what if her keys should be called for ? 
 
 She was dismissed to her room soon after the 
 dyeing business was completed. It was rather a 
 disagreeable surprise to find her bed still unmade ; 
 and she did not at all like the notion that the 
 making of it in future must depend entirely upon 
 herself ; Ellen had no fancy for such handiwork. 
 She went to sleep in somewhat the same dissatisfied 
 mood with which the day had been begun ; — dis- 
 pleasure at her coarse heavy coverlid and cotton 
 sheets again taking its place among weightier 
 matters ; — and dreamed of tying them together into 
 a rope by which to let herself down out of the 
 window ; but when she had got so far, Ellen's 
 sleep became sound, and the end of the dream was 
 never known. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Downward and ever farther, 
 
 And ever the brook beside ; 
 And ever fresher murmured, 
 
 And ever clearer, the tide. 
 
 Longfellow. (From the German.) 
 
 Clouds and rain and cold winds kept Ellen 
 within doors for several days. This did not better 
 the state of matters between herself and her aunt. 
 Shut up with her in the kitchen from morning till 
 night, with the only variety of the old lady's com- 
 pany part of the time, Ellen thought neither of 
 them improved upon acquaintance. Perhaps they 
 thought the same of her ; she was certainly not in 
 her best mood. With nothing to do, the time 
 hanging very heavy on her hands, disappointed, 
 unhappy, frequently irritated, Ellen became at 
 
176 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 length very ready to take offense, and nowise di» 
 posed to pass it over or smooth it away. She 
 seldom showed this in words, it is true, but it 
 rankled in her mind. Listless and brooding, she 
 sat day after day, comparing the present with the 
 past, wishing vain wishes, indulging bootless 
 regrets, and looking upon her aunt and grand- 
 mother with an eye of more settled aversion. The 
 only other person she saw was Mr. Van Brunt, who 
 came in regularly to meals ; but he never said 
 anything unless in answer to Miss Fortune's 
 questions and remarks about the farm concerns. 
 These did not interest her; and she was greatly 
 wearied with the sameness of her life. She longed 
 to go out again; but Thursday, and Friday, and 
 Saturday, and Sunday passed, and the weather 
 still kept her close prisoner. Monday brought a 
 change, but though a cool, drying wind blew all 
 day, the ground was too wet to venture out. 
 
 On the evening of that day, as Miss Fortune 
 was setting the table for tea, and Ellen sitting 
 before the fire, feeling weary of everything, the 
 kitchen door opened, and a girl somewhat larger 
 and older than herself came in. She had a pitcher 
 In her hand, and marching straight up to the tea- 
 table, she said, — 
 
 " Will you let granny have a little milk to-night, 
 Miss Fortune ? I can't find the cow. I'll bring it 
 back to-morrow." 
 
 " You ha'n't lost her, Nancy ? " 
 
 "Have, though," said the other; " she's been 
 away these two days." 
 
 " Why didn't you go somewhere nearer for milk ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know — I guess your'n is the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 177 
 
 sweetest," said the girl, with a look Ellen did not 
 understand. 
 
 Miss Fortune took the pitcher and went into the 
 pantry. While she was gone, the two children im- 
 proved the time in looking very hard at each other. 
 Ellen's gaze was modest enough, though it showed 
 a great deal of interest in the new object ; but the 
 broad, searching stare of the other seemed in- 
 tended to take in all there was of Ellen from her 
 head to her feet, and keep it, and find out what 
 sort of a creature she was at once. Ellen almost 
 shrank from the bold black eyes, but they never 
 wavered, till Miss Fortune's voice broke the spell. 
 
 " How's your grandmother, Nancy ? " 
 
 " She's tolerable, ma'am, thank you." 
 
 " Now, if you don't bring it back to-morrow, you 
 won't get any more in a hurry," said Miss Fortune, 
 as she handed the pitcher back to the girl. 
 
 " I'll mind it," said the latter, with a little nod of 
 her head, which seemed to say there was no danger 
 of her forgetting. 
 
 " Who is that, Aunt Fortune ? " said Ellen, when 
 she was gone. 
 
 " She is a girl that lives up on the mountain 
 yonder." 
 
 " But what's her name ? " 
 
 " I had just as lief you wouldn't know her name. 
 She ain't a good girl. Don't you never have any- 
 thing to do with her." 
 
 Ellen was in no mind to give credit to all her 
 aunt's opinions, and she set this down as, in part 
 at least, coming from ill-humor. 
 
 The next morning was calm and fine, and Ellen 
 spent nearly the whole of it out of doors. She 
 12 
 
Ij8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 did not venture near the ditch, but in every othef 
 direction she explored the ground, and examined 
 what stood or grew upon it as thoroughly as she 
 dared. Towards noon she was standing by the 
 little gate at the back of the house, unwilling to go 
 in, but not knowing what more to do, when Mr. 
 Van Brunt came from the lane with a load of wood. 
 Ellen watched the oxen toiling up the ascent, and 
 thought it looked like very hard work ; she was sorry 
 for them. 
 
 " Isn't that a very heavy load ? " she asked of 
 their driver, as he was throwing it down under the 
 apple-tree. 
 
 " Heavy ? Not a bit of it. It ain't nothing at 
 all to 'em. They'd take twice as much any day with 
 pleasure." 
 
 "I shouldn't think so," said Ellen ; "they don't 
 look as if there was much pleasure about it. What 
 makes them lean over so against each other when 
 they are coming uphill ? " 
 
 " Oh, that's just a way they've got. They're so 
 fond of each other, I suppose. Perhaps they've 
 something particular to say, and want to put their 
 heads together for the purpose." 
 
 " No," said Ellen, half laughing, " it can't be 
 that ; they wouldn't take the very hardest time for 
 that ; they would wait till they got to the top of the 
 hill ; but there they stand just as if they were asleep, 
 only their eyes are open. Poor things ! " 
 
 "They're not very poor, anyhow," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt ; " there ain't a finer yoke of oxen to be seen 
 than them are, nor in better condition." 
 
 He went on throwing the wood out of the cart, 
 ind Ellen stood looking at him. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 179 
 
 " What'll you give me if I'll make you a scup one 
 of these days ? " said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " A scup ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes — a scup ! how would you like it ? " 
 
 " I don't know what it is," said Ellen. 
 
 " A scup ! — maybe you don't know it by that 
 name ; some folks call it a swing." 
 
 " A swing ! Oh, yes," said Ellen, " now I know. 
 Oh, I like it very much." 
 
 " Would you like to have one ? 
 
 " Yes, indeed, 1 should, very much." 
 
 "Well, what'll you give me, if I'll fix you 
 out?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, " I have nothing to 
 give ; I'll be very much obliged to you, indeed." 
 
 " Well, now, come, I'll make a bargain with you : 
 I'll engage to fix up a scup for you, if you'll give me 
 a kiss." 
 
 Poor Ellen was struck dumb. The good-natured 
 Dutchman had taken a fancy to the little pale-faced, 
 sad-looking stranger, and really felt very kindly 
 disposed toward her, but she neither knew, nor at 
 the moment cared about that. She stood motion- 
 less, utterly astounded at his unheard-of proposal, 
 and not a little indignant ; but when, with a good- 
 natured smile upon his round face, he came near 
 to claim the kiss he no doubt thought himself sure 
 of, Ellen shot from him like an arrow from a bow„ 
 She rushed to the house, and bursting open the 
 door, stood with flushed face and sparkling eyes in 
 the presence of her astonished aunt. 
 
 " What in the world is the matter ? " exclaimed 
 that lady. 
 
 "He wanted to kiss me!" said Ellen, scare* 
 
iSo THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 knowing whom she was talking to, and crimsoning 
 more and more. 
 
 " Who wanted to kiss you ? " 
 
 " That man out there." 
 
 " What man ? " 
 
 "The man that drives the oxen. 
 
 "What! Mr. Van Brunt?" And Ellen never 
 forgot the loud ha ! ha ! which burst from Miss 
 Fortune's wide-open mouth. 
 
 " Well, why didn't you let him kiss you ? " 
 
 The laugh, the look, the tone, stung Ellen to the 
 very quick. In a fury of passion she dashed away 
 out of the kitchen, and up to her own room. And 
 there, for awhile, the storm of anger drove over 
 her with such violence that conscience had hardly 
 time to whisper. Sorrow came in again as passion 
 faded, and gentler but very bitter weeping took the 
 place of convulsive sobs of rage and mortification, 
 and then the whispers of conscience began to be 
 heard a little. " Oh, mamma ! mamma ! " cried 
 poor Ellen in her heart, "how miserable I am 
 without you ! I never can like Aunt Fortune — it's 
 of no use — I never can like her ; I hope I sha'n't 
 get to hate her ! — and that isn't right. I am for- 
 getting all that is good, and there's nobody to put 
 me in mind. Oh, mamma ! if I could lay my 
 head in your lap for a minute ! " Then came 
 thoughts of her Bible and hymn-book, and the 
 friend who had given it ; sorrowful thoughts they 
 were ; and at last, humbled and sad, poor Ellen 
 sought that great Friend she knew she had dis- 
 pleased, and prayed earnestly to be made a good 
 child ; she felt and owned she was not one now. 
 
 It was long after midday when Ellen rose from 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD^. i&i 
 
 her knees. Her passion was all gone;: she felt 
 more gentle and pleasant than she had done for 
 days ; but at the bottom of her heart resentment 
 was not all gone. She still thought she had cause 
 to be angry, and she could not think of her aunt's 
 look and tone without a thrill of painful feeling. 
 In a very different mood, however, from that in 
 which she had flown upstairs two or three hours 
 before, she now came softly down, and went out by 
 the front door, to avoid meeting her aunt. She 
 had visited that morning a little brook which ran 
 through the meadow on the other side of the road. 
 It had great charms for her ; and now crossing the 
 lane and creeping under the fence, she made her 
 way again to its banks. At a particular spot,, 
 where the brook made one of its sudden turns, 
 Ellen sat down upon the grass, and watched the 
 dark water, — whirling, brawling over the stones, 
 hurrying past her, with ever the same soft pleasant 
 sound, and she was never tired of it. She did not 
 hear footsteps drawing near, and it was not 
 till some one was close beside her, and a voice 
 spoke almost in her ears, that she raised her startled 
 eyes and saw the little girl who had come the: 
 evening before for a pitcher of milk. 
 
 "What are you doing ?" said the latter. 
 
 " I'm watching for fish," said Ellen. 
 
 " Watching for fish ! " said the other, rather dis- 
 dainfully. 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, — "there, in that little quiet 
 place, they come sometimes-, I've seen two." 
 
 " You can look for fish another time. Come 
 now and take a walk with me." 
 
 " Where ? " said Ellen. 
 
182 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, you shall see. Come ! I'll take you all 
 about and show you where people live ; you haVt 
 been anywhere yet, have you ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen, — "and I should like very 
 much to go, but " 
 
 She hesitated. Her aunt's words came to mind, 
 that this was not a good girl, and that she must have 
 nothing to do with her ; but she had not more than 
 half believed them, and she could not possibly 
 bring herself now to go in and ask Miss Fortune's 
 leave to take this walk. " I am sure," thought 
 Ellen, " she would refuse me if there was no reason 
 in the world." And then the delight of rambling 
 through the beautiful country, and being for awhile 
 in other company than that of her Aunt Fortune 
 and the old grandmother ! The temptation was too 
 great to be withstood. 
 
 " Well, what are you thinking about ? " said the 
 girl ; " what's the matter ? won't you come ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Elle?v " I'm ready. Which way 
 shall we go ? " 
 
 With the assurance from the other that she 
 would show her plenty of ways, they set off down 
 the lane ; Ellen with a secret fear of being seen 
 and called back, till they had gone some distance, 
 and the house was hid from view. Then her pleas- 
 ure became great. The afternoon was fair and 
 mild, the footing pleasant, and Ellen felt like a 
 bird out of a cage. She was ready to be delighted 
 with every trifle ; her companion could not by any 
 means understand or enter into her bursts of pleas- 
 ure at many a little thing which she of the black 
 eyes thought not worthy of notice. She tried to 
 bring Ellen back to higher subjects of conversation, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 183 
 
 " How long have you been here ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, a good while," said Ellen, — " I don't know 
 exactly ; it's a week, I believe." 
 
 " Why do you call that a good while ? " said the 
 other. 
 
 " Well, it seems a good while to me," said Ellen, 
 sighing ; " it seems as long as four, I am sure." 
 
 " Then you don't like to live here much, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " I had rather be at home, of course." 
 
 " How do you like your Aunt Fortune ? " 
 
 " How do I like her ? " said Ellen, hesitating, — 
 " I think she's good-looking, and very smart." 
 
 " Yes, you needn't tell me she's smart, — every- 
 body knows that ; that ain't what I ask you ; — how 
 do you like her ? " 
 
 " How do I like her ? " said Ellen again ; " how 
 can I tell how I shall like her ? I haven't lived with 
 her but a week yet." 
 
 " You might just as well ha' spoke out," said the 
 other, somewhat scornfully ; — " do you think I don't 
 know you half hate her already ? and it'll be whole 
 hating in another week more. When I tirst heard 
 you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweet time with 
 her." 
 
 " Why?" said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me why," said the other, impa- 
 tiently, " when you know as well as I do. Every 
 soul that speaks of you says ' Poor child ! ' and 
 ; I'm glad I ain't her.' You needn't try to come 
 cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I 
 tell you." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, no, I suppose you don't," said the other, 
 
184 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 in the same tone, — " of course you don't ; I sup- 
 pose you don't know whether your tongue is your 
 own or somebody's else. You think Miss Fortune 
 is an angel, and so do I ; to be sure she is ! " 
 
 Not very well pleased with this kind of talk, 
 Ellen walked on for a while in grave silence. Her 
 companion meantime recollected herself ; when she 
 spoke again it was with an altered tone. 
 
 " How do you like Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " I don't like him at all," said Ellen, reddening. 
 
 " Don't you ? " said the other, surprised, — " why, 
 everybody likes him. What don't you like him for ? " 
 
 " I don't like him," repeated Ellen. 
 
 " Ain't Miss Fortune queer to live in the way she 
 does ? " 
 
 " What way ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Why, without any help, — doing all her own 
 work, and living all alone, when she's so rich as 
 she is." 
 
 " Is she rich ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Rich ! I guess she is ! she's one of the ver} 
 best farms in the country, and money enough to 
 have a dozen help, if she wanted 'em. Van Brunt 
 takes care of the farm, you know ? " 
 
 " Does he ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Why, yes, of course he does ; didn't you know 
 that ? what did you think he was at your house all 
 the time for ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know," said Ellen. " And 
 are those Aunt Fortune's oxen that he drives ? " 
 
 " To be sure they are. Well, I do think you are 
 green, to have been there all this time, and not 
 found that out. Mr. Van Brunt does just what he 
 pleases over the whole farm though ; hires what 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 185 
 
 help he wants, manages everything ; and then he 
 has his share of all that comes off it. I tell you 
 what — you'd better make friends with Van Brunt, 
 for if anybody can help you when your aunt gets 
 one of her ugly fits, it's him; she don't care to 
 meddle with him much." 
 
 Leaving the lane, the two girls took a footpath 
 leading across the fields. The stranger was greatly 
 amused here with Ellen's awkwardness in climbing 
 fences. Where it was a possible thing, she was fain 
 to crawl under ; but once or twice that could not 
 be done, and having with infinite difficulty mounted 
 to the top rail, poor Ellen sat there in a most tot- 
 tering condition, uncertain on which side of the 
 fence she should tumble over, but seeing no other 
 possible way of getting down. The more she 
 trembled the more her companion laughed, standing 
 aloof meanwhile, and insisting she should get down 
 by herself. Necessity enabled her to do this at 
 last, and each time the task became easier ; but 
 Ellen secretly made up her mind that her new 
 friend was not likely to prove a very good one. 
 
 As they went along, she pointed out to Ellen two 
 or three houses in the distance, and gave her not 
 a little gossip about the people who lived in them ; 
 but all this Ellen scarcely heard, and cared nothing 
 at all about. She had paused by the side of a 
 large rock standing alone by the wayside, and was 
 looking very closely at its surface. 
 
 "What is this curious brown stuff," said Ellen, 
 
 growing all over the rock ? — like shriveled and 
 dried-up leaves ? Isn't it curious ? part of it stands 
 out like a leaf, and part of it sticks fast ; I wonder 
 if it grows here, or what it is." 
 
1 86 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said the other ; " it always 
 grows on the rocks everywhere ; I don't know what 
 it is. and, what's more, I don't care. 'Tain't worth 
 looking at. Come ! " 
 
 Ellen followed her. But presently the path en- 
 tered an open woodland, and now her delight broke 
 forth beyond bounds. 
 
 " Oh, how pleasant this is ! how lovely this is ! 
 Isn't it beautiful ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Isn't what beautiful ? I do think you are the 
 queerest girl, Ellen." 
 
 " Why, everything," said Ellen, not minding the 
 latter part of the sentence ; " the ground is beauti- 
 ful, and those tall trees, and that beautiful blue 
 sky — only look at it." 
 
 " The ground is all covered with stones and 
 rocks, — is that what you call beautiful ? — and the 
 trees are as homely as they can be, with their great 
 brown stems and no leaves. Come ! — what are you 
 staring at ? " 
 
 Ellen's eyes were fixed on a string of dark spots 
 which were rapidly passing overhead. 
 
 '"Hark!" said she ; "do you hear that noise? 
 wh it is that ? what is that ? " 
 
 " It's only a flock of ducks," said the other, con- 
 temptuously ; " come ! do come ! " 
 
 But Ellen was rooted to the ground, and her eyes 
 followed the airy travelers till the last one had 
 quitted the piece of blue sky which the surrounding 
 woods left to be seen. And scarcely were these 
 gone when a second flight came in view, following 
 exactly in the track of the first. 
 
 " Where are thev going ? " said Ellen. 
 
 "I am sure I don't know where they are going; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 187 
 
 they never told me. I know where 7" am going ; I 
 should like to know whether you are going along 
 with me." 
 
 Ellen, however, was in no hurry. The ducks had 
 disappeared, but her eye had caught something 
 else that charmed it. 
 
 "What is this ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Nothing but moss." 
 
 " Is that moss ? How beautiful ! how green and 
 soft it is ! I declare it's as soft as a carpet." 
 
 " As soft as a carpet ! " repeated the other ; " I 
 should like to see a carpet as soft as that ! you 
 never did, I guess." 
 
 " Indeed I have, though," said Ellen, who was 
 gently jumping up and down on the green moss to 
 try its softness, with a face of great satisfaction. 
 
 " I don't believe it a bit," said the other ; " all 
 the carpets I ever saw were as hard as a board, 
 and harder ; as soft as that, indeed ! " 
 
 " Well," said Ellen, still jumping up and down, 
 with bonnet off, and glowing cheek, and hair danc- 
 ing about her face, "you may believe what you 
 like ; but I've seen a carpet as soft as this,, and 
 softer too ; only one, though." 
 
 " What was it made of ? " 
 
 " What other carpets are made of, I suppose. 
 Come, I'll go with you now. I do think this is the 
 loveliest place I ever did see. Are there any 
 flowers here in the spring ? " 
 
 " I don't know — yes, lots of 'em." 
 
 " Pretty ones ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " You'd think so, I suppose ; I never look at 
 'em." 
 
 " Oh, how lovely that will be ! " said Ellen, 
 
_*o8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 clasping her hands ; " how pleasant it must be to 
 live in the country ! " 
 
 " Pleasant, indeed ! " said the other ; " I think 
 it's hatefuL — You'd think so, too, if you lived 
 where I do. It makes me mad at granny every 
 day because she won't go to Thirlwall. Wait till 
 we get out of the wood, and I'll show you where I 
 live. You can't see it from here." 
 
 Shocked a little at her companion's language, 
 Ellen again walked on in sober silence. Gradu- 
 ally the ground became more broken, sinking rap- 
 idly from the side of the path, and rising again in 
 a steep bank on the other side of a narrow dell ; 
 lx>th sides were thickly wooded, but stripped of 
 green, now, except where here and there a hem- 
 lock flung its graceful branches abroad and stood 
 in lonely beauty among its leafless companions. 
 Now the gurgling of waters was heard. 
 
 " Where is that ? " said Ellen, stopping short. 
 
 " 'Way down, down, at the bottom there. It's 
 the brook." 
 
 " What brook ? Not the same that goes by 
 Aunt Fortune's ? " 
 
 " Yes, it's the very same. It's the crookedest 
 thing you ever saw. It runs over there," said the 
 speaker, pointing with her arm, " and then it takes 
 a turn and goes that way, and then it comes round 
 so, and then it shoots off in that way again and 
 passes by your house ; and after that the dear 
 knows where it goes, for I don't. But I don't sup- 
 pose it could run straight if it was to try to." 
 
 " Can't we get down to it ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 ; ' To be sure we can, unless you're as afraid of 
 steep banks as you are of fences." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 189 
 
 Very steep indeed it was, and strewn with loose 
 stones ; but Ellen did not falter here, and though 
 once or twice in imminent danger of exchanging 
 her cautious stepping for one long roll to the bot- 
 tom, she got there safely on her two feet. When 
 there, everything was forgotten in delight. It was 
 a wild little place. The high, close sides of the 
 dell left only a little strip of sky overhead ; and at 
 their feet ran the brook, much more noisy and 
 lively here than where Ellen had before made its 
 acquaintance ; leaping from rock to rock, eddying 
 round large stones, and boiling over the small 
 ones, and now and then pouring quietly over some 
 great trunk of a tree that had fallen across its bed 
 and dammed up the whole stream. Ellen could 
 scarcely contain herself at the magnificence of 
 many of the water-falls, the beauty of the little 
 quiet pools where the water lay still behind some 
 large stone, and the variety of graceful, tiny 
 cascades. 
 
 " Look here, Nancy ! " cried Ellen, " that's the 
 Falls of Niagara — do you see ? — that large one ; oh, 
 that is splendid ! And this will do for Trenton 
 Falls — what a fine foam it makes — isn't it a 
 beauty ? — and what shall we call this ? I don't 
 know what to call it ; I wish we could name them all." 
 But there's no end to them. Oh, just look at that 
 one ! that's too pretty not to have a name ; what 
 shall it be ? " 
 
 " Black Falls," suggested the other. 
 
 " Black," said Ellen, dubiously, "why? — I don't 
 like that." 
 
 " Why, the water's all dark and black, don't you 
 see ? " 
 
190 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Well," said Ellen, "let it be Black, then ; 5mt 1 
 don't like it. Now remember, — this is Niagara 
 that is Black, — and this is Trenton, — and what is 
 this ? " 
 
 " If you are a-going to name them all," said 
 Nancy, " we sha'n't get home to-night ; you might 
 as well name all the trees ; there's a hundred of 
 'em, and more. I say, Ellen ! suppos'n we follow 
 the brook instead of climbing up yonder again ; it 
 will take us out to the open fields by and by." 
 
 "Oh, do let's!" said Ellen; "that will be 
 lovely." 
 
 It proved a rough way ; but Ellen still thought 
 and called it " lovely." Often by the side of the 
 stream there was, no footing at all, and the girls 
 picked their way over the stones, large and small, 
 wet and dry, which strewed its bed ; against which 
 the water foamed and fumed and fretted, as if in 
 great impatience. It was ticklish work getting 
 along over these stones ; now tottering on an 
 unsteady one ; now slipping on a wet one ; — and 
 every now and then making huge leaps from rock 
 to rock, which there was no other method of reach- 
 ing, at the imminent hazard of falling in. But they 
 laughed at the danger ; sprang on in great glee, 
 delighted with the exercise and the fun ; didn't stay 
 long enough anywhere to lose their balance, and 
 enjoyed themselves amazingly. There was many a 
 hair-breadth escape ; many an almost sousing ; but 
 that made it all the more lively. The brook 
 formed, as Nancy had said, a constant succession 
 of little waterfalls, its course being quite steep and 
 very rocky; and in some places there were pools 
 quite deep enough to have given them a thorough 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 19* 
 
 wetting, to say no more, if they had missed their 
 footing and tumbled in. But this did not happen. 
 In due time, though with no little difficuly, they 
 reached the spot where the brook came forth from 
 the wood into the open day, and thence making a 
 sharp turn to the right, skirted along by the edge of 
 the trees, as if unwilling to part company with them. 
 " I guess we'd better get back into the lane now,' 1 ' 
 said Miss Nancy, " we're a pretty good long way 
 from home." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Behind the door stand bags o' meal, 
 
 And in the ark is plenty. 
 And good hard cakes his mither makes, 
 
 And mony a sweeter dainty. 
 A good fat sow, a sleeky cow, 
 
 Are standing in the byre ; 
 While winking puss, wi' mealy mou, 
 
 Is playing round the fire. 
 
 Scotch Song. 
 
 They left the wood and the brook behind them, 
 and crossed a large stubble-field ; then got over a 
 fence into another. They were in the midst of this 
 when Nancy stopped Ellen, and bade her look up 
 toward the west, where towered a high mountain, 
 no longer hid from their view by the trees. 
 
 " I told you I'd show you where I live," said she. 
 " Look up now, — clear to the top of the mountain, 
 almost, and a little to the right ; — do you see that 
 little mite of a house there ? Look sharp, — it's 
 a'most as brown as the rock, — do you see it ? — it's 
 close by that big pine-tree, but it don't look big 
 from here — it's just by that little dark spot near the 
 top?" 
 
 " I see it," said Ellen, — " I see it now ; do you 
 live, 'way up there ? " 
 
1 92 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " That's just what I do ; and that's just what I 
 wish I didn't. But granny likes it ; she will live there. 
 I'm blessed if I know what for, if it ain't to plague 
 me. Do you think you'd like to live up on the top 
 of a mountain like that ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think I should," said Ellen. "Isn't 
 it very cold up there ? " 
 
 " Cold ! you don't know anything about it. The 
 wind comes there I tellyou ! enough to cut you in two ; 
 I have to take and hold on to the trees sometimes 
 to keep from being blowed away. And then granny 
 sends me out every morning before it's light, no 
 matter how deep the snow is, to look for the cow; 
 — and it's so bitter cold I expect nothing else but 
 I'll be froze to death some time." 
 
 " Oh," said Ellen, with a look of horror, " how 
 can she do so ? " 
 
 " Oh, she don't care," said the other ; " she sees 
 my nose freeze off every winter, and it don't make 
 no difference." 
 
 " Freeze your nose off ! " said Elien. 
 
 " To be sure," said the other, nodding gravely — 
 " every winter ; it grows out again when the warm 
 weather comes." 
 
 " And is that the reason why it is so little ? " said 
 Ellen, innocently, and with great curiosity. 
 
 " Little ! " said the other, crimsoning in a fury, — > 
 " what do you mean by that ? it's as big as yours 
 any day, I can tell you." 
 
 Ellen involuntarily put her hand to her face, to 
 see if Nancy spoke true. Somewhat reassured to 
 find a very decided ridge where her companion's 
 nose was rather wanting in the line of beauty, she 
 answered in her turn, — 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. V±\ 
 
 " It's no such thing, Nancy ! you oughtn't to say 
 so ; you know better." 
 
 " I don't know better ! I ought to say so ! " replied 
 the other, furiously. " If I had your nose, I'd be 
 glad to have it freeze off ; I'd a sight rather have 
 none. I'd pull it every day, if I was you, to make 
 it grow." 
 
 " I shall believe what Aunt Fortune said of you 
 was true," said Ellen. She had colored very high, 
 but she added no more and walked on in dignified 
 silence. Nancy stalked before her in silence that 
 was meant to be dignified too, though it had not 
 exactly that air. By degrees each cooled down, 
 and Nancy was trying to find out what Miss Fort- 
 une had said of her, when on the edge of the next 
 field they met the brook again. After running a 
 long way to the right, it had swept round, and here 
 was flowing gently in the opposite direction. But 
 how were they ever to cross it ? The brook ran in 
 a smooth current between them and a rising bank 
 on the other side, so high as to prevent their seeing 
 what lay beyond. There were no stepping-stones 
 now. The only thing that looked like a bridge was 
 an old log that had fallen across the brook, or per- 
 haps had at some time or other been put there on 
 purpose ; and that lay more than half in the water; 
 what remained of its surface was green with moss 
 and slippery with slime. Ellen was sadly afraid to 
 trust herself on it ; but what to do ? — Nancy soon 
 settled the question as far as she was concerned. 
 Pulling off her thick shoes, she ran fearlessly upon 
 the rude bridge ; her clinging bare feet carried her 
 safely over, and Ellen soon saw her re-shoeing her- 
 self in triumph on the opposite side ; but thus left 
 behind and alone, her own difficulty increased. 
 
I94 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " Pull off your shoes, and do as I did," said 
 Nancy. 
 
 " I can't," said Ellen ; "I'm afraid of wetting 
 my feet ; I know mamma wouldn't let me." 
 
 " Afraid of wetting your feet ! " said the other ; 
 '" what a chickaninny you are ! Well, if you try to 
 come over with your shoes on you'll fall in, I tell 
 you ; and then you'll wet more than your feet. But 
 come along somehow, for I won't stand waiting 
 here much longer." 
 
 Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous 
 journey over the bridge. Slowly and fearfully, and 
 with as much care as possible, she set step by step 
 upon the slippery log. Already half of the danger 
 was passed, when, reaching forward to grasp Nancy's 
 outstretched hand, she missed it, — -perhaps that was 
 Nancy's fault, — poor Ellen lost her balance and 
 went in head foremost. The water was deep 
 enough to cover her completely as she lay, though 
 not enough to prevent her getting up again. She 
 Was greatly frightened, but managed to struggle 
 Up first to a sitting posture, and then to her feet, 
 and then to wade out to the shore ; though, dizzy 
 and sick, she came near falling back again more than 
 once. The water was very cold ; and, thoroughly 
 sobered, poor Ellen felt chill enough in body and 
 mind too ; all her fine spirits were gone ; and not 
 the less because Nancy's had risen to a great pitch 
 of delight at her misfortune. The air rang with 
 her laughter ; she likened Ellen to every ridiculous 
 thing she could think of. Too miserable to be 
 angry, Ellen could not laugh, and would not cry, 
 but she exclaimed in distress, — 
 
 " Oh, what shall I do ! I am so cold ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 195 
 
 " Come along," said Nancy ; " give me your 
 hand ; we'll run right over to Mrs. Van Brunt, — ■ 
 'tain't far — it's just over here. There," said she, 
 as they got to the top of the bank, and came within 
 sight of a house standing only a few fields off,— 
 " there it is ! Run, Ellen, and we'll be there 
 directly." 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Van Brunt ? " Ellen contrived to 
 say, as Nancy hurried her along. 
 
 " Who is she ? — run, Ellen ! — why, she's just 
 Mrs. Van Brunt — your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, 
 you know, — make haste, Ellen — we had rain enough 
 the other day ; I'm afraid it wouldn't be good for 
 the grass if you stayed too long in one place ;— 
 hurry ! I'm afraid you'll catch cold, — you got your 
 feet wet after all, I'm sure." 
 
 Run they did ; and a few minutes brought them 
 to Mrs. Van Brunt's door. The little brick walk 
 leading to it from the courtyard gate was neat as a 
 pin ; so was everything else the eye could rest on ; 
 and when Nancy went in poor Ellen stayed heriooX 
 at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoes and 
 dripping garments any further. She could hear, 
 however, what was going on. 
 
 "Hillo! Mrs. Van Brunt," shouted Nancy, — 
 " where are you ? — oh ! — Mrs. Van Brunt, are you 
 out of water ? — 'cos if you are I've brought you a 
 plenty ; the person that has it don't want it ; she's 
 just at the door ; she wouldn't bring it in till she 
 knew you wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't 
 look so or you'll kill me with laughing. Come and 
 see ! come and see." 
 
 The steps within drew near the door, and first 
 Nancy showed herself, and then a little old woman, 
 
ig& THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 not very old either, of very kind, pleasant com* 
 tenance. 
 
 " What is all this ? " said she, in great surprise. 
 " Bless me ! poor little dear ! what is this ? " 
 
 " Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. 
 Van Brunt, don't you see ? " said Nancy. 
 
 " Go home, Nancy Vawse ! go home," said the 
 old lady ; " you're a regular bad girl. 1 do believe 
 this is some mischief o' yourn, go right off home ; 
 it's time you were after your cow a great while 
 ago." 
 
 As she spoke, she drew Ellen in, and shut the 
 door. 
 
 "Poor little dear," said the old lady, kindly, 
 " what has happened to you ? Come to the fire, 
 love, you're trembling with the cold. Oh, dear, 
 dear ! you're soaking wet ; this is all along of Nancy 
 somehow, I know ; how was it, love ? Ain't you 
 Miss Fortune's little girl ? Never mind, don't talk, 
 darling ; there ain't one bit of color in your face, 
 not one bit." 
 
 Good Mrs. Van Brunt had drawn Ellen to the 
 fire, and all this while she was pulling off as fast as 
 possible her wet clothes. Then sending a girl who 
 was in waiting for clean towels, she rubbed Ellen dry 
 from head to foot, and wrapping her in a blanket, 
 left her in a chair before the fire, while she went to 
 seek something for her to put on. Ellen had man- 
 aged to tell who she was, and how her mischance 
 had come about, but little else, though the kind old 
 lady had kept on pouring out words of sorrow and 
 pity during the whole time. She came trotting 
 back directly with one of her own short gowns, the 
 only thing that she could lay hands on that was any- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 197 
 
 where near Ellen's length. Enormously big it waa 
 for her, but Mrs. Van Brunt wrapped it round and 
 round, and the blanket over it again, and then she 
 bustled about till she had prepared a tumbler of hot 
 drink, which she said was to keep Ellen from catch- 
 ing cold. It was anything but agreeable, being 
 made from some bitter herb, and sweetened with 
 molasses ; but Ellen swallowed it, as she would 
 anything else at such kind hands, and the old lady 
 carried her herself into a little room opening out of 
 the kitchen, and laid her in a bed that had been 
 warmed for her. Excessively tired and weak as 
 she was, Ellen scarcely needed the help of the hot 
 herb tea to fall into a very deep sleep ; perhaps it 
 might not have lasted so very long as it did, but for 
 that. Afternoon changed for evening, evening grew 
 quite dark, still Ellen did not stir ; and after every 
 little journey into the bedroom to see how she was 
 doing, Mrs. Van Brunt came back saying how glad 
 she was to see her sleeping so finely. Other eyes 
 looked on her for a minute, — kind and gentle eyes ; 
 though Mrs. Van Brunt's were kind and gentle too; 
 once a soft kiss touched her forehead, there was no 
 danger of waking her. 
 
 It was perfectly dark in the little bedroom, and 
 had been so a good while, when Ellen was aroused 
 by some noise, and then a rough voice she knew 
 very well. Feeling faint and weak, and not more 
 than half awake yet, she lay still and listened. She 
 heard the outer door opened and shut, and then 
 the voice said, 
 
 " So, mother, you've got my stray sheep here, 
 have you ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the voice of Mrs. Van Brunt, 
 
igS THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 " have you been looking for her ? how did you 
 know she was here ? " 
 
 " Looking for her ! ay, looking for her ever since 
 sundown. She has been missing at the house since 
 some time this forenoon. I believe her aunt got a 
 bit scared about her ; anyhow I did. She's a 
 queer little chip as ever I see." 
 
 " She's a dear little soul, /know," said his mother ; 
 " you needn't say nothin' agin' her, I ain't a-going 
 to believe it." 
 
 " No more am I — I'm the best friend she's got if 
 she only knowed it ; but don't you think," said Mr. 
 Van Brunt, laughing, " I asked her to give me a 
 kiss this forenoon, and if I'd been an owl she 
 couldn't ha' been more scared ; she went off like a 
 streak, and Miss Fortune said she was as mad as 
 she could be, and that's the last of her." 
 
 " How did you find her out ? " 
 
 " I met that mischievous Vawse girl, and I made 
 her tell me ; she had no mind to at first. It'll be 
 the worse for Ellen if she takes to that wicked thing." 
 
 " She won't. Nancy had been taking her a walk, 
 and worked it so as to get her into the brook, and 
 then she brought her here, just as dripping wet 
 as she could be. I gave her something hot and 
 put her to bed, and she'll do, I reckon ; but I tell 
 you it gave me queer feelings to see the poor little 
 thing just as white as ashes, and all of a tremble, 
 and looking so sorrowful too. She's sleeping 
 finely now ; but it ain't right to see a child's face 
 look so; — it ain't right," repeated Mrs. Van Brunt, 
 thoughtfully. — " You ha'n't had supper, have you ? " 
 
 " No, mother, and I must take that young one 
 back. Ain't she awake yet ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 199 
 
 "I'll see directly; but she ain't going home, 
 nor you neither, 'Brahm, till you've got your supper ; 
 it would be a sin to let her. She shall have a 
 taste of my splitters this very night; I've been 
 makin' them o' purpose for her. So you may just 
 take off your hat and sit down." 
 
 " You mean to let her know where to come when 
 she wants good things, mother. Well, I won't say 
 splitters ain't worth waiting for." 
 
 Ellen heard him sit down, and then she guessed 
 from the words that passed that Mrs. Van Brunt 
 and her little maid were busied in baking the cakes ; 
 she lay quiet. 
 
 " You're a good friend, 'Brahm," began the old 
 lady again, " nobody knows that better than me ; 
 but I hope that poor little thing has got another 
 one to-day that'll do more for her than you can." 
 
 " What, vourself, mother ? I don't know about 
 that." 
 
 " No, no ; do you think I mean myself ? — there, 
 turn it quick, Sally ! — Miss Alice has been here." 
 
 " How ? this evening ? " 
 
 "Just a little before dark, on her gray pony. 
 She came in for a minute, and I took her — that'll 
 burn, Sally ! — I took her in to see the child while 
 she was asleep, and I told her all you told me 
 about her. She didn't say much, but she looked 
 at her very sweet, as she always does, and I guess, 
 — there — now I'll see after my little sleeper." 
 
 And presently Mrs. Van Brunt came to the bed- 
 side with a light, and her arm full of Ellen's dry 
 clothes. Ellen felt as if she could have put her 
 arms round her kind old friend and hugged her 
 with all her heart ; but it was not her way to show 
 
200 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her feelings before strangers. She suffered Mrs. 
 Van Brunt to dress her in silence, only saying with 
 a sigh, " How kind you are to me, ma'am ! " to 
 which the old lady replied with a kiss, and telling 
 her she mustn't say a word about that. 
 
 The kitchen was bright with firelight and candle- 
 light ; the tea-table looked beautiful with its piles 
 of white splitters, besides plenty of other and more 
 substantial things ; and at the corner of the hearth 
 sat Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " So," said he, smiling, as Ellen came in and 
 took her stand at the opposite corner, — " so I drove 
 you away this morning ? You ain't mad with me 
 yet, I hope." 
 
 Ellen crossed directly over to him, and putting 
 her little hand in his great rough one, said, " I'm 
 very much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt, for tak- 
 ing so much trouble to come and look after me." 
 
 She said it with a look of gratitude and trust 
 that pleased him very much. 
 
 " Trouble, indeed ! " said he, good-humoredly, 
 " I'd take twice as much any day for what you 
 wouldn't give me this forenoon. But never fear, 
 Miss Ellen, I ain't a-going to ask you that again." 
 
 He shook the little hand ; and from that time 
 Ellen and her rough charioteer were firm friends. 
 
 Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table ; 
 and Ellen was well feasted with the splitters, 
 which were a kind of rich short-cake baked in irons, 
 very thin and crisp, and then split in two and 
 buttered, whence their name. A pleasant mea! 
 was that. Whatever an epicure might have thought 
 of the tea, to Ellen in her famished state it was 
 delicious ; and no epicure could have found fault 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 201 
 
 % th the cold ham and the butter and the cakes ; 
 b»*t far better than all was the spirit of kindness 
 that was there. Ellen feasted on that more than 
 on anything else. If her host and hostess were 
 not very polished, they could not have been out- 
 done in their kind care of her and kind attention 
 to her wants. And when the supper was at length 
 over, Mrs. Van Brunt declared a little color had 
 come back to the pale cheeks. The color came 
 back in good earnest a few minutes after, when a 
 great tortoise-shell cat walked into the room. Ellen 
 jumped down from her chair, and presently was 
 bestowing the tenderest caresses upon pussy, who 
 stretched out her head and purred as if she liked 
 them very well. 
 
 '* What a nice cat ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " She has five kittens," said Mrs. Van Brunt. 
 
 "Five kittens ! " said Ellen. " Oh, may I come 
 some time and see them ? " 
 
 " You shall see 'em right away, dear, and come 
 as often as you like too. Sally, just take a basket, 
 and go fetch them kittens here." 
 
 Upon this, Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about 
 its being time to go, if they were going. But his 
 mother insisted that Ellen should stay where she 
 was ; she said she was not fit to go home that 
 night, that she oughtn't to walk a step, and that 
 'Brahm should go and tell Miss Fortune the child 
 was safe and well and would be with her early in 
 the morning. Mr. Van Brunt shook his head two 
 or three times, but finally agreed, to Ellen's great 
 joy. When he came back, she was sitting on the 
 floor before the fire, with all the five kittens in her 
 lap, and the old mother cat walking around and 
 
202 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 over her and them. But she looked up with a 
 happier face than he had ever seen her wear, and 
 told him she was " so much obliged to him for tak- 
 ing such a long walk for her ; " and Mr. Van Brunt 
 felt that, like his oxen, he could have done a great 
 deal more with pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It's hardly in a body's pow'r 
 To keep at times frae.being sour. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Before the sun was up the next morning, Mrs. 
 Van Brunt came into Ellen's room and aroused 
 her. 
 
 " It's a real shame to wake you up," she said, 
 " when you were sleeping so finely ; but 'Brahm 
 wants to be off to his work, and won't stay for 
 breakfast. Slept sound, did you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed ; as sound as a top," said Ellen, 
 rubbing her eyes ; — " I am hardly awake yet." 
 
 " I declare it's too bad," said Mrs. Van Brunt, — 
 "but there's no help for it. You don't feel no 
 headache, do you, nor pain in your bones ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, not a bit of it ; I feel nicely." 
 
 " Ah ! well," said Mrs. Van Brunt, " then your 
 tumble into the brook didn't do you any mischief ; I 
 thought it wouldn't. Poor little soul ! " 
 
 " I am very glad I did fall in," said Ellen, " for 
 if I hadn't I shouldn't have come here, Mrs, Van 
 Brunt." 
 
 The old lady instantly kissed her. 
 
 " ! mayn't I just takeone look at the kitties? " 
 said Ellen, when she was ready to go. 
 
 u Indeed you shall," said Mrs. Van Brunt, ** if 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 203 
 
 'Brahm's hurry was ever so much ; — and it ain't, 
 besides. Come here, dear." 
 
 She took Ellen back to a waste lumber-room, 
 where in a corner, on some old pieces of carpet, 
 lay pussy and her family. How fondly Ellen's 
 hand was passed over each little soft back ! how 
 hard it was for her to leave them ! 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to take one home with you 
 dear ? " said Mrs. Van Brunt, at length. 
 
 " Oh ! may I ? " said Ellen, looking up in de- 
 light ; " are you in earnest ? Oh, thank you, dear 
 Mrs. Van Brunt ! Oh, I shall be so glad ! " 
 
 " Well, choose one, then, dear, — choose the one 
 you like best, and 'Brahm shall carry it for you." 
 
 The choice was made, and Mrs. Van Brunt and 
 Ellen returned to the kitchen, where Mr. Van Brunt 
 had already been waiting some time. He shook 
 his head when he saw what was in the basket his 
 mother handed to him. 
 
 " That won't do," said he ; "I can't go that, 
 mother. I'll undertake to see Miss Ellen safe 
 home, but the cat 'ud be more than I could man- 
 age. I think I'd hardly get off with a whole skin 
 'tween the one and t'other. " 
 
 " Well, now ! " said Mrs. Van Brunt. 
 
 Ellen gave a longing look at her little black and 
 white favorite, which was uneasily endeavoring to 
 find out the height of the basket, and mewing at 
 the same time with a most ungratified expression. 
 However, though sadly disappointed, she submitted 
 with a very good grace to what could not be helped. 
 First setting down the little cat out of the basket it 
 seemed to like so ill, and giving it one farewell pat 
 and squeeze, she turned to the kind old lady who 
 
204 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 stood watching her, and throwing her arms around 
 her neck, silently spoke her gratitude in a hearty 
 hug and kiss. 
 
 " Good-bye, ma'am," said she ; " I may come and 
 see them sometime again, and see you, mayn't I ? " 
 
 " Indeed you shall, my darling," said the old 
 woman, "just as often as you like; — just as often 
 as you can get away. I'll make 'Brahm bring you 
 home sometimes. 'Brahm, you'll bring her, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 " There's two words to that bargain, mother, I 
 can tell you ; but if I don't, I'll know the reason 
 on't." 
 
 And away they went. Ellen drew two or three 
 sighs at first, but she could not help brightening 
 up soon. It was early — not sunrise ; the cool 
 freshness of the air was enough to give one new 
 life and spirit ; the sky was fair and bright ; and 
 Mr. Van Brunt marched along at a quick pace. 
 Enlivened by the exercise, Ellen speedily forgot 
 everything disagreeable ; and her little head was 
 filled with pleasant things. She watched where 
 the silver light in the east foretold the sun's com- 
 ing. She watched the silver change to gold, till a 
 rich yellow tint was flung over the whole landscape ; 
 and then broke the first rays of light upon the tops 
 of the western hills, — the sun was up. It was a 
 new sight to Ellen. 
 
 " How beautiful ! Oh, how beautiful ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Van Brunt, in his slow way ; 
 " it'll be a fine day for the field. I guess I'll go 
 with the oxen over to that 'ere big meadow." 
 
 " Just look," said Ellen, " how the light comes 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 205 
 
 creeping down the side of the mountain, — now it 
 has got to the wood, — Oh, do look at the tops of 
 the trees ! Oh ! I wish mamma was here." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt didn't know what to say to this. 
 He rather wished so too, for her sake. 
 
 "There," said Ellen, "now the sunshine is on 
 the fence, and the road, and everything. I wonder 
 what is the reason that the sun shines first upon the 
 top of the mountain, and, then comes so slowly 
 down the side ; why don't it shine on the whole at 
 once ? " 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt shook his head in ignorance, 
 " He guessed it always did so," he said. 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, "I suppose it does, but that's 
 the very thing, — I want to know the reason why. 
 And I noticed just now, it shone in my face before 
 it touched my hands. Isn't it queer ? " 
 
 " Humph ! — there's a great 'many queer things, 
 if you come to that," said Mr. Van Brunt, philoso- 
 phically. 
 
 But Ellen's head ran on from one thing to 
 another, and her next question was not so wide of 
 the subject as her companion might have thought. 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt, are there any schools about 
 here ? " 
 
 " Schools ? " said the person addressed, " yes — 
 there's plenty of schools." 
 
 " Good ones ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Well, I don't exactly know about that ; there's 
 Captain Conklin's that had ought to be agood'un; 
 he's a regular smart man, they say." 
 
 " Whereabouts is that ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " His school ? it's a mile or so the other side of 
 my house." 
 
2o6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " And how far is it from your house to Aunt 
 Fortune's ? " 
 
 " A good deal better than two mile, but we'll be 
 there before long. You ain't tired, be you ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen. But this reminder gave a 
 new turn to her thoughts, and her spirits were 
 suddenly checked. Her former brisk and spring- 
 ing step changed to so slow and lagging a one, that 
 Mr. Van Brunt more than once repeated his remark 
 that he saw she was tired. 
 
 If it was that, Ellen grew tired very fast ; she 
 lagged more and more as they neared the house, 
 and at last quite fell behind, and allowed Mr. Van 
 Brunt to go in first. 
 
 Miss Fortune was busy about the breakfast, and 
 as Mr. Van Brunt afterwards described it, " looked 
 as if she could have bitten off a tenpenny nail," 
 and indeed as if the operation would have been 
 rather gratifying than otherwise. She gave them no 
 notice at first, bustling to and fro with great energy, 
 but all of a sudden she brought up directly in front 
 of Ellen, and said, 
 
 " Why didn't you come home last night ?" 
 
 The words were jerked out rather than spoken. 
 
 " I got wet in the brook," said Ellen. " and Mrs. 
 Van Brunt was so kind as to keep me." 
 
 "Which way did you go out of the house yester- 
 day?" 
 
 " Through the front door." 
 
 " The front door was locked." 
 
 " I unlocked it." 
 
 "What did you go out that way for ? n 
 
 " I didn't want to come this way." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 207 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
 " Why not ? " demanded Miss Fortune, still more, 
 emphatically than before. 
 
 " I didn't want to see you, ma'am," said Ellen; 
 flushing. 
 
 " If ever you do so again ! " said Miss Fortune, 
 in a kind of cold fury ; " I've a great mind to whip 
 you for this, as ever I had to eat." 
 
 The flush faded on Ellen's cheek, and a shiver 
 visibly passed over her — not from fear. She stood 
 with downcast eyes and compressed lips, a certain 
 instinct of childish dignity warning her to be silent. 
 Mr. Van Brunt put himself in between. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said he, " this is getting to be 
 too much of a good thing. Beat your cream, 
 ma'am, as much as you like, or if you want to try 
 your hand on something else, you'll have to take 
 me first, I promise you." 
 
 " Now don't you meddle, Van Brunt," said the 
 lady, sharply, "with what ain't no business o" 
 yourn. " 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 — " maybe it is my business ; but meddle or no 
 meddle, Miss Fortune, it is time for me to be in 
 the field ; and if you ha'n't no better breakfast for 
 Miss Ellen and me than all this here, we'll just go 
 right away hum again ; but there's something in 
 your kettle there that smells uncommonly nice, and 
 I wish you'd just let us have it and no more 
 words." 
 
 No more words did Miss Fortune waste on any 
 one that morning. She went on with her work and 
 dished up the breakfast in silence, and with a face 
 that Ellen did not quite understand ; only she thought 
 
2o8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 she had never in her life seen one so disagreeable. 
 The meal was a very solemn and uncomfortable 
 one. Ellen could scarcely swallow, and her aunt 
 Was near in the same condition. Mr. Van Brunt 
 and the old lady alone dispatched their breakfast 
 as usual ; with no other attempts at conversation 
 than the common mumbling on the part of the 
 latter, which nobody minded, and one or two strange 
 grunts from the former, the meaning of which, if 
 they had any, nobody tried to find out. 
 
 There was a breach now between Ellen and her 
 aunt that neither could make any effort to mend. 
 Miss Fortune did not renew the disagreeable con- 
 versation that Mr. Van Brunt had broken off ; she 
 left Ellen entirely to herself, scarcely speaking to 
 her, or seeming to know when she went out or 
 Came in. And this lasted day after day. Wearily 
 they passed. After one or two, Mr. Van Brunt 
 seemed to stand just where he did before in Miss 
 Fortune's good graces; — but not Ellen. To her, 
 when others were not by, her face wore constantly 
 Something of the same cold, hard, disagreeable ex- 
 pression it had put on after Mr. Van Brunt's in- 
 terference, — a look that Ellen came to regard with 
 absolute abhorrence. She kept away by herself as 
 much as she could ; but she did not know what to 
 do with her time, and for want of something better 
 often spent it in tears. She went to bed cheerless 
 night after night, and arose spiritless morning after 
 morning, and this lasted till Mr. Van Brunt more 
 than once told his mother that " that poor little 
 thing was going wandering about like a ghost, 
 and growing thinner and paler every day; and he 
 didn't know what she would come to if she went 
 on so." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 209 
 
 Ellen longed now for a letter with unspeakable 
 longing, — but none came ; day after day brought 
 new disappointment, each day more hard to bear. 
 Of her only friend, Mr. Van Brunt, she saw little ; 
 he was much away in the fields during the fine 
 weather, and when it rained Ellen herself was pris- 
 oner at home, whither he never came but at meal- 
 times. The old grandmother was very much dis- 
 posed to make much of her ; but Ellen shrank, she 
 hardly knew why, from her fond caresses, and never 
 found herself alone with her if she could help it; 
 for then she was regularly called to the old lady's 
 side and obliged to go through a course of kissing, 
 fondling and praising she would gladly have escaped. 
 In her aunt's presence this was seldom attempted, 
 and never permitted to go on. Miss Fortune was 
 sure to pull Ellen away and bid her mother " stop 
 that palavering," — avowing that " it made her sick." 
 Ellen had one faint hope that her aunt would think 
 of sending her to school, as she employed her in 
 nothing at home, and certainly took small delight 
 in her company ; but no hint of the kind dropped 
 from Miss Fortune's lips ; and Ellen's longing look 
 for this as well as for a word from her mother was 
 daily doomed to be ungratified and to grow more 
 keen by delay. 
 
 One pleasure only remained to Ellen in the 
 course of the day, and that one she enjoyed with 
 the carefulness of a miser. It was seeing the cows 
 milked, morning and evening. For this she got up 
 very early and watched till the men came for the 
 pails ; and then away she bounded, out of the 
 house and to the barnyard. There were the milky 
 mothers, five in number, standing about, each io 
 14 
 
2io THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her own corner of the yard or cowhouse, waiting to 
 be relieved of their burden of milk. They were 
 fine, gentle animals, in excellent condition, and 
 looking every way happy and comfortable ; nothing 
 living under Mr. Van Brunt's care was ever suf- 
 fered to look otherwise. He was always in the 
 barn or barnyard at milking time, and under his 
 protection Ellen felt safe and looked on at her 
 ease. It was a very pretty scene — at least she 
 thought so. The gentle cows standing quietly to 
 be milked as if they enjoyed it, and munching the 
 cud ; and the white streams of milk foaming into 
 the pails ; then there was the interest of seeing 
 whether Sam or Johnny would get through first ; 
 and how near Jane or Dolly would come to rivaling 
 Streaky's fine pailful ; and at last Ellen allowed 
 Mr. Van Brunt to teach herself how to milk. She 
 began with trembling, but learnt fast enough ; and 
 more than one pailful of milk that Miss Fortune 
 strained had been, unknown to her, drawn by 
 Ellen's fingers. These minutes in the farmyard 
 were the pleasantest in Ellen's day. While they 
 lasted every care was forgotten and her little face 
 was as bright as the morning ; but the milking was 
 quickly over, and the cloud gathered on Ellen's 
 brow almost as soon as the shadow of the house 
 fell upon it. 
 
 " Where is the post-office, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 she asked one morning, as she stood watching the 
 sharpening of an ax upon the grindstone. The ax 
 was in that gentleman's hand, and its edge care- 
 fully laid to the whirling-stone, which one of the 
 farm-boys was turning. 
 
 "Where is the post-office ? Why, over to Tbiri« 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. ;„n 
 
 Wall, to be sure," replied Mr. Van Brunt, glancing 
 up at her from his work. — " Faster, Johnny." 
 
 " And how often do the letters come here ? " 
 said. Ellen. 
 
 "Take care, Johnny! — some more water, — mind 
 your business, will you ?— Just as often as I go to 
 fetch 'em, Miss Ellen, and no oftener." 
 
 " And how often do you go, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 "Only when I've some other errand, Miss Ellen ; 
 my grain would never be in the barn if I was run- 
 ning to the post-office every other thing, — and for 
 what ain't there, too. I don't get a letter but two 
 or three times a year, I s'pose, though I call, — I 
 guess, — half a dozen times. " 
 
 " Ah, but there's one there now, or soon will be, 
 I know, for me," said Ellen. " When do you think 
 you'll go again, Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 
 " Now, if I'd ha' knowed that I'd ha' gone to 
 Thirlwall yesterday — I was within a mile of it. I 
 don't see as I can go this week anyhow in the 
 world ; but I'll make some errand there the first 
 day I can, Miss Ellen, that you may depend on. 
 You sha'n't wait for your letter a bit longer than I 
 can help." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Van Brunt — you're very 
 kind. Then the letters never come except when 
 you go after them ? " 
 
 *' No ; — yes — they do come once in a while by 
 old Mr. Swaim, but he ha'n't been here this great 
 while." 
 
 " And who's he ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, he's a queer old chip that goes round the 
 Country on all sorts of errands ; he comes along 
 once in a while. That'll do, Johnny, — I believe 
 
212 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 this here tool is as sharp as I have any occasion 
 for." 
 
 " What's the use of pouring water upon the 
 grindstone ? " said Ellen, " why wouldn't it do as 
 well dry ? " 
 
 " I can't tell, I am sure," replied Mr. Van Brunt, 
 who was slowly drawing his thumb over the edge 
 of the ax ; — " your questions are a good deal too 
 sharp for me, Miss Ellen ; I only know it would 
 spoil the ax, or the grindstone, or both, most 
 likely." 
 
 " It's very odd," said Ellen, thoughtfully ; — " I 
 wish I knew everything. But, oh dear ! — I am not 
 likely to know anything," said she, her countenance 
 suddenly changing from its pleased, inquisitive 
 look to a cloud of disappointment and sorrow. Mr. 
 Van Brunt noticed the change. 
 
 " Ain't your aunt going to send you to school, 
 then ? " said he. 
 
 "I don't know," said Ellen, sighing; — "she 
 never speaks about it, nor about anything else. 
 But I declare I'll make her ! " she exclaimed, 
 changing again. " I'll go right in and ask her, and 
 then she'll have to tell me. I will ! I am tired of 
 living so. I'll know what she means to do, and 
 then I can tell what / must do." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt, seemingly dubious about the 
 success of this line of conduct, stroked his chin and 
 his ax alternately two or three times in silence, 
 and finally walked off. Ellen, without waiting for 
 her courage to cool, went directly into the house. 
 
 Miss Fortune, however, was not in the kitchen ; 
 to follow her into her secret haunts, the dairy, cel- 
 lar, or lower kitchen, was not to be thought of 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 213 
 
 Ellen waited awhile, but her aunt did not come, 
 and the excitement of the moment cooled down. 
 She was not quite so ready to enter upon the busi- 
 ness as she had felt at first ; she had even some 
 qualms about it. 
 
 " But I'll do it," said Ellen to herself :— " it will 
 be hard, but I'll doit!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 For my part, he keeps me here rustically 
 At home, or, to speak more properly, stays 
 Me here at home unkept. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Ellen found 
 the chance she rather dreaded than wished for. 
 Mr. Van Brunt had gone out ; the old lady had not 
 left her room ; and Miss Fortune was quietly 
 seated by the fire, busied with some mysteries of 
 cooking. Like a true coward, Ellen could not 
 make up her mind to bolt at once into the thick of 
 the matter, but thought to come to it gradually, — 
 always a bad way. 
 
 " What is that, Aunt Fortune ? " said she, aftei 
 she had watched her with a beating heart for about 
 five minutes. 
 
 " What is what ? " 
 
 " I mean, what is that you are staining through 
 the colander into that jar ? " 
 
 " Hop-water." 
 
 "What is it for?" 
 
 " I'm scalding this meal with it to make turn- 
 pikes." 
 
 " Turnpikes ! " said Ellen ; — " I thought turn- 
 pikes were high, smooth roads, with toll-gates 
 
214 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 every now and then — that's what mamma told me 
 they were." 
 
 " That's all the kind of turnpikes your mamma 
 knew anything about, I reckon," said Miss Fortune, 
 in a tone that conveyed the notion that Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery's education had been very incomplete. 
 'And indeed," she added, immediately after, "if 
 she had made more turnpikes and paid fewer tolls, 
 it would have been just as well, I'm thinking." 
 
 Ellen felt the tone, if she did not thoroughly 
 understand the words. She was silent a moment; 
 then, remembering her purpose, she began again. 
 ."What are these, then, Aunt Fortune ?" 
 
 " Cakes, child, cakes ! — turnpike cakes — what I 
 raise the bread with." 
 
 " What, those little brown cakes I have seen you 
 melt in water and mix in the flour when you make 
 bread ? " 
 
 " Mercy on us ! yes ! you've seen hundreds of 
 'em since you've been here if you never saw one 
 before." 
 
 " I never did," said Ellen. " But what are they 
 called turnpikes for ? " 
 
 " The land knows ! — I don't. For mercy's sake 
 stop asking me questions, Ellen ; I don't know 
 what's got into you ; you'll drive me crazy." 
 
 " But there's one more question I want to ask 
 very much," said Ellen, with her heart beating. 
 
 " Well, ask it then quick, and have done, and 
 take yourself off. I have other fish to fry than to 
 answer all your questions." 
 
 Miss Fortune, however, was still quietly seated 
 by the fire stirring her meal and hot-water, and 
 Ellen could not be quick ; the words stuck in he* 
 throat, — came out at last. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 2I 5 
 
 " Aunt Fortune, I wanted to ask you if I may go 
 to school." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Ellen's heart sprang with a feeling of joy, a 
 little qualified by the peculiar dry tone in which 
 the word was uttered. 
 
 " When may I go ? " 
 
 " As soon as you like." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, ma'am. To which school shall 
 I go, Aunt Fortune ? " 
 
 " To whichever you like." 
 
 " But I don't know anything about them," said 
 Ellen ; — " how can I tell which is best ? " 
 
 Miss Fortune was silent. 
 
 " What schools are there near here ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " There's Captain Conklin's down at the cross, 
 and Miss Emerson's at Thirlwall." 
 
 Ellen hesitated. The name was against her, but 
 nevertheless she concluded on the whole that the 
 lady's school would be the pleasantest. 
 
 " Is Miss Emerson any relation of yours ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I think I should like to go to her school the 
 best. I will go there if you will let me, — may I ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And I will begin next Monday, — may I ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Ellen wished exceedingly that her aunt would 
 speak in some other tone of voice ; it was a con- 
 tinual damper to her rising hopes. 
 
 " I'll get my books ready," said she, — " and look 
 'em over a little too, I guess. But what will be 
 the best way for me to go. Aunt Fortune ? " 
 
t 
 2l6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I couldn't walk so far, could I ? " 
 
 " You know best." 
 
 "I couldn't, I'm sure," said Ellen; — "it's foul 
 miles to Thirlwall, Mr. Van Brunt said ; that 
 would be too much for me to walk twice a day ; 
 and I should be afraid besides." 
 
 A dead silence. 
 
 u But, Aunt Fortune, do please tell me what I am 
 to do. How can I know unless you tell me? 
 What way is there that I can go to school ? " 
 
 "It is unfortunate that I don't keep a carriage," 
 said Miss Fortune, — "but Mr. Van Brunt can go 
 for you morning and evening in the ox-cart, if that 
 will answer." 
 
 "The ox-cart! But, dear me! it would take 
 him all day, Aunt Fortune. It takes hours and 
 hours to go and come with the oxen ; — Mr. Van 
 Brunt wouldn't have time to do anything but carry 
 me to school and bring me home." 
 
 " Of course, — but that's of no consequence," said 
 Miss Fortune, in the same dry tone. 
 
 "Then I can't go — there's no help for it," said 
 Ellen, despondingly. " Why didn't you say so be- 
 fore ? When you said yes I thought you meant yes." 
 
 She covered her face. Miss Fortune rose with 
 a half smile and carried her jar of scalded meal 
 into the pantry. She then came back and com- 
 menced the operation of washing up the breakfast 
 things. 
 
 " Ah ! if I only had a little pony," said Ellen, 
 "that would carry me there and back, and go 
 trotting about with me everywhere, — how nice that 
 would be ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 217 
 
 " Yes, that would be very nice ! And who do 
 you think would go trotting about after the pony ? 
 I suppose you would leave that to Mr. Van Brunt ; 
 and I should have to go trotting about after you, to 
 pick you up in case you broke your neck in some 
 ditch or gulley; — it would be a very nice affair 
 altogether, I think." 
 
 Ellen was silent. Her hopes had fallen to the 
 ground, and her disappointment was unsoothed by 
 one word of kindness or sympathy. With all her 
 old grievances fresh in her mind, she sat thinking 
 her aunt was the very most disagreeable person 
 she had ever had the misfortune to meet with. No 
 amiable feelings were working within her ; and the 
 cloud on her brow was of displeasure and disgust, 
 as well as sadness and sorrow. Her aunt saw it. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " said she, rather 
 sharply. 
 
 " I am thinking," said Ellen, " I am very sorry I 
 cannot go to school." 
 
 " Why, what do you want to learn so much ? — 
 you know how to read and write and cipher, don't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Read and write and cipher ! " said Ellen, — " to 
 be sure I do ; but that's nothing ; that's only the 
 beginning." 
 
 " Well, what do you want to learn, besides ? " 
 
 " Oh, a great many things." 
 
 " Well, what ? " 
 
 " Oh, a great many things," said Ellen ; — 
 " French, and Italian, and Latin, and music, and 
 arithmetic, and chemistry, and all about animals 
 and plants and insects, — I forget what it's called, 
 — and — oh, I can't recollect ; a great many things. 
 
2iS THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Every now and then I think of something I 
 want to learn ; I can't remember them now. But 
 Im doing nothing," said Ellen, sadly, — "learning 
 nothing — I'm not studying and improving myself 
 as I meant to ; mamma will be disappointed when 
 she comes back, and I meant to please her so 
 much ! " 
 
 The tears were fast coming ; she put her hand 
 upon her eyes to force them back. 
 
 " If you're so tired of being idle," said Miss 
 Fortune, " I'll warrant I'll give you something to do ; 
 and something to learn too, that you want enough 
 more than all those crinkum-crankums ; I wonder 
 what good they'd ever do you ! That's the way 
 your mother was brought up, I suppose. If she 
 had been trained to use her hands and do some- 
 thing useful instead of thinking herself above it, 
 maybe she wouldn't have had to go to sea for her 
 health just now ; it doesn't do for women to be 
 bookworms." 
 
 " Mamma isn't a bookworm ! " said Ellen, indig- 
 nantly ; — " I don't know what you mean ; — and she 
 never thinks herself above being useful ; it's very 
 strange you should say so when you don't know 
 anything about her." 
 
 " I know she ha'n't brought you up to know 
 manaers, anyhow," said Miss Fortune. "Look 
 here, I'll give you something to do, — just you put 
 those plates and dishes together ready for washing, 
 while I am downstairs." 
 
 Ellen obeyed, unwillingly enough. She had 
 neither knowledge of the business nor any liking 
 for it ; so it is no wonder Miss Fortune at her re- 
 turn was not well pleased. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 219 
 
 " But I never did such a thing before," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " There it is now ! " said Miss Fortune. " I 
 wonder where your eyes have been every single 
 time that I have done it since you have been here. 
 I should think your own sense might have told 
 you ! But you are too busy learning of Mr. Van 
 Brunt to know what's going on in the house. Is 
 that what you call made ready for washing ? Now 
 just have the goodness to scrape every plate clean 
 off and put them nicely in a pile here ; and turn 
 out the slops out of the tea-cups and saucers and 
 set them by themselves. — Well! what makes you 
 handle them so ? are you afraid they'll burn you ? " 
 
 " I don't like to take hold of things people have 
 drunk out of," said Ellen, who was indeed touch- 
 ing the cups and saucers very delicately with the 
 tips of her fingers. 
 
 " Look here," said Miss Fortune, — " don't you 
 let me hear no more of that, or I vow I'll give you 
 something to do you won't like. Now put the spoons 
 here, and the knives and forks together here; and 
 carry the salt-cellar and the pepper-box and the 
 butter and the sugar into the buttery." 
 
 " I don't know where to put them, " said Ellen. 
 
 " Come along, then, and I'll show you ; it's time 
 you did. I reckon you'll feel better when you've 
 something to do, and you shall have plenty. There 
 — put them in that cupboard, and set the butter up 
 here, and put the bread in this box, do you see ? 
 Now don't let me have to show you twice over." 
 
 This was Ellen's first introduction to the but- 
 tery ; she had never dared to go in there before* 
 It was a long light closet or pantry, lined on the 
 
220 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 left side, and at the further end, with wide shelves 
 up to the ceiling. On these shelves stood many 
 capacious pans and basins, of tin and earthenware, 
 filled with milk, most of them coated with superb 
 yellow cream. Midway was the window, before 
 which Miss Fortune was accustomed to skim her 
 milk ; and at the side of it was the mouth of a 
 wooden pipe, or covered trough, which conveyed 
 the refuse milk down to an enormous hogshead 
 •standing at the lower kitchen door, whence it was 
 drawn as wanted for the use of the pigs. Beyond 
 the window in the buttery, and on the higher shelves, 
 were rows of yellow cheeses ; forty or fifty were 
 there at least. On the right hand of the door was 
 the cupboard, and a short range of shelves, which 
 held in ordinary all sorts of matters for the table, 
 both dishes and eatables. Floor and shelves were 
 well painted with thick yellow paint, hard and shin- 
 ing, and clean as could be ; and there was a faint 
 pleasant smell of dairy things. 
 
 Ellen did not find out all this at once, but in the 
 -course of a day or two, during which her visits to 
 the buttery were many. Miss Fortune kept hef 
 word, and found her plenty to do ; Ellen's life soon 
 became a pretty busy one. She did not like this 
 at all ; it was a kind of work she had no love for ; 
 yet, no doubt, it was a good exchange for the miser- 
 able moping life she had lately led. Anything was 
 better than that. One concern, however, lay upon 
 poor Ellen's mind with pressing weight, — her neg- 
 lected studies and wasted time ; for no better 
 than wasted she counted it. " What shall I do ? " 
 she said to herself, after several of these busy days 
 had passed ; " I am doing nothing — I am learning 
 
1UE WIDE, WIDE WORLP 321 
 
 nothing — I shall forget all I have learnt, directly 
 At this rate I shall not know any more than ah 
 these people around me ; and what will mamma 
 say ? — Well, if I can't go to school I know what I 
 will do," she said, taking a sudden resolve, " I'll 
 study by myself ! I'll see what I can do ; it will 
 be better than nothing, anyw^v, I'll begin this 
 very day ! " 
 
 With new life Ellen sprang upstairs to her room, 
 and forthwith began pulling all the things out of 
 her trunk to get at her books. They were at the 
 very bottom ; and by the time she had reached 
 them, half the floor was strewn with the varkr 
 articles of her wardrobe ; without minding t 1 
 in her first eagerness, Ellen pounced a' 
 books. 
 
 " Here you are, my dear Numa Pompilius 
 she, drawing out a little French book she hat 
 begun to read, " and here you are, old gramni ir 
 and dictionary, — and here is my history, — very glad 
 to see you, Mr. Goldsmith ! — and what in the 
 world's this ? — wrapped up as if it was something 
 great, — oh, my expositor ; I am not glad to see 
 you, I am sure ; never want to look at your face, 
 or your back again. My copy-book — I wonder 
 who'll set copies for me now ; — my arithmetic, that's 
 you ! — geography and atlas — all right ; — and my 
 slate ; but dear me ! I don't believe I have such a 
 thing as a slate-pencil in the world ; where shall I 
 get one, I wonder ? — well, I'll manage. And that's 
 all,— that's all, I believe." 
 
 With all her heart, Ellen would have begun her 
 studying at once, but there were all her things on 
 the floor, silently saying, " Put us up first." 
 
222 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I declare," said she to herself, " it's too bad 
 to have nothing in the shape of a bureau to keep 
 one's clothes in. I wonder if I am to live in a 
 trunk, as mamma says, all the time I am here, and 
 have to go down to the bottom of it every time I 
 want a pocket-handkerchief or a pair of stockings. 
 How I do despise those gray stockings ! — But what 
 can I do ? it's too bad to squeeze my nice things 
 up so. I wonder what is behind those doors. I'll 
 find out, I know, before long." 
 
 On the north side of Ellen's room were three 
 doors. She had never opened them, but now took 
 
 into her head to see what was there, thinking 
 
 oht possibly find what would help her out of 
 
 tp .iculty. She had some little fear of meddling 
 
 ■ling in her aunt's domain ; so she fast- 
 
 - ! rwn door to guard against interruption 
 
 \ f jto was busied in making discoveries. 
 
 ,fnrn '.:io foot of her bed, in the corner, was one 
 'arge door fastened by a button, as indeed they 
 were all. This opened, she found, upon a flight of 
 stairs, leading as she supposed to the garret, but 
 Ellen did not care to go up and see. They were 
 lighted by half of a large window, across the middle 
 of which the stairs went up. ' She quickly shut that 
 door, and opened the next, a little one. Here she 
 found a tiny closet under the stairs, lighted by the 
 other half of the window. There was nothing in 
 it but a broad, low shelf or step under the stairs, 
 where Ellen presently decided she could stow away 
 her books very nicely. " It only wants a little 
 brushing out," said Ellen, " and it will do very 
 well." The other door, in the other corner, ad- 
 mitted her to a large, light closet, perfectly empty. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 223 
 
 " Now if there were only some hooks or pegs here,' 
 thought Ellen, " to hang up dresses on — but why 
 shouldn't I drive some nails ? — I will ! I will ! Oh, 
 that'll be fine ! " 
 
 Unfastening her door in a hurry she ran down- 
 stairs ; and her heart beating, between pleasure 
 and the excitement of daring so far without her 
 aunt's knowledge, she ran out and crossed the chip- 
 yard to the barn, where she had some hope of find- 
 ing Mr. Van Brunt. By the time she got to the 
 little cowhouse door a great noise of knocking or 
 pounding in the barn made her sure he was there, 
 and she went on to the lower barn-floor. There 
 he was, he and the two farm-boys (who, by the by, 
 were grown men), all three threshing wheat. Ellen 
 stopped at the door, and for a minute forgot what 
 she had come for in the pleasure of looking at 
 them. The clean floor was strewn with grain, upon 
 which the heavy flails came down one after an- 
 other, wkh quick, regular beat, — one — two — three 
 - — one — two — three,- — keeping perfect time. The 
 pleasant sound could be heard afar off ; though, 
 indeed, where Ellen stood it was rather too loud to 
 be pleasant. Her little voice had no chance of 
 being heard ; she stood still, and waited. Pres- 
 ently Johnny, who was opposite, caught a sight of 
 her, and without stopping his work said to his 
 leader, " Somebody there for you, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 That gentleman's flail ceased its motion, then he 
 threw it down, and went to the door to help Ellen 
 up the high step. 
 
 " Well," said he, " have you come out to see 
 what's going on ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, " I've been looking, — but, Mr 
 
224 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD- 
 
 Van Brunt, could you be so good as to let me have 
 a hammer and half a dozen nails ? " 
 
 " A hammer and half a dozen nails ; — come thb 
 way," said he. 
 
 They went out of the barn-yard and across the 
 chip-yard to an outhouse below the garden and not 
 far from the spout, called the poultry-house ; though 
 it was quite as much the property of the hogs, who 
 had a regular sleeping apartment there, where corn 
 was always fed out to the fatting ones. Opening 
 a kind of granary store-room, where the corn for 
 this purpose was stowed, Mr. Van Brunt took down 
 from a shelf a large hammer and a box of nails* 
 and asked Ellen what size she wanted. 
 
 " Pretty large." 
 
 " So ? " 
 
 " No, a good deal bigger yet, I should like." 
 
 " < A good deal bigger yet,' — who wants 'em ? " 
 
 " I do," said Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " You do ! Do you think your little arms can 
 manage that big hammer ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I guess so ; I'll try." 
 
 " Where do you want 'em driv ? " 
 
 " Up in a closet in my room," said Ellen, speak- 
 ing as softly as if she had feared her aunt was at 
 the corner ; " I want 'em to hang up dresses and 
 things." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt half smiled, and put up the ham- 
 mer and nails on the shelf again. 
 
 "Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," said he; — 
 " you can't manage them big things ; I'll put 'em 
 up for you to-night when I come in to supper." 
 
 " But I am afraid she won't let you,'' said Ellen, 
 doubtfully. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 225, 
 
 " Never you mind about that," said he, " I'll fix 
 it. Maybe we won't ask her." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " said Ellen, joyfully, her face 
 recovering its full sunshine in answer to his smile, 
 and clapping her hands she ran back to the house, 
 while more slowly Mr. Van Brunt returned to the 
 threshers. Ellen seized dust-pan and brush and 
 ran up to her room ; and setting about the business 
 with right good will, she soon had her closets in 
 beautiful order. The books, writing-desk, and 
 work-box were then bestowed very carefully in the 
 one ; in the other her coats and dresses neatly 
 folded up in a pile on the floor, waiting till the 
 nails should be driven. Then the remainder of her 
 things were gathered up from the floor and neatly 
 arranged in the trunk again. Having done all this, 
 Ellen's satisfaction was unbounded. By this time 
 dinner was ready. As soon after dinner as she 
 could escape from Miss Fortune's calls upon her, 
 Ellen stole up to her room and her books, and 
 began work in earnest. The whole afternoon was 
 spent over sums and verbs, and maps and pages of 
 history. A little before tea, as Ellen was setting 
 the table, Mr. Van Brunt came into the kitchen 
 with a bag on his back. 
 
 " What have you got there, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 said Miss Fortune. 
 
 " A bag of seed corn." 
 
 " What are you going to do with it ? " 
 
 " Put it up in the garret for safe keeping." 
 
 " Set it down in the corner and I'll take it up to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am, — rather go myself, if it's 
 all the same to you. You needn't be scared, I've 
 15 
 
226 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 left my shoes at the door. Miss Ellen, I believe 
 I've got to go through your room." 
 
 Ellen was glad to run before to hide her laughter. 
 When they reached her room, Mr. Van Brunt pro- 
 duced a hammer out of the bag, and taking a hand- 
 ful of nails from his pocket, put up a fine row of 
 them along her closet wall ; then while she hung 
 up her dresses he went on to the garret, and Ellen 
 heard him hammering there, too. Presently he 
 came down and they returned to the kitchen. 
 
 " What 's all that knocking ? " said Miss Fortune. 
 
 " I've been driving some nails," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt, coolly. 
 
 " Up in the garret ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in Miss Ellen's closet ; she said she 
 wanted some." 
 
 " You should ha' spoke to me about it," said Miss 
 Fortune to Ellen. There was displeasure enough 
 in her face ; but she said no more, and the matter 
 blew over much better than Ellen had feared. 
 
 Ellen steadily pursued her plan of studying, in 
 spite of some discouragements. 
 
 A letter written about ten days after gave her 
 mother an account of her endeavors and of her 
 success. It was a despairing account. Ellen com- 
 plained that she wanted help to understand, and 
 lacked time to study; that her aunt kept her busy, 
 and, she believed, took pleasure in breaking her 
 off from her books ; and she bitterly said her 
 mother must expect to find an ignorant little 
 daughter when she came home. It ended with, 
 " Oh, if I could just see you, and kiss you, and 
 put my arms round you, mamma, I'd be willing to 
 die ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 227 
 
 This letter was dispatched the next morning 
 by Mr. Van Brunt ; and Ellen waited and watched 
 with great anxiety for his return from Thirlwall in 
 the afternoon, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 An ant dropped into the water ; a wood-pigeon took pity of her and 
 threw her a Mule bough.— L' Estrange. 
 
 The afternoon was already half spent when Mr. 
 Van Brunt's ox-cart was seen returning. Ellen was 
 standing by the little gate that opened on the chip- 
 yard ; and with her heart beating anxiously she 
 watched the slow-coming oxen ; how slowly they 
 came ! At last they turned out of the lane and 
 drew the cart up the ascent ; and stopping beneath 
 the apple-tree, Mr. Van Brunt leisurely got down, 
 and flinging back his whip, came to the gate. But 
 the little face that met him there, quivering with 
 hope and fear, made his own quite sober. " I'm 
 really very sorry, Miss Ellen — " he began. 
 
 That was enough. Ellen waited to hear no more, 
 but turned away, the cold chill of disappointment 
 coming over her heart. She had borne the former 
 delays pretty well, but this was one too many, and 
 she felt sick. She went round to the front stoop, 
 where scarcely ever anybody came, and sitting 
 down on the steps, wept sadly and despairingly. 
 
 It might have been half an hour or more after 
 that the kitchen door slowly opened and Ellen came 
 in. Wishing her aunt should not see her swollen 
 eyes, she was going quietly through to her own 
 room when Miss Fortune called her. Ellen stopped. 
 Miss Fortune was sitting before the fire with an 
 open letter lying in her lap and another in hei 
 
228 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 hand. The latter she held out to Ellen, saying, 
 *' Here, child, come and take this." 
 
 "What is it? " said Ellen, slowly coming towards 
 her. 
 
 " Don't you see what it is?" said Miss Fortune, 
 still holding it out. 
 
 " But who is it from ? " said Ellen. 
 
 "Your mother." 
 
 " A letter from mamma, and not to me ! " said 
 Ellen, with changing color. She took it quick from 
 her aunt's hand. But her color changed more as 
 her eyes fell upon the first words, " My dear Ellen," 
 and turning the paper, she saw upon the back, 
 ■*' Miss Ellen Montgomery." Her next look was to 
 her aunt's face, with her eye fired, and her cheek 
 paled with anger, and when she spoke her voice 
 was not the same. 
 
 "This is my letter," she said, trembling ; — "who 
 opened it? " 
 
 Miss Fortune's conscience must have troubled 
 her a little, for her eye wavered uneasily. Only for 
 a second, though. 
 
 " Who opened it ? " she answered ; " /opened it. 
 I should like to know who has a better right. And 
 I shall open every one that comes, to serve you for 
 looking so ; — that you may depend upon." 
 
 The look and the words and the injury together 
 fairly put Ellen beside herself. She dashed the 
 letter to the ground, and livid and trembling with 
 various feelings — rage was not the only one, — she 
 ran from her aunt's presence. She did not shed 
 any tears now ; she could not ; they were absolutely 
 burnt up by passion. She walked her room with 
 trembling steps, clasping and wringing her hands 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 22y 
 
 now and then, wildly thinking what could she do to 
 get out of this dreadful state of things, and unable 
 to see anything but misery before her. She walked, 
 for she could not sit down ; but presently she 
 felt that she could not breathe the air of the house ; 
 and taking her bonnet, she went down, passed 
 through the kitchen, and went out. Miss Fortune 
 asked where she was going, and bade her stay 
 within doors, but Ellen paid no attention to her. 
 
 She stood still a moment outside of the little gate. 
 She might have stood long to look. The mellow 
 light of an Indian summer afternoon lay upon the 
 meadow and the old barn and chip-yard ; there was 
 beauty in them all under its smile. Not a breath 
 was stirring. The rays of the sun struggled through 
 a blue haze, which hung upon the hills and softened 
 every distant object ; and the silence of nature aH 
 around was absolute, made more noticeable by th*; 
 far-off voice of somebody, it might be Mr. Va*\ 
 Brunt, calling to his oxen very far off and not to be 
 seen ; the sound came softly to her ear through 
 the stillness. " Peace," was the whisper of nature 
 to her troubled child ; but Ellen's heart was in a 
 whirl ; she could not hear the whisper. It was a 
 relief, however, to be out of the house, and in the 
 sweet open air. Ellen breathed more freely, and 
 pausing a moment there, and clasping her hands 
 together once more in sorrow, she went down the 
 road and out at the gate, and exchanging her quick 
 broken step for a slow measured one, she took the 
 way towards Thirlwall. Little regarding the love- 
 liness which that day was upon every slope and 
 roadside, Ellen presently quitted the Thirlwall road 
 and half unconsciously turned into a path on the 
 
230 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 left which she had never taken before, — perhaps 
 for that reason. It was not much traveled evidently ; 
 the grass grew green on both sides and even in the 
 middle of the way, though here and there the track 
 of wheels could be seen. Ellen did not care about 
 where she was going ; she only found it pleasant to 
 walk on and get further from home. The road or 
 lane led towards a mountain somewhat to the north- 
 west of Miss Fortune's ; the same which Mr. Van 
 Brunt had once named to Ellen as " the Nose." 
 After three-quarters of an hour the road began 
 gently to ascend the mountain, rising towards the 
 north. About one-third of the way from the bot- 
 tom Ellen came to a little footpath on the left which 
 allured her by its promise of prettiness, and she 
 forsook the lane for it. The promise was abun- 
 dantly fulfilled ; it was a most lovely wild woodway 
 path ; but withal not a little steep and rocky. Ellen 
 began to grow weary. The lane went on towards 
 the north ; the path rather led off towards the 
 southern edge of the mountain, rising all the while ; 
 but, before she reached that, Ellen came to what 
 she thought a good resting-place, where the path 
 opened upon a small level platform or ledge of the 
 hill. The mountain rose steep behind her, and 
 sank very steep immediately before her, leaving 
 a very superb view of the open country from the 
 northeast to the southeast. Carpeted with moss, 
 and furnished with fallen stones and pieces of rock, 
 this was a fine resting-place for the wayfarer, or 
 loitering place for the lover of nature. Ellen 
 seated herself on one of the stones, and looked 
 sadly and wearily towards the east, at first very 
 careless of the exceeding beauty of what she beheld 
 there. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 231 
 
 For miles and miles, on every side but the west, 
 lay stretched before her a beautifully broken 
 country. The November haze hung over it now 
 like a thin veil, giving great sweetness and soft- 
 ness to the scene. Far in the distance, a range 
 of low hills showed like a misty cloud ; near by, 
 at the mountain's foot, the fields and farm-houses 
 and roads lay a pictured map. About a mile and 
 a half to the south rose the mountain where Nancy 
 Vawse lived, craggy and bare ; but the leafless trees 
 and stern, jagged rocks were wrapped in the haze ; 
 and through this the sun, now near the setting, 
 threw his mellowing rays, touching every slope and 
 ridge with a rich warm glow. 
 
 Poor Ellen did not heed the picturesque effect of 
 all this, yet the sweet influences of nature reached 
 her, and softened while they increased her sorrow. 
 She felt her own heart sadly out of tune with the 
 peace and loveliness of all she saw. Her eye sought 
 those distant hills, — how very far off they were ! and 
 yet all that wide tract of country was but a little 
 piece of what lay between her and her mother. 
 Her eye sought those hills, — but her mind over- 
 passed them and went far beyond, over many such 
 a tract, till it reached the loved one at last. But 
 oh ! how much between ! " I cannot reach her ! 
 — she cannot reach me ! " thought poor Ellen. Her 
 eyes had been filling and dropping tears for some 
 time, but now came the rush of the pent-up storm, 
 and the floods of grief were kept back no longer. 
 
 When once fairly excited, Ellen's passions were 
 always extreme. During the former peaceful and 
 happy part of her life the occasions of such excite- 
 ment had been very rare. Of late, unhappily, they 
 
232 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had occurred much oftener. Many were the bittel 
 fits of tears she had known within a few weeks. 
 But now it seemed as if all the scattered causes of 
 sorrow that had wrought those tears were gathered 
 together and pressing upon her at once ; and that 
 the burden would crush her to the earth. To the 
 earth it brought her literally. She slid from her 
 seat at first, and embracing the stone on which she 
 had sat, she leaned her head there ; but pres- 
 ently in her agony quitting her hold of that, she 
 cast herself down upon the moss, lying at full length 
 upon the cold ground, which seemed to her child- 
 ish fancy the best friend she had left. But Ellen 
 was wrought up to the last pitch of grief and pas- 
 sion. Tears brought no relief. Convulsive weep- 
 ing only exhausted her. In the extremity of her 
 distress and despair, and in that lonely place, out 
 of hearing of every one, she sobbed aloud, and even 
 screamed, for almost the first time in her life ; and 
 these fits of violence were succeeded by exhaustion, 
 during which she ceased to shed tears and lay quite 
 Still, drawing only long sobbing sighs now and 
 then. 
 
 How long Ellen had lain there, or how long this 
 would have gone on before her strength had been 
 quite worn out, no one can tell. In one of these 
 fits of forced quiet, when she lay as still as the rocks 
 around her, she heard a voice close by say, " What 
 is the matter, my child ? " 
 
 The silver sweetness of the tone came singularly 
 upon the tempest in Ellen's mind. She got up 
 hastily, and brushing away the tears from her 
 dimmed eyes, she saw a young lady standing there, 
 and a face whose sweetness well matched the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 233 
 
 voice, looking upon her with grave concern. She 
 stood motionless and silent. 
 
 " What is the matter, my dear ? " 
 
 The tone found Ellen's heart, and brought the 
 water to her eyes again, though with a difference. 
 She covered her face with her hands. But the 
 gentle hands were placed upon hers and drew them 
 away ; and the lady sitting down on Ellen's stone, 
 took her in her arms ; and Ellen hid her face in 
 the bosom of a better friend than the cold earth 
 had been like to prove her. But the change over- 
 came her ; and the soft whisper, " Don't cry any 
 more," made it impossible to stop crying. Nothing 
 further was said for some time ; the lady waited 
 till Ellen grew calmer. When she saw her able to 
 answer, she said, gently, 
 
 " What does all this mean, my child ? What 
 troubles you ? Tell me, and I think we can find a 
 way to mend matters." 
 
 Ellen answered the tone of voice with a faint 
 smile, but the words with another gush of tears. 
 
 " You are Ellen Montgomery, aren't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " I thought so. This isn't the first time I have 
 seen you ; I have seen you once before." 
 
 Ellen looked up surprised. 
 
 " Have you, ma'am ? — I am sure I have never 
 seen you." 
 
 " No, I know that. I saw you when you didn't 
 see me. Where, do you think ? " 
 
 " I can't tell, I am sure," said Ellen, — " I can't 
 guess; I haven't seen you at Aunt Fortune's, and I 
 haven't been anywhere else." 
 
 " You have forgotten," said the lady. " Did you 
 
234 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 never hear of a little girl who went to take a walk 
 once upon a time, and had an unlucky fall into a 
 brook ? — and then went to a kind old lady's house, 
 where she was dried and put to bed and went to 
 sleep." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Ellen. "Did you see me there, 
 ma'am, and when I was asleep ? " 
 
 " I saw you there when you were asleep ; and 
 Mrs. Van Brunt told me who you were, and where 
 you lived ; and when I came here a little while ago 
 I knew you again very soon. And I knew what 
 the matter was too, pretty well ; but nevertheless 
 tell me all about it, Ellen ; perhaps I can help 
 you." 
 
 Ellen shook head her dejectedly. " Nobody in 
 this world can help me," she said. 
 
 " Then there's One in heaven that can," said the 
 lady, steadily. " Nothing is too bad for Him to 
 mend. Have you asked His help, Ellen ? " 
 
 Ellen began to weep again. " Oh, if I could, I 
 would tell you all about it, ma'am," she said ; "but 
 there are so many thinrs, I don't know where to 
 begin, I don't know when I should ever get 
 through." 
 
 " So many things that trouble you, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, indeed. But never mind, 
 dear, tell me what they are. Begin with the worst, 
 and if I haven't time to hear them all now, I'll find 
 time another day. Begin with the worst." 
 
 But she waited in vain for an answer, and became 
 distressed herself at Ellen's distress, which was 
 extreme. 
 
 " Don't cry so, my child, — don't cry so," she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 235 
 
 said, pressing her in her arms. " What is the mat- 
 ter ? hardly anything in this world is so bad it can't 
 be mended. I think I know what troubles you so 
 — it is that your dear mother is away from you, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am ! " — Ellen could scarcely artic- 
 ulate. But struggling with herself for a minute 
 or two, she then spoke again and more clearly. 
 
 " The worst is, — oh, the worst is — that I meant 
 — I meant — to he a good child, and I have been 
 worse than ever I was in my life before." 
 
 Her tears gushed forth. 
 
 " But how, Ellen ? " said her surprised friend 
 after a pause. " I don't quite understand you. 
 When did you ' mean to be a good child ' ? Didn't 
 you always mean so ? and what have you been 
 doing ? " 
 
 Ellen made a great effort and ceased crying ; 
 straightened herself ; dashed away her tears as if 
 determined to shed no more ; and presently spoke 
 calmly, though a choking sob every now and then 
 threatened to interrupt her. 
 
 " I will tell you, ma'am. That first day I left 
 mamma — when I was on board the steamboat, and 
 feeling as badly as I could feel, a kind, kind gentle- 
 man, I don't know who he was, came to me and 
 spoke to me, and took care of me the whole day. 
 Oh, if I could see him again ! He talked to me a 
 Teat deal ; he wanted me to be a Christian ; he 
 wanted me to make up my mind to begin that day 
 to be one ; and, ma'am, I did. I did resolve with 
 my whole heart, and I thought I should be different 
 from that time from what I had ever been before. 
 But I think I have never been so bad in my life as I 
 
236 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 have been since then. Instead of feeling- right, I 
 have felt wrong all the time, almost, — and I can't 
 help it. I have been passionate and cross, and 
 bad feelings keep coming, and I know it's wrong, 
 and it makes me miserable. And yet, oh ! ma'am, 
 I haven't changed my mind a bit, — I think just the 
 Same as I did that day ; I want to be a Christian 
 more than anything else in the world, but I am 
 not, — and what shall I do ? " 
 
 Her face sank in her hands again. 
 
 " And this is your great trouble ? " said her 
 friend. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you remember who said, * Come unto Me 
 all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest ' ? " 
 
 Ellen looked up inquiringly. 
 
 " You are grieved to find yourself so unlike what 
 you would be. You wish to be a child of the dear 
 Saviour, and to have your heart filled with His love 
 and to do what will please Him. Do you ? — Have 
 you gone to Him day by day, and night by night, 
 and told Him so ? — have you begged Him to give 
 you strength to get the better of your wrong feel- 
 ings, and asked Him to change you and make you 
 His child ? " 
 
 " At first I did, ma'am," said Ellen in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Not lately?" 
 
 " No, ma'am ; " in a low tone still and looking 
 down. 
 
 " Then you have neglected your Bible and prayel 
 for some time past ? " 
 
 Ellen hardly uttered, " Yes." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 23? 
 
 " Why, my child ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," said Ellen, weeping,— 
 "that is one of the things that made me think my- 
 self so very wicked. I couldn't like to read my 
 Bible or pray either, though I always used to before* 
 My Bible lay down quite at the bottom of my trunk, 
 and I even didn't like to raise my things enough to> 
 see the cover of it. I was so full of bad feelings I 
 didn't feel fit to pray or read either." 
 
 " Ah ! that is the way with the wisest of us," said 
 her companion ; " how apt we are to shrink most 
 from our Physician just when we are in most need 
 of Him. But, Ellen dear, that isn't right. No 
 hand but His can touch that sickness you are com- 
 plaining of. Seek it, love, seek it. He will hear 
 and help you, no doubt of it, in every trouble you 
 carry simply and humbly to His feet; — He has 
 promised, you know." 
 
 Ellen was weeping very much, but less bitterly 
 than before ; the clouds were breaking and light 
 beginning to shine through. 
 
 " Shall we pray together now ? " said her com- 
 panion, after a few minutes' pause. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, ma'am do ! " Ellen answered 
 through her tears. 
 
 And they knelt together there on the moss be* 
 side the stone, where Ellen's head rested and her 
 friend's folded hands were laid. It might have 
 been two children speaking to their father, for the 
 simplicity of that prayer ; difference of age seemed 
 to be forgotten, and what suited one suited the 
 other. It was not without difficulty that the 
 speaker carried it calmly through, for Ellen's sobs 
 went nigh to check her more than once. When 
 
ttf THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 they rose Ellen silently sought her friend's arms 
 again, and laying her face on her shoulder and put- 
 ting both arms round her neck, she wept still, — but 
 what different tears ! It was like the gentle rain 
 falling through sunshine, after the dark cloud and 
 the thunder and the hurricane have passed by. 
 And they kissed each other before either of them 
 spoke. 
 
 " You will not forget your Bible and prayer again, 
 Ellen?" 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am." 
 
 " Then I am sure you will find your causes of 
 trouble grow less. I will not hear the rest of them 
 now. In a day or two I hope you will be able to 
 give me a very different account from what you 
 would have done an hour ago ; but besides that it 
 is getting late, and it will not do for us to stay too 
 long up here ; you have a good way to go to reach 
 home. Will you come and see me to-morrow after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, indeed I will ! — if I can ; — and 
 if you will tell me where." 
 
 " Instead of turning up this little rocky path you 
 must keep straight on in the road, — that's all ; and 
 it's the first house you come to. It isn't very far 
 from here. Where were you going on the mount- 
 ain ? " 
 
 " Nowhere, ma'am." 
 
 " Have you been any higher up than this ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Then before we go away I want to show you 
 something. I'll take you over the Bridge of the 
 Nose ; it isn't but a step or two more ; a little 
 tough to be sure, but you mustn't mind that." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 239 
 
 % 
 
 " What is the ' Bridge of the Nose,' ma'am ? " 
 said Ellen, as they left her resting-place, and began 
 to toil up the path, which grew more steep and 
 rocky than ever. 
 
 " You know this mountain is called the Nose. 
 Just here it runs out to a very thin sharp edge. 
 We shall come to a place presently where you turn 
 a very sharp corner to get from one side of the hill 
 to the other ; and my brother named it jokingly 
 the Bridge of the Nose." 
 
 " Why do they give the mountain such a queer 
 name ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure. The people say that 
 from one point of view this side of it looks very 
 like a man's nose ; but I never could find it out, and 
 have some doubt about the fact. But now here 
 we are ! Just come round this great rock, — mind 
 how you step. Ellen, — now look there ! " 
 
 The rock they had just turned was at their backs, 
 and they looked towards the west. Both exclaimed 
 at the beauty before them. The view was not so 
 extended as the one they had left. On the north 
 and south, the broken wavy outline of mountains 
 closed in the horizon ; but far to the west stretched 
 an opening between the hills through which the set- 
 ting sun sent his long beams, even to their feet. In 
 the distance all was a golden haze ; nearer, on the 
 right and left, the hills were lit up singularly, and 
 there was a most beautiful mingling of deep hazy 
 shadow and bright glowing mountain sides and 
 ridges. A glory was upon the valley. Far down 
 below at their feet lay a large lake gleaming in the 
 sunlight ; and at the upper end of it a village of 
 some size showed like a cluster of white dots. 
 
240 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " said the lady again. " Ellen 
 dear, — He whose hand raised up those mountains 
 and has painted them so gloriously is the very same 
 One who has said, to you and to me, * Ask and it 
 shall be given you.' " 
 
 Ellen looked up ; their eyes met ; her answer 
 was in that grateful glance. 
 
 The lady sat down and drew Ellen close to her. 
 
 "Do you see that little white village yonder, 
 down at the far end of the lake ; that is the village 
 of Carra-carra ; and that is Carra-carra lake ; that 
 is where I go to church ; you cannot see the little 
 church from here. My father preaches there every 
 Sunday morning." 
 
 " You must have a long way to go," said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes — a pretty long way, but it's very pleasant, 
 though. I mount my little gray pony, and he 
 carries me there in quick time, when I will let him. I 
 never wish the way shorter. I go in all sorts of 
 weathers too, Ellen ; Sharp and I don't mind frost 
 and snow." 
 
 " Who is Sharp ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " My pony. An odd name, isn't it ? It wasn't 
 of my choosing, Ellen, but he deserves it if ever 
 pony did. He's a very cunning little fellow. 
 Where do you go, Ellen ? to Thirlwall ? " 
 
 " To church, ma'am ? — I don't go anywhere." 
 
 " Doesn't your aunt go to church ? " 
 
 " She hasn't since I have been here." 
 
 " What do you do with yourself on Sunday ? " 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am ; I don't know what to do with 
 myself all the day long. I get tired of being in the 
 house, and I go out of doors, and then I get tired 
 of being out of doors and come in again. I wanted 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 241 
 
 a kitten dreadfully, but Mr. Van Brunt said Aunt 
 Fortune would not let me keep one." 
 
 " Did you want a kitten to help you keep Sunday, 
 Ellen ? " said her friend, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, I did, ma'am," said Ellen, smiling again ; 
 — " I thought it would be a great deal of company 
 for me. I got very tired of reading all day long, 
 and I had nothing to read but the Bible ; and you 
 know, ma'am, I told you I have been all wrong 
 ever since I came here, and I didn't like to read 
 that much." 
 
 " My poor child ! " said the lady, — " you have 
 been hardly bestead, I think. What if you were to 
 come and spend next Sunday with me ? Don't you 
 think I should do instead of a kitten ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, I am sure of it," said Ellen, cling- 
 ing to her. " Oh, I'll come gladly if you will let me, 
 — and if Aunt Fortune will let me ; and I hope she 
 will, for she said last Sunday I was the plague of 
 her life." 
 
 "What did you do to make her say so?" said 
 her friend, gravely. 
 
 " Only asked her for some books, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I see I am getting upon another 
 of your troubles, and we haven't time for that now. 
 By your own account you have been much in fault 
 yourself ; and I trust you will find all things mend 
 with your own mending. But now there goes the 
 sun ! — and you and I must follow his example." 
 
 The lake ceased to gleam, and the houses of the 
 village were less plainly to be seen ; still the mount- 
 ain heads were as bright as ever. Gradually the 
 shadows crept up their sides while the gray of 
 evening settled deeper and deeper upon the valley. 
 16 
 
242 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "There," said Ellen, — "that's just what I was 
 wondering at the other morning ; only then the 
 light shone upon the top of the mountains first and 
 walked down, and now it leaves the bottom first and 
 walks up. I asked Mr. Van Brunt about it and he 
 could not tell me. That's another of my troubles, 
 — there's nobody that can tell me anything." 
 
 " Put me in mind of it to-morrow, and I'll try to 
 make you understand it," said the lady, " but we 
 must not tarry now. I see you are likely to find 
 me work enough, Ellen." 
 
 " I'll not ask you a question, ma'am, if you don't 
 like it," said Ellen, earnestly. 
 
 " I do like, I do like," said the other. " I 
 spoke laughingly, for I see you will be apt to ask 
 me a good many. As many as you please, my dear." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am," said Ellen, as they ran 
 (Jown the hill ; " they keep coming into my head all 
 the while." 
 
 It was easier going down than coming up. They 
 soon arrived at the place where Ellen had left the 
 road to take the wood-path. 
 
 " Here we part," said the lady. " Good-night ! " 
 
 " Good-night, ma'am." 
 
 There was a kiss and a squeeze of the hand, but 
 when Ellen would have turned away the lady still 
 held her fast. 
 
 " You are an odd little girl," said she. " I gave 
 you liberty to ask me questions." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Ellen, doubtfully. 
 
 " There is a question you have not asked me that 
 I have been expecting. Do you know who I am ? n 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Don't vou want to know ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 243 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, very much," said Ellen, laughing 
 at her friend's look, " but mamma told me never 
 to try to find out anything about other people that 
 they didn't wish me to know, or that wasn't my 
 business." 
 
 " Well, I think this is your business, decidedly. 
 Who are you going to ask for when you come to 
 see me to-morrow ? Will you ask for * the young 
 lady that lives in this house ? ' or will you give a 
 description of my nose and eyes and inches? " 
 
 Ellen laughed. 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said the lady, changing her 
 tone, " do you know you please me very much ? 
 For one person that shows herself well-bred in this 
 matter there are a thousand, I think, that ask im- 
 pertinent questions. I am very glad you are an 
 exception to the common rule. But, dear Ellen, I 
 am quite willing you should know my name — it is 
 Alice Humphreys. Now kiss me again and run 
 home ; it is quite, quite time ; I have kept you too 
 late. Good-night, my dear ! Tell your aunt I beg 
 she will allow you to take tea with me to-morrow." 
 
 They parted ; and Ellen hastened homewards, 
 urged by the rapidly growing dusk of the evening. 
 She trod the green turf with a step lighter and 
 quicker than it had been a few hours before, and 
 she regained her home in much less time than it 
 had taken her to come from thence to the mountain. 
 Lights were in the kitchen, and the table set ; but 
 though weary and faint she was willing to forego 
 her supper rather than meet her aunt just then ; 
 so she stole quietly up to her room. She did not 
 forget her friend's advice. She had no light ; she 
 could not read ; but Ellen did pray. She did carry 
 
244 rHE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 all her heart-sickness, her wants and her woes to 
 that Friend whose ear is always open to hear the 
 cry of those who call upon Him in truth ; and then, 
 relieved, refreshed, almost healed, she went to bed 
 and slept sweetly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 After long storms and tempests overblowne, 
 The sunne at length his joyous face doth cleare ; 
 So whenas fortune all her spight hath showne, 
 Some blissful houres at last must needs appeare ; 
 Else should afflicted wights oft-times despeire. 
 
 Faerie Qubenb. 
 
 Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense 
 that something pleasant had happened. Then 
 the joyful reality darted into her mind, and jump- 
 ing out of bed she set about her morning work 
 with a better heart than she had been able to bring 
 to it for many a long day. When she had finished 
 she went to the window. She had found out how 
 to keep it open now, by means of a big nail stuck 
 in a hole under the sash. It was very early, and 
 in the perfect stillness the soft gurgle of the little 
 brook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned 
 her arms on the window-sill, and tasted the morn- 
 ing air ; almost wondering at its sweetness and at 
 the loveliness of field and sky and the bright eastern 
 horizon. For days and days all had looked dark 
 and sad. 
 
 There were two reasons for the change. In the 
 first place, Ellen had made up her mind to go 
 straight on in the path of duty ; in the second 
 place, she had found a friend. Her little heart 
 bounded with delight and swelled with thankfulness 
 at the thought of Alice Humphreys. She was 
 
THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD 245 
 
 once more at peace with herself, and had even 
 some notion of being by and by at peace with 
 her aunt ; though a sad twinge came over her 
 whenever she thought of her mother's letter. 
 
 "But there is only one way fcr me," she 
 thought ; " I'll do as that dear Miss Humphreys 
 told me — it's good and early, and I shall have a 
 fine time before breakfast yet to myself. And 
 I'll get up so every morning and have it ! — 
 that'll be the very best plan I can hit upon. " 
 
 As she thought this she drew forth her Bible 
 from its place at the bottom of her trunk ; and 
 opening it at hazard, she began to read the 18th 
 chapter of Matthew. Some of it she did not quite 
 understand, but she paused with pleasure at the 
 14th verse. "That means me." she thought. The 
 21st and 22d verses struck her agooddeal, but 
 when she came to the last she was almost startled. 
 
 "There it is again ! " she said. " That is ex- 
 actly what that gentleman said to me. I thought 
 I was forgiven, but how can I be, for I feel I 
 have not forgiven Aunt Fortune/' 
 
 Laying aside her book, Ellen kneeled down ;; 
 but this one thought so pressed upon her mind 
 that she could think of scarce anything else; 
 and her prayer this morning was an urgent and 
 repeated petition that she might be enabled 
 "from her heart" to forgive her Aunt Fortune 
 " all her trespasses." Poor Ellen ! she felt it was 
 very hard work. At the very minute she was 
 striving to feel at peace with her aunt, one 
 grievance after another would start up to re- 
 membrance, and she knew the feelings that met 
 them were far enough from the spirit of for- 
 giveness. In the midst of this she was called 
 
246 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 down. She rose with tears in her eyes, and ' ■ What 
 shall I do ? " in her heart. Bowing her head once 
 more she earnestly prayed that if she could not yet 
 feel right towards her aunt, she might be kept 
 at least from acting or speaking wrong. Poor 
 Ellen ! In the heart is the spring of action ; 
 and she found it so this morning. 
 
 Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt were already at 
 the table. Ellen took her place in silence, for 
 one look at her aunt's face told her that no 
 " good-morning " would be accepted. Miss 
 Fortune was in a particularly bad humor, owing 
 among other things to Mr. Van Brunt's having 
 refused to eat his breakfast unless Ellen were 
 called. An unlucky piece of kindness. She 
 neither spoke to Ellen nor looked at her ; Mr. 
 Van Brunt did what in him lay to make amends. 
 He helped her very carefully to che cold pork 
 .and potatoes, and handed her the well-piled 
 platter of griddle-cakes. 
 
 " Here's the first buckwheats or the season," 
 said he, "and I told Miss Fortune I warn't 
 a-going to eat one on 'em if you didn't come 
 down to enjoy 'em along with us. Take two — 
 take two ! — you want'em to keep each other hot. " 
 
 Ellen's look and smile thanked him, as fol- 
 lowing his advice she covered one generous 
 "buckwheat " with another as ample. 
 
 " That's the thing ! Now, here's some prime 
 maple. You like 'em, I guess, don't you ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet — I have never seen any." 
 
 " Never seen buckwheats ! why, they're most 
 as good as my mother's splitters. Buckwheat cakes 
 and maple molasses — that's food fit for a king, I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 247 
 
 thtnk — when they're good ; and Miss Fortune's is 
 always first rate." 
 
 Miss Fortune did not relent at all at this com- 
 pliment. 
 
 " What makes you so white this morning ? " Mr. 
 Van Brunt presently went on ; — " you ain't well, 
 be you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, doubtfully,—" I'm well " 
 
 " She's as well as I am, Mr. Van Brunt, if you 
 don't go and put her up to any notions ! " Miss 
 Fortune said, in a kind of choked voice. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and said no more to the 
 end of breakfast-time. 
 
 Ellen rather dreaded what was to come next, for 
 her aunt's look was ominous. In dead silence the 
 things were put away, and put up, and in course of 
 washing and drying, when Miss Fortune suddenly 
 broke forth. 
 
 " What did you do with yourself yesterday after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 " I was up on the mountain," said Ellen. 
 
 " What mountain ? " 
 
 " I believe they call it the * Nose.' " 
 
 " What business had you up there ? " 
 
 " I hadn't any business there." 
 
 " What did you go there for ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! — you expect me to believe that ? you 
 call yourself a truth-teller, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Mamma used to say I was," said poor Ellen, 
 striving to swallow her feelings. 
 
 " Your mother ! — I dare say — mothers always are 
 blind. I dare say she took everything you said for 
 gospel ! " 
 
248 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen was silent, from sheer want of words that 
 were pointed enough to suit her. 
 
 " I wish Morgan could have had the gumption to 
 marry in his own country ; but he must go running 
 after a Scotchwoman ! A Yankee would have 
 brought up his child to be worth something. Give 
 me Yankees ! " 
 
 Ellen set down the cup she was wiping. 
 
 " You don't know anything about my mother,'* 
 she said. " You oughtn't to speak so — it's not 
 right." 
 
 " Why air 'tit right, I should like to know?" 
 said Miss Fortune ; — " this is a free country, I 
 guess. Our tongues ain't tied — we're all free here." 
 
 " I wish we were," muttered Ellen ; — " I know 
 what I'd do." 
 
 M What would you do ? " said Miss Fortune. 
 
 Ellen was silent. Her aunt repeated the ques- 
 tion in a sharper tone. 
 
 " I oughtn't to say what I was going to," said 
 Ellen ;— " I'd rather not." 
 
 " I don't care," said Miss Fortune, " you began, 
 and you shall finish it. I will hear what it was." 
 
 " I was going to say, if we were all free I would 
 run away." 
 
 " Well, that is a beautiful, well-behaved speech ! 
 I am glad to have heard it. I admire it very 
 much. Now, what were you doing yesterday up 
 on the Nose ? Please to go on wiping. There's a 
 pile ready for you. What were you doing yester- 
 day afternoon ? " 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
 " Were you alone or with somebody ? " 
 
 u I was alone part of the time." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 24.9 
 
 u And who were you with the rest of the time?" 
 
 " Miss Humphreys." 
 
 " Miss Humphreys ! — what were you doing, with 
 her?" 
 
 "Talking." 
 
 " Did you ever see her before ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 "Where did you find her?" 
 
 " She found me, up on the hill." 
 
 " What were you talking about ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " What were you talking about ? " repeated Miss 
 Fortune. 
 
 " I had rather not tell." 
 
 " And I had rather you should tell — so out with 
 it." 
 
 " I was alone with Miss Humphreys," said Ellen,. 
 " and it is no matter what we were talking about — 
 it doesn't concern anybody but her and me." 
 
 "Yes, it does, it concerns me," said her aunt, 
 " and I choose to know ; — what were you talking 
 about ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " Will you tell me ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, low but resolutely. 
 
 " I vow you're enough to try the patience of Job ! 
 Look here," said Miss Fortune, setting down what 
 she had in her hands, — " I will know ! I don't 
 care what it was, but you shall tell me or I'll find a, 
 way to make you. I'll give you such a " 
 
 " Stop J stop ! " said Ellen, wildly, — " you must 
 not speak to me so ! Mamma never did, and you 
 have no right to ! If mamma or oapa were here 
 you would not dare talk to me so." 
 
250 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 The answer to this was a sharp box on the eat 
 from Miss Fortune's wet hand. Half stunned, less 
 by the blow than the tumult of feeling it roused, 
 Ellen stood a moment, and then, throwing down 
 her towel, she ran out of the room, shivering with 
 passion, and brushing off the soapy water left on 
 lier face, as if it had been her aunt's very hand. 
 Violent tears burst forth as soon as she reached 
 her own room, — tears at first of anger and mortifi- 
 cation only ; but conscience presently began to 
 whisper, " You are wrong ! you are wrong ! — " and 
 tears of sorrow mingled with the others. 
 
 "Oh," said Ellen, "why couldn't I keep still ! — 
 when I resolved so this morning, why couldn't I be 
 quiet ! — But she ought not to have provoked me so 
 dreadfully, — I couldn't help it." " You are wrong," 
 said conscience again, and her tears flowed faster. 
 And then came back her morning trouble — the 
 duty and the difficulty of forgiving. Forgive her 
 Aunt Fortune ! — with her whole heart in a passion 
 of displeasure against her. Alas ! Ellen began to 
 feel and acknowledge that indeed all was wrong. 
 But what to do ? There was just one comfort, the 
 visit to Miss Humphreys in the afternoon. " She 
 will tell me," thought Ellen ; " she will help me. 
 But in the meanwhile ? " 
 
 Ellen had not much time to think; her aunt 
 called her down and set her to work. She was 
 very busy till dinner-time, and very unhappy ; but 
 twenty times in the course of the morning did 
 Ellen pause for a moment, and covering her face 
 with her hands pray that a heart to forgive might 
 be given her. 
 
 As soon as possible after dinner she made her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 251 
 
 escape to her room that she might prepare for her 
 walk. Conscience was not quite easy that she 
 was going without the knowledge of her aunt. 
 She had debated the question with herself, and 
 could not make up her mind to hazard losing her 
 visit. 
 
 So she dressed herself very carefully. One of 
 her dark merinoes was affectionately put on ; her 
 single pair of white stockings ; shoes, ruffle, cape, 
 — Ellen saw that all was faultlessly neat, just as 
 her mother used to have it ; and the nice blue 
 hood lay upon the bed ready to be put on the last 
 thing, when she heard her aunt's voice calling, 
 
 " Ellen ! — come down and do your ironing — 
 right away, now ! — the irons are hot." 
 
 For one moment Ellen stood still in dismay; 
 then slowly undressed, dressed again, and went 
 downstairs. 
 
 " Come ! you've been an age," said Miss Fortune ; 
 " now make haste ; there ain't but a handful ; and 
 I want to mop up." 
 
 Ellen took courage again ; ironed away with right 
 good will ; and as there Was really but a handful 
 of things, she had soon done, even to taking off 
 the ironing blanket and putting up the irons. In 
 the mean time she had changed her mind as to- 
 stealing off without leave 5 conscience was too strong 
 for her ; and though with a beating heart, she told 
 of Miss Humphreys' desire and her half engage- 
 ment. 
 
 " You may go where you like — I am sure I do 
 not care what you do with yourself," was Miss 
 Fortune's reply. 
 
 Full of delight at this ungracious permission. 
 
252 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen fled upstairs, and, dressing much quicker 
 than before, was soon on her way. 
 
 But, at first, she went rather sadly. In spite 
 of all her good resolves and wishes, everything 
 that day had gone wrong; and Ellen felt that 
 the root of the evil was in her own heart. Some 
 tears fell as she walked. Further from her 
 aunt's house, however, her spirits began to rise; 
 her foot fell lighter on the greensward. Hope 
 and expectation quickened her steps ; and when 
 at length she passed the little wood-path it was 
 almost on a run. Not very far beyond that her 
 glad eyes saw the house she was in quest of. 
 
 It was a large white house ; not very white, 
 either, for its last dress of paint had grown old 
 long ago. It stood close by the road, and the 
 trees of the wood seemed to throng it round on 
 every side. Ellen mounted the few steps that 
 led to the front door and knocked ; but as she 
 could only just reach the high knocker, she was 
 not likely to alarm anybody with the noise she 
 made. After a great many little faint raps, which 
 if anybody heard them might easily have been 
 mistaken for the attacks of some rat's teeth upon 
 the wainscot, Ellen grew weary of her fruitless 
 toil and of standing on tiptoe, and resolved, 
 though doubtfully, to go round the house and see 
 if there was any other way of getting in. Turn- 
 ing the far corner, she saw a long, low out-build- 
 ing or shed, jutting out from the side of the 
 house. On the further side of this Ellen found 
 an elderly woman, standing in front of the shed, 
 which was there open and paved, and wring- 
 ing some clothes out of a tub of water. She 
 was a pleasant woman to look at, very trim and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 253 
 
 tidy, and a good-humored eye and smile when she 
 saw Ellen. Ellen made up to her and asked for 
 Miss Humphreys. 
 
 " Why, where in the world did you come from ? " 
 said the woman. " I don't receive company at the 
 back of the house." 
 
 " I knocked at the front door till I was tired," 
 said Ellen, smiling in return. 
 
 " Miss Alice must ha' been asleep. Now, 
 honey, you have come so far round to find me, will 
 you go a little further and find Miss Alice ? Just 
 go round this corner and keep straight along till 
 you come to the glass door — there you'll find her. 
 Stop ! — maybe she's asleep ; I may as well go 
 along with you myself." 
 
 She wrung the water from her hands, and led 
 the way. 
 
 A little space of green grass stretched in front of 
 the shed, and Ellen found it extended all along 
 that side of the house like a very narrow lawn; 
 at the edge of it shot up the high forest trees; 
 nothing between them and the house but the 
 smooth grass and a narrow worn footpath. The 
 woods were now all brown stems, except here and 
 there a superb hemlock and some scattered silvery 
 birches. But the grass was still green, and the 
 last day of the Indian summer hung its soft veil 
 over all ; the foliage of the forest was hardly 
 missed. They passed another hall door, opposite 
 the one where Ellen had tried her strength and 
 patience upon the knocker ; a little further on they 
 paused at the glass door. One step led to it. 
 Ellen's conductress looked in first through one of 
 the panes, and then opening the door motioned 
 her to enter. 
 
254 THh WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Here you are, my new acquaintance," said 
 Alice, smiling and kissing her. " I began to think 
 something was the matter, you tarried so late. We 
 don't keep fashionable hours in the country, you 
 know. But I'm very glad to see you. Take off 
 your things and lay them on that settee by the 
 door. You see I've a settee for summer and a 
 sofa for winter ; for here I am, in this room, at all 
 times of the year ; and a very pleasant room I 
 think it, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I do, ma'am," said Ellen, pulling 
 off her last glove. 
 
 " Ah, but wait till you have taken tea with me 
 half a dozen times, and then see if you don't say 
 it is pleasant. Nothing can be so pleasant that is 
 quite new. But now come here and look out of 
 this window, or door, whichever you choose tc call 
 it. Do you see what a beautiful view I have here ? 
 The wood was just as thick all along as it is on 
 the right and left; I felt half smothered to be so 
 shut in ; so I got my brother and Thomas to take 
 axes and go to work there ; and many a large tree 
 they cut down for me, till you see they opened a 
 way through the woods for the view of that beauti- 
 ful stretch of country. I should grow melancholy 
 if I had that wall of trees pressing on my vision all 
 the time ; it always comforts me to look off, far 
 away, to those distant blue hills." 
 
 " Aren't those the hills I was looking at yester- 
 day ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " From up on the mountain ? — the very same ; 
 this is part of the very same view, and a noble 
 view it is. Every morning, Ellen, the sun rising 
 behind those hills shines in through this door and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 255 
 
 lights up my room ; and in winter he looks in at 
 that south window, so I have him all the time. To 
 be sure it I want to see him set I must take a walk 
 for it, but that isn't unpleasant ; and you know we 
 cannot have everything at once." 
 
 It was a very beautiful extent of woodland, 
 meadow, and hill that was seen picture-fashion 
 through the gap cut in the forest ; — the wall of 
 trees on each side serving as a frame to shut it in, 
 and the descent of the mountain, from almost the 
 edge of the lawn, being very rapid. The opening 
 had been skillfully cut ; the effect was remarkable 
 and very fine ; the light on the picture being often 
 quite different from that on the frame or on the 
 hither side of the frame. 
 
 " Now, Ellen," said Alice, turning from the win- 
 dow, " take a good look at my room. I want you 
 to know it and feel at home in it ; for whenever 
 you can run away from your aunt's this is your 
 home, — do you understand ? " 
 
 A smile was on each face. Ellen felt that she 
 was understanding it very fast. 
 
 " Here, next the door, you see, is my summer 
 settee ; and in summer it very often walks out of 
 doors to accommodate people on the grass-plat. I 
 have a great fancy for taking tea out of doors, 
 Ellen, in warm weather ; and if you do not mind a 
 mosquito or two, I shall be always happy to have 
 your company. That door opens into the hall ; 
 look out and see, for I want you to get the geog- 
 raphy of the house. — That odd-looking, lumbering, 
 painted concern is my cabinet of curiosities. I 
 tried my best to make the carpenter man at Thirl- 
 wall understand what sort of a thing I wanted, and 
 
356 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 did all but show him how to make it ; but, as the 
 Southerners say, ' he hasn't made it right nohow ! ' 
 There I keep my dried flowers, my minerals, and a 
 very odd collection of curious things of all sorts 
 that I am constantly picking up. I'll show you 
 them some day, Ellen. Have you a fancy for curi- 
 osities ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I believe so." 
 
 " Believe so ! — not more sure than that ? Are 
 you a lover of dead moths, and empty beetle-skins, 
 and butterflies' wings, and dry tufts of moss, and 
 curious stones, and pieces of ribbon-grass, and 
 strange birds' nests ? These are some of the things 
 I used to delight in when I was about as old as 
 you." 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," said Ellen. " I never 
 was where I could get them." 
 
 " Weren't you ? Poor child ! Then you have 
 been shut up to brick walls and paving stones all 
 your life ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, all my life." 
 
 " But now you have seen a little of the country, 
 — don't you think you shall like it better ? " 
 
 " Oh, a great deal better ! " 
 
 " Ah ! that's right. I am sure you will. On that 
 other side, you see, is my winter sofa. It's a very 
 comfortable resting-place, I can tell you, Ellen, as 
 I have proved by many a sweet nap ; and its old 
 chintz covers are very pleasant to me, for I remem- 
 ber them as far back as I remember anything." 
 
 There was a sigh here ; but Alice passed on and 
 opened a door near the end of the sofa. 
 
 " Look in here, Ellen ; this is my bedroom." 
 
 " Oh, how lovely ! " Ellen exclaimed. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 257 
 
 The carpet covered only the middle of the floor ; 
 the rest was painted white. The furniture was 
 common, but neat as wax. Ample curtains of 
 white dimity clothed the three windows and lightly 
 draped the bed. The toilet-table was covered with 
 snow-white muslin, and by the toilet-cushion stood, 
 late as it was, a glass of flowers. Ellen thought it 
 must be a pleasure to sleep there, 
 
 "This," said Alice, when they came out, — "be- 
 tween my door and the fireplace, is a cupboard. 
 Here be cups and saucers, and so forth. In fcfeat 
 other corner beyond the fireplace you see my 
 flower-stand. Do you love flowers, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I love them dearly, Miss Alice." 
 
 " I have some pretty ones out yet, and shall have 
 one or two in the winter ; but I can't keep a great 
 many here ; I haven't room for them. I have hard 
 work to save these from frost. There's a beautiful 
 Daphne that will be out by and by, and make the 
 whole house sweet. But, here, Ellen, on this side 
 between the windows, is my greatest treasure — my 
 precious books. All these are mine. — Now, my 
 dear, it is time to introduce you to my most excel- 
 lent of easy-chairs — the best things in the room, 
 aren't they? Put yourself in that — now, do you 
 feel at home ? " 
 
 " Very much indeed, ma'am," said Ellen, laugh- 
 ing, as Alice placed her in the deep easy-chair. 
 
 There were two things in the room that Alice 
 had not mentioned, and while she mended the fire 
 Ellen looked at them. One was the portrait of a 
 gentleman, grave and good-looking ; this had very 
 little of her attention. The other was a counter- 
 portrait of a lady; a fine, dignified countenance 
 
258 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 that had a charm for Ellen. It hung over the fire- 
 place in an excellent light ; and the mild eye and 
 somewhat of a peculiar expression about the mouth 
 bore such likeness to Alice, though older, that 
 Ellen had no doubt whose it was. 
 
 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, ma'am, — a great deal better," Ellen 
 answered. 
 
 " Then, I hope the reason is that you have re- 
 turned 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, ma'am, — 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, ma'am, 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 
 downstairs 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, ma'am." 
 
 " But how happens that, Ellen ? I am afraid yoi 
 don't like her." 
 
 " No, ma'am, I don't, to be sure ; how can I ? M 
 
 " Why cannot you, Ellen ? 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 259 
 
 " Oh, I can't, ma'am ! I wish I could. But, oh, 
 ma'am, 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 w/zkind to you, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, 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, ma'am, I am not," said Ellen, coldly and 
 sadly. She sat a moment, and then turning to her 
 companion put both arms around her neck, and hid 
 her face on her shoulder again ; and without rais- 
 ing 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, ma'am — I do not mean to say that 1 
 
2 Go THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 pa- 
 tience 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 to- 
 wards 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 in- 
 deed ; 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 some* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 26 1 
 
 thing 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 strug- 
 gles 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 yonrself 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 lictle 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 ca?i7iot lay up offenses 
 against itself." 
 
262 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " 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's 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 ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 263 
 
 "I don't know, ma'am, — at the same time we 
 always do, I believe." 
 
 " And that is twelve o'clock, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, 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, ma'am, — 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 housekeeping." 
 
 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. 
 
 w Why, yes, — I think it is. I have been in 
 many a parlor 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 
 
264 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 gathering the different things she wanted for her 
 work, — to Ellen's great amusement. A white 
 molding-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 con- 
 fidence 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, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 265 
 
 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 molding-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 gently tried 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. He is very particular and 
 delicate about his eating, is Captain Parry." 
 
 " 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 
 
266 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 five years, and when he was first given me 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 
 cosily seated at supper, poor Ellen hardly knew 
 herself in such a pleasant state of things. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The very sooth of it is, that an ill-habit has the force of an ill-fate. 
 
 L' Estrange. 
 
 " 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 sup- 
 per?" 
 
 " No," said Ellen, " it couldn't do that, but it's 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 267 
 
 bad enough though ; it's about my not going ta 
 school. Miss Alice, I promised myself I would 
 learn so much while mamma was away, and surprise 
 her when she came back, and instead of that I'm 
 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 study- 
 ing?'' 
 
 " 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 ques- 
 tions 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 color 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 ? " 
 
268 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am ; 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 tome," 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, ma'am, 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, ma'am, 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 269 
 
 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 pro- 
 nunciation 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 up on 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 grand- 
 mother of that Nancy Vawse ? " 
 
 " The very same. Pier 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 
 
270 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 mis- 
 tress 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 com- 
 mon 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, ma'am ; 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 con- 
 dition of the people ; what kind of climate they 
 have, and what grows there most freely ? " 
 
 "Why, no, ma'am," said Ellen; "nobody ever 
 taught me that." 
 
 " Would you like to go over the Atlas again, talk- 
 ing about all these matters, as well as the mere 
 outlines of the countries you have studied before ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, dearly ? " exclaimed Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 271 
 
 " 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 trot- 
 ting 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 honor 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 oa 
 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 
 
272 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 pleasant way she has of speaking. I like to heat 
 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 be- 
 fore 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 ifjwe 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 I " 
 
 " Yes ; is that what makes you look so aston- 
 ished?" 
 
 " 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, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 273 
 
 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 lead- 
 ing 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 southeast. 
 On the extreme edge, and at the lower end of it, 
 was fixed a rude bench, well sheltered by the tower- 
 ing 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 
 ivash every morning where I do." 
 
 " Why, where is that ? " 
 
 "Down at the spout." 
 
 " At the spout — what is that, pray ? " 
 
 " The spout of water, ma'am, just down a little 
 way from 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." 
 18 
 
274 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Have you no conveniences for washing in youl 
 
 room 
 
 " Not a sign of such a thing, ma'am. 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, ma'am; 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 it is rather uncom- 
 fortable, 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 dis- 
 agreeable 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 
 BO pitcher but a long wooden trough ? — Poor child 1 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 275 
 
 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 dress- 
 ing-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 trunk, 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. 
 
276 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " 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, 
 laughing. " 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 with- 
 out 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 Sav- 
 iour, 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, ma'am, — yes, ma'am," said Ellen, as she 
 lifted her lips to kiss her friend. Alice heartily re- 
 turned 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 277 
 
 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 fo to 
 church. " 
 
 Kisses and good-byes ; and then Ellen was run- 
 ning 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 a while to 
 gather breath ; then ran again. Running down 
 hill is a pretty quick way of traveling ; 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 with in the doing of it. 
 
 " If Aunt Fortune should be in a bad humor — 
 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 how- 
 ever she takes it, I shall have the comfort of know- 
 ing I have done right." " But," said conscience, 
 
278 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 " 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 steps 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-humored when 
 sheh^d 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 he" 
 " 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 every- 
 thing in its place and all straight and square about 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 279 
 
 the kitchen. When she was, as a last thing, brush 
 ing 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 sup^se, t&$ you would if she 
 had ? " 
 
 " I don't know, nid'am ; Miss Alice wouldn't 
 have asked me to do anything that wasn't right." 
 
 "Oh, no ! — of course not; — Miss Alice is apiece 
 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 dare say — 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* 
 andirons and throwing the tongs and shovel into the 
 corner in a way that made the iron ring again. 
 "One might as good be a stepmother 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 upstairs with her daughter. 
 
280 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 Fort- 
 une's pardon to-morrow." But conscience said, 
 "first be reconciled to thy brother." 
 
 Miss Fortune came downstairs presently. But 
 before Ellen could get any words out her aunt pre- 
 vented 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 281 
 
 " 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, ma'am," 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 neighbors. 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 some- 
 thing 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." 
 
■2&2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 color 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 for- 
 give me ? " 
 
 "Forgive you? yes, child; I don't care anything 
 about it." 
 
 " Then will you 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 disappoint- 
 ment ; 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 downstairs. 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 prom- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 283 
 
 ised 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 mean 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 know- 
 ing 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 know I behaved as I ought not to her yester- 
 day, and the day before, and other times." 
 
 " And what made you do that ? " said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. 
 
 " Tell him," said Miss Fortune, coloring, " that 
 you were in the wrong and I was in the right— then 
 he'll believe it, I suppose." 
 
284 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " 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 Fort- 
 une, 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, ma'am, I've heard 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 2S5 
 
 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 un- 
 broken ; 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. 
 
 Tranquilitie 
 esg 
 ever rise to any height at all . 
 
 So purely sate there, that waves great nor small 
 Dide 
 
 Chapman. 
 
 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- 
 
286 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 ex- 
 pected." 
 
 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 trav- 
 eled 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 2 6 7 
 
 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 trarrip. 
 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 maybe 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 Misa 
 Alice's basket." 
 
288 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Fortune," said Alice, smiling ;. 
 M 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 ex- 
 pedition 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 2S9 
 
 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 dull- 
 ness 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 when- 
 ever Alice attempted it, and trotted on most per- 
 severingly. As they neared the foot of the mount- 
 ain 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, that 
 same night after I got home, but it was very dis- 
 agreeable. 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 1 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's so hard to 
 prevent it ? " 
 
 " The only thing I know," said Alice, with a 
 19 
 
290 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 un- 
 lucky 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, ma'am." 
 
 " I hope you are not going to lay it up against 
 her?" 
 
 " No, ma'am, — I hope not." 
 
 " Take care, dear Ellen, don't take up the trade 
 of 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 291 
 
 Parry now showed signs of being decidedly weary, 
 and permitted Alice to take him up. But he pres- 
 ently 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 is not to be laughed at, 
 Ellen, I can tell you." 
 
 The travelers 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 walk- 
 ing, 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." 
 
292 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ** Do you like to see the leaves off the trees ? " 
 
 " Yes — in the time of it. There's a 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 forest, and our little river of ice. What pleas- 
 ant 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 daresay 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 j 
 so I thought I might as well be quiet." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 293 
 
 " By the time the cold weather comes, Ellen, the 
 {eaves 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 
 <lse." 
 
 "Shade is one of their uses, no doubt, and pret- 
 K iness, too ; He who made the trees made them 
 pleasant to the eyes' as well as 'good for food.' 
 jo we have an infinite variety of leaves; one shape 
 *T>uld have done the work: just as well for every 
 tind of tree, but then we should have lost a great 
 leal 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 can- 
 not 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 fin- 
 ishes them, and they drop off from the branch that 
 needs them no more. Do you understand all this? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, 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. 
 
294 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Then how is it with the evergreens, Miss Alice ? 
 Why don't their leaves dry and drop off, too ? " 
 
 " They do ; look how the ground is carpeted un- 
 der 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 sup- 
 ply 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 295 
 
 an effort she came up alongside of Alice — " I 
 wonder why Mrs. Vawse will live in such a disgree- 
 able 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 likd 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 in- 
 mate 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. 
 
296 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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, kiss- 
 ing 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 win- 
 ning 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 297 
 
 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, 
 1 1 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 
 
jgS THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 
 
 eem 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 cour- 
 age 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 tram- 
 mels hanging upon it showed that the bedroom and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 299 
 
 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 clear 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 chim- 
 ney 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 a 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 
 dear 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 ac- 
 quaintance. Her dress was very odd, Ellen thought. 
 
300 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 for- 
 gotten 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. 
 
 " Little Miss Ellen, how do you like my house 
 on the rock here ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am/' said Ellen ; " I like it 
 very much, only I don't think I should like it so 
 well in winter." 
 
 " I am not certain that I don't like it then best 
 of all. Why would you not like it in winter ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't like the cold, ma'am, and to be 
 alone." 
 
 " I like to be alone, but cold ? I am in no dan* 
 ger of freezing, Miss Ellen. I make myself very 
 warm — keep good fires, — and my house is too 
 Strong for the wind to blow it away. Don't you 
 want to go out and see my cow ? I have one of 
 the best cows that ever you saw ; her name is Snow ; 
 there is not a black hair upon her; she is all 
 white. Come, Miss Alice; Mr. Marshman sent 
 her to me a month ago ; she's a great treasure and 
 worth looking at." 
 
 They went across the yard to the tiny barn o* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 301 
 
 outhouse, where they found Snow nicely cared for. 
 She was in a warm stable, a nice bedding of straw 
 upon the floor, and plenty of hay laid up for her. 
 Snow deserved it, for she was a beauty and a very 
 well-behaved cow, letting Alice and Ellen stroke 
 her and pat her and feel of her thick hide, with the 
 most perfect placidity. Mrs. Vawse meanwhile 
 went to the door to look out. 
 
 " Nancy ought to be home to milk her," she said ; 
 " I must give you supper and send you off. I've 
 no feeling nor smell if snow isn't thick in the air 
 somewhere ; we shall see it here soon." 
 
 " I'll milk her," said Alice. 
 
 "I'll milk her!" said Ellen; "I'll milk her! 
 Ah ! do let me ; I know how to milk ; Mr. Van 
 Brunt taught me, and I have done it several times- 
 May I ? I should like it dearly." 
 
 " You shall do it surely, my child," said Mrs. 
 Vawse. " Come with me and I'll give you the pail 
 and the milking stool." 
 
 When Alice and Ellen came in with the milk 
 they found the kettle on, the little table set, and 
 Mrs. Vawse very busy at another table. 
 
 " What are you doing, Mrs. Vawse, may I ask ? " 
 said Alice. 
 
 " I'm just stirring up some Indian meal for you ; 
 I find I have not but a crust left." 
 
 " Please to put that away, ma'am, for another 
 time. Do you think I didn't know better than to 
 come up to this mountain-top without bringing 
 along something to live upon while I am here ? 
 Here's a basket, ma'am, and in it are divers things ; 
 I believe Margery and I between us have packed 
 up enough for two or three suppers ; to say nothing 
 
302 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 of Miss Fortune's pie. There it is — sure to be 
 good, you know ; and here are some of my cakes 
 that you like so much, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, as 
 she went on pulling the things out of the basket, — 
 " there is a bowl of butter — that's not wanted, I see 
 — and here is a loaf of bread ; and that's all. Ellen, 
 my dear, this basket will be lighter to carry down 
 than it was to bring up." 
 
 " I am glad of it, I am sure," said Ellen : "my 
 arm hasn't done aching yet, though I had it so little 
 while." 
 
 " Ah, I am glad to hear that kettle singing," said 
 their hostess. " I can give you good tea, Miss 
 Alice ; you'll think so, I know, for it's the same Mr. 
 John sent me. It is very fine tea ; and he sent 
 me a noble supply, like himself," continued Mrs. 
 Vawse, taking some out of her little caddy. "I 
 ought not to say I have no friends left ; I cannot 
 eat a meal that I am not reminded of two good 
 ones. Mr. John knew one of my weak points when 
 he sent me that box of Souchong." 
 
 The supper was ready, and the little party 
 gathered round the table. The tea did credit to 
 the judgment of the giver and the skill of the 
 maKer, but they were no critics that drank it. 
 Alice and Ellen were much too hungry and too 
 happy to be particular. Miss Fortune's pumpkin 
 pie was declared to be very fine, and so were Mrs. 
 Vawse's cheese and butter. Eating and talking 
 went on with great spirit, their old friend seeming 
 scarce less pleased or less lively than themselves. 
 Alice proposed the French plan, and Mrs. Vawse 
 entered into it very frankly ; it was easy to see that 
 the stvle of building and of dress to which she had 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 30$ 
 
 been accustomed in early life were not the only 
 things remembered kindly for old times' sake. It 
 was settled they should meet as frequently as might 
 be, either here or at the parsonage, and become 
 good Frenchwomen with all convenient speed. 
 
 " Will you wish to walk so far to see me again, 
 little Miss Ellen ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am ! " 
 
 " You won't fear the deep snow, and the wind 
 and cold, and the steep hill ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, I won't mind them a bit ; but, 
 ma'am, Miss Alice told me to ask you why you 
 loved better to live up here than down where it is 
 warmer. I shouldn't ask if she hadn't said I 
 might." 
 
 " Ellen has a great fancy forgetting at the reason 
 of everything, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, smiling. 
 
 " You wonder anybody should choose it, don't 
 you, Miss Ellen ? " said the old lady. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, a little." 
 
 " I'll tell you the reason, my child. It is for the 
 love of my old home and the memory of my young 
 days. Till I was as old as you are and a little 
 older I lived among the mountains and upon them ; 
 and after that, for many a year, they were just 
 before my eyes every day, stretching away for more 
 than one hundred miles, and piled up one above 
 another, fifty times as big as any you ever saw ; 
 these are only molehills to them. I loved them — 
 oh, how I love them still ! If I have one unsatisfied 
 wish," said the old lady, turning to Alice, " it is to 
 see my Alps again ; but that will never be. Now, 
 Miss Ellen, it is not that I fancy when I get to the 
 top of this hill that I am among my own mountains, 
 
304 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 but I can breathe better here than down in the 
 plain. I feel more free ; and in the village I 
 would not live for gold, unless that duty bade 
 me." 
 
 " But all alone so far from everybody," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " I am never lonely ; and old as I am I don't 
 mind a long walk or a rough road any more than 
 your young feet do." 
 
 " But isn't it very cold ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, it is very cold ; — what of that ? I make a 
 good blazing fire, and then I like to hear the wind 
 whistle." 
 
 " Yes, but you wouldn't like to have it whistling 
 inside as well as out," said Alice. " I will come 
 and do the listening and caulking for you in a day 
 or two. Oh, you have it done without me ? I am 
 sorry." 
 
 " No need to be sorry, dear — I am glad ; you 
 don't look fit for any troublesome jobs." 
 
 " I am fit enough," said Alice. " Don't put up 
 the curtains ; I'll come and do it." 
 
 " You must come with a stronger face, then," 
 said her old friend ; " have you wearied yourself 
 with walking all this way ? " 
 
 " I was a little weary," said Alice, "but your nice 
 tea has made me up again." 
 
 " I wish I could keep you all night," said Mrs, 
 Vawse, looking out, " but your father would be un- 
 easy. I am afraid the storm will catch you before 
 you get home ; and you aren't fit to breast it. 
 Little Ellen, too, don't look as if she was made of 
 iron. Can't you stay with me ? " 
 
 " I must not- -it wouldn'* do," said Alice, who 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 305 
 
 was hastily putting on her things ; " we'll soon run 
 down the hill. But we are leaving you alone ; — 
 where's Nancy ?" 
 
 " She'll not come if there's a promise of a storm/' 
 said Mrs. Vawse ; " she often stays out a night." 
 
 " And leaves you alone ! " 
 
 " I am never alone," said the old lady, quietly ; 
 " I have nothing to fear ; but I am uneasy about 
 you, dear. Mind my words ; don't try to go back 
 the way you came ; take the other road ; it's easier ; 
 and stop when you get to Mrs. Van Brunt's ; Mr. 
 Van Brunt will take you the rest of the way in his 
 little wagon." 
 
 " Do you think it is needful ? " said Alice, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " I am sure it is best. Hasten down. Adieu, 
 mon enfant." 
 
 They kissed and embraced her and hurried 
 out. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough ; 
 The shortening winter day is near a close. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 The clouds hung thick and low ; the wind was 
 less than it had been. They took the path Mrs. 
 Vawse had spoken of ; it was broader and easier 
 than the other, winding more gently down the 
 mountain ; it was sometimes, indeed, traveled by 
 horses, though far too steep for any kind of carriage. 
 Alice and Ellen ran along without giving much 
 heed to anything but their footing, — down, down, 
 — running and bounding, hand in hand, till want of 
 breath obliged them to slacken their pace. 
 20 
 
300 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Do you think it will snow ? — soon ? " asked Ellea 
 
 " I think it will snow, — how soon I cannot tell. 
 Have you had a pleasant afternoon ? " 
 
 " Oh, very ! " 
 
 " I always have when I go there. Now, Ellen, 
 there is an example of contentment for you. If ever 
 a women loved husband and children and friends, 
 Mrs. Vawse loved hers : I know this from those who 
 knew her long ago ; and now look at her. Of them 
 all she has none left but the orphan daughter of her 
 youngest son, and you know a little what sort of a 
 child that is." 
 
 " She must be a very bad girl," said Ellen ; " you 
 can't think what stories she told me about her 
 grandmother." 
 
 " Poor Nancy ! " said Alice. " Mrs. Vawse has 
 no money nor property of any kind, except what is 
 in her house ; but there is not a more independent 
 woman breathing. She does all sorts of things to 
 support herself. Now, for instance, Ellen, if any- 
 body is sick within ten miles round, the family are 
 too happy to get Mrs. Vawse for a nurse. She is 
 an admirable one. Then she goes out tailoring at 
 the farmer's houses; she brings home wool and 
 returns it spun into yarn ; she brings home yarn 
 and knits it up into stockings and socks ; all sorts of 
 odd jobs. I have seen her picking hops ; she isn't 
 above doing anything, and yet she never forgets her 
 own dignity. I think wherever she goes and what- 
 ever she is about, she is at all times one of the 
 most truly ladylike persons I have ever seen. And 
 everybody respects her ; everybody likes to gain 
 her good-will ; she is known all over the country ; 
 and all the country are her friends." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 307 
 
 " They pay for her doing these things, don't 
 they?" 
 
 " Certainly ; not often in money , more com- 
 monly in various kinds of matters that she wants, — ■ 
 flour, and sugar, and Indian meal, and pork, and 
 ham, and vegetables, and wool, — anything ; it is 
 but a little of each that she wants. She has friends 
 that would not permit her to earn another sixpence 
 if they could help it, but she likes better to live as 
 she does. And she is always as you saw her to 
 day — cheerful and happy, as a little girl." 
 
 Ellen was turning over Alice's last words, and 
 thinking that little girls were not always the cheer- 
 fullest and happiest creatures in the world, when 
 Alice suddenly exclaimed, " It is snowing ! Come, 
 Ellen, we must make haste now ! " — and set off at 
 a quickened pace. Quick as they might, they had 
 gone not a hundred yards when the whole air was 
 rilled with the falling flakes, and the wind, which 
 had lulled for a little, now rose with greater vio- 
 lence and swept round the mountain furiously. 
 The storm had come in good earnest, and promised 
 to be no trifling one. Alice and Ellen ran on, hold- 
 ing each other's hands and strengthening them- 
 selves against the blast, but their journey became 
 every moment more difficult. The air was dark 
 with the thick-falling snow \ the wind seemed to 
 blow in every direction by turns, but chiefly against 
 them, blinding their eyes with the snow and mak- 
 ing it necessary to use no small effort to keep on 
 their way. Ellen hardly knew where she went, but 
 allowed herself to be pulled along by Alice, or as 
 well pulled her along ; it was hard to say which 
 hurried most. In the midst of this dashing on 
 
308 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 down the hill Alice all at once came to a sudden 
 stop. 
 
 " Where's the Captain ? " said she. 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, — " I haven't thought 
 of him since we left Mrs. Vawse's." 
 
 Alice turned her back to the wind and looked up 
 the road they had come, — there was nothing but 
 wind and snow there ; how furiously it blew ! 
 Alice called, " Pussy ! " 
 
 " Shall we walk up the road a little way, or shall 
 we stand and wait for him here?" said Ellen, 
 trembling half from exertion and half from a vague 
 fear of she knew not what. 
 
 Alice called again ; — no answer, but a wild gust 
 of wind and snow that again drove past. 
 
 " I can't go on and leave him," said Alice; " he 
 might perish in the storm." And she began to 
 walk slowly back, calling at intervals, " Pussy ! — 
 kitty ! — pussy ! " — and listening for an answer that 
 came not. Ellen was very unwilling to tarry, and 
 nowise inclined to prolong their journey by going 
 backwards. She thought the storm grew darker 
 and wilder every moment. 
 
 " Perhaps Captain stayed up at Mrs. Vawse's," 
 she said, " and didn't follow us down." 
 
 " No," said Alice, — " I am sure he did. Hark ! — 
 wasn't that he ? " 
 
 " I don't hear anything," said Ellen, after a 
 pause of anxious listening. 
 
 Alice went a few steps further'. 
 
 " I hear him ! " she said •, — " I hear him ! poor 
 kitty ! " — and she set off at a quick pace up the 
 hill. Ellen followed, but presently a burst of wind 
 and snow brought them both to a stand. Alice 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 309 
 
 faltered a little at this, in doubt whether to go up 
 or down ; but then to their great joy Captain's 
 far-off cry was heard, and both Alice and Ellen 
 strained their voices to cheer and direct him. In 
 a few minutes he came in sight, trotting hurriedly 
 along through the snow, and on reaching his mis- 
 tress he sat down immediately on the ground with- 
 out offering any caress ; a sure sign that he was 
 tired. Alice stooped down and took him up in 
 her arms. 
 
 " Poor kitty ! " she said, " you've done your part 
 for to-day, I think ; I'll do the rest. Ellen dear, 
 it's of no use to tire ourselves out at once ; we will 
 go moderately. Keep hold of my cloak, my child ; 
 it takes both of my arms to hold this big cat- 
 Now, never mind the snow; we can bear being 
 blown about a little ; are you very tired ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, — " not very ; — I am a little 
 tired ; but I don't care for that if we can only get 
 home safe." 
 
 "There's no difficulty about that, I hope. Nay, 
 there may be some difficulty, but we shall get there, 
 I think, in good safety after a while. I wish we 
 were there now, for your sake, my child." 
 
 •"Oh, never mind me," said Ellen, gratefully; 
 " I am sorry for you, Miss Alice ; you have the 
 hardest time of it with that heavy load to carry ; I 
 wish I could help you." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, but nobody couJd do 
 that; I doubt if Captain would lie in any arms but 
 mine." 
 
 " Let me carry the basket, then," said Ellen, — 
 w do, Miss Alice." 
 
 " No, my dear, it hangs very well on my arm. 
 
^io THE Wi^E, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Take it gently ; Mrs. Van Brunt's isn't very far off ; 
 we shall feel the wind less when we turn." 
 
 But the road seemed long. The storm did not 
 increase in violence, truly there was no need of 
 that, but the looked-for turning was not soon 
 found, and the gathering darkness warned them 
 day was drawing towards a close. As they neared 
 the bottom of the hill Alice made a pause. 
 
 " There's a path that turns off from this and 
 makes a shorter cut to Mrs. Van Brunt's, but it 
 must be above here : I must have missed it, though 
 I have been on the watch constantly." 
 
 She looked up and down. It would have been a 
 sharp eye indeed that had detected any slight open- 
 ing in the woods on either side of the path, which 
 the driving snow-storm blended into one continuous 
 wall of trees. They could be seen stretching darkly 
 before and behind them ; but more than that, — 
 where they stood near together and where scattered 
 apart, — was all confusion, through that fast-falling 
 shower of flakes. 
 
 " Shall we go back and look for the path ? " said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " I am afraid we shouldn't find it if we did," 
 said Alice ; " we should only lose our time, and we 
 'have none to lose. I think we had better go straight 
 forward." 
 
 " Is it much further this way than the other path 
 •we have missed ? " 
 
 " A good deal — all of half-a-mile. I am sorry ; 
 but courage, my child ! we shall know better than 
 to go out in snowy weather next time, — on long ex- 
 peditions at least." 
 
 They had to shout to make each other hear, so 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 311 
 
 drove the snow and wind through the trees and into 
 their very faces and ears. They plodded on. It 
 was plodding ; the snow lay thick enough now to 
 make their footing uneasy, and grew deeper every 
 moment ; their shoes were full ; their feet and 
 ankles were wet ; and their steps began to drag 
 heavily over the ground. Ellen clung as close to 
 Alice's cloak as their hurried traveling would per- 
 mit ; sometimes one of Alice's hands was loosened 
 for a moment to be passed round Ellen's shoulders, 
 and a word of courage or comfort in the clear, calm 
 tone cheered her to renewed exertion. The night 
 fell fast ; it was very darkling by the time they 
 reached the bottom of the hill, and the road did not 
 yet allow them to turn their faces towards Mrs. Van 
 Brunt's. A wearisome piece of the way this was,, 
 leading them from the place they wished to reach. 
 They could not go fast either ; they were too weary 
 and the walking too heavy. Captain had the best 
 of it ; snug and quiet he lay wrapped in Alice's. 
 cloak and fast asleep, little wotting how tired his 
 mistress's arms were. 
 
 The path at length brought them to the long de- 
 sired turning ; but it was by this time so dark that 
 the fences on each side of the road showed but 
 dimly. They had not spoken for a while ; as they 
 turned the corner a sigh of mingled weariness and 
 satisfaction escaped from Ellen's lips. It reached 
 Alice's ear. 
 
 " What's the matter, love ? " said the sweet 
 voice. No trace of weariness was allowed to come 
 into it. 
 
 " I am so glad we have got here at last," said 
 Ellen, looking up with another sigh, and removing 
 
312 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her hand for an instant from its grasp on the cloak 
 to Alice's arm. 
 
 " My poor child ! I wish I could carry you too. 
 Can you hold on a little longer ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear Miss Alice ; I can hold on." 
 
 But Ellen's voice was not so well guarded. It 
 was like her steps, a little unsteady. She presently 
 spoke again. 
 
 " Miss Alice are you afraid?" 
 
 " I am afraid of your getting sick, my child, and 
 a little afraid of it for myself; — of nothing else. 
 What is there to be afraid of? " 
 
 " It is very dark," said Ellen ; " and the storm 
 is so thick, — do you think you can find the way ? " 
 
 " I know it perfectly ; it is nothing but to keep 
 straight on ; and the fences would prevent us from 
 getting out of the road. It is hard walking, I know, 
 but we shall get there by and by; bear up as welt 
 as you can, dear. I am sorry I can give you no 
 help but words. Don't you think a nice bright fire 
 will look comfortable after all this ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes ! " answered Ellen, rather sadly. 
 
 " Are you afraid, Ellen ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Alice — not much — I don't like its 
 being so dark, I can't see where I am going." 
 
 " The darkness makes our way longer and more 
 tedious ; it will do us no other harm, love. I wish 
 I had a hand to give you, but this great cat must 
 have both of mine. The darkness and the light are 
 both alike to our Father ; we are in His hand ; we 
 are safe enough, dear Ellen." 
 
 Ellen's hand left the cloak again for an instant 
 to press Alice's arm in answer ; voice failed at the 
 minute. Then clinQ-ins; anew as close to her side 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 313 
 
 as she could get, they toiled patiently on. The 
 wind had somewhat lessened of its violence, and 
 besides it blew not now in their faces, but against 
 their backs, helping them on. Still the snow con- 
 tinued to fall very fast, and already lay thick upon 
 the ground ; every half-hour increased the heavi- 
 ness and painfulness of their march ; and darkness 
 gathered till the very fences could no longer be 
 seen. It was pitch dark ; to hold the middle of 
 the road was impossible ; their only way was to 
 keep along by one of the fences ; and for feaa: of 
 hurting themselves against some outstanding post 
 or stone it was necessary to travel quite gently. 
 They were indeed in no condition to travel other- 
 wise if light had not been wanting. Slowly and 
 patiently, with painful care groping their way, they 
 pushed on through the snow and the thick night. 
 Alice could feel the earnestness of Ellen's grasp 
 upon her clothes ; and her close pressing up to her 
 made their progress still slower and more difficult 
 than it would otherwise have been. 
 
 " Miss Alice," said Ellen. 
 
 " What, my child ? " 
 
 " I wish you would speak to me once in a while."' 
 
 Alice freed one of her hands and took hold of 
 Ellen's. 
 
 " I have been so busy picking my way along, I 
 have neglected you, haven't I ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am. But I like to hear the sound 
 of your voice sometimes, it makes me feel better." 
 
 " This is an odd kind of traveling, isn't it ? " 
 said Alice, cheerfully ; — " in the dark, and feeling 
 our way along ? This will be quite an adventure 
 to talk about, won't it ? " 
 
3*4 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Quite," said Ellen. 
 
 " It is easier going this way, don't you find it 
 so? The wind helps us forward." 
 
 " It helps me too much," said Ellen ; " I wish it 
 wouldn't be quite so very hard. Why, Miss Alice, 
 I have enough to do to hold myself together some- 
 times. It almost makes me run, though I am so 
 very tired." 
 
 " Well, it is better than having it in our faces at 
 any rate. Tired you are, I know, and must be. We 
 shall want to rest all day to-morrow, sha'n't we ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! " said Ellen, sighing ; " I 
 shall be glad when we begin. How long do you 
 think it will be, Miss Alice, before we get to Mrs. 
 Van Brunt's ? " 
 
 " My dear child, I cannot tell you. I have not 
 the least notion whereabouts we are. I can see no 
 waymarks, and I cannot judge at all of the rate at 
 which we have come." 
 
 " But what if we should have passed it in this 
 darkness ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " No, I don't think that," said Alice, though a 
 •cold doubt struck her mind at Ellen's words ; — " I 
 think we shall see the glimmer of Mrs. Van Brunt's 
 friendly candle by and by." 
 
 But more uneasily and more keenly now she 
 strove to see that glimmer through the darkness ,- 
 strove till the darkness seemed to press painfully 
 upon her eyeballs, and she almost doubted her 
 being able to see any light, if light there were ; it 
 was all blank, thick darkness still. She began to 
 question anxiously with herself which side of the 
 house was Mrs. Van Brunt's ordinary sitting-room ; 
 - — whether she should see the light from it before 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 315, 
 
 or after passing the house ; and now her glance 
 was directed often behind her, that they might be 
 sure in any case of not missing their desired haven. 
 In vain she looked forward or back; it was alt- 
 one •, no cheering glimmer of lamp or candle greeted 
 her straining eyes. Hurriedly now from time to 
 time the comforting words were spoken to Ellen, 
 for to pursue the long stretch of way that led on- 
 ward from Mrs. Van Brunt's to Miss Fortune's 
 would be a very serious matter ; Alice wanted 
 comfort herself. 
 
 " Shall we get there soon, do you think, Miss, 
 Alice ? " said poor Ellen, whose weaned feet 
 carried her painfully over the deepening snow. The- 
 tone of voice went to Alice's heart. 
 
 " I don't know, my darling, — I hope so," she an- 
 swered, but it was spoken rather patiently than 
 cheerfully. " Fear nothing, dear Ellen ; remember 
 who has the care of us ; darkness and light are- 
 both alike to Him , nothing will do us any real 
 harm." 
 
 " How tired you must be, dear Miss Alice, carry- 
 ing pussy ! " Ellen said, with a sigh. 
 
 For the first time Alice echoed the sigh ; but al- 
 most immediately Ellen exclaimed in a totally dif- 
 ferent tone, " There's a light ! — but it isn't a 
 candle — it is moving about ; — what is it ? — what is it r 
 Miss Alice?" 
 
 They stopped and looked. A light there cer- 
 tainly was, dimly seen, moving at some little dis- 
 tance from the fence on the opposite side of the 
 road. All of a sudden it disappeared. 
 
 " What is it ? " whispered Ellen, fearfully. 
 
 " I don't know, my love, yet 5 wait " 
 
316 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 They waited several minutes, 
 
 " What could it be?" said Ellen. "It was cer- 
 tainly a light, — I saw it as plainly as ever I saw 
 anything , — what can it have done with itself ? — « 
 there it is again ! — going the other way ! " 
 
 Alice waited no longer, but screamed out, " Who's 
 there ? " 
 
 But the light paid no attention to her cry ; it 
 traveled on. 
 
 " Halloo ! " called Alice again as loud as she could. 
 
 " Halloo ! " answered a rough, deep voice. The 
 light suddenly stopped. 
 
 " That's he ! that's he ! " exclaimed Ellen, in an 
 ecstasy and almost dancing, — " I know it, — it's Mr. 
 Van Brunt ! it's Mr. Van Brunt ! — oh, Miss 
 Alice ! " 
 
 Struggling between crying and laughing, Ellen 
 could not stand it, but gave way to a good fit of 
 crying. Alice felt the infection, but controlled her- 
 self, though her eyes watered as her heart sent up 
 Its grateful tribute ; as well as she could she an- 
 swered the halloo. 
 
 The light was seen advancing towards them. 
 Presently it glimmered faintly behind the fence, 
 showing a bit of the dark rails covered with snow, 
 and they could dimly see the figure of a man get- 
 ting over them. He crossed the road to where 
 they stood. It was Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Mr. Van Brunt," 
 said Alice's sweet voice ; but it trembled a little. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Van Brunt ! " sobbed Ellen. 
 
 That gentleman, at first dumb with astonishment, 
 lifted his lantern to survey them, and assure his 
 eyes that his ears had not been mistaken. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 317 
 
 " Miss Alice ! — My goodness alive ! — How in the 
 name of wonder ! — And my poor little lamb ! — But 
 what on 'arth, ma'am ! you must be half dead. Come 
 this way, — just back a little bit, — why, where were 
 you going, ma'am ? " 
 
 " To your house, Mr. Van Brunt ; I have been 
 looking for it with no little anxiety, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " Looking for it ! Why, how on 'arth ! you 
 wouldn't see the biggest house ever was built half 
 a yard off such a plaguy night as this." 
 
 " I thought I should see the light from the 
 windows, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 " The light from the windows ! Bless my soul ! 
 the storm rattled so again the windows that mother 
 made me pull the great shutters to. I won't have 
 'em shut again of a stormy night, that's a fact; 
 you'd ha' gone far enough afore you'd ha' seen the 
 light through them shutters." 
 
 " Then we had passed the house already, hadn't 
 we?" 
 
 " Indeed had you, ma'am. I guess you saw my 
 light, ha'n't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, and glad enough we were to see it too." 
 
 " I suppose so. It happened so to-night — now 
 that is a queer thing — I minded that I hadn't un- 
 tied my horse ; he's a trick of being untied at 
 night and won't sleep well if he ain't •, and mother 
 wanted me to let him alone 'cause of the awful 
 storm, but I couldn't go to my bed in peace, till I 
 had seen him to his'n. So that's how my lantern 
 came to be going to the barn in such an awk'ard 
 night as this." 
 
 They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van 
 
318 . THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Brunt with some difficulty pulled it open. The 
 snow lay thick upon the neat brick walk which 
 Ellen had trod the first time with wet feet and drip- 
 ping garments. A few steps further and they came 
 to the same door that had opened then so hospi- 
 tably to receive her. As the faint light of the 
 lantern was thrown upon the old latch and door- 
 posts, Ellen felt at home ; and a sense of comfort 
 sank down into her heart, which she had not known 
 for some time. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 True is, that whilome that good poet said, 
 The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne: 
 For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed 
 As by his manners, in which plaine is showne 
 Of what degree and what race he is growne. 
 
 Fairik Queenb. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt flung open the door, and the 
 two wet and weary travelers stepped after him into 
 the same cheerful, comfortable-looking kitchen 
 that had received Ellen once before. Just the same ; 
 tidy, clean swept up, a good fire, and the same old 
 red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth in 
 most cozy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect 
 storehouse of comfort ; the very walls had a kind 
 face for her. There were no other faces however ; 
 the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt put 
 Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, 
 " Mother ! — here ! " muttering that she had taken 
 herself off with the light somewhere. Not very far ; 
 for in half a minute, answering the call, Mrs. Van 
 Brunt and the light came hurriedly in. 
 
 " What's the matter, 'Brahm ? — who's this ? — why, 
 'tain't Miss Alice ! My gracious me ! — and all wet ! 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 319 
 
 — oh, dear, dear ! poor lamb ! Why, Miss Alice 
 dear, where have you been ? — and if that ain't my 
 little Ellen ! oh dear, what a fix you are in ; — well, 
 darling, I'm glad to see you again a'most anyway." 
 
 She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this ; 
 but surprise was not more quickly alive than kind- 
 ness and hospitality. She fell to work immediately 
 to remove Alice's wet things, and to do whatever 
 their joint prudence and experience might suggest 
 to ward off any ill effects from the fatigue and ex- 
 posure the wanderers had suffered ; and while she 
 was thus employed Mr. Van Brunt busied himself 
 with Ellen, who was really in no condition to help 
 herself. It was curious to see him carefully tak- 
 ing off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one) and 
 knocking it gently to get rid of the snow ; evidently- 
 thinking that ladies' things must have delicate 
 handling. He tried the cloak next, but boggled 
 sadly at the fastening of that, and at last was fain 
 to call in help. 
 
 " Here, Nancy ! — where are you ? step here and 
 see if you can undo this here thing, whatever you 
 call it ; I believe my fingers are too big for it." 
 
 It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came 
 forward in obedience to this call. Ellen had not 
 seen before that she was in the room. Nancy 
 grinned a mischievous smile of recognition as she 
 stooped to Ellen's throat and undid the fastening 
 of the cloak, and then shortly enough bade her 
 " get up, that she might take it off ! " Ellen 
 obeyed, but was very glad to sit down again. 
 While Nancy went to the door to shake the cloak 
 Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet 
 gloves, and on Nancy's return he directed her to 
 
32 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 take off the shoes, which were filled with snow. 
 Nancy sat down on the flflor before Ellen to obey 
 this order ; and tired and exhausted as she was, 
 Ellen felt the different manner in which her hands 
 and feet were waited upon. 
 
 " How did you get into this scrape ? " said Nancy ; 
 " this was none of my doings anyhow. It'll never be 
 dry weather, Ellen, where you are. I won't put 
 on my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes when I go 
 a-walking with you. You had ought to ha' been a 
 duck or a goose, or something like that. — What's 
 that for, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 This last query, pretty sharply spoken, was in 
 answer to a light touch of that gentleman's hand 
 upon Miss Nancy's ear, which came rather as a 
 surprise. He deigned no reply. 
 
 " You're a fine gentleman ! " said Nancy, tartly. 
 
 " Have you done what I gave you to do ? " said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, coolly. 
 
 " Yes — there ! " said Nancy, holding up Ellen's 
 bare feet on one hand, while the fingers of the 
 other secretly applied in ticklish fashion to the 
 soles of them caused Ellen suddenly to start and 
 scream. 
 
 " Get up ! " said Mr. Van Brunt ; Nancy didn't 
 think best to disobey ; — " Mother, ha'n't you got 
 nothing you want Nancy to do ? " 
 
 " Sally," said Mrs. Van Brunt, " you and Nancy 
 go and fetch here a couple of pails of hot water, — 
 right away." 
 
 " Go, and mind what you are about," said Mr, 
 Van Brunt ; " and after that keep out of this room 
 and don't whisper again till I give you leave. 
 Now, Miss Ellen dear, how do you feel ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 32 1 
 
 Ellen said in words that she felt " nicely." But 
 the eyes and the smile said a great deal more ; 
 Ellen's heart was running over. 
 
 " Oh, she'll feel nicely directly, I'll be bound," 
 said Mrs. Van Brunt ■ " wait till she gets her feet 
 soaked, and then ! " 
 
 "I do feel nicely now," said Ellen. And Alice 
 smiled in answer to their inquiries, and said if she 
 only knew her father was easy there would be noth- 
 ing wanting to her happiness. 
 
 The bathing of their feet was a great refreshment, 
 and their kind hostess had got ready a plentiful 
 supply of hot herb tea, with which both Alice and 
 Ellen were well dosed. While they sat sipping this, 
 toasting their feet before the fire, Mrs. Van Brunt 
 and the girls meanwhile preparing their room, Mr. 
 Van Brunt suddenly entered. He was cloaked and 
 hatted and had a riding-whip in his hand. 
 
 " Is there any word you'd like to get home, Miss 
 Alice ? I'm going to ride a good piece that way, 
 and I can stop as good as not." 
 
 " To-night, Mr. Van Brunt ! " exclaimed Alice, 
 in astonishment. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt's silence seemed to say that to- 
 night was the time and no other. 
 
 " But the storm is too bad," urged Alice. 
 " Pray don't go till to-morrow." 
 
 "vPray don't, Mr. Van Brunt ! " said Ellen. 
 
 "Can't help it — I've got business; must go. 
 What shall I say, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I should be very glad," said Alice, " to have 
 my father know where I am, Are you going very 
 near the Nose ? " 
 
 " Very near." 
 21 
 
322 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Then I shall be greatly obliged if you will be 
 so kind as to stop and relieve my father's anxiety. 
 But how can you go in such weather ? and so dark 
 as it is." 
 
 " Never fear," said Mr. Van Brunt. " We'll be 
 back in half an hour, if 'Brahm, and me don't come 
 across a snowdrift a leetle too deep. Good-night, 
 ma'am." And out he went. 
 
 " * Back in half an hour,' " said Alice, musing. 
 " Why, he said he had been to untie his horse for 
 the night ! He must be going on our account, I 
 am sure, Ellen ! " 
 
 " On your account," said Ellen, smiling. " Oh, 
 I knew that all the time, Miss Alice. I don't think 
 he'll stop to relieve Aunt Fortune's anxiety." 
 
 Alice sprang to call him back; but Mrs. Van 
 Brunt assured her it was too late, and that she need 
 riot be uneasy, for her son " didn't mind the storm 
 no more than a weather-board." 'Brahm and 
 'Brahm could go anywhere in any sort of a time. 
 " He was a-going without speaking to you, but I 
 told him he had better, for maybe you wanted to 
 send some word particular. And your room's ready 
 now, dear, and you'd better go to bed and sleep as 
 long as you can." 
 
 They went thankfully. " Isn't this a pleasant 
 room ? " said Ellen, who saw everything in rose- 
 color ; " and a nice bed ? But I feel as if I could 
 sleep on the floor to-night. Isn't it almost worth 
 while to have such a time, Miss Alice, for the sake 
 of the pleasure afterwards ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Ellen," said Alice, smiling ; " I 
 won't say that ; though it is worth paying a price 
 for to find how much kindness there is in some 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 323 
 
 people's hearts. As to sleeping on the floor, I 
 must say I never felt less inclined to it." 
 
 " Well, I am tired enough too," said Ellen, as 
 they laid themselves down. " Two nights with you 
 in a week ! Oh, those weeks before I saw you, 
 Miss Alice ! " 
 
 One earnest kiss for good-night; and Ellen's 
 sigh of pleasure on couching the pillow was scarcely 
 breathed when sleep, deep and sound, fell upon 
 her eyelids. 
 
 It was very late next morning when they awoke, 
 having slept rather heavily than well. They 
 crawled out of bed, feeling stiff and sore in every 
 limb ; each confessing to more evil effects from 
 their adventure than she had been aware of the 
 evening before. All the rubbing and bathing and 
 drinking that Mrs. Van Brunt had administered 
 had been too little to undo what wet and cold and 
 fatigue had done. But Mrs. Van Brunt had set 
 her breakfast-table with everything her house could 
 furnish that was nice ; a bountifully-spread board it 
 was. Mr. Humphreys was there too ; and no bad 
 feelings of two of the party could prevent that from 
 being a most cheerful and pleasant meal. Even 
 Mr. Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, two persons 
 not usually given to many words, came out wonder* 
 fully on this occasion ; gratitude and pleasure in 
 the one, and generous feeling on the part of the 
 other, untied their tongues; and Ellen looked from 
 one to the other in some amazement to see how agree- 
 able they could be. Kindness and hospitality always 
 kept Mrs. Van Brunt in full flow ; and Alice, what* 
 ever she felt, exerted herself and supplied what was 
 Wanting everywhere ; like the transparent glazing 
 
324 TIiE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 which jjainters use to spread over the dead coloi 
 of their pictures ; unknown, it was she gave life and 
 harmony to the whole. And Ellen, in her enjoy- 
 ment of everything and everybody, forgot or de- 
 spised aches and pains, and even whispered to Alice 
 that the coffee was making her well again. 
 
 But happy breakfasts must come to an end, and 
 so did this, prolonged though it was. Immediately 
 after, the party, whom circumstances had gathered 
 for the first and probably the last time, scattered 
 again ; but the meeting had left pleasant effects 
 on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt was in general de- 
 light that she had entertained so many people she 
 thought a great deal of, and particularly glad of the 
 chance of showing her kind feelings towards two 
 of the number. Mr. Humphreys remarked upon 
 " that very sensible good-hearted man, Mr. Van 
 Brunt, towards whom he felt himself under great 
 obligation." Mr. Van Brunt said " the minister 
 warn't such a grum man as people called him ; " and 
 moreover said " it was a good thing to have an edu- 
 cation, and he had a notion to read more." As 
 for Alice and Ellen, they went away full of kind 
 feeling for every one and much love to each other. 
 This was true of them before ; but their late trou- 
 bles had drawn them closer together and given them 
 fresh occasion to value their friends. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys had brought the little one-horse 
 sleigh for his daughter, and soon after breakfast 
 Ellen saw it drive off with her. Mr. Van Brunt 
 then harnessed his own and carried Ellen home. 
 Ill though she felt, the poor child made an effort 
 and spent part of the morning in finishing the long 
 letter to her mother which had been on the stocks 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 325 
 
 since Monday. The effort became painful towards 
 the last; and the aching limbs and trembling hand 
 of which she complained were the first beginnings 
 of a serious fit of illness. She went to bed that 
 same afternoon and did not leave it again for two 
 weeks. Cold had taken violent hold of her system ; 
 fever set in and ran high ; and half the time little 
 Ellen's wits were roving in delirium. Nothing, how- 
 ever, could be too much for Miss Fortune's ener- 
 gies ; she was as much at home in a sick room as in 
 a well one. She flew about with increased agility ; 
 was upstairs and downstairs twenty times in the 
 course of the day, and kept all straight everywhere. 
 Ellen's room was always the picture of neatness ; 
 the fire, the wood fire, was taken care of ; Miss 
 Fortune seemed to know by instinct when it wanted 
 a fresh supply, and to be on the spot by magic to 
 give it. Ellen's medicines were dealt out in proper 
 time ; her gruels and drinks . perfectly well made 
 and arranged with appetizing nicety on a little table 
 by the bedside where she could reach them her- 
 self ; and Miss Fortune was generally at hand when 
 she was wanted. But in spite of all this there was 
 something missing in that sick room, — there was a 
 great want ; and whenever the delirium was upon 
 her Ellen made no secret of it. She was never vio- 
 lent; but she moaned, sometimes impatiently and 
 sometimes plaintively, for her mother. It was a 
 vexation to Miss Fortune to hear her. The name 
 of her mother was all the time on her lips ; if by 
 chance her aunt's name came in, it was spoken in 
 a way that generally sent her bouncing out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Mamma," poor Ellen would say, " just lay your 
 
326 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 hand on my forehead, will you ? it's so hot. Oh, 
 do, mamma ! — where are you ? Do put your hand 
 on my forehead, won't you ? — Oh, do speaV to me, 
 why don't you, mamma? Oh, why don't she come 
 to me ? " 
 
 Once when Ellen was uneasily calling in this 
 fashion for her mother's hand, Miss Fortune softly 
 laid her own upon the child's brow ; but the quick 
 sudden jerk of the head from under it told her how 
 well Ellen knew the one from the other ; and little 
 as she cared for Ellen it was wormwood to her. 
 
 Miss Fortune was not without offers of help dur- 
 ing this sick time. Mrs. Van Brunt, and afterwards 
 Mrs. Vawse, asked leave to come and nurse Ellen ; 
 but Miss Fortune declared it was more plague than 
 profit to her, and she couldn't be bothered with 
 having strangers about. Mrs. Van Brunt she 
 suffered, much against her will, to come for a day 
 or two : at the end* of that Miss Fortune found 
 means to get rid of her civilly. Mrs. Vawse she 
 would not allow to stay an hour. The old lady 
 got leave, however, to go up to the sick room for a 
 few minutes. Ellen, who was then in a high fever, 
 informed her that her mother was downstairs, and 
 her Aunt Fortune would not let her come up ; she 
 pleaded with tears that she might come, and en- 
 treated Mrs. Vawse to take her aunt away and send 
 her mother. Mrs. Vawse tried to soothe her. Miss 
 Fortune grew impatient. 
 
 "What on earth's the use," said she, " of talking 
 to a child that's out of her head ? she can't hear 
 reason ; that's the wav she gets into whenever the 
 fever's on her. 1 nave tne pleasure of hearing that 
 sort of thing all the time. Come away, Mrs. Vawse, 
 
THE WIDE WIDE WORLD. 327 
 
 and leave ier; she cant be be.teranyway than 
 alone, and I am in the room every other thing ; — 
 she's just as well quiet. Nobody knows," said Miss 
 Fortune, on her way down the stairs, — " nobody 
 knows the blessing of taking care of other people's 
 children that ha'n't tried it. I've tried it, to my 
 heart's content." 
 
 Mrs. Vawse sighed, but departed in silence. 
 
 It was not when the fever was on her and delir- 
 ium high that Ellen most felt the want she then so 
 pitifully made known. There were other times, — ■ 
 when her head was aching, and weary and weak she 
 lay still there, — olfc how she longed then for the 
 dear wonted face ; the old quiet smile that carried 
 so much of comfort and assurance with it ; the 
 voice that was like heaven's music ; the touch of 
 that loved hand to which she had clung for so 
 many years ! She could scarcely bear to think of 
 it sometimes. In the still wakeful hours of night, 
 when the only sound to be heard was the heavy 
 breathing of her aunt asleep on the floor by -her 
 side, and in the long solitary day, when the only 
 variety to be looked for was Miss Fortune's flitting 
 in and out, and there came to be a sameness about 
 that, — Ellen mourned her loss bitterly. Many and 
 many were the silent tears that rolled down and 
 wet her pillow ; many a long-drawn sigh came from 
 the very bottom of Ellen's heart ; she was too weak 
 and subdued now for violent weeping. She won- 
 dered sadly why Alice did not come to see her ; it 
 was another great grief added to the former. She 
 never chose, however, to mention her name to her 
 aunt. She kept her wonder and her sorrow to her- 
 self, — all the harder to bear for that. After two 
 
328 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 weeks Ellen began to mend, and then she became 
 exceeding weary of being alone and shut up to her 
 room. It was a pleasure to have her Bible and 
 hymn-book lying upon the bed, and a great com- 
 fort when she was able to look at a few words ; but 
 that was not very often, and she longed to see 
 somebody, and hear something besides her aunt's 
 dry questions and answers. 
 
 One afternoon Ellen was sitting, alone as usual, 
 bolstered up in bed. Her little hymn-book was 
 clasped in her hand ; though nc t equal to reading, 
 she felt the touch of it a solace to her. Half doz- 
 ing, half waking, she had been^perfectly quiet for 
 some time, when the sudden and not very gentle 
 opening of the room door caused her to start and 
 open her eyes. They opened wider than usual, for 
 instead of her Aunt Fortune it was the figure of Miss 
 Nancy Vawse that presented itself. She came in 
 briskly, and shutting the door behind her, advanced 
 to the bedside. 
 
 " Well ! " said she, — " there you are ! Why you 
 look smart enough. I've come to see you." 
 
 " Have you ? " said Ellen, uneasily. 
 
 " Miss Fortune's gone out, and she told me to 
 come and take care of you ; so I'm a-going to spend 
 the afternoon." 
 
 " Are you ? " said Ellen again. 
 
 " Yes — ain't you glad ? I knew you must be 
 lonely, so I thought I'd come." 
 
 There was a mischievous twinkle in Nancy's 
 eyes. Ellen for once in her life wished for heu 
 aunt's presence. 
 
 1 ' What are you doing ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 329 
 
 " Nothing, indeed ! It's a fine thing to lie there 
 ■ind do nothing. You won't get well in a hurry, I 
 guess, will you ? You look as well as I do this 
 minute. Oh, I always knew you was a sham." 
 
 " You are very much mistaken," said Ellen, in- 
 dignantly ; — " I have been very sick, and I am not 
 at all well yet." 
 
 '* Fiddle-de-dee S it's very nice to think so ; I 
 guess you're lazy. How soft and good those 
 pillows do look to be sure. Come, Ellen, try get- 
 ting up a little, /believe you hurt yourself with 
 sleeping ; it'll do you good to be out of bed a 
 while ; come ! get up ! " 
 
 She pulled Ellen's arm as she spoke. 
 
 " Stop, Nancy, let me alone ! " cried Ellen, strug- 
 gling with all her force, — " I mustn't — I can't ! I 
 mustn't get up ; what do you mean ? I'm not able 
 to sit up at all ; let me go ! " 
 
 She succeeded in freeing herself from Nancy's 
 grasp. 
 
 " Well, you're an obstinate piece," said the other ; 
 " have your own way. But mind, I'm left in charge 
 of you ; is it time for you to take your physic ? " 
 
 " I'm not taking any," said Ellen. 
 
 " What are you taking ? " 
 
 "Nothing but gruel and little things." 
 
 " ' Gruel and little things ; ' little things means 
 something good, I s'pose. Well, is it time for you 
 to take some gruel or one of the little things ? " 
 
 " No, I don't want any." 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ; people never know what's 
 good for them ; I'm your nurse now, and I'm going 
 to give it to you when I think you want it. Let 
 me feel your pulse — yes, your pulse says gruel is 
 
33 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wanting. I shall put some down to warm right 
 
 away." 
 
 " I sha'n't take it," said Ellen. 
 
 " That's a likely story I You'd better not say so. 
 I rather s'pose you will i T I give it to you. Look 
 here, Ellen, you'd better mind how you behave ; 
 you're going to do just what I tell you. I know 
 how to manage you; if you make any fuss I shall 
 just tickle you finely," said Nancy, as she prepared 
 a bed of coals, and set the tin cup of gruel on it to 
 get hot. — " I'll do it in no time at all, my young 
 lady— so you'd better mind." 
 
 Poor Ellen involuntar^y curled up he* feet under 
 the bedclothes, so as to get them as far as possible 
 out of harm's way. She judged the best thing was 
 to keep quiet if she could ; so she said nothing. 
 Nancy was in great glee ; with something of the 
 same spirit of mischief that a cat shows when she 
 has a captured mouse at the end of her paws. 
 While the gruel was heating she spun round the 
 room in quest of amusement ; and her sudden jerks 
 and flings from one place and thing to another had 
 so much of lawlessness that Ellen was in perpetual 
 terror as to what she might take it into her head 
 to do next. 
 
 " Where does that door lead to ? " 
 
 " I believe that one leads to the garret," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " You believe so ? Why don't you say it does, at 
 once ? " 
 
 " I have not been up to see." 
 
 " You haven't ! you expect me to believe that, I 
 s'pose ? I am not quite such a gull as you take me 
 tor ! What's up there ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 331 
 
 Si I don't know, of course." 
 
 " Of course ! I declare I don't know what you 
 are up to exactly ; but if you won't tell me I'll find 
 out for myself pretty quick, — that's one thing." 
 
 She flung open the door and ran up ; and Ellen 
 heard her feet tramping overhead from one end of 
 the house to the other ; and sounds, too, of pushing 
 and pulling things over the floor ; it was plain 
 Nancy was rummaging. 
 
 "Well," said Ellen, as she turned uneasily upon 
 her bed, " it's no affair of mine ; I can't help it, 
 whatever she does. But, oh ! won't Aunt Fortune 
 be angry ! " 
 
 Nancy presently came down with her frock 
 gathered up into a bag before her. 
 
 " What do you think I have got here ? " said she. 
 " I s'pose you didn't know there was a basket of 
 fine hickory nuts up there in the corner ? Was it 
 you or Miss Fortune that hid them away so nicely ? 
 I s'pose she thought nobody would ever think of 
 looking behind that great blue chest and under the 
 feather bed, but it takes me ! — Miss Fortune was 
 afraid of your stealing 'em, I guess, Ellen ? " 
 
 " She needn't have been," said Ellen, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " No, I s'pose you wouldn't take 'em if you saw 
 'em ; you wouldn't eat them if they were cracked 
 for you, would you ? " 
 
 She flung some on Ellen's bed as she spoke. 
 Nancy had seated herself on the floor, and using for 
 a hammer a piece of old iron she had brought down 
 with her from the garret, she was cracking the nuts 
 on the clean white hearth. 
 
 " Indeed I wouldn't ! " said Ellen, throwing them 
 
332 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 bark ; " and you oughtn't to crack them there, 
 Nancy, — you'll make a dreadful muss." 
 
 " What do you think I care ? " said the other, 
 scornfully. She leisurely cracked and ate as many 
 as she pleased of the nuts, bestowing the rest in the 
 bosom of her frock. Ellen watched fearfully for 
 her next move. If she should open the little door 
 and get among her books and boxes ! 
 
 Nancy's first care, however, was the cup of gruel. 
 It was found too hot for any mortal lips to bear, so 
 it was set on one side to cool. Then taking up her 
 rambling examination of the room, she went frorr* 
 window to window. 
 
 " What fine big windows ! one might get in here 
 easy enough. I declare, Ellen, some night I'll set 
 the ladder up against here, and the first thing 
 you'll see will be me coming in. You'll have me 
 to sleep with you before you think." 
 
 " T 'll fasten my windows," said Ellen. 
 
 " No, you won't. You'll do it a night or two, 
 maybe, but then you'll forget it. I shall find them 
 open when I come, Oh, I'll come ! " 
 
 " But I could call Aunt Fortune," p-tfd Ellen. 
 
 " No, you couldn't, 'cause if you spoke a word 
 I'd tickle you to death ; that's what I'd do. I 
 know how to fix you off. And if you did call her 
 I'd just whap out of the window and run off with 
 my ladder, and then you'd get a fine combing for 
 disturbing the house. What's in this trunk ? " 
 
 " Only my clothes and things," said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, goody ! that's fine ; now, I'll have a look 
 at 'em. That's just what I wanted, only I didn't 
 know it. Where's the key ? Oh, here it is sticking 
 ^a — that's good ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 333 
 
 " Oh, please don't ! " said Ellen, raising herself 
 on her elbow, " they're all in nice order and you'll 
 get them all in confusion. Oh, do let them 
 alone ! " 
 
 " You'd best be quiet or I'll come and see you," 
 said Nancy ; " I'm just going to look at everything 
 in it, and if I find anything out of sorts, you'll get 
 it. — What's this ? ruffles, I declare ! ain't you fine ? 
 I'll see how they look on me. What a plague ! 
 you haven't a glass in the room. Never mind, — 
 I am used to dressing without a glass." 
 
 " Oh, I wish you wouldn't," said Ellen, who was 
 worried to the last degree at seeing her nicely 
 done-up ruffles round Nancy's neck ; — " they're so 
 nice, and you'll muss them all up." 
 
 " Don't cry about it," said Nancy, coolly, " I 
 ain't a-going to eat 'em. My goodness ! what a fine 
 hood ! ain't that pretty ? " 
 
 The nice blue hood was turning about in Nancy's 
 fingers, and well looked at inside and out. Ellen 
 was in distress for fear it would go on Nancy's 
 head, as well as the ruffles round her neck ; but it 
 didn't; she flung it at length on one side, and 
 went on pulling out one thing after another, strew- 
 ing them very carelessly about the floor. 
 
 " What's here ? — a pair of dirty stockings as 
 I am alive. Ain't you ashamed to put dirty stock- 
 ings in your trunk ? " 
 
 " They are no such thing," said Ellen, who in 
 her vexation was in danger of forgetting her 
 fear, — " I've worn them but once." 
 
 "They've no business in here, anyhow," said 
 Nancy, rolling them up in a hard ball and giving 
 them a sudden fling at Ellen. They just missea 
 
334 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her face and struck the wall beyond. Ellen seized 
 them to throw back, but her weakness warned her 
 she was not able, and a moment reminded her of 
 *he folly of doing anything to rouse Nancy, who 
 for the present was pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon 
 her pillow and looked on, ready to cry with vexa- 
 tion. All her nicely stowed piles of white clothes 
 were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; 
 her capes tried on ; her summer dresses unfolded, 
 displayed, criticised. Nancy decided one was too 
 short; another very ugly ; a third horribly ill-made ; 
 and when she had done with each it was cast out 
 of her way on one side or the other as the case 
 might be. 
 
 The floor was littered with clothes in various 
 states of disarrangement and confusion. The bot- 
 tom of the trunk was reached at last, and then 
 Nancy suddenly recollected her gruel, and sprang 
 to it. But it had grown cold again. 
 
 " This won't do," said Nancy, as she put it on 
 the coals again, — " it must be just right ; it'll warm 
 soon, and then, Miss Ellen, you're a-going to take 
 it, whether or no. I hope you won't give me the 
 pleasure of pouring it down." 
 
 Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's 
 study closet and went in there, though Ellen 
 begged her not. She pulled the door to, and stayed 
 some time perfectly quiet. Not able to see or hear 
 what she was doing, and fretted beyond measure 
 that her work-box and writing-desk should be at 
 Nancy's mercy, or even feel the touch of her 
 fingers, Ellen at last could stand it no longer, but 
 threw herself out of the bed, weak as she was, and 
 went to see what was going on. Nancy was seated 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 IZ\ 
 
 quietly on the floor, examining with much seeming 
 interest the contents of the work-box ; trying on 
 the thimble, cutting bits of thread with the scissors, 
 and marking the ends of the spools ; with whatever 
 like pieces of mischief her restless spirit could 
 devise ; but when Ellen opened the door she put 
 the box from her and started up. 
 
 " My goodness me ! " said she, " this'll never do. 
 What are you out here for ? you'll catch your death 
 with those dear little bare feet, and we shall have 
 the mischief to pay." 
 
 As she said this she caught up Ellen in her arms 
 as if she had been a baby, and carried her back to 
 the bed, where she laid her with two or three little 
 shakes, and then proceeded to spread up the 
 clothes and tuck her in all round. She then ran 
 for the gruel. Ellen was in great question whether 
 to give way to tears or vexation ; but with some 
 difficulty determined upon vexation as the best 
 plan. Nancy prepared the gruel to her liking, and 
 brought it to the bedside ; but to get it swallowed 
 was another matter. Nancy was resolved Ellen 
 should take it. Ellen had less strength but quite 
 as much obstinacy as her enemy, and she was 
 equally resolved not to drink a drop. Between 
 laughing on Nancy's part, and very serious anger 
 on Ellen's, a struggle ensued. Nancy tried to force 
 it down, but Ellen's shut teeth were as firm as a 
 vice, and the end was that two-thirds were bestowed 
 on the sheet. Ellen burst into tears. Nancy 
 laughed. 
 
 " Well, I do think," said she, " you are one of 
 the hardest customers ever I came across. I 
 shouldn't want to have the managing of you when 
 
l^fi THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 you get a little bigger. Oh, the way Miss Fortune 
 will look when she comes in here will be a caution ! 
 Oh, what fun ! " 
 
 Nancy shouted and clapped her hands. " Come, 
 stop crying ! " said she, " what a baby you are ! 
 what are you crying for ? come stop ! — I'll make you 
 laugh if you don't." 
 
 Two or three little applications of Nancy's 
 fingers made her words good, but laughing was 
 mixed with crying, and Ellen writhed in hysterics. 
 Just then came a little knock at the door. Ellen 
 did not hear it, but it quieted Nancy. She stood 
 still a moment ; and then as the knock was repeated, 
 she called out boldly, " Come in ! " Ellen raised 
 her head " to see who there might be ; " and great 
 was the surprise of both and the joy of one as the 
 tall form and broad shoulders of Mr. Van Brunt 
 presented themselves. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," sobbed Ellen, " I am so 
 glad to see you ! won't you please send Nancy 
 away ? " 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " said the astonished 
 Dutchman. 
 
 " Look and see, Mr. Van Brunt," said Nancy, 
 with a smile of mischief's own curling ; " you won't 
 be long finding out, I guess." 
 
 " Take yourself off, and don't let me hear of your 
 being caught here again." 
 
 " I'll go when I'm ready, thank you," said Nancy ; 
 " and as to the rest I haven't been caught the first 
 time yet ; I don't know what you mean." 
 
 She sprang as she finished her sentence, for Mr. 
 Van Brunt made a sudden movement to catch her 
 then and there. He was foiled ; and then began a 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 337 
 
 running chase round the room, in the course of 
 wince Nancy dodged, pushed, and sprang, with a 
 power of squeezing by impassables and over- 
 leaping impossibilities, that to say the least of it was 
 remarkable. The room was too small for her, and 
 she was caught at last. 
 
 " I vow," said Mr. Van Brunt as he pinioned 
 her hands, " I should like to see you play blind 
 man's buff for once, if I weren't the blind man." 
 
 " How'd you see me if you was ? " said Nancy, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Now, Miss Ellen," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he 
 brought her to Ellen's bedside, " here she is safe ; 
 what shall I do with her ? " 
 
 " If you will only send her away, and not let her 
 come back, Mr. Van Brunt ! " said Ellen, " I'll be 
 so much obliged to you ! " 
 
 "Let me go!" said Nancy. "I declare you're 
 a real mean Dutchman, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 He took both her hands in one, and laid the 
 other lightly over her ears. 
 
 " I'll let you go," said he. " Now, don't you 
 be caught here again if you know what is good foi 
 yourself." 
 
 He saw Miss Nancy out of the door, and then 
 came back to Ellen, who was crying heartily again 
 from nervous vexation. 
 
 " She's gone," said he. "What has that wicked 
 thing been doing, Miss Ellen ? what's the mattei 
 with you ? " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "you can't 
 think how she has worried me ; she has been here 
 this great while ; just look at all my things on the 
 floor, and that isn't the half." 
 22 
 
^8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt gave a long whistle as his eye 
 surveyed the tokens of Miss Nancy's mischief-mak- 
 ing, over and through which both she and himself 
 had been chasing at full speed, making the state 
 of matters rather worse than it was before. 
 
 " I do say," said he, slowly, " that is too bad. 
 I'd fix them up again for you, Miss Ellen, if I knew 
 fow ; but my hands are a'most as clumsy as my 
 .feet, and I see the marks of them there ; it's too 
 bad, I declare ; I didn't know what I was going 
 on. 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen,—" I 
 don't mind what you've done a bit. I'm so glad 
 to see you ! " 
 
 She put out her little hand to him as she spoke. 
 He took it in his own silently, but though he said 
 and showed nothing of it, Ellen's look and tone of 
 affection thrilled his heart with pleasure. 
 
 " How do you do ? " said he, kindly. 
 
 "I'm a great deal better," said Ellen. "Sit 
 down, won't you, Mr. Van Brunt ? I want to see 
 you a little." 
 
 Horses wouldn't have drawn him away after that. 
 He sat down. 
 
 " Ain't you going to be up again some of these 
 days ? " said he. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I hope so," said Ellen, sighing ; " I 
 am very tired of lying here." 
 
 He looked round the room ; got up and mended 
 rhe fire ; then came and sat down again. 
 
 " I was up yesterday for a minute," said Ellen, 
 : but the chair tired me so I was glad to get back 
 CO bed again." 
 
 It was no wonder ; harder and straighter-backed 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 339 
 
 chairs never were invented. Probably Mr. Van 
 Brunt thought so. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to have a rocking-cheer ? " 
 said he suddenly, as if a bright thought had struck 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, yes, how much I should!" said Ellen, 
 with another long drawn breath, u but there isn't 
 such a thing in the house that ever I saw." 
 
 " Ay, but there is in other houses, though," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, with as near an approach to a 
 smile as his lips commonly made ; — " we'll see ! " 
 
 Ellen smiled more broadly. " But don't you 
 give yourself any trouble for me," said she. 
 
 " Trouble indeed ! " said Mr. Van Brunt ; " I 
 don't know anything about that. How came that 
 wicked thing up here to plague you ? " 
 
 " She said Aunt Fortune left her to take care of 
 me." 
 
 " That's one of her lies. Your aunt's gone out, 
 I know ; but she's a trifle wiser than to do such a 
 thing as that. She has plagued you badly, ha'n't 
 she?" 
 
 He might have thought so. The color which ex- 
 citement brought into Ellen's face had faded away, 
 and she had settled herself back against her pillow 
 with an expression of weakness and weariness that 
 the strong man saw and felt. 
 
 " What is there I can do for you ? " said he, with 
 a gentleness that seemed almost strange from such 
 lips. 
 
 " If you would," said Ellen faintly — " if you 
 could be so kind as to read me a hymn ? — I should 
 be so glad. I've had nobody to read to me." 
 
 Her hand put the little book towards him as she 
 said so. 
 
340 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had 
 asked him to plough an acre. He was to the full 
 as much confounded as poor Ellen had once been 
 at a request of his. He hesitated, and looked to- 
 wards Ellen, wishing for an excuse. But the pale 
 little face that lay there against the pillow, — the 
 drooping eyelids, — the meek, helpless look of the 
 little child, put all excuses out of his head ; and 
 though he would have chosen to do almost any- 
 thing else, he took the book and asked her 
 " Where ? " She said an-where ; and he took the 
 first he saw. 
 
 " Poor, weak, and worthless though I am, 
 I have a rich almighty Friend ; 
 Jesus the Saviour is His name, 
 He freely loves, and without end. " 
 
 " Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and 
 folding her hands on her breast, — " how lovely that 
 is ! " 
 
 He stopped and looked at her a moment and 
 tnen went on with increased gravity. 
 
 " He ransom'd me from hell with blood, 
 And by His pow'r my foes controll'd; 
 He found me wand'ring far from God, 
 And brought me to His chosen fold." 
 
 " Fold ? " said Ellen, opening her eyes ; " what 
 is that ? " 
 
 " It's where sheep are penned, ain't it ? " said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, after a pause. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Ellen, " that's it ; I remember ; 
 that's like what he said, ' I am the good shepherd,' 
 and * The Lord is my shepherd ; ' I know now. 
 Go on, please." 
 
 He finished the hymn without more interruption, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 341 
 
 Looking again towards Ellen, he was surprised to see 
 several large tears rinding their way down her cheek 
 from under the wet eyelash. But she quickly wiped 
 them away. 
 
 " What do you read them things for," said he, 
 " if they make you feel bad ? " 
 
 " Feel bad ! " said Ellen. " Oh, they don't ; 
 they make me happy ; I love them dearly. I never 
 read that one before. You can't think how much I 
 am obliged to you for reading it to me. Will you 
 let me see where it is ? " 
 
 He gave it her. 
 
 " Yes, there's his mark ! " said Ellen, with spark- 
 ling eyes. " Now, Mr. Van Brunt, would you be so 
 very good as to read it once more ? " 
 
 He obeyed. It was easier this time. She list- 
 ened as before, with closed eyes, but the color 
 came and went once or twice. 
 
 " Thank you very much," she said, when he had 
 done. " Are you going ? " 
 
 " I must ; I have some things to look after." 
 
 She held his hand still. 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt, — don't yon love hymns ? " 
 
 " I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen." 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold ? " 
 
 "What fold?" 
 
 " The fold of Christ's people." 
 
 " I'm afeard not, Miss Ellen," said he, soberly, 
 after a minute's pause. 
 
 " Because," said Ellen, bursting into tears, " I 
 wish you were, very much." 
 
 She carried the great brown hand to her lips be- 
 fore she let it go. He went without saying a word. 
 .But when he got out he stopped and looked at a 
 
342 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 little tear she had left on the back of it. And he 
 looked till one of his own fell there to keep it 
 company. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Oh, that had, how sad a passage 'tis 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The next day, about the middle of the after- 
 noon, a light step crossed the shed, and the great 
 door opening gently, in walked Miss Alice Hum- 
 phreys. The room was all " redd up," and Miss 
 Fortune and her mother sat there at work ; one 
 picking over white beans at the table, the other in 
 her usual seat by the fire and at her usual employ- 
 ment, which was knitting. Alice came forward and 
 asked the old lady how she did. 
 
 " Pretty well — O, pretty well ! " — she answered, 
 with the look of bland good-humor her face almost 
 always wore, — " and glad to see you, dear. Take 
 a chair." 
 
 Alice did so, quite aware that the other person 
 in the room was not glad to see her. 
 
 " And how goes the w r orld with you, Miss Fort- 
 une ? " 
 
 " Humph ! it's a queer kind of a world, I think," 
 answered that lady, dryly, sweeping some of the 
 picked beans into her pan ; — " I get a'most sick of 
 it sometimes." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? " said Alice, pleas- 
 antly ; " may I ask ? Has anything happened to 
 trouble you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said the other, somewhat impatiently ; 
 u nothing that's any matter to a^v one but myself; 
 it's no use speaking about it." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 343 
 
 " Ah ! Fortune never would take the world easy," 
 said the old woman, shaking her head from side to 
 side ; — " never would ; — I never could get her to." 
 
 " Now, do hush, mother, will you ? " said her 
 daughter, turning round upon her with startling 
 sharpness of look and tone : — " ' take the world 
 tasy ! ' you always did ; I am glad I ain't like you." 
 
 " I don't think it's a bad way after all," said 
 Alice ; " what's the use of taking it hard, Miss 
 Fortune ? " 
 
 " The way one goes on ! " said that lady, picking 
 away at her beans very fast and not answering 
 Alice's question, — " I'm tired of it ; — toil, toil, and 
 drive, drive, — from morning to night ; — and what's 
 the end of it all ? ! " 
 
 " Not much," said Alice, gravely, " if our toiling 
 looks no further than this world. When we go we 
 shall carry nothing away with us. I should think 
 it would be very wearisome to toil only for what we 
 cannot keep nor stay long to enjoy." 
 
 " It's a pity you warn't a minister, Miss Alice," 
 said Miss Fortune, dryly. 
 
 " Oh, no, Miss Fortune," said Alice, smiling,, 
 " the family would be overstocked. My father is 
 one and my brother will be another ; a third would 
 be too much. You must be so good as to let me 
 preach without taking orders." 
 
 " Well, I wish every minister was as good a one 
 as you'd make," said Miss Fortune, her hard face 
 giving way a little ; — " at any rate nobody'd mind 
 anything you'd say, Miss Alice." 
 
 " That would be unlucky, in one sense," said 
 Alice ; " but I believe I know what you mean. But, 
 Miss Fortune, no one would dream the world went 
 
344 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 very hard with you. I don't know anybody J 
 think lives in more independent comfort and plenty 
 and has things more to her mind. I never come 
 to the house that I am not struck with the fine look 
 of the farm and all that belongs to it." 
 
 " Yes," said the old lady, nodding her head two 
 or three times, " Mr. Van Brunt is a good farmer — 
 very good — there's no doubt about that." 
 
 " I wonder what he'd do," said Miss Fortune, 
 quickly and sharply as before, " if there warn't ahead 
 to manage for him ! — Oh, the farm's well enough, 
 Miss Alice, — 'tain't that ; everyone knows where his 
 own shoe pinches." 
 
 " I wish you'd let me into the secret then, Miss 
 Fortune ; I'm a cobbler by profession." 
 
 Miss Fortune's ill-humor was giving way, but 
 something disagreeable seemed again to cross her 
 mind. Her brow darkened. 
 
 " I say it's a poor kind of world, and I'm sick of 
 it ! One may slave and slave one's life out for 
 other people, and what thanks do you get ? — I'm 
 sick of it." 
 
 " There's a little body upstairs, or I'm much 
 mistaken, who will give you very sincere thanks 
 for every kindness shown her." 
 
 Miss Fortune tossed her head, and brushing the 
 refuse beans into her lap, she pushed back her 
 chair with a jerk to go to the fire with them. 
 
 " Much you know about her, Miss Alice ! 
 Thanks indeed ! I haven't seen the sign of such a 
 thing since she's been here, for all I have worked 
 and worked and had plague enough with her, I 
 am sure. Deliver me from other people's children, 
 say I ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 345 
 
 " After all, Miss Fortune," said Alice, soberly, 
 " it is not what we do for people that makes them 
 love us, — or at least everything depends on the 
 way things are done. A look of love, a word of 
 kindness, goes further towards winning the heart, 
 than years of service or benefaction mountain-high 
 without them.''' 
 
 " Does she say I am unkind to her ? " asked 
 Miss Fortune, fiercely. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Alice, "words on her part 
 are unnecessary ; it is easy to see from your own 
 that there is no love lost between you, and I am 
 very sorry it is so." 
 
 " Love indeed ! " said Miss Fortune, with great 
 indignation ; " there never was any to lose I can 
 assure you. She plagues the very life out of me. 
 Why, she hadn't been here three days before she 
 went off with that girl Nancy Vawse that I had 
 told her never to go near, and was gone all night ; 
 that's the time she got in the brook. And if you'd 
 seen her face when 1 was scolding her about it ! — 
 it was like seven thunder clouds. Much you know 
 about it ! I dare say she's very sweet to you ; 
 that's the way she is to everybody beside me — 
 they all think she's too good to live ; and it just 
 makes me mad ! " 
 
 " She told me herself," said Alice, " of her be- 
 having ill another time, about her mother's letter." 
 
 " Yes — that was another time. I wish you'd 
 seen her ! " 
 
 " I believe she saw and felt her fault in that case. 
 Didn't she ask your pardon ? she said she would." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Fortune, dryly, " after a 
 fashion." 
 
346 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Has she had her letter yet? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How is she to-day ? " 
 
 " Oh, she's well enough — she's sitting up. You 
 can go up and see her." 
 
 " I will, directly," said Alice. " But now, Miss 
 Fortune, I am going to ask a favor of you, — will 
 you do me a great pleasure ? " 
 
 "Certainly, Miss Alice, — if I can." 
 
 " If you think Ellen has been sufficiently punished 
 for her ill-behavior — if you do not think it right to 
 withhold her letter still, — will you let me have the 
 pleasure of giving it to her ? I should take it as a 
 great favor to myself." 
 
 Miss Fortune made no kind of reply to this, but 
 stalked out of the room, and in a few minutes stalked 
 in again with the letter, which she gave to Alice, 
 only saying shortly, " It came to me in a, letter from 
 her father." 
 
 " You are willing she should have it ? " said Alice. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! — do what you like with it." 
 
 Alice now went softly upstairs. She found Ellen's 
 door a little ajar, and looking in could see Ellen 
 seated in a rocking chair between the door and the 
 fire, in her double-gown, and with her hymn-book in 
 hand. It happened that Ellen had spent a good 
 part of that afternoon in crying for her lost letter ; 
 and the face that she turned to the door on hearing 
 some slight noise outside, was very white and thin 
 indeed. And though it was placid too, her eye 
 searched the crack of the door with a keen wistful- 
 ness that went to Alice's heart. But as the door 
 was gently pushed open, and the eye caught the 
 figure that stood behind it, the sudden and entire 
 
THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 347 
 
 change of expression took away all her powers of 
 speech. Ellen's face became radiant ; she rose 
 from her chair, and as Alice silently came in and 
 kneeling down to be near her took her in her arms, 
 Ellen put both hers round Alice's neck and laid her 
 face there ; — one was too happy and the other too 
 touched to say a word. 
 
 " My poor child ! " was Alice's first expression. 
 
 " No, I ain't," said Ellen, tightening the squeeze 
 of her arms round Alice's neck • " I am not poor at 
 all now." 
 
 Alice presently rose, sat down in the rocking- 
 chair and took Ellen in her lap ; and Ellen rested 
 her head on her bosom as she had been wont to do 
 of old time on her mother's. 
 
 " I am too happy," she murmured. But she was 
 weeping, and the current of tears seemed to gather 
 force as it flowed. What was little Ellen thinking 
 of just then ? O those times gone by ! — when she 
 had sat just so ; her head pillowed on another as 
 gentle a breast ; kind arms wrapped round her, just 
 as now ; the same little old double-gown ; the 
 same weak helpless feeling ; the same committing 
 herself to the strength and care of another ; — how 
 much the same, and oh ! how much not the same I 
 — and Ellen knew both. Blessing as she did the 
 breast on which she leaned and the arms whose 
 pressure she felt, they yet reminded her sadly of 
 those most loved and so very far away ; and it was 
 an odd mixture of relief and regret, joy and sorrow, 
 gratified and ungratified affection, that opened the 
 sluices of her eyes. Tears poured. 
 
 " What is the matter, my love ? " said Alice, 
 softly. 
 
348 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " I don ; t know," whispered Ellen. 
 
 " Are you so glad to see me ? or so sorry ? or 
 what is it ? " 
 
 " Oh, glad and sorry both, I think," said Ellen, 
 with a long breath, and sitting up. 
 
 " Have you wanted me so much, my poor child ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you how much," said Ellen, her 
 words cut short. 
 
 " And didn't you know that I have been sick 
 too ? What did you think had become of me ? 
 Why, Mrs. Vawse was with me a whole week, and 
 this is the very first day I have been able to go out. 
 It is so fine to-day I was permitted to ride Sharp 
 down." 
 
 "Was that it?" said Ellen. " I did wonder, 
 Miss Alice — I did wonder very much why you did 
 not come to see me, but I never liked to ask Aunt 
 Fortune, because " 
 
 " Because what ? " 
 
 " I don't know as I ought to say what I was go- 
 ing to ; I had a feeling she would be glad about 
 what I was sorry about." 
 
 " Don't know that you ought to say," said Alice. 
 " Remember, you are to study English with me." 
 
 Ellen smiled a glad smile. 
 
 " And you have had a weary two weeks of it. 
 haven't you, dear ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Ellen, with another long-drawn sigh, 
 " how weary ! Part of that time, to be sure, I was 
 out of my head ; but I have got so tired lying here 
 all alone ; Aunt Fortune coming in and out was 
 just as good as nobody." 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Alice, " you have had a worse 
 time than I " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 349 
 
 " I used to lie and watch that crack in the door 
 at the foot of my bed," said Ellen, " and I got so 
 tired of it I hated to see it ; but when I opened my 
 eyes I couldn't help looking at it, and watching all 
 the little ins and outs in the crack till I was as sick 
 of it as could be. And that button, too, that fast- 
 ens the door, and the little round mark the button 
 has made, and thinking how far the button went 
 round. And then if I looked towards the windows 
 I would go right to counting the panes, first up and 
 down and then across ; and I didn't want to count 
 them, but I couldn't help it ; and watching to see 
 through which pane the sky looked brightest. Oh, 
 I got so sick of it all ! There was only the fire that 
 I didn't get tired of looking at ; I always liked to 
 lie and look at that, except when it hurt my eyes. 
 And oh, how I wanted to see you, Miss Alice ! 
 You can't think how sad I felt that you didn't come 
 to see me. I couldn't think what could be the 
 matter." 
 
 " I should have been with you, dear, and not 
 have left you, if I had not been tied at home my- 
 self." 
 
 " So I thought ; and that made it seem so very 
 strange. But, oh ! don't you think," said Ellen, 
 her face suddenly brightening, — " don't you think 
 Mr. Van Brunt came up to see me last night? 
 Wasn't it good of him ? He even sat down and 
 read to me ; only think of that. And isn't he 
 kind ? He asked if I would like a rocking-chair ; 
 and of course I said yes, for these other chairs are 
 dreadful, they break my back ; and there wasn't 
 such a thing as a rocking-chair in Aunt Fortune's 
 house, she hates 'em, she says ; and this morning, 
 
350 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the first thing I knew, in walked Mr. Van Brunt 
 with this nice rocking-chair. Just get up and see 
 how nice it is ; — you see the back is cushioned, and 
 the elbows, as well as the seat ; — it's queer-looking, 
 ain't it ? but it's very comfortable. Wasn't it good 
 of him ? " 
 
 " It was very kind, I think. But do you know, 
 Ellen, I am going to have a quarrel with you ? " 
 
 " What about ? " said Ellen. " I don't believe 
 it's anything very bad, for you look pretty good- 
 humored, considering." 
 
 " Nothing very bad," said Alice, " but still enough 
 to quarrel about. You have twice said ' ain't ' since 
 I have been here." 
 
 "Oh," said Ellen, laughing, " is that all? " 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, " and my English ears don't 
 like it at all." 
 
 " Then, they sha'n't hear it," said Ellen, kissing 
 her. " I don't know what makes me say it ; I 
 never used to. But I've got more to tell you ; I've 
 had more visitors. Who do you think came to see 
 me ? — you'd never guess — Nancy Vawse ! Mr. 
 Van Brunt came in the very nick of time, when I 
 was almost worried to death with her. Only think 
 of her coming up here ! unknown to everybody. 
 And she stayed an age, and how she did go on. 
 She cracked nuts on the hearth ; — she got every 
 stitch of my clothes out of my trunk and scattered 
 them over the floor ; — she tried to make me drink 
 gruel till between us we spilled a great parcel on 
 the bed ; and she had begun to tickle me when Mr. 
 Van Brunt came. Oh, wasn't I glad to see him ! 
 And when Aunt Fortune came up and saw it all 
 she was as angry as she could be ; and she scolded 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 351 
 
 and scolded, till at last I told her it was none of 
 my doings, — I couldn't help it at all, — and she 
 needn't talk so to me about it ; and then she said 
 it was my fault the whole of it ! that if I hadn't 
 scraped acquaintance with Nancy when she had 
 forbidden me, all this would never have happened." 
 
 " There is some truth in that, isn't there, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I think it might all have hap- 
 pened whether or no ; and at any rate it is a little hard 
 to talk so to me about it now when it's all over and 
 can't be helped. Oh, I have been so tired to-day, 
 Miss Alice ! — Aunt Fortune has been in such a 
 bad humor." 
 
 " What put her in a bad humor ? " 
 
 " Why, all this about Nancy in the first place ; 
 and then I know she didn't l'ke Mr. Van Brunt's 
 bringing the rocking-chair for me ; she couldn't say 
 much, but I could see by her face. And then, 
 Mrs. Van Brunt's coming — I don't think she liked 
 that. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt came to see me this 
 morning and brought me a custard. How many 
 people are kind to me ! — everywhere I go." 
 
 " I hope, dear Ellen, you don't forget whose 
 kindness sends them all." 
 
 " I don't, Miss Alice ; I always think of that now ; 
 and it seems you can't think how pleasant to me 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Then I hope you can bear unkindness from one 
 poor woman, — who after all isn't as happy as you 
 are, — without feeling any ill-will towards her in 
 return." 
 
 " I don't think I feel ill-will towards her," said 
 Ellen ; " I always try as hard as 1 can not to ; but 
 I can't like her, Miss Alice ; and I do get out of 
 
352 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 patience. It's very easy to put me out of patience, 
 I think ; it takes almost nothing sometimes." 
 
 " But remember, ' charity suifereth long and is 
 kind.' " 
 
 "And I try all the while, dear Miss Alice, to 
 keep down my bad feelings," said Ellen, her eyes 
 watering as she spoke ; " I try and pray to get rid 
 of them, and I hope I shall by and by ; I believe I 
 am very bad." 
 
 Alice drew her closer. 
 
 " I have felt very sad part of to-day," said Ellen 
 presently ; " Aunt Fortune, and my being so lonely, 
 and my poor letter, altogether ; — but part of the 
 time I felt a great deal better. I was learning that 
 lovely hymn, — do you know it, Miss Alice ? — ' Poor, 
 weak, and worthless though I am ! ' " 
 
 Alice went on : — 
 
 1 I have a rich, almighty Friend, 
 Jesus the Saviour is His name, 
 He freely loves, and without end.' 
 
 " Oh, dear Ellen, whoever can say that has nc 
 right to be unhappy. No matter what happens, we 
 have enough to be glad of." 
 
 " And then I was thinking of those words in the 
 Psalms, — ' Blessed is the man ' — stop, I'll find it; 
 I don't know exactly how it goes ; — ' Blessed is he 
 whose transgression is forgiven ; whose sin is 
 covered.' " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed ! "said Alice. " It is a shame 
 that any trifles should worry much those whose 
 sins are forgiven them, and who are the children 
 of the great King. Poor Miss Fortune never knew 
 the sweetness of those words. We ought to be 
 sorry for her and pray for her, Ellen ; and never 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 353 
 
 never, even in thought, return evil for evil. It is 
 not like Christ to do so." 
 
 " I will not, I will not, if I can help it," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " You can help it ; but there is only one way.. 
 Now, Ellen dear, I have three pieces of news for 
 you that I think you will like. One concerns you, 
 another myself, and the third concerns both you 
 and myself. Which will you have first ? " 
 
 " Three pieces of good news ! " said Ellen, with 
 opening eyes ; — " I think I'll have my part first." 
 
 Directing Ellen's eyes to her pocket, Alice slowly 
 made the corner of the letter show itself. Ellen's 
 color came and went quickly as it was drawn forth ; 
 but when it was fairly out and she knew it again, 
 she flung herself upon it with a desperate eagerness 
 Alice had not looked for ; she was startled at the 
 half frantic way in which the child clasped and 
 kissed it, weeping bitterly at the same time. Her 
 transport was almost hysterical. She had opened 
 the letter, but she was not able to read a word ; 
 and quitting Alice's arms she threw herself upon 
 the bed, sobbing in a mixture of joy and sorrow 
 that seemed to take away her reason. Alice looked 
 on surprised a moment, but only a moment, and 
 turned away. 
 
 When Ellen was able to begin her letter the 
 reading of it served to throw her back into fresh 
 fits of tears. Many a word of Mrs. Montgomery's 
 went so to her little daughter's heart that its 
 very inmost cords of love and tenderness were 
 wrung. It is true the letter was short and very 
 simple ; but it came from her mother's heart ; it 
 was written by her mother's hand ; and the very old 
 23 
 
354 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 remembered handwriting had mighty power to move 
 her. She was so wrapped up in her own feelings 
 that through it all she never noticed that Alice was 
 not near her, that Alice did not speak to comfort 
 her. When the letter had been read time after time 
 and wept over again and again, and Ellen at last 
 was folding it up for the present, she bethought 
 herself of her friend and turned to look after her. 
 Alice was sitting by the window, her face hidden 
 in her hands ; and as Ellen drew near she was sur- 
 prised to see that her tears were flowing and her 
 breast heaving. Ellen came quite close and softly 
 laid her hand on Alice's shoulder. But it drew no 
 attention. 
 
 " Miss Alice," said Ellen, almost fearfully, — 
 u dear Miss Alice," — and her own eyes filled fast 
 again, " what is the matter ? — won't you tell me ? — 
 Oh, don't do so ! — please don't ! " 
 
 " I will not," said Alice, lifting her head, " I am 
 sorry I have troubled you, dear ; I am sorry I could 
 not help it." 
 
 She kissed Ellen, who stood anxious and sorrow- 
 ful by her side, and brushed away her tears. But 
 Ellen saw she had been shedding a great many. 
 
 " What is the matter, dear Miss Alice ? — what 
 has happened to trouble you ? — won't you tell me ? " 
 — Ellen was almost crying herself. 
 
 Alice came back to the rocking-chair, and took 
 Ellen in her arms again ; but she did not answer 
 her. Leaning her face against Ellen's forehead, 
 she remained silent. Ellen ventured to ask no more 
 questions ; but lifting her hand once or twice caress- 
 ingly to Alice's face, she was distressed to find her 
 cheek wet still. Alice spoke at last. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 355 
 
 " It isn't fair not to tell you what is the matter, 
 dear Ellen, since I have let you see me sorrowing. 
 It is nothing new, nor anything I would have other- 
 wise if I could. It is only that I have had a mother 
 once, and have lost her ; — and you brought back 
 the old time so strongly that I could not command 
 myself." 
 
 Ellen felt a hot tear drop upon her forehead, and 
 again ventured to speak her sympathy only by 
 silently stroking Alice's cheeks. 
 
 " It is all past now," said Alice ; " it is all well. 
 I would not have her back again. I shall goto her 
 I hope by and-by." 
 
 " Oh, no ! you must stay with me," said Ellen, 
 clasping both arms round her. 
 
 There was a long silence, during which they re- 
 mained locked in each other's arms. 
 
 " Ellen dear," said Alice at length, "we are both 
 motherless, for the present at least, — both of us 
 almost alone ; I think God has brought us together 
 to be a comfort to each other. We will be sisters 
 while He permits us to be so*. Don't call me Miss 
 Alice any more. You shall be my little sister and 
 I will be your elder sister, and my home shall be 
 your home as well." 
 
 Ellen's arms were drawn very close round her 
 companion at this, but she said nothing, and her 
 face was hid in Alice's bosom. There was another 
 very long pause. Then Alice spoke in a livelier 
 tone. 
 
 " Come, Ellen ! look up ! you and I have for- 
 gotten ourselves ; it isn't good for sick people to 
 get down in the dumps. Look up and let me see 
 these pale cheeks. Don't you want something to 
 eat?" 
 
356 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, faintly. 
 
 *' What would you say to a cup of chicken 
 broth ? " , 
 
 " Oh, I should like it very much ! " said Ellen, 
 with new energy. 
 
 " Margery made me some particularly nice, as 
 she always does ; and I took it into my head a 
 little might not come amiss to you ; so I resolved 
 to stand the chance of Sharp's jolting it all over 
 me, and I rode down with a little pail of it on my 
 arm. Let me rake open these coals and you shall 
 have some directly." 
 
 " And did you come without being spattered ? " 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Not a drop. Is this what you use to warm 
 things in? Never mind, it has had gruel in it; I'll 
 set the tin pail on the fire ; it won't hurt it." 
 
 " I am so much obliged to you," said Ellen, " for 
 do you know I have got quite tired of gruel, and 
 panada I can't bear." 
 
 " Then I am very glad I brought it." 
 
 While it was warming, Alice washed Ellen's gruel 
 cup and spoon ; and presently she had the satis- 
 faction of seeing Ellen eating the broth with that 
 keen enjoyment none know but those that have 
 been sick and are getting well. She smiled to see 
 her gaining strength almost in the very act of swal- 
 lowing. 
 
 " Ellen," said she presently, " I have been con- 
 sidering your dressing-table. It looks rather 
 doleful. I'll make you a present of some dimity, 
 and when you come to see me you shall make a 
 cover for it that will reach down to the floor and 
 hide those long legs." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 357 
 
 7 That wouldn't do at all," said Ellen ; " Aunt 
 Fortune would go off into all sorts of fits." 
 
 "What about? " 
 
 " Why, the washing, Miss Alice — to have such a 
 great thing to wash every now and then. You can't 
 think what a fuss she makes if I have more than 
 just so many white clothes in the wash every 
 week." 
 
 " That's too bad," said Alice. " Suppose you 
 bring it up to me — it wouldn't be often— and I'll have 
 it washed for you, — if you care enough about it to 
 take the trouble." 
 
 " Oh, indeed I do ! " said Ellen ; " I should like 
 it very much ; and I'll get Mr. Van Brunt to — no, I 
 can't, Aunt Fortune won't let me ; I was going to 
 say I would get him to saw off the legs and make 
 it lower for me, and then my dressing-box would 
 stand so nicely on the top. Maybe I can yet. Oh, 
 I never showed you my boxes and things." 
 
 Ellen brought them all out and displayed their 
 beauties. In the course of going over the writing- 
 desk she came to the secret drawer and a little 
 money in it. 
 
 " Oh, that puts me in mind ! " she said. " Miss 
 Alice, this money is to be spent for some poor child ; 
 now I've been thinking Nancy has behaved so to 
 me I should like to give her something to show her 
 that I don't feel unkindly about it — what do you 
 think would be a good thing ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Ellen — I '11 take the matter into 
 consideration." 
 
 " Do you think a Bible would do ? " 
 
 " Perhaps that would do as well as anything ;— 
 I'll think about it." 
 
358 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I should like to do it very much," said Ellen, 
 H for she has vexed me wonderfully." 
 
 " Well, Ellen, would you like to hear my other 
 pieces of news ? or have you no curiosity ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," said Ellen ; " I had for- 
 gotten it entirely ; what is it, Miss Alice ? " 
 
 " You know I told you one concerns only myself, 
 but it is great news to me. I learnt this morning 
 that my brother will come to spend the holidays 
 with me. It is many months since I have seen him." 
 
 " Does he live far away ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, — he has gone far away to pursue his 
 studies, and cannot come home often. The other 
 piece of news is that I intend, if you have no ob- 
 jection, to ask Miss Fortune's leave to have you 
 spend the holidays with me too." 
 
 " Oh, delightful ! " said Ellen, starting up and 
 clapping her hands and then throwing them round 
 her adopted sister's neck ; — " dear Alice, how good 
 you are ! " 
 
 " Then I suppose I may reckon upon your con- 
 sent," said Alice, " and I'll speak to Miss Fortune 
 without delay." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, dear Miss Alice ; — how glad I 
 am ! I shall be happy all the time from now till 
 then thinking of it. You aren't going ? " 
 
 " I must." 
 
 " Ah, don't go yet ! Sit down again ; you know 
 you're my sister, — don't you want to read mamma's 
 letter ? " 
 
 " If you please, Ellen, I should like it very much." 
 
 She sat down, and Ellen gave her the letter, and 
 stood by while she read it, watching her with glisten- 
 ing eyes ; and though as she saw Alice's fill, her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 359 
 
 own overflowed again, she hung over her still to 
 the last ; going over every line this time with a new 
 pleasure. 
 
 " New York, Saturday, Nov. 22, 18 — . 
 
 " My Dear Ellen, 
 
 " I meant to have written to you before, but have 
 been scarcely able to do so. I did make one or two 
 efforts which came to nothing; I was obliged to 
 give it up before finishing anything that could be 
 called a letter. To-day I feel much stronger than 
 I have at any time since your departure. 
 
 " I have missed you, my dear child, very much. 
 There is not an hour in the day, nor a half hour, 
 that the want of you does not come home to my 
 heart ; and I think I have missed you in my very 
 dreams. This separation is a very hard thing to 
 bear. But the Hand that has arranged it does 
 nothing amiss ; we must trust Him, my daughter, 
 that all will be well. I feel it is well ; though some- 
 times the thought of your dear little face is almost 
 too much for me. I will thank God I have had 
 such a blessing so long, and I now commit my 
 treasure to Him. It is an unspeakable comfort to 
 me to do this, for nothing committed to His care 
 is ever forgotten or neglected. Oh, my daughter, 
 never forget to pray ;' never slight it. It is almost 
 my only refuge, now I have lost you, and it bears 
 me up. How often — how often, — through the years 
 gone by, — when heart-sick and faint, — I have fallen 
 on my knees, and presently there have been as it 
 were drops of cool water sprinkled upon my spirit's 
 fever. Learn to love prayer, dear Ellen, and then 
 you will have a cure for all the sorrows of life. 
 And keep this letter, that if ever you are like to 
 
360 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 forget it, your mother's testimony may come to 
 mind again. 
 
 " My tea, that used to be so pleasant, has become 
 a sad meal to me. I drink it mechanically and set 
 down my cup, remembering only that the dear little 
 hand which used to minister to my wants is near 
 me no more. My child — my child !— words are 
 poor to express the heart's yearnings, — my spirit is 
 near you all the time. 
 
 " Your old gentleman has paid me several visits. 
 The day after you went came some beautiful pig- 
 eons. I sent word back that you were no longer 
 here to enjoy his gifts, and the next day he came 
 to see me. He has shown himself very kind. And 
 all this, dear Ellen, had for its immediate cause 
 your proper and ladylike behavior in the store. 
 That thought has been sweeter to me than all the 
 old gentleman's birds and fruit. I am sorry to in- 
 form you that though I have seen him so many 
 times I am still perfectly ignorant of his name. 
 
 " We set sail Monday in the • England.' Your 
 father has secured a nice state-room for me, and I 
 have a store of comforts laid up for the voyage. So 
 next week you may imagine me out on the broad 
 ocean, with nothing but sky and clouds and water 
 to be seen around me, and probably much too sick 
 to look at those. Never mind that ; the sickness is 
 good for me. 
 
 " I will write you as soon as I can again, and 
 send by the first conveyance. 
 
 " And now, my dear baby — my precious child- 
 farewell. May the blessing of God be with you ! 
 " Your affectionate mother, 
 
 " E. Montgomery/' 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 36 1 
 
 "You ought to be a good child, Ellen," said 
 Alice, as she dashed away some tears. " Thank 
 you for letting me see this , it has been a great 
 pleasure to me." 
 
 "And now," said Ellen, " you feel as if you 
 knew mamma a little." 
 
 " Enough to honor and respect her very much. 
 Now good-bye, my love ; I must be at home before 
 it is late. I will see you again before Christmas 
 comes." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
 
 Shakspbarb. 
 
 To Ellen's sorrow she was pronounced next morn- 
 ing well enough to come downstairs ; her aunt aver- 
 ring that " it was no use to keep a fire burning up 
 there for nothing." She must get up and dress in 
 the cold again ; and winter had fairly set in now ; 
 the 19th of December rose clear and keen. Ellen 
 looked sighingly at the heap of ashes and the dead 
 brands in the fireplace where the bright little fire 
 had blazed so cheerfully the evening before. But 
 regrets did not help the matter ; and, shivering, she 
 began to dress as fast as she could. Since her ill- 
 ness a basin and pitcher had been brought into her 
 room, so the washing at the spout was ended for 
 the present ; and though the basin had no place but 
 a chair, and the pitcher must stand on the floor, 
 Ellen thought herself too happy. But how cold it 
 was ! The wind swept past her windows giving 
 wintry shakes to the panes of glass, and through 
 many an opening in the wooden frame-work of the 
 
362 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 house it came in and saluted Ellen's bare arms and 
 neck. She hurried to finish her dressing, and wrap- 
 ping her double-gown over all, went down to the 
 kitchen. It was another climate there. A great 
 fire was burning that it quite cheered Ellen's heart 
 to look at ; and the air seemed to be full of coffee 
 and buckwheat cakes : Ellen almost thought she 
 should get enough breakfast by the sense of smell. 
 
 " Ah ! here you are," said Miss Fortune. " What 
 have you got that thing on for ? " 
 
 " It was so cold upstairs," said Ellen, drawing 
 up her shoulders. The warmth had not got inside 
 of liar wrapper yet. 
 
 " Well, 'tain't cold here ; you'd better pull it off 
 right away. I've no notion of people's making 
 themselves tender. You'll be warm enough 
 directly. Breakfast '11 warm you." 
 
 Ellen felt almost inclined to quarrel with the 
 breakfast that was offered in exchange for her 
 comfortable wrapper ; she pulled it off, however, 
 and sat down without saying anything. Mr. Van 
 Brunt put some cakes on her plate. 
 
 " If breakfast's a-going to warm you," said he, 
 " make haste and get something down ; or drink 
 a cup of coffee ; you're as blue as skim milk." 
 
 " Am I ? " said Ellen, laughing ; " I feel blue ; 
 but I can't eat such a pile of cakes as that, Mr. 
 Van Brunt." 
 
 As a general thing the meals at Miss Fortune's 
 were silent solemnities : an occasional consultation, 
 or a few questions and remarks about farm affairs, 
 being all that ever passed. The breakfast this 
 morning was a singular exception to the common 
 rule. 
 
THE WIDE, WIL>E WORLD. 363 
 
 " I am in a regular quandary," said the mistress 
 of the house when the meal was about half over. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked up for an instant, and 
 asked " what about ? " 
 
 " Why, how I am ever going to do to get those 
 apples and sausage-meat done. If I go to doing 
 'em myself I shall about get through by spring." 
 
 " Why don't you make a bee ? " said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. 
 
 " Ain't enough of either on 'em to make it worth 
 while. I ain't a-going to have all the bother of a 
 bee without something to show for't." 
 
 " Turn 'em both into one," suggested her coun- 
 selor, going on with his breakfast. 
 
 " Both ? " 
 
 " Yes — let 'em pare apples in one room and cut 
 pork in t'other." 
 
 " But I wonder who ever heard of such a thing 
 before," said Miss Fortune, pausing with her cup 
 of coffee half way to her lips. Presently, however, 
 it was carried to her mouth, drunk off, and set 
 down with an air of determination. 
 
 "I don't care," said she, "if it never was heard 
 of. I'll do it for once, anyhow. I'm not one of 
 them to care what folks say. I'll have it so ! But 
 I wpn't have 'em to tea, mind you ; I'd rather throw 
 apples and all into the fire at once. I'll have but one 
 plague of setting tables, and that. I won't have 
 'em to tea. I'll make it up to 'em in the supper 
 though." 
 
 " I'll take care to publish that," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. 
 
 " Don't you go and do such a thing," said Miss 
 Fortune, earnestly. " I shall have the whole 
 
364 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 country on my hands. I won't have but just as 
 many on 'em as '11 do what I want done ; that'll 
 be as much as I can stand under. Don't you 
 whisper a word of it to a living creature. I'll go 
 round and ask 'em myself to come Monday even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Monday evening — then I suppose you'd like 
 to have up the sleigh this afternoon. Who's a- 
 coming ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I ha'n't asked 'em yet." 
 
 " They'll every soul come that's asked, that you 
 may depend ; there ain't one on 'em that would 
 miss of it for a dollar." 
 
 Miss Fortune bridled a little at the implied trib- 
 ute to her housekeeping. 
 
 " If I was some folks I wouldn't let people know 
 I was in such a mighty hurry to get a good supper," 
 she observed, rather scornfully. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Van Brunt ; " I think a 
 good supper ain't a bad thing; and I've no objec- 
 tion to folks knowing it." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I didn't mean you" said Miss Fortune ; 
 " I was thinking of those Lawsons, and other folks." 
 
 " If you're a-going to ask them to your bee you 
 ain't of my mind.'' 
 
 " Well, I am though," replied Miss Fortune ; 
 " there's a good many hands of 'em ; they can turn 
 on: a good lot of work in an evening ; and they 
 always take care to get me to their bees. I may 
 as well get something out of them in return if I 
 can." 
 
 " They'll reckon on getting as much as they can 
 out o' you, if they come, there's no sort of doubt in 
 my mind. It's my belief Mirny Lawson will kiU 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 36$ 
 
 herself some of these days upon green corn. She 
 was at home to tea one day last summer, and I 
 declare I thought " 
 
 What Mr. Van Brunt thought he left his hearers 
 to guess. 
 
 " Well, let them kill themselves if they like," said 
 Miss Fortune ; " I am sure . T am willing ; there'll 
 be enough ; I ain't a-going to mince matters when 
 once I begin. Now let me see. There's five of 
 the Lawsons to begin with — I suppose they'll alt 
 come ; — Bill Huff, and Jany, that's seven " 
 
 " That Bill Huff is as good-natured a fellow as 
 ever broke ground," remarked Mr. Van Brunt. 
 " Ain't better people in the town than them Huffs 
 are." 
 
 "They're well enough," said Miss Fortune. 
 " Seven — and the Hitchcocks, there's three of them, 
 that'll make ten " 
 
 " Dennison's ain't far from there," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. " Dan Dennison's a fine hand at a'most 
 anything, in doors or out." 
 
 " That's more than you can say for his sister. 
 Cilly Dennison gives herself so many airs it's al- 
 together too much for plain country folks. I should 
 like to know what she thinks herself. It's a'most 
 too much for my stomach to see her flourishing that 
 watch and chain." 
 
 " What's the use of troubling yourself about other 
 people's notions ? " said Mr. Van Brunt. " If folks 
 want to take the road let 'em have it. That's my 
 way. I am satisfied, provided they don't run me 
 over." 
 
 " 'Tain't my way, then, I'd have you to know," 
 said Miss Fortune ; " I despise it ! And 'tain't 
 
366 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 your way neither, Van Brunt ; what did you give 
 Tom Larkens a cow-hiding for ? " 
 
 " 'Cause he deserved it, if ever a man did," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, quite rousing up ; — he was treating 
 that little brother of his'n in a way a boy shouldn't 
 be treated, and I am glad I did it. I gave him 
 notice to quit before I laid a finger on him. He 
 warn't doing nothing to ?ne" 
 
 M And how much good do you suppose it did ? " 
 said Miss Fortune, rather scornfully. 
 
 M It did just the good I wanted to do. He has 
 seen fit to let little Billy alone ever since." 
 
 "Well, I guess I'll let the Dennisons come," said 
 Miss Fortune ; " that makes twelve, and you and 
 your mother are fourteen. I suppose that man 
 Marshchalk will come dangling along after the 
 Hitchcocks." 
 
 " To be sure he will ; and his aunt, Miss Janet, 
 will come with him most likely.'' 
 
 " Wfill — there's no help for it," said Miss Fort- 
 une. " That makes sixteen.'* 
 
 " Will you ask Miss Alice ? " 
 
 " Not I ! she's another of your proud set. I don't 
 want to see anybody that thinks she's going to do 
 me a great favor by coming." 
 
 Ellen's lips opened, but wisdom came in time to 
 stop the words that were on her tongue. It did 
 not, however, prevent the quick little turn of her 
 head which showed what she thought, and the 
 pale cheeks were for a moment bright enough. 
 
 " She is. and I don't care who hears it," repeated 
 Miss Fortune. " I suppose she'd look as sober as 
 a judge, too, if she saw cider on the table ; they 
 say she won't tcr.ch a drop svsr and thinks it's 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 367 
 
 wicked ; and if that ain't setting oneself up for 
 better than other folks I don't know what is." 
 
 " I saw her paring apples at the Huffs', though, 
 said Mr. Van Brunt, " and as pleasant as anybody ; 
 but she didn't stay to supper." 
 
 " I'd ask Mrs. Vawse if I could get word to her," 
 said Miss Fortune, — " but I can never travel up 
 that mountain. If I get a sight of Nancy I'll tell 
 her." 
 
 " There she is, then," said Mr. Van Brunt, look- 
 ing towards the little window that opened into the 
 shed. And there, indeed, was the face of Miss 
 Nancy pressed flat against the glass, peering into 
 the room. Miss Fortune beckoned to her. 
 
 " That is the most impudent, shameless, out- 
 rageous piece of What were you doing at the 
 
 window ? " said she, as Nancy came in. 
 
 " Looking at you, Miss Fortune," said Nancy, 
 coolly. " What have you been talking about this 
 great while ? If there had only been a pane of 
 glass broken, I needn't have asked." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said Miss Fortune, " and 
 listen to me." 
 
 " I'll listen, ma'am," said Nancy, "but it's of no 
 use to hold my tongue. I do try sometimes, but I 
 never could keep it long." 
 
 " Have you done ? " 
 
 "I don't know, ma'am," said Nancy, shaking her 
 head ; " it's just as it happens." 
 
 " You tell your granny I am going to have a bee 
 here next Monday evening, and ask her if she'll 
 come to it." 
 
 Nancy nodded. " If it's good weather," she 
 added conditionally. 
 
368 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Stop, Nancy ! " said Miss Fortune, " here ! " — ■ 
 for Nancy was shutting the door behind her. — " As 
 sure as you come here Monday night without your 
 grandma, you'll go out of the house quicker than 
 you come in ; see if you don't ! " 
 
 With another gracious nod and smile Nancy de- 
 parted. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, rising, " I'll dis- 
 patch this business downstairs, and then I'll bring 
 up the sleigh. The pickle's ready, I suppose." 
 
 " No, it ain't," said Miss Fortune, " I couldn't 
 make it yesterday ; but it's all in the kettle, and I 
 told Sam to make a fire downstairs, so you can 
 put it on when you go down. The kits are all 
 ready, and the salt and everything else." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt went down the stairs that led to 
 the lower kitchen ; and Miss Fortune, to make up 
 for lost time, set about her morning's work with 
 even an uncommon measure of activity. Ellen, in 
 consideration of her being, still weak, was not re- 
 quired to do anything. She sat and looked on, 
 keeping out of the way of her bustling aunt as far 
 as it was possible ; but Miss Fortune's gyrations 
 were of that character that no one could tell five 
 minutes beforehand what she might consider "in 
 the way." Ellen wished for her quiet room again. 
 Mr. Van Brunt's voice sounded downstairs in tones 
 of business ; what could he be about ? it must be 
 very uncommon business that kept him in the house. 
 Ellen grew restless with the desire to go and see, 
 and to change her aunt's company for his ; and no 
 sooner was Miss Fortune fairly shut up in the but- 
 tery at some secret work than Ellen gently opened 
 the door at the head of the lower stairs and looked 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 369 
 
 down. Mr. Van Brunt was standing at the bottom 
 and he looked up. 
 
 " May I come down there, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 said Ellen, softly. 
 
 " Come down here ? to be sure you may ! You 
 may always come straight where I am without ask- 
 ing any questions." 
 
 Ellen went down. But before she reached the 
 bottom stair she stopped with almost a start, and 
 stood fixed with such a horrified face that neither Mr. 
 Van Brunt nor Sam Larkens, who was there, could 
 help laughing. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said the former, — " they're 
 all dead enough, Miss Ellen ; you needn't be 
 scared." 
 
 Three enormous hogs which had been, killed the 
 day beiore greeted Ellen's eyes. They lay in dif- 
 ferent parts of the room, with each a cob in his 
 moutli. A fourth lay stretched upon his back on 
 the kitchen table, which was drawn out into the 
 middle of the floor. Ellen stood fast on the stair. 
 
 " Have they been killed ! " was her first as- 
 tonished exclamation, to which Sam responded 
 with another burst. 
 
 " Be quiet, Sam Larkens," said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 " Yes, Miss Ellen, they've been killed sure enough." 
 
 " Are these the same pigs I used to see you feed- 
 ing with corn, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " The identical same ones," replied that gentle- 
 man, as laying hold of the head of the one on the 
 table and applying his long sharp knife with the 
 other hand, he, while he was speaking, severed it 
 neatly and quickly from the trunk. " And very fine 
 porkers they are ; I ain't ashamed of 'em," 
 2^ 
 
370 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " And what's going to be done with them now ? * 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " I am just going to cut them up and lay them 
 down. Bless my heart ! you never see nothing of 
 the kind before, did you ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen. "What do you mean by 
 1 laying them down,' Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 "Why, laying 'em down in salt for pork and 
 hams. You want to see the whole operation, don't 
 you? Well, here's a seat for you. You'd better 
 fetch that painted coat o' yourn and wrap round you, 
 for it ain't quite so warm here as upstairs ; but it's 
 getting warmer. Sam, just you shut that door to, 
 and throw on another log." 
 
 Sam built up as large a fire as could be made 
 under a very large kettle that hung in the chimney. 
 When Ellen came down in her wrapper she was 
 established close in the chimney-corner ; and then 
 Mr. Van Brunt, not thinking her quite safe from 
 the keen currents of air that would find their way 
 into the room, dispatched Sam for an old buffalo 
 robe that lay in the shed. This he himself with 
 great care wrapped round her, feet and chair 
 and all, and secured it in various pl?ces with 
 old cords. He declared then she looked for all the 
 world like an Indian, except her face ; and in high 
 good-humor he went to cutting up the pork, and 
 Ellen from out of her buffalo robe watched him. 
 
 It was beautifully done. Even Ellen could see 
 that, although she could not have known if it had 
 been done ill. The knife guided by strength and 
 skill seemed to go with the greatest ease and cer- 
 tainty just where he wished it ; the hams were 
 beautifully trimmed out ; the pieces fashioner* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 371 
 
 clean ; no ragged cutting ; and his quick-going 
 knife disposed of carcass after carcass with admi- 
 rable neatness and celerity. Sam, meanwhile, ar- 
 ranged the pieces in different parcels at his direc- 
 tion, and minded the kettle, in which a great boil- 
 ing and scumming was going on. Ellen was too 
 much amused for a while to ask any questions. 
 When the cutting up was all done, the hams and 
 shoulders were put in a cask by themselves and 
 Mr. Van Brunt began to pack down the other 
 pieces in the kits, stewing them with an abundance 
 of salt. 
 
 " What's the use of putting all that salt with the 
 pork, Mr. Van Brunt ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " It wouldn't keep good without that ; it would 
 spoil very quick." 
 
 " Will the salt make it keep ? " 
 
 " All the year round — as sweet as a nut." 
 
 " I wonder what is the reason of that," said Ellen. 
 " Will salt make everything keep good ? " 
 
 " Everything in the world — if it only has enough 
 of it, and is kept dry and cool." 
 
 " Are you going to do the hams in the same 
 way ? " 
 
 " No ; — they're to go in that pickle, over the 
 fire." 
 
 " In this kettle ? — what is in it ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " You must ask Miss Fortune about that ; — sugar 
 and salt and saltpetre and molasses, and I don't 
 know what all." 
 
 " And will this make the hams so different from 
 the rest of the pork ? " 
 
 " No ; they've got to be smoked after they have 
 laid in that for a while." 
 
372 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Smoked ! " said Ellen ; " how ? " 
 
 " Why, ha'n't you been in the smokehouse ? The 
 hams has to be taken out of the pickle and hung 
 up there ; and then we make a little fire of oak 
 chips and keep it burning night and day." 
 
 " And how long must they stay in the smoke ? " 
 
 " Oh, three or four weeks or so." 
 
 " And then they are done ? " 
 
 " Then they are done." 
 
 " How very curious ! " said Ellen. " Then it's 
 the smoke that gives them that nice taste ? I never 
 knew smoke was good for anything before." 
 
 " Ellen ! " said the voice of Miss Fortune from 
 the top of the stairs, — " come right up here this 
 minute ! you'll catch your death ! " 
 
 Ellen's countenance fell. 
 
 " There's no sort of fear of that, ma'am," said Mr. 
 Van Brunt, quietly, " and Miss Ellen is fastened 
 up so she can't get loose ; and I can't let ( her out 
 just now." 
 
 The upper door was shut again pretty sharply, but 
 that was the only audible expression of opinion 
 •with which Miss Fortune favored them. 
 
 " I guess my leather curtains keep off the wind, 
 don't they ? " said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " Yes, indeed they do," said Ellen, " I don't feel 
 a breath ; I am as warm as a toast, — too warm 
 almost. How nicely you have fixed me up, Mr. 
 Van Brunt." 
 
 " I thought that 'ere old buffalo had done its 
 work," he said, "but I'll never say anything is 
 good for nothing again.. Have you found out where 
 the apples are yet ? " 
 
 M No," said Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 373 
 
 " Ha'n't Miss Fortune showed you ! Well, it's 
 time you'd know. Sam, take that little basket and 
 go fill it at the bin ; I guess you know where they 
 be, for I believe you put 'em there." 
 
 Sam went into the cellar, and presently returned 
 with the basket nicely filled. He handed it to 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Are all these for me ? " she said in surprise. 
 
 " Every one on 'em," said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " But I don't like to," said Ellen ; — " what will 
 Aunt Fortune say ?" 
 
 " She won't say a word," said Mr. Van Brunt ; 
 " and don't you say a word neither, but whenever 
 you want apples just go to the bin and take 'em. 1 
 give you leave. It's right at the end of the far cellar, 
 at the left hand corner ; there are the bins and all 
 sorts of apples in 'em. You've got a pretty variety 
 there, ha'n't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, all sorts," said Ellen, — " and what beauties f 
 and I love apples very much, — red, and yellow, 
 and speckled, and green. — What a great mon- 
 ster ! " 
 
 "That's a Swar ; that ain't as good as most of the 
 others ; — those are Seek-no- furthers." 
 
 " Seek-no-further ! " said Ellen ; — " what a funny 
 name. It ought to be a mighty good apple. 1 
 shall seek further at any rate. What is this ? " 
 
 " That's as good an apple as you've got in the 
 basket ; that's a real Orson pippin ; a very fine 
 kind. I'll fetch you some up from home some day, 
 though, that are better than the best of those." 
 
 The pork was all packed ; the kettle was lifted 
 off the fire ; Mr. Van Brunt was wiping his hands 
 from the salt. 
 
374 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " And now, I suppose, I must go," said Ellen, 
 with a little sigh. 
 
 "Why, /must go," said he; — "so I suppose I 
 may as well let you out of your tent first." 
 
 '• I have had such a nice time," said Ellen ; " I 
 had got so tired of doing nothing upstairs. I am 
 very much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt. But," 
 said she, stopping as she had taken up her basket 
 to go, — " aren't you going to put the hams in the 
 pickle ? " 
 
 " No," said he, laughing, " it must wait to get 
 cold first. But you'll make a capital farmer's wife, 
 there's no mistake." 
 
 Ellen blushed, and ran upstairs with her apples. 
 To bestow them safely in her closet was her first 
 care ; the rest of the morning was spent in increas- 
 ing weariness and listlessness. She had brought 
 down her little hymn-book thinking to amuse herself 
 with learning a hymn, but it would not do ; eyes and 
 head both refused their part of the work ; and when 
 at last Mr. Van Brunt came in to a late dinner, he 
 found Ellen seated flat on the hearth before the 
 fire, her right arm curled round upon the hard 
 wooden bottom of one of the chairs, and her head 
 pillowed upon that, fast asleep. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Van Brunt, " what's 
 become of that 'ere rocking-cheer ? " 
 
 " It's upstairs I suppose. You can go fetch it 
 if you've a mind to," answered Miss Fortune, dryly 
 enough. 
 
 He did so immediately ; and Ellen barely waked 
 up to feel herself lifted from the floor and placed 
 in the friendly rocking-chair ; Mr. Van Brunt re- 
 marking at the same time that " it might be well 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 375 
 
 enough to let well folks lie on the floor and sleep- 
 on cheers, but cushions warn't a bit too soft for sick 
 ones." 
 
 Among the cushions Ellen went to sleep again 
 with a much better prospect of rest ; and either 
 sleeping or dozing passed away the time for a good 
 while. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Oh, that I were an Orange tree, 
 
 That busy plant ! 
 Then should I always laden be, 
 
 And never want 
 Some fruit for Him that dresseth me. 
 
 G. Herbert. 
 
 She was thoroughly roused at last by the slam- 
 ming of the house-door after her aunt. She and Mr. 
 Van Brunt had gone forth on their sleighing expedi- 
 tion, and Ellen waked to find herself quite alone. 
 
 She could not long have doubted that her aunt 
 was away, even if she had not caught a glimpse of 
 her bonnet going out of the shed door, — the still- 
 ness was so uncommon. No such quiet could be 
 with Miss Fortune anywhere about the premises. 
 The old grandmother must have been abed and 
 asleep too, for a cricket under the hearth and the 
 wood fire in the chimney had it all to themselves, 
 and made the only sounds that were heard ; the 
 first singing out every now and then in a very con- 
 tented and cheerful style, and the latter giving oc- 
 casional little snaps and sparks that just served to 
 make one take notice how very quietly and steadily 
 it was burning. 
 
 Miss Fortune had left the room put up in the last 
 extreme of neatness. Not a speck of dust could 
 be supposed to lie on the shining painted floor ; 
 
376 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the back of every chair was in its place against the 
 wall. The very hearth-stones shone, and the heads 
 of the large iron nails in the floor were polished to 
 steel. Ellen sat awhile listening to the soothing 
 chirrup of the cricket and the pleasant crackling of 
 the flames. It was a fine cold winter's day. The 
 two little windows at the far end of the kitchen 
 looked out upon an expanse of snow; and the 
 large lilac bush that grew close by the wall, moved 
 lightly by the wind, drew its icy fingers over the 
 panes of glass. Wintry it was without ; but that 
 made the warmth and comfort within seem all the 
 more. Ellen would have enjoyed it very much if 
 she had had any one to talk to ; as it was, she felt 
 rather lonely and sad. She had begun to learn a 
 hymn ; but it had set her off upon a long train of 
 thought ; and with her head resting on her hand, 
 her fingers pressed into her cheek, the other hand 
 with the hymn-book lying listlessly in her lap and 
 eyes staring into the fire, she was sitting the very 
 picture of meditation when the door opened and 
 Alice Humphreys came in. Ellen started up. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad to see you ! I'm all alone." 
 
 " Left alone, are you ? " said Alice, as Ellen's 
 warm lips were pressed again and again to her cold 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Fortune's gone out. Come and sit 
 down here in the rocking-chair. How cold you 
 are. Oh, do you know she is going to have a great 
 bee here Monday evening ? What is a bee ? " 
 
 Alice smiled. " Why," said she, " when people 
 here in the country have so much of any kind of 
 work to do that their own hands are not enough 
 for it they send and call in their neighbors to help 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 377. 
 
 them, — that's a bee. A large party in the course of: 
 a long evening can do a great deal." 
 
 " But why do they call it a bee? " 
 
 "I don't know, unless they mean to be like a 
 hive of bees for the time. ' As busy as a bee,' you 
 know." 
 
 " Then they ought to call it a hive and not a bee 
 I should think. Aunt Fortune is going to ask six- 
 teen people. I wish you were coming ! " 
 
 " How do you know but I am ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know you aren't. Aunt Fortune isn't 
 going to ask you." 
 
 " You are sure of that, are you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I wish I wasn't. Oh, how she vexed me 
 this morning by something she said ! " 
 
 " You mustn't get vexed so easily, my child. 
 Don't let every little untoward thing roughen your 
 temper." 
 
 " But I couldn't help it, dear Miss Alice ; it was 
 about you. I don't know whether I ought to tell 
 you ; but I don't think you'll mind it, and I know 
 it isn't true. She said she didn't want you to 
 come because you were one of the proud set." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I had it just on the end of my tongue 
 to say, ' It's no such thing ; ' but I didn't say it," 
 
 " I am glad you were so wise. Dear Ellen, that 
 is nothing to be vexed about. If it were true, in- 
 deed, you might be sorry. I trust Miss Fortune is 
 mistaken. I shall try and find some way to make 
 her change her mind. I am glad you told me." 
 
 " I am so glad you are come, dear Alice ! " said 
 Ellen again. " I wish I could have you always ! " 
 And the long, very close pressure of her two arms 
 
378 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 about her friend said as much. There was a long 
 pause. The cheek of Alice rested on Ellen's head, 
 which nestled against her ; both were busily think- 
 ing ; but neither spoke ; and the cricket chirped and 
 the flames crackled without being listened to. 
 
 " Miss Alice," said Ellen, after a long time, — " I 
 wish you would talk over a hymn with me." 
 
 " How do you mean, my dear ? " said Alice, 
 rousing herself. 
 
 " I mean, read it over and explain it. Mamma 
 used to do it sometimes. I have been thinking a 
 great deal about her to-day ; and I think I'm very 
 different from what I ought to be. I wish you 
 would talk to me and make me better, Miss Alice." 
 
 Alice pressed an earnest kiss upon the tearful 
 little face that was uplifted to her, and presently 
 said, 
 
 " I am afraid I shall be a poor substitute for 
 your mother, Ellen. What hymn shall we take ? " 
 
 " Any one — this one if you like. Mamma likes 
 it very much. I was looking it over to-day. 
 
 " ' A charge to keep I have — 
 A God to glorify ; 
 A never-dying soul to save 
 And fit it for the sky ' " 
 
 Alice read the first line and paused. 
 
 " There now," said Ellen, — " what is a charge ? " 
 
 " Don't you know that ? " 
 
 " I think I do, but I wish you would tell me." 
 
 "Try to tell me first." 
 
 " Isn't it something that is given one to do ? — I 
 don't know exactly." 
 
 " It is something given one in trust, to be done 
 s>r taken care of. I remember very well once when 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 37^ 
 
 I was about your age my mother had occasion 
 to go out for half an hour, and she left me in 
 charge of my little baby sister ; she gave me a 
 charge not to let anything disturb her while she 
 was away and to keep her asleep if I could. And 
 I remember how I kept my charge too. I was not 
 to take her out of the cradle, but I sat beside her 
 the whole time ; I would not suffer a fly to light 
 on her little fair cheek ; I scarcely took my eyes 
 from her ; I made John keep pussy at a distance ; 
 and whenever one of the little round dimpled arms 
 was thrown olit upon the coverlet, I carefully drew 
 something over it again." 
 
 " Is she dead ? " said Ellen, timidly, her eyes 
 watering in sympathy with Alice's. 
 
 " She is dead, my dear ; she died before we left 
 England." 
 
 " I understand what a charge is," said Ellen, 
 after a little ; " but what is this charge the hymn 
 speaks of ? What charge have I to keep ? " 
 
 " The hymn goes on to tell you. The next line 
 gives you part of it. ' A God to glorify.' " 
 
 " To glorify ? " said Ellen, doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes — that is to honor, — to give Him all the 
 honor that belongs to Him." 
 
 " But can /honor Him ? " 
 
 " Most certainly ; either honor or dishonor ; 
 you cannot help doing one." 
 
 " I ! " said Ellen again. 
 
 " Must not your behavior speak either well or ill 
 for the mother who has brought you up ? " 
 
 " Yes— I know that." 
 
 u Very well ; when a child of God lives as he 
 Ought to do, people cannot help having high and 
 
3S0 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 noble thoughts of that glorious One whom he serves, 
 and of that perfect law he obeys. Little as they 
 may love the ways of religion, in their own secret 
 hearts they cannot help confessing that there is a 
 *God and that they ought to serve Him. But a 
 worldling, and still more an unfaithful Christian, 
 just helps people to forget there is such a Being, 
 and makes them think either that religion is a sham, 
 or that they may safely go on despising it. I have 
 iieard it said, Ellen, that Christians are the only 
 Bible some people ever read ; and it is true ; all 
 they know of religion is what they get from the 
 lives of its professors ; and oh ! were the world 
 but full of the right kind of example, the kingdom 
 of darkness could not stand. ' Arise, shine ! ' is 
 a word that every Christian ought to take home." 
 
 " But how can I shine ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " My dear Ellen ! — in the faithful, patient, self- 
 denying performance of every duty as it comes to 
 hand, — ' whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it 
 with thy might.' " 
 
 " It is very little that /can do," said Ellen. 
 
 " Perhaps more than you think, but never mind 
 that. All are not great stars in the church ; you 
 may be only a little rushlight ; — see you burn well ! " 
 
 " I remember," said Ellen, musing, — " mamma 
 once told me when I was going somewhere, that 
 people would think strangely of her if I didn't be- 
 have well." 
 
 " Certainly. Why, Ellen, I formed an opinion of 
 her very soon after I knew you." 
 
 " Did you ? " said Ellen, with a wonderfully 
 brightened face, " what was it ? — was it good ? — ■ 
 ah ! do tell me!" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 38 1 
 
 " I am not quite sure of the wisdom of that," said 
 Alice, smiling ; " you might take home the praise 
 that is justly her right and not yours." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed," said Ellen, " I had rather she 
 should have it than I. Please tell me what you 
 thought of her, dear Alice, — I know it was good, at 
 any rate." 
 
 "Well, I will tell you," said Alice, — "at all risks. 
 I thought your mother was a lady, from the honor- 
 able notions she had given you ; and from your 
 ready obedience to her, which was evidently the 
 obedience of love, I judged she had been a good 
 mother in the true sense of the term. I thought 
 she must be a refined and cultivated person from 
 the manner of your speech and behavior; and I 
 was sure she was a Christian because she had 
 taught you the truth, and evidently had tried to lead 
 you in it." 
 
 The quivering face of delight with which Ellen be- 
 gan to listen gave way, long before Alice had done, 
 to a burst of tears. 
 
 " It makes me so glad to hear you say that," she 
 said. 
 
 " The praise of it is your mother's, you know, 
 Ellen." 
 
 " I know it, — but you make me so glad ! " And 
 hiding her face in Alice's lap, she fairly sobbed. 
 
 "You understand now, don't you, how Christians 
 may honor or dishonor their Heavenly Father ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ; but it makes me afraid to think 
 of it." 
 
 " Afraid ? it ought rather to make you glad. It 
 is a great honor and happiness for us to be per- 
 mitted to honor Him. 
 
382 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " ' A never dying soul to save 
 And fit it for the sky.' 
 
 " Yes — that is the great duty you owe yoursell 
 Oh, never forget it, dear Ellen ! And whatever 
 would hinder you, have nothing to do with it. 
 'What shall it profit a man though he gain the 
 whole world, and lose his own soul.' 
 
 " ' To serve the present age 
 My calling to fulfill ' " 
 
 "What is ' the present age ' ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " All the people who are living in the world at 
 this time." 
 
 " But, dear Alice ! — what can I do to the present 
 age ? " 
 
 " Nothing to the most part of them, certainly ; 
 and yet, dear Ellen, if your little rushlight shines 
 well, there is just so much the less darkness in the 
 world, — though perhaps you light only a very little 
 corner. Every Christian is a blessing to the world ; 
 another grain of salt to go towards sweetening and 
 saving the mass." 
 
 " That is very pleasant to think of," said Ellen, 
 musing. 
 
 " Oh, if we were but full of love to our Saviour, 
 how pleasant it would be to do anything for Him ! 
 how many ways we should find of honoring Him 
 by doing good." 
 
 " I wish you would tell me some of the ways that 
 I can do it," said Ellen. 
 
 " You will find them fast enough if you seek 
 them, Ellen. No one is so poor or so young but 
 he has one talent at least to use for God." 
 
 " I wish I knew what mine is," said Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 383 
 
 " Is your daily example as perfect as it can be ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent and shook her head. 
 
 " Christ pleased not Himself, and went about do- 
 ing good ; and He said, ■ If any man serve Me, let 
 him follow Me' Remember that. Perhaps your 
 aunt is unreasonable and unkind ; — see with how 
 much patience and perfect sweetness of temper you 
 can bear and forbear; see if you cannot win her 
 over by untiring gentleness, obedience, and meek- 
 ness. Is there no improvement to be made here ? " 
 
 " Oh me, yes ! " answered Ellen with a sigh. 
 
 " Then your old grandmother. Can you do noth- 
 ing to cheer her life in her old age and helplessness ? 
 — can't you find some way of giving her pleasure ? 
 — some way of amusing a long tedious hour now 
 and then ? " 
 
 Ellen looked very grave ; in her inmost heart she 
 knew this was a duty she shrank from. 
 
 " He ' went about doing good.' Keep that in 
 mind. A kind word spoken, — a little thing done 
 to smooth the way of one or lighten the load of 
 another, — teaching those who need teaching, — 
 entreating those who are walking in the wrong way 
 — oh ! my child, there is work enough ! 
 
 " ' To serve the present age, 
 My calling to fulfill, 
 O may it all my powers engage 
 To do my Maker's will. 
 
 ** ' Arm me with jealous care, 
 As in Thy sight to live ; 
 And O ! 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 
 
384 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 honored 
 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 de- 
 scribed ? Where is your Bible ? " 
 
 She opened to the 20th chapter of the Revela- 
 tion. 
 
 " And I saw a great white throne, and Him that 
 sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven 
 fled 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 385 
 
 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 1 " said 
 Ellen, the tears running down her cheeks. 
 
 " Perfectly \ none of us do. But, dear Ellen, that 
 is not the question. Is it 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 some* 
 times 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 
 
386 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her arms around 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 foot- 
 steps 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 387 
 
 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 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. 
 
 Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept? 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Great preparations were making all Saturday and 
 Monday for the expected gathering. From morn- 
 ing 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 per- 
 fection 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 mine 
 and body in their present state. She longed to go 
 out again and see how the snow looked, but a fierce 
 
388 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Wind all the fore part of the day made it unfit foi 
 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 instantly 
 brought up Alice's words, — " Can't you do some- 
 thing 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 ! 
 /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 round Ellen, and kissing 
 her a great many times, declared she should like any- 
 thing that came out of that sweet little mouth. As 
 soon as she was set free, Ellen brought her Bible, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 389 
 
 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 knit- 
 ting 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 bus- 
 tling 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 sur- 
 prised to feel her face wet with a tear from her grand- 
 mother'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 sha'n'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 stretch- 
 ing 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 
 
39< 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 barn- 
 yard 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 
 savory smell of cooking in the morning which 
 nothing that came on table by any means account- 
 ed 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, parlor, 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 bandies of the doors, and the big brass 
 andirons in the parlor, and the brass candlesticks 
 on the parlor mantelpiece. When at last she had 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 391 
 
 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 Fort- 
 une 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 but- 
 tery 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 shun- 
 ning 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 
 
392 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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, /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, ma'am, 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. Hall 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 393 
 
 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 noth- 
 ing, 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 or 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 un- 
 luckily she could not get it back again, even though 
 warned by Mrs. Van Brunt that her aunt was com- 
 ing. Trying only made it worse, and Miss Fortune's 
 entrance was but a signal for afresh 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 
 
394 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 humor, and went quietly 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 discon- 
 tented 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 
 oh dear ! I don't want her here ! — But that's no 
 matter " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 395 
 
 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 mis- 
 chievous 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 on,ly till her aunt's back was turned. 
 She slipped downstairs and out of 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, sur- 
 lily. 
 
 " '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 
 
396 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 by the way she came. When she reached the up» 
 per 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 go- 
 ing 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 
 firelight the busy figures that went back and for- 
 ward, 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 com- 
 pany. 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 parlor 
 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 parlor fireplace, 
 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, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 397 
 
 some of them. I wonder what Miss Fortune is 
 thinking of, — that fire had ought to have been burn- 
 ing 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 /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 pull- 
 ing up chairs on the hearth — and Nancy and Ellen 
 running in and out of the room with countless wrap- 
 pers, cloaks, shawls, comforters, hoods, mittens, and 
 moccasins. 
 
398 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " 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 '11 
 be here directly." 
 
 " Which is Miss Mirny ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " That big ugly woman in the 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 for- 
 ward, " 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 gentle- 
 man, 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 399 
 
 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 com- 
 pany, Miss Janet," replied Miss Fortune, with a 
 darkened brow. 
 
 " She's too godd for every-day use, that's a fact," 
 remarked Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 Miss Fortune colored and tossed her head, and 
 the company were for a moment still with surprise. 
 Another arrival set them a-going 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 humored 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 
 
400 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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- 
 ribbon hung some showy seals. 
 
 The kitchen was now one buzz of talk and good- 
 humor. Ellen stood half smiling 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 polite- 
 ness 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 every one 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 newcomer as " Jane," 
 " J any," and " Jane Huff." She was a decidedly 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 401 
 
 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 pre- 
 tension 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 and 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; tali 
 and athletic, and rather handsome, he made no pre- 
 tension to be a gentlemen. He valued his fine 
 farming and fine cattle a great deal higher thao 
 Juniper Hitchcock's gentility. 
 26 
 
402 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Wi* merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 
 
 I wat they didna weary ; 
 An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 
 Their sports were cheap an' cheery. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 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 dispatched downstairs 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 work- 
 ing 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 what-not, 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 hear- 
 ing 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 so merrily; stories were told; 
 anecdotes, gossip, jokes, passed from mouth to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 403 
 
 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 and 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," re- 
 plied Nancy, diving down into the barrel to reach 
 the apples ; — " if you had asked me what Miss Fort- 
 une 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 
 1 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 sew- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Sewing ! " said Ellen. But " Girls ! girls !— 
 what are you leaving the door open for ? " sounded 
 from the kitchen, and they hurried in. 
 
 " 'Most got though, Nancy ? " inquired Bob Law- 
 son. (Miss Fortune had gone downstairs.) 
 
 " Ha'n'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 
 
404 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 brother ; " 'taters and apple-sass is my sass in the 
 winter." 
 
 " It's good those is easy got," said his sister 
 Mary ; " the jass is the most of the dinner to Bob 
 most commonly." 
 
 " Are they fixing for more apple-sass down- 
 stairs ? " Mr. Dennison went on, rather dryly. 
 
 " No — hush ! " said Juniper Hitchcock, — " sass- 
 ages ! " 
 
 " 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 call killing two " 
 
 " Jusi 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 a-going to get through in 
 a hurry," she added, laughing. 
 
 " Which is the doctor, ma'am ? " 
 
 u 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. He's a natural knack at putting 
 bones in their places and all that sort of thing. 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 405 
 
 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 
 :ame sweeping in under the doors and freezing her 
 feet the whole time, and she was sure the biggest 
 jire 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 final- 
 ly fumbling in her pocket, brought forth an odd 
 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 tongues grew quite furi- 
 ous. 
 
 " 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 
 
4 o6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mr. Huff, — they all speak so kindly and look s« 
 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 Hurl 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 Eilen,— " that's all. Hark ! — what was that ? " 
 
 " What is that ? " said somebody else, and in- 
 stantly 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 mica 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 407 
 
 *nd 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 falh 
 
 " 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 us our letters 
 from the post-office, when there are any. Fie 
 carries 'em in a pair of saddlebags 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 mas- 
 ter, the school-master 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 ower 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 round the room.' Well, what 
 do you think he did to me ? He took hold of my 
 
408 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 two hands and swung me round and round by 
 my 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 Starksinca- 
 tion. 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 his 
 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. Sometimes 
 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 old man, with 
 thin hair as white as snow. He wore a long snuff- 
 colored 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. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 409 
 
 "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 exclaimed, 
 " That's prime ! " Then taking up his saddlebags 
 from the floor, he began slowly to undo the fasten- 
 ings. 
 
 " You are going to our house to-night, ain't you, 
 Father Swaim ? " said Jenny. 
 
 " That's where I was a-going," said the old man, 
 " I was a-going 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 tc* 
 become of me ; — and after that glass of cider I 
 don't much care ! Now let's see, — let see — ' Miss 
 Jenny Hitchcock,' — here's something for you. I 
 should like to know very much 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 Mirny; that saves me a longtramp — if you've 
 twenty-one cents in your pocket, that is ; if you 
 ha'n't I shall be obleeged to tramp after that. 
 Here's something for 'most all of you, I'm think- 
 ing. ' Miss Cecilia Dennison,'— your fair hands — 
 how's the Squire ? — rheumatism, eh ? I think I'm 
 a younger man now than your father, Cecilia ; and 
 
41 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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, ma'am." 
 
 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 sorrow- 
 ful 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 hub- 
 bub 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 ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 41 1 
 
 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 
 co 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-takings, 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 round Alice's neck, and 
 held her with a long close earnestness which did 
 not pass from her mind all the evening afterward. 
 
 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 gen- 
 eral 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 
 
412 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 com- 
 pany. Presently Mr. Van Brunt, bending down to 
 her, said, 
 
 " What is the matter with your eyes ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Ellen, starting, — " at least noth- 
 ing that's any matter I mean." 
 
 "Come here," said he, drawing her to 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. 
 
 " Til tejl 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 
 r;oing to have the cat now. Come ! — Puss, puss in 
 the corner ! Go off in t'other room, will you, every- 
 body that don't want to play. Puss, puss ? " 
 
 Now the fun began in good earnest, and 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 * 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 413 
 
 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 a while 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 general- 
 ship. 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 
 
414 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the person before him, except when the women 
 held by each other's skirts. They we v e 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 a/most 
 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 we 
 she could. Then she watched, and laughed till tht 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 415 
 
 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 round the room, panting and 
 fanning themselves with their pocket-handker- 
 chiefs, and speaking in 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 quickly and quitted the room. 
 
 Ellen sat down on the first stair she came to, tm 
 
4 i o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her bosom was heaving up and down, and she was 
 determined not to cry. The sounds of talking and 
 laughing came to her ear from the parlor, and 
 there at her side stood the covered-up supper ; — for 
 a few minutes it was hard work 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 gently messenger from its Maker, bid- 
 ding 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 in- 
 to 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 her 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 downstairs ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 417 
 
 " It's a bee, grandma ; there's nothing the mat 
 ter." 
 
 " A bee ? who's been stung ? What's all the 
 noise about ? " 
 
 * 'Tisn'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 par- 
 lor — that's all." 
 
 " Paring apples, eh ? Is there company below ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; a whole parcel of people." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the old lady, " I oughtn't to 
 ha' been abed ! Why ha'n't Fortune called 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 can- 
 dles. 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 night-cap strings and ready to go peace- 
 fully to sleep, when Nancy burst in. 
 
 " Ellen ! Hurry ! you must come right down- 
 stairs." 
 
 " Downstairs ! — why, I am just ready to go to 
 bed." 
 
 " No matter — you must come right away down. 
 
4 i8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 There's Mr. Van Brunt says he won't begin suppe? 
 till you come." 
 
 " But does Aunt Fortune want me to ? " 
 
 " 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 every- 
 thing had begun to be pulled to pieces before she 
 came in. The company were all crowded round 
 the table, eating and talking and helping them- 
 selves ; and ham and bread and butter, pumpkin 
 pies and mince pies and apple pies, cake of vari- 
 ous kinds, and glasses of egg-nogg and cider were 
 in everybody's hands. One dish in the middle of 
 the table had won the praise of every tongue ; no- 
 body 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 
 
» THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 419 
 
 back of all the company, and forgotten. Nancy 
 had been upon her good behavior 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 disappoint- 
 ed, Ellen stepped back again. But she soon for- 
 got the disappointment, " She'll know now that I 
 don't bear her any grudge," she thought. 
 
 " Ha'n'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. 
 u 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-nogg 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 ? " 
 
420 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. ' 
 
 " 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 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 '11 finish our supper after- 
 wards." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 421 
 
 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. 
 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built an absolute trust. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 It was Tuesday, the 2 2d of December, and late in 
 the day. Not a pleasant afternoon. The gray 
 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 ! " 
 
422 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " 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 sha'n'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 color 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 un- 
 comfortable color Miss Fortune had spoken of ; 
 and weariness and weakness kept her for a while 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 423 
 
 quiet in Alice's arms, overcoming even the pleas- 
 ure 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 un- 
 common 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 even- 
 ing. 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, un- 
 combed, 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, ma'am, it's the master I'm wanting," 
 said the woman, dropping a curtsey. 
 
 " My father ? Margery, will you tell him ? " 
 
 Margery departed. 
 
 " Come nearer the fire," said Alice, — " and sit 
 
424 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 down ; my father will be here presently. It is 
 snowing again, is it not ? " 
 
 " It is, ma'am ; — a bitter storm." 
 
 " Have you come far ? " 
 
 " It's a good bit, my lady — it's more nor a mile 
 beyant Carra — just right forgin the ould big hill 
 they call the Catchback ; — in Jemmy Morrison's 
 woods — where Pat M'Farren's clearing is — it's 
 there I live, my lady." 
 
 " That is a long distance, indeed, for a walk in 
 the snow," said Alice, kindly ; " sit down, and 
 come nearer the fire. Margery will give you 
 something to refresh you." 
 
 " I thank ye, my lady, but I want nothing man 
 can give me 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, ma'am, — my own boy — all 
 the child I have — and I'll have none by the morn- 
 ing 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 of my father ? " 
 
 " The Lord bless ye !— I'll tell you, my lady." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 425 
 
 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 o' this 
 cowld country has chilled the life out o' him, — and 
 troubles cowlder than all," she added, in a lower 
 tone. " I seed him grow waker an' waker an' his 
 daar face grow thinner an' 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, 
 but he just growed waker an' waker. I axed the 
 father wouldn't he see the doctor about him, but 
 he's an' asy 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 like a heavenly 
 angel itself already, 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 jantleman that 
 
426 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 praaches at Carra,' says he, — ' he's a calling fot 
 him,' says he. I knowed there wasn't a praast at 
 all at Carra, an' I thought he was draaming, 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 any- 
 thing 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 to 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 daar,' says he, — < if ye love me,' 
 says he, ■ fetch me the good jantleman that praaches 
 at Carra till I spake to him.' f Is it the praast 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 be- 
 fore. ' Oh, no, mother,' says he, f it's not him at 
 all that I maan — it's the jantleman that spakes in 
 the little white church at Carra, — he's not a praast 
 at all,' says he, f. 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 praast in yer own house.' ' I'm 
 maaning 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 427 
 
 tell me where I'll find him, this praast, 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." 
 
 " Surely I will," said Mr. Humphreys, who had 
 come in while she was speaking. " Wait but one 
 moment." 
 
 In a moment he came back ready, and he and 
 the woman set forth to their walk. Alice looked 
 out anxiously after them. 
 
 " It storms very hard," she said, — " and he has 
 not had his tea! But he couldn't wait. Come, 
 Ellen love, we'll have ours. How will he ever get 
 back again ? — it will be so deep by that time." 
 
 There was a cloud on her fair brow for a few 
 minutes, but it passed away, and quiet and calm as 
 ever, she sat down at the little tea-table with Ellen. 
 From her face all shadows seemed to have flown for- 
 ever. Hungry and happy, she enjoyed Margery's 
 good bread and butter, and the nice honey, and from 
 time to time cast very bright looks at the dear face 
 on the other side of the table, which could not 
 help looking bright in reply. Ellen was well 
 pleased for her part, that the third seat was empty. 
 But Alice looked thoughtful sometimes, as a gust 
 of wind swept by, and once or twice went to the 
 window. 
 
 After tea Alice took out her work, and Ellen 
 put herself contentedly down on the rug, and sat 
 leaning back against her. Silent for very content- 
 ment for a while, she sat looking gravely into the 
 
428 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 fire ; while Alice's ringers drove a little steel hook 
 through and through some purse silk in a myste- 
 rious fashion that no eye could be quick enough to 
 follow, and with such skill and steadiness that the 
 work grew fast under her hand. 
 
 " I had such a funny dream last night," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Did you ? — what about ? " 
 
 H It was pleasant, too," said Ellen, twisting her- 
 self round to talk, — " but very queer. I dreamed 
 about that gentleman that was so kind to me on 
 board the boat — you know ? — I told you about 
 him ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 " Well, I dreamed of seeing him, somewhere, I 
 don't know where, — and he didn't look a bit like 
 himself, only I knew who it was ; and I thought I 
 didn't like to speak to him, for fear he wouldn't 
 know me, but then I thought he did, and came up 
 and took my hand and seemed so glad to see me ; 
 and asked me if I had been pious since he saw me." 
 
 Ellen stopped to laugh. 
 
 " And what did you tell him ? " 
 
 " I told him yes. And then I thought he seemed 
 so very pleased." 
 
 " Dreamers do not always keep close to the truth, 
 it seems." 
 
 " I didn't," said Ellen. " But then I thought I 
 had, in my dream." 
 
 " Had what ?— kept close to the truth ? " 
 
 " No, no ; — been what he said." 
 
 " Dreams are queer things," said Alice. 
 
 "I have been far enough from being good to> 
 day," said Ellen, thoughtfully. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 429 
 
 " How so, my dear ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Miss Alice — because I never am 
 good, I suppose." 
 
 " But what has been the matter to-day ? " 
 
 " Why, those apples ! I thought I would come here 
 so early, and then when I found I must do all those 
 baskets of apples first, I was very ill-humored ; and 
 Aunt Fortune saw I was and said something that 
 made me worse. And I tried as hard as I could to 
 get through before dinner, and when I found I 
 couldn't, I said I wouldn't come to dinner, but she 
 made me, and that vexed me more, and I wouldn't 
 eat scarcely anything, and then when I got back to 
 the apples again I sewed so hard that I ran the 
 needle into my finger ever so far,— see there ? — 
 what a mark it left ? — and Aunt Fortune said it 
 served me right and she was glad of it, and that 
 made me angry. I knew I was wrong, afterwards, 
 and I was very sorry. Isn't it strange, dear Alice, 
 I should do so when I have resolved so hard I 
 wouldn't?" 
 
 " Not very, my darling, as long as we have such 
 evil hearts as ours are — it is strange they should be 
 so evil." 
 
 " I told Aunt Fortune afterwards I was sorry, 
 but she said • actions speak louder than words, and 
 words are cheap.' If she only wouldn't say that 
 just as she does ! it does worry me so." 
 
 " Patience ! " said Alice, passing her hand over 
 Ellen's hair as she sat looking sorrowfully up at 
 her ; — " you must try not to give her occasion. 
 Never mind what she says, and overcome evil with 
 good." 
 
 " That is just what mamma said ! " exclaimed 
 
^o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen, rising to throw her arms round Alice's neck 
 and kissing her with all the energy of love, grati* 
 tude, repentance, and sorrowful recollection. 
 
 " Oh, what do you think ! " she said, suddenly, 
 her face changing again, — " I got my letter last 
 night!" 
 
 " Your letter ! " 
 
 " Yes, the letter the old man brought — don't you 
 know ? — and it was written on the ship, and there 
 was only a little bit from mamma, and a little bit 
 from papa, but so good ! Papa says she is a great 
 deal better, and he has no doubt he will bring her 
 back in the spring or summer quite well again. 
 Isn't that good ? " 
 
 "Very good, dear Ellen. I am very glad for 
 you." 
 
 " It was on my bed last night. I can't think how 
 it got there, — and I don't care either, so long as I 
 have got it. What are you making ? " 
 
 " A purse," said Alice, laying it on the table for 
 her inspection. 
 
 " It will be very pretty. Is the other end to be 
 like this ? " 
 
 " Yes, and these tassels to finish them oif." 
 
 " Oh, that's beautiful," said Ellen, laying them 
 down to try the effect ; — " and these rings to fasten 
 it with. Is it black?" 
 
 " No, dark green. I am making it for my brother 
 John." 
 
 " A Christmas present ! " exclaimed Ellen. 
 
 " I am afraid not ; he will hardly be here by that 
 time. It may do for New Year. " 
 
 " How pleasant it must be to make Christmas 
 and New Year presents ! " said Ellen, after she had 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 4^1 
 
 watched Alice's busy fingers for a few minutes. 
 " I wish I could make something for somebody. 
 Oh, I wonder if I couldn't make something for Mr. 
 Van Brunt ! Oh, I should like to very much." 
 
 Alice smiled at Ellen's very wide-open eyes. 
 
 " What could you make for him ? " 
 
 " I don't know — that's the thing. He keeps his 
 money in his pocket, — and besides, I don't know 
 how to make purses." 
 
 " There are other things besides purses. How 
 would a watch-guard do ? Does he wear a watch ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether he does or not; he 
 doesn't every day, I am sure, but I don't know 
 about Sundays." 
 
 " Then we won't venture upon that. You might 
 knit him a night-cap." 
 
 " A night-cap ! — You're joking, Alice, aren't you ? 
 I don't think a night-cap would be pretty for a 
 Christmas present, do you ? " 
 
 " Well, what shall we do, Ellen ? " said Alice, 
 laughing. " I made a pocket-pincushion for papa 
 once when I was a little girl, but I fancy Mr. Van 
 Brunt would not know exactly what use to make of 
 such a convenience. I don't think you could fail 
 to please him, though, with anything you should hit 
 upon." 
 
 " I have got a dollar," said Ellen, u to buy stuff 
 with ; it came in my letter last night. If I only 
 knew what ! " 
 
 Down she went on the rug again, and Alice 
 worked in silence, while Ellen's thoughts ran over 
 every possible and impossible article of Mr. Van 
 Brunt's dress. 
 
 " I have some nice pieces of fine linen," said 
 
432 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 Alice ; " suppose I cut out a collar for him, and you 
 can make it and stitch it, and then Margery will 
 starch and iron it for you, all ready to give to him. 
 How will that do ? Can you stitch well enough ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I guess I can," said Ellen. " Oh, 
 thank you, dear Alice ! you are the best help that 
 ever was. Will he like that, do you think?" 
 
 " I am sure he will — very much." 
 
 " Then that will do nicely," said Ellen, much 
 relieved. " And now what do you think about 
 Nancy's Bible ? " 
 
 " Nothing could be better, only that I am afraid 
 Nancy would either sell it for something else, or 
 let it go to destruction very quickly. I never heard 
 of her spending five minutes over a book, and the 
 Bible, I am afraid, least of all." 
 
 " But I think," said Ellen, slowly, " I think she 
 would not spoil it or sell it either, if I gave it to 
 her." 
 
 And she told Alice about Nancy's asking for the 
 kiss last night. 
 
 " That's the most hopeful thing I have heard 
 about Nancy for a long time," said Alice. " We 
 will get her the Bible by all means, my dear, — a 
 nice one, — and I hope you will be able to persuade 
 her to read it." 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and went to the glass 
 door. Ellen followed her, and they looked out 
 into the night. It was very dark. She opened the 
 door a moment, but the wind drove the snow into 
 their faces, and they were glad to shut it again. 
 
 " It's almost as bad as the night we were out, 
 isn't it ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Not such a heavy fall of snow I think, but it is 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 433 
 
 very windy and cold. Papa will be late getting 
 home." 
 
 " I am sorry you are worried, dear Alice." 
 
 " I am not much worried, love. I have often 
 known papa out late before, but this is rather a 
 hard night for a long walk. Come, we'll try to make 
 a good use of the time while we are waiting. Sup- 
 pose you read to me while I work." 
 
 She took down a volume of Cowper and found 
 his account of the three pet hares. Ellen read it, 
 and then several of his smaller pieces of poetry. 
 Then followed a long talk about hares and other 
 animals ; about Cowper and his friends and his 
 way of life. Time passed swiftly away ; it was get- 
 ting late. 
 
 " How weary papa will be," said Alice ; " he has 
 had nothing to eat since dinner. I'll tell you what 
 we'll do, Ellen," she exclaimed, as she threw her 
 work down, " we'll make some chocolate for him — ■ 
 that'll be the very thing. Ellen dear, run in to the 
 kitchen and ask Margery to bring me the little 
 chocolate pot and a pitcher of night's milk." 
 
 Margery brought them. The pot was set on the 
 coals, and Alice had cut up the chocolate that it 
 might melt the quicker. Ellen watched it with great 
 interest, till it was melted, and the boiling water 
 stirred in, and the whole was simmering quietly on 
 the coals. 
 
 " Is it done now ? " 
 
 " No, it must boil a little while, and then the 
 milk must be put in, and when that has boiled, the 
 eggs — and then it will be done." 
 
 With Margery and the chocolate pot the cat 
 had walked in. Ellen immediately endeavored to 
 28 
 
434 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 improve his acquaintance ; that was not so easy. 
 The Captain chose the corner of the rug furthest 
 from her, in spite of all her calling and coaxing, 
 paying her no more attention than if he had not 
 heard her. Ellen crossed over to him and began most 
 tenderly and respectfully to stroke his head and 
 back, touching his soft fur with great care. Parry 
 presently lifted up his head uneasily, as much as 
 to say, " I wonder how long this is going to last," 
 and finding there was every prospect of its lasting 
 some time, he fairly got up and walked over to the 
 other end of the rug. Ellen followed him and tried 
 again, with exactly the same effect. 
 
 " Well, cat ! you aren't very kind," said she at 
 length ; — " Alice, he won't let me have anything to 
 do with him ! " 
 
 " I am sorry, my dear, he is so unsociable ; he is 
 a cat of very bad taste — that is all I can say." 
 
 " But I never saw such a cat ! — he won't let me 
 touch him ever so softly ; he lifts up his head and 
 looks as cross ! — and then walks off." 
 
 " He don't know you yet, and truth is, Parry has 
 no fancy for extending the circle of his acquaint- 
 ance. Oh, kitty, kitty ! " said Alice, fondly strok- 
 ing his head, " why don't you behave better ? " 
 
 Parry lifted his head, and opened and shut his 
 eyes, with an expression of great satisfaction very 
 different from that he had bestowed on Ellen. 
 Ellen gave him up for the present as a hopeless 
 case, and turned her attention to the chocolate, 
 which had now received the milk and must be 
 watched lest it should run over, which Alice said 
 it would very easily do when once it began to boil 
 again. Meanwhile Ellen wanted to know what 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.. 435 
 
 chocolate was made of — where it came from-^ 
 where it was made best, — burning her little face in 
 the fire all the time lest the pot should boil over 
 while she was not looking. At last the chocolate 
 began to gather a rich froth, and Ellen called out, 
 
 " Oh, Alice ! look here quick ! here's the shape. 
 of the spoon on the top of the chocolate ! — do look. 
 at it." 
 
 An iron spoon was in the pot, and its shape was 
 distinctly raised on the smooth frothy surface. As 
 they were both bending forward to watch it, Alice 
 waiting to take the pot off the moment it began to> 
 boil, Ellen heard a slight click of the lock of the 
 door, and turning her head was a little startled to* 
 see a stranger there, standing still at the far end of 
 the room. She touched Alice's arm without look- 
 ing round. But Alice started to her feet with a. 
 slight scream, and in another minute had thrown- 
 her arms round the stranger and was locked in his. 
 Ellen knew what it meant now very well. She 
 turned away as if she had nothing to do with what 
 was going on there, and lifted the pot of chocolate 
 off the fire with infinite difficulty ; but it was going 
 to boil over, and she would have broken her back 
 rather than not do it. And then she stood with 
 her back to the brother and sister, looking into the 
 fire, as if she was determined not to see them till 
 she couldn't help it. But what she was thinking 
 of, Ellen could not have told, then or afterward. It 
 was but a few minutes, though it seemed to her a. 
 great many, before they drew near the fire. Curi- 
 osity began to be strong, and she looked round to 
 see if the new-comer was like Alice. No, not a bit, 
 — how different ! — darker hair and eyes — not a bifr 
 
436 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 like her ; handsome enough, too, to be her brother. 
 And Alice did not look like herself ; her usually 
 calm sweet face was quivering and sparkling now, 
 . — lit up as Ellen had never seen it, — oh, how bright ! 
 Poor Ellen herself had never looked duller in her 
 life ; and when Alice said, gayly, " This is my 
 brother, Ellen," her confusion of thoughts and feel- 
 ings resolved themselves into a flood of tears ; she 
 sprang and hid her face in Alice's arms. 
 
 Ellen's were not the only eyes that were full just 
 then, but of course she didn't know that. 
 
 " Come, Ellen," whispered Alice, prseently, "look 
 up ! — what kind of a welcome is this ? — come ! — we 
 have no business with tears just now, — won't you 
 run into the kitchen for me, love," she added, more 
 low, " and ask Margery to bring some bread and 
 butter, and anything else she has that is fit for a 
 traveler ? " 
 
 Glad of an escape, Ellen darted away that her 
 wet face might not be seen. The brother and 
 sister were busily talking when she returned. 
 
 " John," said Alice, " this is my little sister that I 
 •wrote you about — Ellen Montgomery. Ellen, this 
 is your brother as well as mine, you know." 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! " said her brother. " Miss Ellen, 
 this sister of mine is giving us away to each other 
 at a great rate, — I should like to know first what 
 you say to it. Are you willing to take a strange 
 brother upon her recommendation ? " 
 
 Half inclined to laugh, Ellen glanced at the 
 speaker's face, but meeting the grave though some- 
 what comical look of two very keen eyes, she looked 
 down again, and merely answered " Yes." 
 
 M Then, if I am to be your brother, you must give 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 437 
 
 me a brother's right, you know," said he, drawing 
 her gently to him, and kissing her gravely on the 
 lips. 
 
 Probably Ellen thought there was a difference 
 between John Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, or 
 the young gentlemen of the apple-paring ; for though 
 she colored a good deal, she made no objection and 
 showed no displeasure. Alice and she now busied 
 themselves with getting the cups and saucers out 
 of the cupboard, and setting the table ; but all that 
 evening, through whatever was doing, Ellen's eyes 
 sought the stranger as if by fascination. She 
 watched him whenever she could without being 
 noticed. At first she was in doubt what to think 
 of him ; she was quite sure from that one look into 
 his eyes that he was a person to be feared ; — there 
 was no doubt of that ; as to the rest she didn't 
 know. 
 
 : And what have my two sisters been doing to 
 spend the evening ? " said John Humphreys, one 
 time that Alice was gone into the kitchen on some 
 kind errand for him. 
 
 " Talking, sir," said Ellen, doubtfully. 
 
 " Talking ! this whole evening ? Alice must 
 have improved. What have you been talking 
 about ? " 
 
 " Hares — and dogs — and about Mr. Cowper — 
 and some other things " 
 
 " Private affairs, eh ? " said he, with again the 
 look Ellen had seen before. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Ellen, nodding and laughing. 
 
 " And how came you upon Mr. Cowper ? " 
 
 " Sir ? " 
 
 " How came you to be talking about Mr. Cow- 
 per ? " 
 
438 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I was reading about his hares, and about John 
 Gilpin ; and then Alice told me about Mr. Cowper 
 and his friends." 
 
 " Well, I don't know after all that you have had 
 a pleasanter evening than I have had," said her 
 questioner, " though I have been riding hard, with 
 the cold wind in my face, and the driving snow do- 
 ing all it could to discomfit me. I have had this 
 very bright fireside before me all the way." 
 
 He fell into a fit of grave musing which lasted 
 till Alice came in. Then suddenly fell a-fumbling 
 in his pocket. 
 
 " Here's a note for you," said he, throwing it into 
 her lap. 
 
 " A note ! — Sophia Marshman ! — where did you 
 get it?" 
 
 " From her own hand. Passing there to-day, I 
 thought I must stop a moment to speak to them, 
 and had no notion of doing more ; but Mrs. Marsh- 
 man was very kind, and Miss Sophia in despair, so 
 the end of it was I dismounted, and went in to 
 await the preparing of that billet, while my poor 
 nag was led off to the stables and afresh horse sup- 
 plied me, — I fancy that tells you on what condi- 
 tions." 
 
 " Charming ! " said Alice, — " to spend Christmas, 
 — I am very glad ; I should like to very much — 
 with you, dear. If I can only get papa — but I 
 think he will ; it will do him a great deal of good. 
 To-morrow, she says, we must come ; but I doubt 
 the weather will not let us ; we shall see." 
 
 " I rode Prince Charlie down. He is a good 
 traveler, and the sleighing will be fine if the snow 
 be not too deep. The old sleigh is in being yet, J 
 suppose ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 439 
 
 " Oh, yes ! in good order. Ellen, what are you 
 looking so grave about ? you are going too." 
 
 " I ! " said Ellen, a great spot of crimson coming 
 in each cheek. 
 
 " To be sure ; do you think I am going to leave 
 you behind ? 
 
 " But " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " There won't be room." 
 
 " Room in the sleigh ? Then we'll put John on 
 Prince Charlie, and let him ride there, postilion- 
 fashion." 
 
 " But — Mr. Humphreys ? " 
 
 " He always goes on horseback ; he will ride 
 Sharp or old John." 
 
 In great delight Ellen gave Alice an earnest 
 kiss ; and then they all gathered round the table 
 to take their chocolate, or rather to see John take 
 his, which his sister would not let him. wait for any 
 longer. The storm had ceased, and through the 
 broken clouds the moon and stars were looking out, 
 so they were no more uneasy for Mr. Humphreys 
 and expected him every moment. Still the supper 
 was begun and ended without him, and they had 
 drawn round the fire again before his welcome step 
 was at last heard. 
 
 There was new joy then ; new embracing and ques- 
 tioning and answering ; the little circle opened to 
 let him in ; and Alice brought the corner of the 
 table to his side, and poured him out a cup of hot 
 chocolate. But, after drinking half of it, and neg- 
 lecting the eatables beside him, he sat with one 
 hand in the other, his arm leaning on his knee, with 
 a kind of softened gravity upon his countenance. 
 
440 THE WIDE* WIDE WORLD. 
 
 # Is your chocolate right, papa ? " said Alice at 
 
 length. 
 
 " Very good, my daughter ! " 
 
 He finished the cup, but then went back to his 
 old attitude and look. Gradually they ceased their 
 conversation, and waited with respectful affection 
 and some curiosity for him to speak ; something oi 
 more than common interest seemed to be in his 
 thoughts. He sat looking earnestly in the fire, 
 sometimes with almost a smile on his face, and 
 gently striking one hand in the palm of the other. 
 And sitting so, without moving or stirring his eyes, 
 he said at last, as though the words had been 
 forced from him, " Thanks be unto God for His 
 unspeakable gift ! " 
 
 As he added no more, Alice said, gently, "What 
 have you seen to-night, papa ? " 
 
 He roused himself and pushed the empty cup 
 towards her. 
 
 " A little more, my daughter ; — I have seen the 
 fairest sight, almost, a man can see in this world. 
 I have seen a little ransomed spirit go home to its 
 rest. Oh, that ' unspeakable gift ! ' " 
 
 He pressed his lips thoughtfully together, while 
 he stirred his chocolate ; but having drunk it, he 
 pushed the table from him, and drew up his chair. 
 
 " You had a long way to go, papa," observed 
 Alice again. 
 
 " Yes — a long way there — I don't know what it 
 was coming home ; I never thought of it. How 
 independent the spirit can be of externals ! I 
 scarcely felt the storm to-night." 
 
 " Nor I," said his son. 
 
 " I had a long way to go," said Mr. Humphreys ; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 441 
 
 ' that poor woman — that Mrs. Dolan — she lives ro 
 the woods behind the Cat's Back, a mile beyond 
 Carra-carra, or more — it seemed a long mile to- 
 night and a more miserable place I never saw yet. 
 A little rickety shanty, the storm was hardly kept out 
 of it, and no appearance of comfort or nicety anywhere 
 or in anything. There were several men gathered 
 round the fire, and in a corner, on a miserable kind 
 of bed, I saw the sick child. His eye met mine 
 the moment I went in, and I thought I had seen 
 him before, but couldn't at first make out where. 
 Do you remember, Alice, a little ragged boy, with 
 a remarkably bright, pleasant face, who has planted 
 himself regularly every Sunday morning for some 
 time past in the south aisle of the church, and stood 
 there all service time ? " 
 
 Alice said no. 
 
 " I have noticed him often, and noticed him a*> 
 paying a most fixed and steady attention. I have 
 repeatedly tried to catch him on his way out of 
 church, to speak to him, but always failed. I 
 asked him to-night, when I first went in, if he knew 
 me. ' I do, sir,' he said. I asked him where he 
 had seen me. He said, ' In the church beyant.' 
 ' So,' said I, ' you are the little boy I have seen 
 there so regularly; what did you come there 
 for?' 
 
 " ' To hear yer honor spake the good words.' 
 
 " ' What good words ? ' said I ; ' about what ? ' 
 
 " He said, ' About Him that was slain and 
 washed us from our sins in His own blood.' 
 
 " ' And do you think He has washed away yours ? * 
 I said. 
 
 " He smiled at me very expressively. I sup* 
 
442 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 pose it was somewhat difficult for him to speak ; 
 and to tell the truth so it was for me, for I was 
 taken by surprise ; but the people in the hut had 
 gathered round, and I wished to hear him say more, 
 for their sake as well as my own. I asked him why 
 he thought his sins were washed away. He gave 
 me for answer part of the verse, ' Suffer little 
 children to come unto Me,' but did not finish it. 
 f Do you think you are very sick, John ? \ I asked. 
 
 " ' I am, sir,' he said, — ' I'll not be long here.' 
 
 " * And where do you think you are going then ? ' 
 said I, 
 
 " He lifted one little thin, bony arm from under 
 his coverlid, and through all the dirt and pallor of 
 his face the smile of heaven I am sure was on it, 
 as he looked and pointed upward and answered, 
 * Jesus ! ' 
 
 " I asked him presently, as soon as I could, what 
 he had wished to see me for. I don't know whether 
 he heard me or not ; he lay with his eyes half closed, 
 breathing with difficulty. I doubted whether he 
 would speak again ; and, indeed, for myself, I had 
 heard and seen enough to satisfy me entirely ; — for 
 the sake of the group around the bed I could have 
 desired something further. They kept perfect still- 
 ness ; av/ed, I think, by a profession of faith such 
 as they had never heard before. They and I stood 
 watching him, and at the end of a few minutes, not 
 more than ten or fifteen, he opened his eyes and 
 with sudden life and strength rose up half way in 
 bed, exclaiming, 'Thanks be to God for His un- 
 speakable gift ! ' — and then fell back — just dead." 
 
 The old gentleman's voice was husky as he 
 finished, for Alice and Ellen were both weeping, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 443 
 
 and John Humphreys had covered his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 " I have felt," said the old gentleman, presently, 
 — " as if I could have shouted out his words — his 
 dying words — all the way as I came home. My 
 little girl," said he, drawing Ellen to him, " do you 
 know the meaning of those sweet things of which 
 little John Dolan's mind was so full ? " 
 
 Ellen did not speak. 
 
 " Do you know what it is to be a sinner ? — and 
 what it is to be a forgiven child of God ? " 
 
 " I believe I do, sir," Ellen said. 
 
 He kissed her forehead and blessed her ; and 
 then said, " Let us pray." 
 
 It was late ; the servants had gone to bed, and 
 they were alone. Oh, what a thanksgiving Mr. 
 Humphreys poured forth for that "unspeakable 
 gift ; " — that they, every one there, had been made 
 to know and rejoice in it ; for the poor little boy, 
 rich in faith, who had just gone home in the same 
 rejoicing ; for their own loved ones who were there 
 already ; and for the hope of joining them soon in 
 safety and joy, to sing with them the "new song* 
 forever and ever. 
 
 There were no dry eyes in the room. And when 
 they arose, Mr. Humphreys, after giving his daugh- 
 ter the usual kiss for good-night, gave one to Ellen 
 too, which he had never done before, and then 
 going to his son and laying both hands on his 
 shoulders, kissed his cheek also ; then silently took 
 his candle and went. 
 
 They lingered a little while after he was gone, 
 standing round the fire as if loth to part, but in 
 grave silence, each busy with his own thoughts. 
 
444 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Alice's ended by fixing on her brother, for laying 
 her hand and her head caressingly on his shoulder, 
 she said, " And so you have been well all this time, 
 John ? " 
 
 He turned his face towards her without speak- 
 ing, but Ellen as well as his sister saw the look of 
 love with which he answered her question, rather 
 of endearment than inquiry ; and from that minute 
 Ellen's mind was made up as to the doubt which 
 had troubled her. She went to bed quite satisfied 
 that her new brother was a decided acquisition. 
 
 EX It OF VOL. L 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 BY 
 
 SUSAN WARNER 
 
 AUTHOR OF " QUEECHY," " DOLLARS AND CENTS," ETC, 
 
 VOL. II 
 
 m 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HURST AND COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The night was winter in his roughest mood, 
 The morning sharp anc) clear .... 
 
 Thar vault is blue 
 
 Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
 The dazzling splendor of the scene below . 
 
 Cowpek. 
 
 Before Ellen s eyes were open the next morning 
 — almost before she awoke — the thought of the 
 Christmas visit, the sleigh-ride, John Humphreys, 
 and the weather, all rushed into her mind at once ; 
 and started her half up in the bed to look out of the 
 window. Well frosted the panes of glass were, 
 but at the corners and edges unmistakable bright 
 gleams of light came in. 
 
 "Oh, Alice, it's beautiful!" exclaimed Ellen; 
 " look how the sun is shining ! and 'tisn't very 
 cold. Are we going to-day ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet, Elhe, but we shall know very 
 soon. We'll settle that at breakfast." 
 
 At breakfast it was settled. They were to go, 
 and set off directly. Mr. Humphreys could not go 
 with them, because he had promised to bury little 
 John Dolan ; the priest had declared he would 
 have nothing to do with it ; and the poor mother 
 had applied to Mr. Humphreys, as being the clergy- 
 man her child had most trusted and loved to hear. 
 
4 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 It seemed that little John had persuaded her out 
 of half her prejudices by his affectionate talk and 
 blameless behavior during some time past. Mr. 
 Humphreys therefore must stay at home that day. 
 He promised, however, to follow them the next, 
 and would by no means permit them to wait for 
 him. He said the day was fine and they must im- 
 prove it ; and he should be pleased to have them 
 with their friends as long as possible. 
 
 So the little traveling bag was stuffed, with more 
 things than it seemed possible to get into it. 
 Among the rest, Ellen brought her little red Bible, 
 which Alice decided should go in John's pocket ; — 
 the little carpet-bag could not take it. Ellen was 
 afraid it never would be locked. By dint of much 
 pushing and crowding, however, locked it was ; and 
 they made themselves ready. Over Ellen's merino 
 dress and coat went an old fur tippet ; a little shawl 
 was tied round her neck ; her feet were cased in 
 a pair of warm moccasins, which, belonging to 
 Margery, were of course a world too big for her, 
 but "anything but cold," as their owner said. Her 
 nice blue hood would protect her head well, and 
 Alice gave her a green veil to save her eyes from 
 the glare of the snow. When Ellen shuffled out of 
 Alice's room in this trim, John gave her one of his 
 grave looks, and saying she looked like Mother 
 Bunch, begged to know how she expected to get to 
 the sleigh ; he said she would want a footman in- 
 deed to wait upon her, to pick up her slippers, if 
 she went in that fashion. However, he ended by 
 picking her up, carried her and set her down safely 
 in the sleigh. Alice followed, and in another min- 
 ute they were off. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 5 
 
 Ellen's delight was unbounded. Presently they 
 turned round a corner and left the house behind 
 out of sight ; and they were speeding away along a 
 road that was quite new to her. Ellen's heart felt 
 like dancing for joy. Nobody would have thought 
 it, she sat so still and quiet between Alice and her 
 brother ; but her eyes were very bright as they 
 looked joyously about her, and every now and then 
 she could not help smiling to herself. Nothing was 
 wanting to the pleasure of that ride. The day was 
 of winter's fairest ; the blue sky as clear as if clouds 
 had never dimmed or crossefl it. None crossed it 
 now. It was cold, but not bitterly cold, nor windy ; 
 the sleigh skimmed along over the smooth frozen 
 surface of the snow as if it was no trouble at all to 
 Prince Charlie to draw it ; and the sleigh-bells 
 jingled and rang, the very music for Ellen's thoughts 
 to dance to. And then with somebody she liked 
 very much on each side of her, and pleasures un- 
 told in the prospect, no wonder she felt as if her 
 heart could not hold any more. The green veil 
 could not be kept on, everything looked so beauti- 
 ful in that morning's sun. The long wide slopes 
 of untrodden and unspotted snow, too bright some- 
 times for the eye to look at ; the shadows that here 
 and there lay upon it, of woodland and scattered 
 trees ; the very brown fences, and the bare arms 
 and branches of the leafless trees showing sharp 
 against the white ground and clear bright heaven ; 
 — all seemed lovely in her eyes. For 
 
 " It is content of heart 
 Gives nature power to please." 
 
 She could see nothing that was not pleasant. 
 
6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 And besides, they were in a nice little red sleigh, 
 with a warm buffalo robe, and Prince Charlie was 
 a fine spirited gray that scarcely ever needed to be 
 touched with the whip ; at a word of encourage- 
 ment from his driver he would toss his head and 
 set forward with new life, making all the bells jingle 
 again. To be sure, she would have been just as 
 happy if they had had the poorest of vehicles on 
 runners, with old John instead ; but still it was 
 pleasanter so. 
 
 Their road at first was through a fine undulating 
 country like that between the Nose and Thirlwall ; 
 farm-houses and patches of woodland scattered 
 here and there. It would seem that the minds of 
 all the party were full of the same thoughts, for 
 after a very long silence Alice's first word, almost 
 sigh, was : 
 
 " This is a beautiful world, John ! " 
 
 "Beautiful ! — wherever you. can escape from the 
 signs of man's presence and influence." 
 
 " Isn't that almost too strong ? " said Alice. 
 
 He shook his head, smiling somewhat sadly, and 
 touched Prince Charlie, who was indulging himself 
 in a walk. 
 
 " But there are bright exceptions," said Alice. 
 
 " I believe it ; never so much as when I come 
 home." 
 
 " Are there none around you, then, in whom you 
 can have confidence and sympathy ? " 
 
 He shook his head again. " Not enough, Alice, 
 I longed for you every day of my life." 
 
 Alice turned her head quickly away. 
 
 " It must be so, my dear sister," he said, presently ; 
 "we can never expect to find it otherwise. There 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. j 
 
 are, as you say, bright exceptions, — many of them; 
 but in almost all I find some sad want. We must 
 wait till we join the spirits of the just made perfect, 
 before we see society that will be all we wish for." 
 
 " What is Ellen thinking of all this while ? " said 
 Alice presently, bending down to see her face. 
 "As grave as a judge! — what are you musing 
 about?" 
 
 " I was thinking," said Ellen, " how men could 
 help the world's being beautiful." 
 
 " Don't trouble your little head with that ques- 
 tion," said John, smiling ; — " long may it be before 
 you are able to answer it. Look at those snow- 
 birds ! " 
 
 By degrees the day wore on. About one o'clock 
 they stopped at a farm-house to let the horse rest, 
 and to stretch their own limbs, which Ellen for her 
 part was very glad to do. The people of the house 
 received them with great hospitality and offered 
 them pumpkin pies and sweet cider. Alice had 
 brought a basket of sandwiches, and Prince Charlie 
 was furnished with a bag of corn Thomas had 
 stowed away in the sleigh for him ; so they were 
 all well refreshed and rested and warmed before 
 they set off again. 
 
 From home to Ventnor, Mr. Marshman's place, 
 was more than thirty miles, and the longest, be- 
 cause the most difficult, part of the way was still 
 before them. Ellen, however, soon became sleepy, 
 from riding in the keen air ; she was content now to 
 have the green veil over her face, and sitting down 
 in the bottom of the sleigh, her head leaning against 
 Alice, and covered well with the buffalo robe, she 
 slept in happy unconsciousness of hill and dale. 
 
8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wind and sun, and all the remaining hours of the 
 way. 
 
 It was drawing towards four o'clock when Alice 
 with some difficulty roused her to see the approach 
 to the house and get wide awake before they should 
 reach it. They turned from the road and entered 
 by a gateway into some pleasure grounds, through 
 which a short drive brought them to the house. 
 These grounds were fine, but the wide lawns were a 
 smooth spread of snow now ; the great skeletons of 
 oaks and elms were bare and wintry ; and patches 
 of shrubbery offered little but tufts and bunches of 
 brown twigs and stems. It might have looked 
 dreary, but that some well grown evergreens were 
 clustered round the house, and others scattered 
 here and there relieved the eye ; a few holly bushes 
 singly and in groups, proudly displayed their bright 
 dark leaves and red berries ; and one unrivaled hem- 
 lock on the west threw its graceful shadow quite 
 across the lawn, on which, as on itself, the white 
 chimney-tops, and the naked branches of oaks and 
 elms, was the faint smile of the afternoon sun. 
 
 A servant came to take the horse, and Ellen, 
 being first rid of her moccasins, went with John and 
 Alice up the broad flight of steps and into the house. 
 They entered a large handsome square hall with a 
 blue and white stone floor, at one side of which the 
 staircase went winding up. Here they were met by 
 a young lady, very lively and pleasant-faced, who 
 threw her arms round Alice and kissed her a great 
 many times, seeming very glad indeed to see her. 
 She welcomed Ellen, too, with such warmth that she 
 began to feel almost as if she had been sent for and 
 expected ; told Mr. John he had behaved admi- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 9 
 
 rably ; and then led them into a large room where 
 was a group of ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 The welcome they got here was less lively but 
 quite as kind. Mr. and Mrs. Marshman were fine 
 handsome old people, of stately presence, and most 
 dignified as well as kind in their deportment. Ellen 
 saw that Alice was at home here, as if she had been 
 a daughter of the family. Mrs. Marshman also 
 stooped down and kissed herself, telling her she 
 was very glad she had come, and that there were a 
 number of young people there who would be much 
 pleased to have her help them keep Christmas. 
 Ellen could not make out yet who any of the rest 
 of the company were. John and Alice seemed to 
 know them all, and there was a buzz of pleasant 
 voices and a great bustle of shaking hands. 
 
 The children had all gone out to walk, and as 
 they had had their dinner a great while ago, it was 
 decided that Ellen should ta"ke hers that day with 
 the elder part of the family. While they were wait- 
 ing to be called to dinner, and everybody else was 
 talking and laughing, old Mr. Marshman took notice 
 of little Ellen, and drawing her from Alice's side 
 to his own, began a long conversation. He asked 
 her a great many questions, some of them such 
 funny ones that she could not help laughing, but 
 she answered them all, and now and then so that 
 she made him laugh too. By the time the butler 
 came to say dinner was ready she had almost for- 
 gotten she was a stranger. Mr. Marshman himself 
 led her to the dining-room, begging the elder ladies 
 would excuse him, but he felt bound to give his 
 attention to the greatest stranger in the company. 
 He placed her on his right hand and took the 
 
io THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 greatest care of her all dinner-time ; once sending 
 her plate the whole length of the table for some 
 particular little thing he thought she would like. 
 On the other side of Ellen sat Mrs. Chauncey, 
 one of Mr. Marshman's daughters ; a lady with a 
 sweet, gentle, quiet face and manner that made 
 Ellen like to sit by her. Another daughter, Mrs. 
 Gillespie, had more of her mother's stately bear- 
 ing; the third, Miss Sophia, who met them first in 
 the hall, was very unlike both the others, but lively 
 and agreeable and good-humored. 
 
 Dinner gave place to the dessert, and that in its turn 
 was removed with the cloth. Ellen was engaged in 
 munching almonds and raisins, admiring the bright- 
 ness of the mahogany, and the richly cut and colored 
 glass, and silver decanter stands, which were re- 
 flected in it ; when a door at the further end of 
 the room half opened, a little figure came partly 
 in, and holding the door in her hand, stood look- 
 ing doubtfully along the table, as if seeking for 
 some one. 
 
 1 " What is the matter, Ellen ? " said Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey. 
 
 " Mrs. Bland told me, — mamma " she began, 
 
 her eye not ceasing its uneasy quest, but then 
 breaking off and springing to Alice's side, she threw 
 her arms around her neck, and gave her certainly 
 the warmest of all the warm welcomes she had had 
 that day. 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried Mr. Marshman, rapping on the 
 table ; " that's too much for any one's share. 
 Come here, you baggage, and give me just such 
 another." 
 
 The little girl came near accordingly and hugged 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO A' If). u 
 
 and kissed him with a very good will, remarking, 
 however, " Ah, but I've seen you before to-day, 
 grandpapa ! " 
 
 " Well, here's somebody you've not seen before," 
 said he, good-humoredly, pulling her round to Ellen, 
 — " here's a new friend for you, — a young lady from 
 the great city,' so you must brush up your country 
 manners — Miss Ellen Montgomery, come from— 
 pshaw ! what is it ? — come from " 
 
 " London, grandpapa ? " said the little girl, as 
 with a mixture of simplicity and kindness she took 
 Ellen's hand and kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 " From Carra-carra, sir ? " said Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " Go along with you," said he, laughing and pinch- 
 ing her cheek. " Take her away, Ellen, take her 
 away, and mind you take good care of her. Tell 
 Mrs. Bland she is one of grandpapa's guests." 
 
 The two children had not, however, reached the 
 door when Ellen Chauncey exclaimed, " Wait, oh ! 
 wait a minute ! I must speak to Aunt Sophia about 
 the bag." And flying to her side, there followed 
 an earnest whispering, and then a nod and smile 
 from Aunt Sophia ; and satisfied, Ellen returned to 
 her companion and led her out of the dining-room. 
 
 11 We have both got the same name," said she, as 
 they went along a wide corridor ; " how shall we 
 know which is which ? " 
 
 "Why," said Ellen, laughing, "when you say 
 Ellen I shall know you mean me, and when I say 
 it you will know I mean you. I shouldn't be call- 
 ing myself, you know." 
 
 " Yes, but when somebody else calls, Ellen, we 
 shall both have to run. Do you run when you are 
 called ? " 
 
12 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Sometimes," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " Ah, but I do always ; mamma always makes 
 me. I thought perhaps you were like Marianne 
 Gillespie — she waits often as much as half a minute 
 before she stirs when anybody calls her. Did you 
 come with Miss Alice ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you love her ? " 
 
 '• Very much ! — oh, very much ! " 
 
 Little Ellen looked at her companion's rising 
 color with a glance of mixed curiosity and pleasure 
 in which lay a strong promise of growing love. 
 
 "So do I," she answered, gayly ; "I am very 
 glad she is come, and I am very glad you are come, 
 too." 
 
 The little speaker pushed open a door and led 
 Ellen into the presence of a group of young people 
 rather older than themselves. 
 
 " Marianne," said she to one of them, a hand- 
 some girl of fourteen, " this is Miss Ellen Mont- 
 gomery — she came with Alice, and she is come to 
 keep Christmas with us — aren't you glad ? There'll 
 be quite a parcel of us when what's-her-name comes 
 —won't there ? " 
 
 Marianne shook hands with Ellen. 
 
 " She is one of grandpapa's guests, I can tell 
 you," said little Ellen Chauncey ; " and he says we 
 must brush up our country manners-^she's come 
 from the great city." 
 
 " Do you think we are a set of ignoramuses. Miss 
 Ellen ? " inquired a well-grown boy of fifteen, who 
 looked enough like Marianne Gillespie to prove him 
 her brother. 
 
 " I don't know what that is," said Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 23 
 
 " Well, do they do things better in the great city 
 than we do here ? " 
 
 " I don't know how you do them here/' said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Don't you ? — Come ! Stand out of my way, 
 right and left, all of you, will you ? and give me a 
 chance. Now then ! " 
 
 Conscious that he was amusing most of the party,, 
 he placed himself gravely at a little distance from 
 Ellen, and marching solemnly up to her bowed 
 down to her knees — then, slowly raising his head, 
 stepped back. 
 
 " Miss Ellen Montgomery, I am rejoiced to have 
 the pleasure of seeing you at Ventnor. — Isn't that 
 polite now ? Is that like what you have been ac- 
 customed to, Miss Montgomery ? " 
 
 " No, sir — thank you," said Ellen, who laughed 
 in spite of herself. The mirth of the others re- 
 doubled. 
 
 " May I request to be informed then," continued 
 Gillespie, " what is the fashion of making bows in 
 the great city ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen ; " I never saw a boy 
 make a bow before." 
 
 " Humph ! — I guess country manners will do for 
 you," said William, turning on his heel. 
 
 " You're giving her a pretty specimen of 'em, 
 Bill," said another boy. 
 
 " For shame, William ! " cried little Ellen Chaun- 
 cey ; — " didn't I tell you she was one of grandpapa's 
 guests? Come here, Ellen, I'll take you some- 
 where else." 
 
 She seized Ellen's hand and pulled her towards 
 the door, but suddenly stopped again. 
 
14 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to tell you ! " she said, — " I asked 
 Aunt Sophia about the bag of moroccos, and she 
 said we should have 'em early to-morrow morning, 
 and then we can divide 'em right away." 
 
 "We mustn't divide 'em till Maggie comes," said 
 Marianne. 
 
 " Oh, no — not till Maggie comes," said little 
 Ellen, and then ran off again. 
 
 " I am so glad you are come," said she ; — "the 
 others are all so much older, and they have all so 
 much to do together — and now you can help me 
 think what I will make for mamma. Hush ! don't 
 say a word about it ! " 
 
 They entered the large drawing-room where old 
 and young were gathered for tea. The children, 
 who had dined early, sat down to a well-spread table 
 at which Miss Sophia presided ; the elder persons 
 were standing or sitting in different parts of the 
 room. Ellen, not being hungry, had leisure to look 
 about her, and her eyes soon wandered from the 
 tea-table in search of her old friends. Alice was 
 sitting by Mrs. Marshman, talking with two other 
 ladies ; but Ellen smiled presently as she caught 
 her eye from the far end of the room and got a 
 little nod of recognition. John came up just then 
 to set down his coffee-cup, and asked her what she 
 was smiling at. 
 
 " That's city manners," said William Gillespie, 
 " to laugh at what's going on." 
 
 " I have no doubt we shall all follow the ex- 
 ample," said John Humphreys, " if the young 
 gentleman will try to give us a smile." 
 
 The young gentleman had just- accommodated 
 himself with an outrageously large mouthful of bread 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 15 
 
 and sweetmeats, and if ever so well disposed, com- 
 pliance with the request was impossible. None of 
 the rest, however, not even his sister, could keep 
 their countenances, for the eye of the speaker had 
 pointed and sharpened his words ; and William, 
 very red in the face, was understood to mumble, as 
 soon as mumbling was possible, that " he wouldn't 
 laugh unless he had a mind to," and a threat to 
 " do something " to his tormentor. 
 
 " Only not eat me," said John, with a shade of 
 expression in his look and tone which overcame the 
 whole party, himself and poor William alone retain- 
 ing entire gravity. 
 
 " What's all this ? what's all this ? — what's a!t 
 this laughing about ? " said old Mr. Marshman^ 
 coming up. 
 
 " This young gentleman, sir," said John, " has 
 been endeavoring — with a mouthful of arguments 
 — to prove to us the inferiority of city manners to 
 those learned in the country." 
 
 " Will ? " said the old gentleman, glancing doubt- 
 fully at William's discomfited face ; then added, 
 sternly, " I don't care where your manners were 
 learnt, sir, but I advise you to be very particular as 
 to the sort you bring with you here. Now, Sophia, 
 let us have some music." 
 
 He set the children a-dancing, and as Ellen did 
 not know how, he kept her by him, and kept her 
 very much amused too, in his own way; then 
 he would have her join in the dancing and bade 
 Ellen Chauncey give her lessons. There was a 
 little backwardness at first, and then Ellen was 
 jumping away with the rest and thinking it perfectly 
 delightful, as Miss Sophia's piano rattled out merry 
 
16 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 jigs and tunes, and little feet flew over the floor as 
 light as the hearts they belonged to. At eight 
 o'clock the young ones were dismissed, and bade 
 good-night to their elders ; and pleased with the 
 kind kiss Mrs. Marshman had given her as well as 
 her little granddaughter, Ellen went off to bed 
 very happy. 
 
 The room to which her companion led her was 
 the very picture of comfort, It was not too large, 
 furnished with plain old-fashioned furniture, and 
 lighted and warmed by a cheerful wood-fire. The 
 very old brass-headed andirons, that stretched 
 themselves out upon the hearth with such a look of 
 being at home, seemed to say, " You have come to 
 the right place for comfort." A little dark mahog- 
 any book-case in one place — an odd toilet table of 
 the same stuff in another ; and opposite the fire an 
 old-fashioned high-post bedstead, with its handsome 
 Marseilles quilt and ample pillows, looked very 
 tempting. Between this' and the far side of the 
 room, in the corner, another bed was spread on the 
 floor. 
 
 " This is Aunt Sophia's room," said little Ellen 
 Chauncey ; — " this is where you are to sleep." 
 
 " And where will Alice be ? " said the other 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, she'll sleep here, in this bed, with Aunt 
 Sophia ; that is because the house is so full, you 
 know ; — and here is your bed, here on the floor. 
 Oh, delicious ! I wish I was going to sleep here. 
 Don't you love to sleep on the floor ? I do. I 
 think it's fun." 
 
 Anybody might have thought it fun to sleep on 
 that bed, for instead of a bedstead it was luxuriously 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 17 
 
 piled ort mattresses. The two children sat down 
 together on the foot of it. 
 
 "This is Aunt Sophia's room," continued little 
 Ellen, " and next to it, out of that door, is our 
 dressing-room, and next to that is where mamma 
 and I sleep. Do you undress and dress your- 
 self ? " 
 
 "To be sure I do," said Ellen, — "always." 
 
 " So do I ; but Marianne Gillespie won't even 
 put on her shoes and stockings for herself." 
 
 " Who does it, then ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Why, Lester — Aunt Matilda's maid. Mamma 
 sent away her maid when we came here, and she 
 says if she had fifty she would like me to do every- 
 thing I can for myself. I shouldn't think it was 
 pleasant to have any one put on one's shoes and 
 stockings for you, should you ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," said Ellen. " Then you live here 
 all the time ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes — ever since papa didn't come back from 
 that long voyage — we live here since then." 
 
 " Is he coming back soon ? " 
 
 " No," said little Ellen, gravely, — " he never 
 came back — he never will come back any more." 
 
 Ellen was sorry she had asked, and both children 
 were silent for a minute. 
 
 " I'll tell you what ! " said little Ellen, jumping 
 up, — " mamma said we mustn't sit up too long talk- 
 ing, so I'll run and get my things and bring 'em 
 here, and we can undress together ; won't that be 
 a nice way ? " 
 2 
 
18 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 lie that loses anything, and gets wisdom by it, is a gainer by the loss. 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Left alone in the strange room with the flicker 
 ing fire, how quickly Ellen's thoughts left Ventnor 
 and flew over the sea. They often traveled that 
 road, it is true, but now perhaps the very home 
 look of everything, where yet she was not at home, 
 might have sent them. There was a bitter twinge 
 or two, and for a minute Ellen's head drooped. 
 " To-morrow will be Christmas eve — last Christ- 
 mas eve — oh, mamma ! " 
 
 Little Ellen Chauncey soon came back, and sit- 
 ting down beside her on the foot of the bed, be- 
 gan the business of undressing. 
 
 " Don't you love Christmas time ? " said she ; 
 * I think it's the pleasantest in all the year ; we al- 
 ways have a houseful of people, and such fine times. 
 But then in summer I think that's the pleasantest. 
 I s'pose they're all pleasant. Do you hang up your 
 stocking ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen. 
 
 " Don't you ? — why, I always did ever since I can 
 remember. I used to think, when I was a little girl, 
 you know," said she, laughing, — " I used to think 
 that Santa Claus came down the chimney, and I 
 used to hang up my stocking as near the fireplace 
 as I could ; but I know better than that now ; I 
 don't care where I hang it. You know who Santa 
 Claus is, don't you ? " 
 
 " He's nobody," said Ellen. 
 Oh, yes, he is — he's a great many people — he's 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 19 
 
 whoever gives you anything. My Santa Claus is 
 mamma, and grandpapa, and grandmamma, and 
 Aunt Sophia, and Aunt Matilda ; and I thought I 
 should have had Uncle George too this Christmas, 
 but he couldn't come. Uncle Howard never gives 
 me anything. I am sorry Uncle George couldn't 
 come ; I like him the best of all my uncles." 
 
 " I never had anybody but mamma to give me 
 presents," said Ellen, " and she never gave me 
 much more at Christmas than at other times." 
 
 " I used to have presents from mamma and 
 grandpapa too, both Christmas and New Year, but 
 now I have grown so old, mamma only gives me 
 something Christmas and grandpapa only New 
 Year. It would be too much, you know, for me to 
 have both, when my presents are so big. I don't 
 believe a stocking will hold 'em much longer. But 
 oh ! we've got such a fine plan in our heads," said 
 little Ellen, lowering her voice and speaking with 
 open eyes and great energy, — " we are going to 
 make presents this year ! — we children — won't it be 
 fine ? — we are going to make what we like for any- 
 body we choose, and let nobody know anything 
 about it ; and then New Year's morning, you know, 
 when the things are all under the napkins, we will 
 give ours to somebody to put where they belong, 
 and nobody will know anything about them till they 
 see them there. Won't it be fine ? I'm so glad 
 you are here, for I want you to tell me what I shall 
 make." 
 
 " Who is it for ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ; you know I can't make for every- 
 body, so I think I had rather it should be for 
 mamma. I thought of making her a needlebook 
 
20 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 with white backs, and getting Gilbert Gillespie to 
 paint them — he can paint beautifully, — and having 
 her name and something else written very nicely in- 
 side — how do you think that would do ? " 
 
 " I should think it would do very nicely," said 
 Ellen, — " very nicely indeed." 
 
 " I wish Uncle George was at home though to 
 write it for me, — he writes so beautifully ; I can't 
 do it well enough." 
 
 " I am afraid I can't either," said Ellen. " Per- 
 haps somebody else can." 
 
 " I don't know who. Aunt Sophia scribbles and 
 scratches, and besides I don't want her to know 
 anything about it. But there's another thing I 
 don't know how to fix, and that's the edges of the 
 leaves — the leaves for the needles — they must be 
 fixed — somehow." 
 
 " I can show you how to do that," said Ellen, 
 brightening ; " mamma had a needlebook that was 
 given to her that had the edges beautifully fixed ; 
 and I wanted to know how it was done, and she 
 showed me. I'll show you that. It takes a good 
 while, but that's no matter." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ; how nice that is ! Oh, no, that's 
 no matter. And then it will do very well, won't 
 it? Now, if I can only catch Gilbert in a good 
 humor — he isn't my cousin — he's Marianne's 
 cousin — that big boy you saw downstairs — he's so 
 big he won't have anything to say to me some- 
 times, but I guess I'll get him to do this. Don't 
 you want to make something for somebody ? " 
 
 Ellen had had one or two feverish thoughts on 
 this subject since the beginning of the conversation : 
 but she only said, — 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 21 
 
 " It's no matter — you know I haven't got any- 
 thing here ; and besides I shall not be here till New 
 Year." 
 
 " Not here till New Year ! yes, you shall," said 
 little Ellen, throwing herself upon her neck ; " in- 
 deed, you aren't going away before that. I know 
 you aren't — I heard grandmamma and Aunt Sophia 
 talking about it. Say you will stay here till New 
 Year— do ! " 
 
 " I should like to, very much indeed," said Ellen, 
 " if Alice does." 
 
 In the midst of half a dozen kisses with which 
 her little companion rewarded this speech, some- 
 body close by said pleasantly, — 
 
 " What time of night do you suppose it is ? " 
 
 The girls starts ■, — there was Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey. 
 
 " Oh, mamma," exclaimed her little daughter, 
 springing to her feet, " I hope you haven't heard 
 what we have been talking about ? " 
 
 " Not a word," said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling, " but 
 as to-morrow will be long enough to talk in, hadn't 
 you better go to bed now ? " 
 
 Her daughter obeyed her immediately, after one 
 more hug to Ellen and telling her she was so glad 
 she had come. Mrs. Chauncey stayed to see Ellen 
 in bed and press one kind motherly kiss upon her 
 face, so tenderly that Ellen's eyes were moistened 
 as she withdrew. But in her dreams that night the 
 rosy, sweet face, blue eyes, and little plump figure 
 of Ellen Chauncey played the greatest part. 
 
 She slept till Alice was obliged to waken her the 
 next morning, and then got up with her head in a 
 charming confusion of pleasures past and pleasures 
 
2 2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to come, — things known and unknown to be made 
 for everybody's New Year presents,— linen collars 
 and painted needlebooks ; and no sooner was 
 breakfast over than she was showing and explain- 
 ing to Ellen Chauncey a particularly splendid and 
 mysterious way of embroidering the edges of needle- 
 book leaves. Deep in this they were still an hour 
 afterwards, and in the comparative merits of purple 
 and rose color, when a little hubbub arose at the 
 other end of the room on the arrival of a new comer. 
 Ellen Chauncey looked up from her work, then 
 dropped it, exclaiming, " There she is ! — now for 
 the bag ! " — and pulled Ellen along with her towards 
 the party. A young lady was in the midst of it, 
 talking so fast that she had not time to take off her 
 cloak and bonnet. As her eye met Ellen's, how- 
 ever, she came to a sudden pause. It was Mar- 
 garet Dunscombe. Ellen's face certainly showed 
 no pleasure ; Margaret's darkened with a very dis- 
 agreeable surprise. 
 
 " My goodness ! — Ellen Montgomery ! — how on 
 earth did you get here ? " 
 
 " Do you know her ? " asked one of the girls, as 
 the two Ellens went off after " Aunt Sophia." 
 
 " Do I know her? Yes — just enough, — exactly. 
 How did she get here ? " 
 
 " Miss Humphreys brought her." 
 
 " Who's Miss Humphreys ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Marianne, lowering her tone, — ■ 
 " that's her brother in the window," 
 
 " Whose brother ? — hers or Miss Humphreys' ? " 
 
 " Miss Humphreys. Did you never see her ? 
 she is here, or has been here, a great deal of the 
 time. Grandma calls her her fourth daughter; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 23 
 
 and she is just as much at home as if she was ; and 
 she brought her here." 
 
 " And she's at home too, I suppose. Well, it's 
 no business of mine." 
 
 " What do you know of her ? " 
 
 "Oh, enough — that's just it — don't want to know 
 any more." 
 
 " Well, you needn't ; but what's the matter with 
 her ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know — I'll tell you some other 
 time — she's a conceited little piece. We had the 
 care of her coming up the river, that's how I come 
 to know about her ; 'ma said it was the last child 
 she would be bothered with in that way." 
 
 Presently the two girls came back, bringing word 
 to clear the table, for Aunt Sophia was coming 
 with the moroccos. As soon as she came, Ellen 
 Chauncey sprang to her neck and whispered an 
 earnest question. " Certainly ! " Aunt Sophia said, 
 as she poured out the contents of the bag ; and her 
 little niece delightedly told Ellen she was to have 
 her share as well as the rest. 
 
 The table was now strewn with pieces of morocco 
 of all sizes and colors, which were hastily turned 
 over and examined with eager hands and sparkling 
 eyes. Some were mere scraps, to be sure ; but 
 others showed a breadth and length of beauty 
 which was declared to be " first-rate," and "fine; " 
 and one beautiful large piece of blue morocco in 
 particular was made up in imagination by two or 
 three of the party in as many different ways. 
 Marianne wanted it for a book-cover ; Margaret 
 declared she could make a lovely reticule with it ; 
 and Ellen could not help thinking it would make a 
 
24 THE WIDE, WIDE WO RID. 
 
 very pretty needle-box, such a one as she had seen 
 in the possession of one of the girls, and longed to 
 make for Alice. 
 
 " Well, what's to be done now ? " said Miss 
 Sophia, — " or am I not to know ? " 
 
 " Oh, you're not to know — you're not to know, 
 Aunt Sophy," cried the girls ; — " you mustn't ask." 
 
 " I'll tell you what they are going to do with 
 'em," said George Walsh, coming up to her with a 
 mischievous face, and adding in a loud whisper, 
 shielding his mouth with his hand, — " they're going 
 to make pr " 
 
 He was laid hold of forcibly by the whole party 
 screaming and laughing, and stopped short from 
 finishing his speech. 
 
 " Well, then, I'll take my departure," said Miss 
 Sophia ; — " but how will you manage to divide all 
 these scraps ? " 
 
 " Suppose we were to put them in the bag again 
 and you hold the bag, and we were to draw them 
 out without looking," said Ellen Chauncey, — " as 
 we used to do with the sugar-plums." 
 
 As no better plan was thought of this was agreed 
 upon ; and little Ellen shutting up her eyes very 
 tight stuck in her hand and pulled out a little bit 
 of green morocco about the size of a dollar. Ellen 
 Montgomery came next, then Margaret, then Mari- 
 anne, then their mutual friend Isabel Hawthorn, 
 Each had to take her turn a great many times • 
 and at the end of the drawing the pieces were 
 found to be pretty equally divided among the party, 
 with the exception of Ellen, who besides several 
 other good pieces had drawn the famous blue. 
 
 "That will do very nicely," said little Ellen 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 25 
 
 Chauncey ; — " I am glad you have got that, Ellen. 
 Now, Aunt Sophy ! — one thing more — you know the 
 silks and ribbons you promised us." 
 
 " Bless me ! I haven't done yet, eh ? Well, you 
 shall have them, but we are all going out to walk 
 now ; I'll give them to you this afternoon. Come ! 
 put these away and get on your bonnets and 
 cloaks." 
 
 A hard measure ! but it was done. After the 
 walk came dinner ; after dinner Aunt Sophia had 
 to be found and waited on, till she had fairly 
 sought out and delivered to their hands the wished- 
 for bundle of silks and satins. It gave great sat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 " But how shall we do about dividing these ? 
 said little Ellen ; — " shall we draw lots again ? " 
 
 " No, Ellen," said Marianne, " that won't do,, 
 because we might everyone get just the thing we do 
 not want. I want one color or stuff to go with my 
 morocco, and you want another to go with yours ; 
 and you might get mine and I might get yours. 
 We had best each choose in turn what we like, be- 
 ginning at Isabel." 
 
 " Very well," said little Ellen, " I'm agreed." 
 
 " Anything for a quiet life," said George Walsh. 
 
 But this business of choosing was found to be. 
 very long and very difficult, each one was so fear- 
 ful of not taking the exact piece she wanted most. 
 The elder members of the family began to gather 
 for dinner, and several came and stood round the 
 table where the children were ; little noticed by 
 them, they were so wrapped up in silks and satins. 
 Ellen seemed the least interested person at table, 
 and had made her selections with the least delay 
 
26 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and difficulty ; and now as it was not her turn, sat 
 very soberly looking on with her head resting on 
 her hand. 
 
 " I declare it's too vexatious ! " said Margaret 
 Dunscombe ; — " here I've got this beautiful piece 
 of blue satin, and can't do anything with it ; it just 
 matches that blue morocco — it's a perfect match — 
 I could have made a splendid thing of it, and I 
 have got some cord and tassels that would just do 
 — I declare it's too bad ! " 
 
 Ellen's color changed. 
 
 " Well, choose, Margaret," said Marianne. 
 
 •' I don't know what to choose — that's the thing. 
 What can one do with red and purple morocco and 
 blue satin ? I might as well give up. I've a great 
 notion to take this piece of yellow satin and dress 
 up a Turkish doll to frighten the next young one I 
 meet with," 
 
 " I wish you would, Margaret, and give it to me 
 when it's done," cried little Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 " 'Tain't made yet," said the other, dryly. 
 
 Ellen's color had changed and changed ; her 
 hand twitched nervously, and she glanced uneasily 
 from Margaret's store of finery to her own. 
 
 " Come, choose, Margaret," said Ellen Chauncey ; 
 — '• I dare say Ellen wants the blue morocco as 
 much as you do." 
 
 " No I don't ! " said Ellen, abruptly, throwing it 
 over the table to her ; — " take it, Margaret, — you 
 may have it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said the other, %s- 
 tounded. 
 
 " I mean you may have it," said Ellen, — " I don't 
 want it." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 27 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what," said the other,—" I'll 
 give you yellow satin for it — or some of my red 
 morocco ? " 
 
 " No,— I had rather not," repeated Ellen ;— " I 
 don't want it — you may have it." 
 
 " Very generously done," remarked Miss Sophia ; 
 " I hope you'll all take a lesson in the art of being 
 obliging." 
 
 "Quite a noble little girl," said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 
 Ellen crimsoned. " No, ma'am, I am not in- 
 deed," she said, looking at them with eyes that 
 were filling fast, — " please don't say so — I don't 
 deserve it." 
 
 " I shall say what I think, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Gillespie, smiling, "but I am glad you add the 
 grace of modesty to that of generosity ; it is the 
 more uncommon of the two." 
 
 " I am not modest ! I am not generous ! you 
 mustn't say so," cried Ellen. She struggled; the 
 blood rushed to the surface, suffusing every particle 
 of skin that could be seen ; — then left it, as with 
 eyes cast down she went on — " I don't deserve to 
 be praised, — it was more Margaret's than mine. I 
 oughtn't to have kept it at all — for I saw a little 
 bit when I put my hand in. I didn't mean to, but 
 I did!" 
 
 Raising her eyes hastily to Alice's face, they met 
 those of John, who was standing behind her. She 
 had not counted upon him for one of her listeners ; 
 she knew Mrs. Gillespie, Mrs. Chauncey, Miss 
 Sophia, and Alice had heard her ; but this was the 
 one drop too much. Her head sunk ; she covered 
 her face a moment, and then made her escape out 
 of the room before even Ellen could follow her. 
 
28 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Alice seemed to 
 have some difficulty not to follow Ellen's example. 
 Margaret pouted ; Mrs. Chauncey's eyes filled 
 with tears, and her little daughter seemed divided 
 between doubt and dismay. Her first move, how- 
 ever, was to run off in pursuit of Ellen. Alice went 
 after her. 
 
 " Here's a beautiful example of honor and honesty 
 for you ! " said Margaret Dunscombe at length. 
 
 " I think it is," observed John, quietly. 
 
 "" An uncommon instance," said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 u I am glad everybody thinks so," said Margaret, 
 sullenly ; " I hope I sha'n't copy it, that's all." 
 
 " I think you are in no danger," said John 
 again. 
 
 " Very well ! " said Margaret, who, between her 
 desire of speaking and her desire of concealing her 
 vexation, did not know what to do with herself ; — 
 " everybody must judge for himself, I suppose ; I've 
 got enough of her, for my part." 
 
 " Where did you ever see her before ? " said 
 Isabel Hawthorn. 
 
 " Oh, she came up the river with us — mamma 
 had to take care of her — she was with us two 
 days." 
 
 " And didn't you like her ? " 
 
 " No, I guess I didn't ! she was a perfect plague. 
 All that day on board the steamboat she scarcely 
 came near us ; we couldn't pretend to keep sight 
 of her ; mamma had to send her maid out to look 
 after her I don't know how many times. She 
 scraped acquaintance with some strange man on 
 board and liked his company better than ours, for 
 she stayed with him the whole blessed day, waking 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 29 
 
 and sleeping ; of course mamma didn't like it at 
 all. She didn't go to a single meal with us ; you 
 know, of course, that wasn't proper behavior." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Isabel. 
 
 ' I suppose," said John, coolly, " she chose the 
 society she thought the pleasantest. Probably 
 Miss Margaret's politeness was more than she had 
 been accustomed to." 
 
 Margaret colored, not quite knowing what to 
 make of the speaker or his speech. 
 
 " It would take much to make me believe," said 
 gentle Mrs. Chauncey, " that a child of such refined 
 and delicate feeling as that little girl evidently has, 
 could take pleasure in improper company." 
 
 Margaret had a reply at her tongue's end, but 
 she had also an uneasy feeling that there were eyes 
 not far off too keen of sight to be baffled ; she kept 
 silence till the group dispersed, and she had an 
 opportunity of whispering in Marianna's ear that 
 " that was the very most disagreeable man she had 
 ever seen in her life." 
 
 " What a singular fancy you have taken to this 
 little pet of Alice's, Mr. John," said Mrs. Marsh- 
 man's youngest daughter. " You quite surprise me." 
 
 " Did you think me a misanthrope, Miss Sophia? " 
 
 " Oh, no, not at all ; but I always had a notion 
 you would not be easily pleased in the choice of 
 favorites." 
 
 " Easily ! When a simple intelligent child of 
 twelve or thirteen is a common character, then I 
 will allow that I am easily pleased." 
 
 " Twelve or thirteen ! " said Miss Sophia ; " what 
 are you thinking about ? Alice says she is only ten 
 or eleven." 
 
30 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " In years — perhaps." 
 
 " How gravely you take me up ! " said the young 
 lady, laughing. " My dear Mr. John, * in years 
 perhaps,' you may call yourself twenty, but in 
 everything else you might much better pass for 
 thirty or forty." I 
 
 As they were called to dinner, Alice and Ellen 
 Chauncey came back ; the former looking a little 
 serious, the latter crying, and wishing aloud that 
 all the moroccos had been in the fire. They had 
 not been able to find Ellen. Neither was she in 
 the drawing-room when they returned to it after 
 dinner ; and a second search was made in vain. 
 John went to the library, which was separate from 
 the other rooms, thinking she might have chosen 
 that for a hiding-place. She was not there ; but 
 the pleasant light of the room, where only the fire 
 was burning, invited a stay. He sat down in the 
 deep window, and was musingly looking out into the 
 moonlight, when the door softly opened and Ellen 
 came in. She stole in noiselessly, so that he did 
 not hear her, and she thought the room empty ; till 
 in passing slowly down toward the fire she came 
 upon him in the window. Her start first let him 
 know she was there ; she would have run, but one of 
 her hands was caught, and she could not get it away. 
 
 " Running away from your brother, Ellie ! " said 
 he, kindly ; " what is the matter ? " 
 
 Ellen shrunk from meeting his eye and was 
 silent. 
 
 " I know all, Ellie," said he, still very kindly, — 
 ," I have seen all ; — why do you shun me ? " 
 
 Ellen said nothing ; the big tears began to run 
 down her face and frock. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 31 
 
 " You are taking this matter too hardly, dear 
 Ellen," he said, drawing her close to him 5 — " you 
 did wrong, but you have done all you could to repak 
 the wrong ; — neither man nor woman can do more 
 than that." 
 
 But, though encouraged by his manner, the tears 
 flowed faster than ever. 
 
 " Where have you been ? Alice was looking for 
 you, and little Ellen Chauncey was in great trouble 
 I don't know what dreadful thing she thought you 
 had done with yourself. Come ! — lift up your 
 head and let me see you smile again." 
 
 Ellen lifted her head, but could not her eyes, 
 though she tried to smile. 
 
 " I want to talk to you a .little about this," said 
 he. " You know you gave me leave to be your 
 brother, — will you let me ask you a question or 
 two?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — whatever you please," Ellen said. 
 
 " Then sit down here," said he, making room 
 for her on the wide window-seat, but still keeping 
 hold of her hand and speaking very gently. " You 
 said you saw when you took the morocco — I don't 
 quite understand — how was it ? " 
 
 " Why," said Ellen, " we were not to look, and 
 we had gone three times round and nobody had 
 got that large piece yet, and we all wanted it ; and 
 I did not mean to look at all, but I don't know 
 how it was, just before I shut my eyes I happened 
 to see the corner of it sticking up, and then I took 
 it." 
 
 " With your eyes open ? " 
 
 " No, no, with them shut. And I had scarcely 
 got it when I was sorry for it and wished it back." 
 
32 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " You will wonder at me perhaps, Ellie," said 
 John, " but I am not very sorry this has happened 
 You are no worse than before ; — it has only made 
 you see what you are — very, very weak, — quite 
 unable to keep yourself right without constant help. 
 Sudden temptation was too much for you — so it 
 has many a time been for me, and so it has hap- 
 pened to the best men on earth. I suppose if you 
 had had a minute's time to think you would not 
 have done as you did ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said Ellen. " I was sorry a 
 minute after." 
 
 " And I dare say the thought of it weighed upon 
 your mind ever since ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Ellen ; — " it wasn't out of my 
 head a minute the whole day." 
 
 " Then let it make you very humble, dear Ellie, 
 and let it make you in future keep close to our 
 dear Saviour, without whose help we cannot stand 
 a moment." 
 
 Ellen sobbed ; and he allowed her to do so for a 
 few minutes, then said, 
 
 " But you have not been thinking much about 
 Him, Ellie." 
 
 The sobs ceased ; he saw his words had taken 
 hold. 
 
 " Is it right," he said, softly, " that we should be 
 more troubled about what people will think of us, 
 than for having displeased or dishonored Him ? " 
 
 Ellen now looked up, and in her look was all the 
 answer he wished. 
 
 " You understand me, I see," said he. " Be 
 humbled in the dust before Him — the more the 
 better ; but whenever we are greatly concerned, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 33 
 
 for our own sakes, about other people's opinion, 
 we may be sure we are thinking too little of God 
 and what will please Him." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said poor Ellen, from whose 
 eyes the tears began to drop again, — " I am very 
 wrong — but I couldn't bear to think what Alice 
 would think — and you — and all of them " 
 
 " Here's Alice to speak for herself," said John. 
 
 As Alice came up with a quick step and knelt 
 down before her, Ellen sprang to her neck, and 
 they held each other very fast indeed. John walked 
 up and down the room. Presently he stopped be- 
 fore them. 
 
 " All's well again," said Alice, " and we are go- 
 ing in to tea." 
 
 He smiled and held out his hand, which Ellen 
 took, but he would not leave the library, declaring 
 they had a quarter of an hour still. So they 
 sauntered up and down the long room, talking of 
 different things, so pleasantly that Ellen near for- 
 got her troubles. Then came in Miss Sophia to 
 find them, and then Mr. Marshman, and Marianne 
 to call them to tea ; so the going into the drawing- 
 room was not half so bad as Ellen thought it would 
 be. 
 
 She behaved very well ; her face was touchingly 
 humble that night ; and all the evening she kept 
 fast by either Alice or John without budging an 
 inch. And as little Ellen Chauncey and her cousin 
 George Walsh chose to be where she was, the 
 young party was quite divided ; and not the least 
 merry portion of it was that mixed with the older 
 people. Little Ellen was half beside herself with 
 spirits ; the secret of which perhaps was the fact, 
 
34 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 which she several times in the course of the even 
 ing whispered to Ellen as a great piece of news, 
 that " it was Christmas eve ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
 The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure. 
 Kings may be blest, but they were glorious, 
 O'er all the ills o' life victorious. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Christmas morning was dawning gray, but it was 
 still far from broad daylight, when Ellen was 
 awakened. She found little Ellen Chauncey, pull- 
 ing and pushing at her shoulders, and whispering. 
 " Ellen ! Ellen ! '* — in a tone that showed a great 
 fear of waking somebody up. There she was, in 
 nightgown and night-cap, and barefooted, too, with 
 a face brim-full of excitement and as wide awake as 
 possible. Ellen roused herself in no little surprise, 
 and asked what the matter was. 
 
 " I am going to look at my stocking," whispered 
 her visitor, " don't you want to get up and come 
 with me ? it's just here in the other room, — come ! 
 — don't make any noise." 
 
 " But what if you should find nothing in it ? " 
 said Ellen, laughingly, as she bounded out of bed. 
 
 " Ah, but I shall, I know ; — I always do ; — never 
 fear. Hush ! step ever so softly — I don't want to 
 wake anybody." 
 
 " It's hardly light enough for you to see," whis- 
 pered Ellen, as the two little barefooted white 
 figures glided out of the room. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is— that's all the fun. Hush ! — don't 
 make a bit of noise — I know where it hangs- 
 mamma always puts it at the back of her big easy* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 35 
 
 chair — come this way — here it is ! Oh, Ellen ! 
 there's two of 'em ! There's one for you \ there's 
 one for you ! " 
 
 In a tumult of delight, one Ellen capered about 
 the floor on the tips of her little bare toes, while the 
 other, not less happy, stood still for pleasure. The 
 dancer finished by hugging and kissing her with all 
 her heart, declaring she was so glad she didn't know 
 what to do. 
 
 " But how shall we know which is which ? " 
 
 " Perhaps they are both alike," said Ellen. 
 
 " No — at any rate one's for me, and t'other's for 
 you. Stop ! here are pieces of paper, with our 
 names on, I guess — let's turn the chair a little bit 
 to the light — there — yes ! — Ellen — M-o-n, — there, 
 that's yours ; my name doesn't begin with an M ; 
 and this is mine ! " 
 
 Another caper round the room, and then she 
 brought up in front of the chair where Ellen was 
 still standing. 
 
 " I wonder what's in 'em," she said ; " I want 
 to look, and I don't want to. Come, you begin." 
 
 " But that's no stocking of mine," said Ellen, a 
 smile gradually breaking upon her sober little face ; 
 " my leg never was as big as that." 
 
 " Stuffed, isn't it ?" said Ellen Chauncey. " Oh, 
 do make haste and see what is in yours. I want to 
 know so I don't know what to do." 
 
 " Well, will you take out of yours as fast as I 
 take out of mine ? " 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 Oh, mysterious delight, and delightful mystery, 
 of the stuffed stocking ! Ellen's trembling fingers 
 sought the top, and then very suddenly left it. 
 
36 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I can't think what it is," said she, laughing,— 
 " it feels so funny." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! make haste," said Ellen 
 Chauncey; " it won't hurt you, I guess." 
 
 " No, it won't hurt me," said Ellen, — " but f 
 
 She drew forth a great bunch of white grapes. 
 
 " Splendid ! isn't it ? " said Ellen Chauncey. 
 " Now for mine." 
 
 It was the counterpart of Ellen's bunch. 
 
 " So far, so good," said she. " Now for the next." 
 
 The next thing, in each stocking, was a large 
 horn of sugar-plums. 
 
 " Well, that's fine, isn't it ? " said Ellen Chaun- 
 cey ; — " yours is tied with white ribbon and mine 
 with blue ; that's all the difference. Oh, and your 
 paper's red and mine is purple." 
 
 " Yes, and the pictures are different," said Ellen. 
 
 " Well, I had rather they would be different, 
 wouldn't you ? I think it's just as pleasant. One's 
 as big as the other, at any rate. Come — -what's 
 next ? " 
 
 Ellen drew out a little bundle, which, being 
 opened, proved to be a nice little pair of dark kid 
 gloves. 
 
 " Oh, I wonder who gave me this ! " she said, — 
 " it's just what I wanted. How pretty! Oh, I'm 
 so glad. I guess who it was." 
 
 " Oh, look here," said the other Ellen, who 
 had been diving into her stocking, — " I've got a 
 ball — this is just what I wanted, too ; George told 
 me if I'd get one he'd show me how to play. Isn't 
 it pretty ? Isn't it funny we should each get just 
 what we wanted ? Oh, this is a very nice ball. 
 I'm glad I've got it. Why, here is another great 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 37 
 
 round thing in my stocking ! — what can it be ? they 
 wouldn't give me two balls," said she, chuckling. 
 
 " So there is in mine ! " said Ellen. " Maybe 
 they're apples ? " 
 
 " They aren't ! they wouldn't give us apples ; 
 besides, it is soft. Pull it out and see." 
 
 "Then they are oranges," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " /never felt such a soft orange," said little Ellen 
 Chauncey. " Come, Ellen ! stop laughing, and let's 
 see." 
 
 They were two great scarlet satin pincushions, 
 with E. C. and E. M. very neatly stuck in pins. 
 
 " Well, we sha'n't want pins for a good while, 
 shall we ? " said Ellen. " Who gave us these ? " 
 
 "I know," said little Ellen Chauncey, — "Mrs, 
 Bland." 
 
 " She was very kind to make one for me," said 
 Ellen. " Now for the next ! " 
 
 Her next thing was a little bottle of Cologne 
 water. 
 
 " I can tell who put that in," said her friend, — 
 u Aunt Sophia. I know her little bottles of Cologne 
 water. Do you love Cologne water ? Aunt Sophia's 
 is delicious." 
 
 Ellen did like it very much, and was extremely 
 pleased. Ellen Chauncey had also a new pair of 
 scissors which gave entire satisfaction. 
 
 " Now I wonder what all this toe is stuffed with," 
 said she, — " raisins and almonds, I declare ! and 
 yours the same, isn't it ? Well, don't you think we 
 have got enough sweet things ? Isn't this a pretty 
 good Christmas ? " 
 
 " What are you about, you monkeys ? " cried the 
 voice of Aunt Sophia from the dressing-room door. 
 
38 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Alice, Alice, do look at them. Come, right back 
 to bed both of you. Crazy pates ! It is lucky it 
 is Christmas day — if it was any other in the year 
 we should have you both sick in bed ; as it is, I 
 suppose you will go scot-free." 
 
 Laughing, and rosy with pleasure, they came 
 back and got into bed together ; and for an hour 
 afterwards the two kept up a most animated conver- 
 sation, intermixed with long chuckles and bursts 
 of merriment, and whispered communications of 
 immense importance. The arrangement of the 
 painted needlebook was entirely decided upon in 
 this consultation ; also two or three other matters ; 
 and the two children seemed to have already lived 
 a day since daybreak by the time they came down 
 to breakfast. 
 
 After breakfast Ellen applied secretly to Alice 
 to know if she could write very beautifully ; she 
 exceedingly wanted something done. 
 
 " I should not like to venture, Ellie, if it must be 
 so superfine ; but John can do it for you." 
 
 " Can he ? Do you think he would ? " 
 
 " I am sure he will if you ask him." 
 
 " But I don't like to ask him," said Ellen, casting 
 a doubtful glance at the window. 
 
 " Nonsense ! he's only reading the newspaper. 
 You won't disturb him." 
 
 " Well, you won't say anything about it ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 Ellen accordingly went near and said, gently, 
 " Mr. Humphreys," — but he did not seem to hear 
 her. " Mr. Humphreys ! " — a little louder. 
 
 " He has not arrived yet," said John, looking 
 round gravely. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 39 
 
 He spoke so gravely that Ellen could not tel! 
 whether he were joking or serious. Her face of 
 extreme perplexity was too much for his command 
 of countenance. " Whom do you want to speak 
 to ? " said he, smiling. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you, sir," said Ellen, " if 
 you are not too busy." 
 
 " Mr. Humphreys is always busy," said he, shak- 
 ing his head ; " but Mr. John can attend to you any 
 time, and John will do for you whatever you please 
 to ask him." 
 
 " Then, Mr. John," said Ellen, laughing, " if you 
 please I wanted to ask you to do something for me 
 very much indeed, if you are not too busy ; Alice 
 said I shouldn't disturb you." 
 
 " Not at all ; I've been long enough over this 
 stupid newspaper. What is it ? " 
 
 " I want you, if you will be so good," said Ellen, 
 " to write a little bit for me on something, very 
 beautifully." 
 
 " ' Very beautifully ! ' Well — come to the library ; 
 we will see." 
 
 " But it is a great secret," said Ellen ; " you 
 won't tell anybody ? " 
 
 " Tortures sha'n't draw it from me — when I 
 know what it is," said he, with one of his comical 
 looks. 
 
 In high glee Ellen ran for the pieces of Bristol 
 board which were to form the backs of the needle- 
 book, and brought them to the library ; and ex- 
 plained how room was to be left in the middle of 
 each for a painting — a rose on one, a butterfly on 
 the other ; the writing to be as elegant as possible, 
 
40 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 above, beneath, and roundabout, as the fancy of 
 the writer should choose. 
 
 "Well, what is to be J inscribed on this most 
 original of needlebooks ? " said John, as he care- 
 fully mended his pen. 
 
 " Stop ! " said Ellen,—" I'll tell you in a minute- 
 on this one, the front you know, is to go, ' To my 
 dear mother, many happy New Years ; " — and on 
 this side, 'From her dear little daughter, Ellen 
 Chauncey.' You know," she added, " Mrs Chaun- 
 cey isn't to know anything about it till New Year's 
 day; nor anybody else." 
 
 " Trust me," said John. " If I am asked any 
 questions they shall find me as obscure as an 
 oracle." 
 
 " What is an oracle, sir ? " 
 
 " Why," said John, smiling, " this pen won't do 
 yet — the old heathens believed there were certain 
 spots of earth to which some of their gods had 
 more favor than to others, and where they would 
 permit mortals to come nearer to them, and would 
 even deign to answer their questions." 
 
 " And did they ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Did they what ? " 
 
 " Did they answer their questions ? 
 
 " Did who answer their questions ? " 
 
 " The — oh ! to be sure," said Ellen, — " there 
 were no such gods. But what made people think 
 they answered them ? and how could they ask 
 questions ? " 
 
 " I suppose it was a contrivance of the priests to 
 increase their power and wealth. There was al- 
 ways a temple built near, with priests and priest- 
 esses ; the questions were put through them ; and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 41 
 
 ^,ey would not ask them except on great occa- 
 sions, or for people of consequence who could pay 
 them well by making splendid gifts to the god." 
 
 " But I should think the people would have 
 thought the priest or priestess had made up the 
 answers themselves." 
 
 " Perhaps they did sometimes. But people had 
 not the Bible then, and did not know as much as 
 we know. It was not unnatural to think the gods 
 would care a little for the poor people that lived on 
 the earth. Besides, there was a good deal of man- 
 agement and trickery about the answers of the 
 oracle that helped to deceive." 
 
 " How was it ? " said Ellen ; — " how could they 
 manage ? and what was the oracle •? " 
 
 " The oracle was either the answer itself, or the 
 god who was supposed to give it, or the place 
 where it was given ; and there were different ways 
 of managing. At one place the priest hid himself 
 in the hollow body or among the branches of an 
 oak tree, and people thought the tree spoke to 
 them. Sometimes the oracle was delivered by a 
 woman who pretended to be put into a kind of fit 
 — tearing her hair and beating her breast." 
 
 " But suppose the oracle made a mistake ?— 
 what would the people think then ? " 
 
 " The answers were generally contrived so that 
 they would seem to come true in any event." 
 
 " I don't see how they could do that," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Very well — just imagine that I am an oracle, 
 and come to me with some question ; — I'll answer 
 you." 
 
 " But you can't tell what's going to happen ? " 
 
4.2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " No matter — you ask me truly, and I'll answel 
 you oracularly." 
 
 " That means, like an oracle, I suppose ? " said 
 Ellen. "Well— Mr. John, will Alice be pleased 
 with what I am going to give her new New Year ? " 
 
 " She will be pleased with what she will receive 
 on that day." 
 
 " Ah, but," said Ellen, laughing, " that isn't fair ; 
 you haven't answered me ; perhaps somebody else 
 will give her something, and then she might be 
 pleased with that and not with mine." 
 
 " Exactly — but the oracle never means to be 
 understood." 
 
 " Well, I won't come to you," said Ellen. " I 
 don't like such answers. Now for the needle- 
 book ! " 
 
 Breathlessly she looked on, while the skillful 
 pen did its work ■ and her exclamations of delight 
 and admiration when the first cover was handed to 
 her were not loud but deep. 
 
 " It will do then, will it ? Now let us see — ' From 
 her dear little daughter,' — there — now ' Ellen 
 Chauncey,' I suppose, must be in hieroglyphics." 
 
 " In what ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " I mean, written in some difficult character." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen. " But what was that you 
 said ? " 
 
 " Hieroglyphics ? " 
 
 Ellen added no more, though she was not satis* 
 fied. He looked up and smiled. 
 
 " Do you want to know what that means ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you please," said Ellen. 
 
 The pen was laid down while he explained, to a 
 most eager little listener. Even the great business 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 43 
 
 of the moment was forgotten. From hieroglyphics 
 they went to the pyramids ; and Ellen had got to 
 the top of one and was enjoying the prospect (in 
 imagination) when she suddenly came down to tell 
 John of her stuffed stocking and its contents. The 
 pen went on again, and came to the end of the 
 writing by the time Ellen had got to the toe of the 
 stocking. 
 
 " Wasn't it very strange they should give me so 
 many things ? " said she ; — " people that don't 
 know me ? " 
 
 " Why, no," said John, smiling, — " I cannot say 
 I think it was very strange. Is this all the busi- 
 ness you had for my hands ? " 
 
 " This is all • and I am very much obliged to 
 you, Mr. John." 
 
 Her grateful, affectionate eye said much more, 
 and he felt well paid. 
 
 Gilbert was next applied to, to paint the rose and 
 the butterfly, which, finding so elegant a beginning 
 made in the work, he was very ready to do. The 
 girls were then free to set about the embroidery of 
 the leaves, which was by no means the business of 
 an hour. 
 
 A very happy Christmas day was that. With 
 their needles and thimbles, and rose-colored silk, 
 they kept by themselves in a corner, or in the 
 library, out of the way ; and sweetening their talk 
 with a sugar-plum now and then, neither tongues 
 nor needles knew any flagging. It was wonderful 
 that they found so much to say, but there was no 
 lack. Ellen Chauncey especially was inexhaustible. 
 Several times too that day the Cologne bottle was 
 handled, the gloves looked at and fondled, the ball 
 
44 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 tried, and the new scissors extolled as "just the 
 thing for their work." . Ellen attempted to let her 
 companion into the mystery of oracles and hiero- 
 glyphics, but was fain to give it up ; little Ellen 
 showed a decided preference for American, not to 
 say Ventnor, subjects, where she felt more at home. 
 Then came Mr. Humphreys ; and Ellen was glad, 
 both for her own sake and because she loved to 
 see Alice pleased. Then came the great merry 
 Christmas dinner, when the girls had not talked: 
 themselves out, but tired themselves with working. 
 Young and old dined together to-day, and the chil- 
 dren not set by themselves but scattered among 
 the grown-up people ; and as Ellen was nicely 
 placed between Alice and little Ellen Chauncey, 
 she enjoyed it all very much. The large long table 
 surrounded with happy faces ; tones of cheerful- 
 ness, and looks of kindness, and lively talk; the 
 superb display of plate and glass and china ; the 
 stately dinner ; and last but not least, the plum pud- 
 ding. There was sparkling wine too, and a great 
 deal of drinking of healths ; but Ellen noticed that 
 Alice and her brother smilingly drank all theirs 
 in water ; so when old Mr. Marshman called to her 
 to " hold out her glass," she held it out to be sure 
 and let him fill it, but she lifted her tumbler of 
 water to her lips instead, after making him a very 
 low bow. Mr. Marshman laughed at her a great 
 deal, and asked her if she was " a proselyte to the 
 new notions ; " and Ellen laughed with him, with- 
 out having the least idea what he meant, and was. 
 extremely happy. It was very pleasant, too, when 
 they went into the drawing-room to take coffee. 
 The young ones were permitted to have coffee to* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 45 
 
 night as a great favor. Old Mrs. Marshman had 
 the two little ones on either side of her ; and was 
 so kind, and held Ellen's hand in her own, and 
 talked to her about her mother, till Ellen loved her. 
 
 After tea there was a great call for games, and 
 young and old joined in them. They played the 
 Old Curiosity Shop ; and Ellen thought Mr. John's 
 curiosity could not be matched. They played the 
 Old Family Coach, Mr. Howard Marshman being 
 the manager, and Ellen laughed till she was tired ; 
 she was the coach door, and he kept her opening 
 and shutting and swinging and breaking, it seemed, 
 all the while, though most of the rest were worked 
 just as hard. When they were well tired they sat 
 down to rest and hear music, and Ellen enjoyed 
 that exceedingly. Alice sang, and Mrs. Gillespie, 
 and Miss Sophia, and another lady, and Mr. How- 
 ard ; sometimes alone, sometimes three or four or 
 all together. 
 
 At last came ten o'clock, and the young ones 
 were sent off ; and from beginning to end that had 
 been a Christmas day of unbroken and unclouded 
 pleasure. Ellen's last act was to take another look 
 at her Cologne bottle, gloves, pincushion, grapes, 
 and paper of sugar-plums, which were laid side by 
 side carefully in a drawer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
 A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, 
 Whose glory, with a light that never fades, 
 Shoots between scattered rocks and opening shade*. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys was persuaded to stay over 
 Sunday at Ventnor ; and it was also settled that 
 
4.6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 his children should not leave it till after New Year. 
 This was less their own wish than his ; he said 
 Alice wanted the change, and he wished she looked 
 a little fatter. Besides, the earnest pleadings of 
 the whole family were not to be denied. Ellen was 
 very glad of this, though there was one drawback 
 to the pleasure of Ventor, — she could not feel quite 
 at home with any of the young people but only 
 Ellen Chauncey and her cousin George Walsh. 
 This seemed very strange to her ; she almost 
 thought Margaret Dunscombe was at the bottom of 
 it all, but she recollected she had felt something of 
 this before Margaret came. She tried to think 
 nothing about it ; and in truth it was not able to 
 prevent her from being very happy. The breach, 
 however, was destined to grow wider. 
 
 About four miles from Ventnor was a large town 
 called Randolph. Thither they drove to church 
 Sunday morning, the whole family ; but the hour 
 of dinner and the distance prevented any one from 
 going in the afternoon. The members of the family 
 were scattered in different parts of the house, most 
 in their own rooms. Ellen, with some difficulty, 
 made her escape from her young companions, whose 
 manner of spending the time did not satisfy her 
 notions of what was right on that day, and went to 
 look in the library for her friends. They were 
 there, and alone ; Alice half reclining on the sofa, 
 half in her brother's arms ; he was reading or talking 
 to her ; there was a book in his hand. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " said Ellen, as she 
 drew near ; " aren't you well, dear Alice ? — Head- 
 ache ? oh, I am sorry. Oh ! I know " 
 
 She darted away. In two minutes she was back 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 47 
 
 again with a pleased face, her bunch of grapes in 
 one hand, her bottle of Cologne water in the other. 
 
 "Won't you open that, please, Mr. John," said 
 she; — "I can't open it; I guess it will do her 
 good, for Ellen says it's delicious. Mamma used 
 to have Cologne water for her headaches. And 
 here, dear Alice, won't you eat these ? — do ! — try 
 one." 
 
 " Hasn't that bottle been opened yet ? " said 
 Alice, as she smilingly took a grape. 
 
 " Why, no, to be sure it hasn't. I wasn't going 
 to open it till I wanted it. Eat them all, dear Alice, 
 — please do ! " 
 
 " But I don't think you have eaten one yourself, 
 Ellen, by the look of the bunch. And here are a 
 great many, too many for me." 
 
 " Yes, I have, I've eaten two ; I don't want 'em. 
 I give them all to you and Mr. John. I had a 
 great deal rather ! " 
 
 Ellen took, however, as precious payment, Alice's 
 look and kiss ; and then with a delicate conscious- 
 ness that perhaps the brother and sister might like 
 to be alone, she left the library. She did not know 
 where to go, for Miss Sophia was stretched on the 
 bed in her room, and she did not want any company. 
 
 At last, with her little Bible, she placed herself 
 on the old sofa in the hall above stairs, which was 
 perfectly well warmed, and for some time she was 
 left there in peace. It was pleasant, after all the 
 hubbub of the morning, to have a little quiet time 
 that seemed like Sunday ; and the sweet Bible 
 words came, as they often now came to Ellen, with 
 a healing breath. But after half an hour or so, to 
 her dismay she heard a door open and the whole 
 
48 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 gang of children come trooping into the hall below, 
 where they soon made such a noise that reading or 
 thinking was out of the question. 
 
 " What a bother it is that one can't play games 
 on a Sunday ! " said Marianne Gillespie. 
 
 " One can play games on a Sunday," answered 
 her brother. " Where's the odds ? It's all Sunday's 
 good for, /think." 
 
 " William ! — William ! " sounded the shocked 
 voice of little Ellen Chauncey, — " you are a real 
 wicked boy ! " 
 
 " W r ell, now ! " said William, — " how am I wicked ? 
 Now say, — I should like to know. How is it any 
 more wicked for us to play games than it is for 
 Aunt Sophia to lie abed and sleep, or for Uncle 
 Howard to read novels, or for grandpa to talk 
 politics, or for mother to talk about the fashions ? — 
 there were she and Miss What's-her-name for ever 
 so long this morning doing everything but make a 
 dress. Now which is the worst ? " 
 
 " Oh, William !— William !— for shame ! for 
 shame ! " said Ellen again. 
 
 " Do hush, Ellen Chauncey ! will you ? " said 
 Marianne, sharply ; — " and you had better hush 
 too, William, if you know what is good for yourself. 
 I don't care whether it's right or wrong, I do get 
 dolefully tired with doing nothing." 
 
 " Oh, so do I ! " said Margaret, yawning. " I 
 wish one could sleep all Sunday." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said George, " I know a 
 game we can play, and no harm either, for it's all 
 out of the Bible." 
 
 " Oh, do you ? — let's hear it, George," cried th« 
 girls. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 49 
 
 " I don't believe it is good for anything if it is 
 out of the Bible," said Margaret. " Now stare, 
 Ellen Chauncey, do ! 
 
 "I aint staring," said Ellen, indignantly, — "but 
 I don't believe it is right to play it, if it is out of 
 the Bible." 
 
 " Well, it is, though," said George. " Now listen ; 
 — I'll think of somebody in the Bible, — some man 
 or woman, you know ; and you all may ask me 
 twenty questions about him to see if you can find 
 out who it is." 
 
 " What kind of questions ? " 
 
 " Any kind of questions — whatever you like." 
 
 " That will improve your knowledge of Scripture 
 history," said Gilbert. 
 
 " To be sure ; and exercise our memory," said 
 Isabel Hawthorn. 
 
 " Yes, and then we are thinking of good people 
 and what they did, all the time," said little Ellen. 
 
 "Or bad people and what they did," said 
 William. 
 
 " But I don't know enough about people and 
 things in the Bible," said Margaret ; " I couldn't 
 guess." 
 
 " Oh, never mind — it will be all the more fun," 
 said George. " Come ! let's begin. Who'll take 
 somebody ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think this will be fine ! " said little 
 Chauncey; — "but, Ellen — where's Ellen? — we 
 want her." 
 
 " No, we don't want her ! — we've enough with- 
 out her — she won't play ! " shouted William, as the 
 little girl ran upstairs. She persevered, however. 
 Ellen had left her sofa before this, and was found 
 
5 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 seated on the foot of her bed. As far and as long 
 as she could, she withstood her little friend's en- 
 treaties, and very unwillingly at last yielded and 
 went with her downstairs. 
 
 " Now we are ready," said little Ellen Chauncey ; 
 " I have told Ellen what the game is ; who's going 
 to begin ? " 
 
 "We have begun," said William. " Gilbert has 
 thought of somebody. Man or woman ? " 
 
 " Man." 
 
 " Young or old ? " 
 
 " Why — he was young first and old afterwards." 
 
 " Pshaw, William ! what a ridiculous question," 
 said his sister. " Besides, you mustn't ask more 
 than one at a time. Rich or poor, Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Humph ! — why, I suppose he was moderately 
 well off. I dare say I should think myself a lucky 
 fellow if I had as much." 
 
 " Are you answering truly, Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Upon my honor ! " 
 
 "Was he in a high or low station of life? " asked 
 Miss Hawthorn. 
 
 " Neither at the top nor the bottom of the ladder 
 — a very respectable person, indeed." 
 
 " But we are not getting on," said Margaret ; 
 " according to you, he wasn't anything in particular ; 
 what kind of a person was he, Gilbert ? " 
 
 " A very good man." 
 
 " Handsome or ugly ? " 
 
 " History don't say." 
 
 " Well, what does it say ? " said George, — " what 
 did he do ? " 
 
 " He took a journey once upon a time." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 51 
 
 " Do you mean why he went, or what was the 
 object of his going ? " 
 
 " Why, the one's the same as the other, ain't 
 it?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Well, what was the object of his going ? " 
 
 " He went after a wife." 
 
 " Samson ! Samson ! " shouted William and 
 Isabel and Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 " No — it wasn't Samson, either." 
 
 u I can't think of anybody else that went after a 
 wife," said George. "That king — what's his 
 name ? — that married Esther ? " 
 
 The children screamed. " He didn't go after a 
 wife, George, — his wives were brought to him. 
 Was it Jacob ? " 
 
 " No — he didn't go after a wife either," said 
 Gilbert ; " he married two of them, but he didn't 
 go to his uncle's to find them. You had better go 
 on with your questions. You have had eight already. 
 If you don't look out you won't catch me. Come ! " 
 
 " Did he get the wife that he went after ? " asked 
 Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 " He was never married that I know of," said 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " What was the reason he failed ? " said Isabel. 
 
 " He did not fail." 
 
 " Did he bring home his wife then ? — you said 
 he wasn't married." 
 
 " He never was, that I know of ; but he brought 
 home a Wife, notwithstanding." 
 
 " But how funny you are, Gilbert," said little 
 Ellen, — " he had a wife and he hadn't a wife ; — what 
 became of her ? " 
 
52 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " She lived and flourished. Twelve questions: 
 — take care." 
 
 " Nobody asked what country he was of," said 
 Margaret, — " what was he, Gilbert ? " 
 
 " He was a Damascene." 
 
 " A what ? " 
 
 " Of Damascus — of Damascus. You know where 
 Damascus is, don't you ? " 
 
 " Fiddle ! " said Marianne, — " I thought he was 
 a Jew. Did he live before or after the flood ? " 
 
 " After. I should think you might have known 
 that." 
 
 " Well, I can't make out anything about him," 
 said Marianne. " We shall have to give it up." 
 
 "No, no, — not yet," said William. "W T here did 
 he go after his wife ? " 
 
 " Too close a question." 
 
 " Then, that don't count. Had he ever seen her 
 before ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Was she willing to go with him ? " 
 
 " Very willing. Ladies always are, when they 
 go to be married." 
 
 " And what became of her ? " 
 
 " She was married and lived happily, — as I told 
 you." 
 
 " But you said he wasn't married ? " 
 
 " Well, what then ? I didn't say she married 
 kim." 
 
 " Whom did she marry ? " 
 
 " Ah, that is asking the whole ; I can't tell you." 
 
 " Had they far to go ? " asked Isabel. 
 
 " Several days' journey, — I don't know how far." 
 
 " How did they travel ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO-RLDl 53 
 
 "On camels." 
 
 " Was it the Queen of Sheba I " said little 
 Ellen. 
 
 There was a roar of laughter at this happy 
 thought, and poor little Ellen declared she forgot 
 all about the journey ; she remembered the Queen 
 of Sheba had taken a journey, and the camels in 
 the picture of the Queen of Sheba, and that made 
 her think of her. 
 
 The children gave up. Questioning seemed 
 hopeless ; and Gilbert at last told them his thought. 
 It was Eleazar, Abraham's steward, whom he sent 
 to fetch a wife for his son Isaac. 
 
 " Why haven't you guessed, little mumchance ?"* 
 said Gilbert to Ellen Montgomery. 
 
 " I have guessed," said Ellen ; — " I knew who it 
 was some time ago." 
 
 " Then, why didn't you say so ? and you haven't 
 asked a single question," said George. 
 
 " No, you haven't asked a single question," said 
 Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 " She is a great deal too good for that," said 
 William ; " she thinks it is wicked, and that we are 
 not at all nice, proper-behaved boys and girls, to 
 be playing on Sunday ; she is very sorry she could 
 not help being amused." 
 
 " Do you think it is wicked, Ellen ? " asked her 
 little friend. 
 
 " Do you think it isn't right ? " said George 
 Walsh. 
 
 Ellen hesitated ; she saw they were all waiting to 
 hear what she would say. She colored, and looked 
 down at her little Bible, which was still in her hand. 
 It encouraged her. 
 
54 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I don't want to say anything rude," she began: 
 — " I don't think it is quite right to play such plays, 
 or any plays." 
 
 She was attacked with impatient cries of " Why 
 not ? " " Why not ? " 
 
 ' k Because," said Ellen, trembling with the effort 
 she made, — " I think Sunday was meant to be spent 
 in growing better, and learning good things ; and I 
 don't think such plays would help one at all to do 
 that ; and I have a kind of feeling that I ought not 
 to do it." 
 
 " Well, I hope you'll act according to your feel- 
 ings then," said William ; " I am sure nobody has 
 any objection. You had better go somewhere else, 
 though, for we are going on ; we have been learn- 
 ing to be good long enough for one day. Come ! I 
 have thought of somebody." 
 
 Ellen could not help feeling hurt and sorry at the 
 half sneer she saw in the look and manner of the 
 others, as well as in William's words. She wished 
 for no better than to go away, but as she did so her 
 bosom swelled, and the tears started and her breath 
 came quicker. She found Alice tying down and 
 asleep, Miss Sophia beside her ; so she stole out 
 again, and went down to the library. Finding no- 
 body, she took possession of the sofa, and tried to 
 read again ; reading, somehow, did not go well, and 
 she fell to musing on what had just passed. She 
 thought of the unkindness of the children ; how 
 sure she was it was wrong to spend any part of 
 Sunday in such games ; what Alice would think of 
 it, and John, and her mother ; and how the Sundays 
 long ago used to be spent, when that dear mother 
 was with her ; and then she wondered how she was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 55, 
 
 passing this very one, — while Ellen was sitting here 
 in the library alone, what she was doing in that far- 
 away land ; and she thought if there only were such 
 things as oracles that could tell truly, how much 
 she should like to ask about her. 
 
 " Ellen ! " said the voice of John from the window. 
 
 She started up ; she had thought she was alone ; 
 but there he was lying in the window-seat. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Ellen. 
 
 " Come here. What are you thinking about ? I 
 didn't know you were there till I heard two or three 
 very long sighs. What is the matter with my little 
 sister ? " 
 
 He took her hand and drew her fondly up to him. 
 " What were you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I was thinking about different things, — nothing 
 is the matter," said Ellen. 
 
 " Then what are those tears in your eyes for ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said she, laughing, — " there 
 weren't any till I came here. I was thinking just 
 now about mamma." 
 
 He said no more, still, however, keeping her 
 beside him. 
 
 " I should think," said Ellen, presently, after a 
 few minutes' musing look out of the window, "it 
 would be very pleasant if there were such things 
 as oracles — don't you, Mr. John ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But wouldn't you like to know something about 
 what's going to happen ? " 
 
 " I do know a great deal about it." 
 
 " About what is going to happen ! " 
 
 He smiled. 
 
56 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Yes — a great deal, Ellie, — enough to give me 
 work for all the rest of my life." 
 
 " Oh, you mean from the Bible ! — I was thinking 
 of other things." 
 
 " It is best not to know the other things, Ellie ; — ■ 
 I am very glad to know those the Bible teaches us." 
 
 " But it doesn't tell us much, does it ? What 
 does it tell us ? " 
 
 " Go to the window and tell me what you see." 
 
 " I don't see anything in particular," said Ellen,, 
 after taking a grave look-out. 
 
 " Well, what in general ? " 
 
 " Why, there is the lawn covered with snow, and 
 the trees and bushes ; and the sun is shining on 
 everything just as it did the day we came ; and 
 there's the long shadow of that hemlock across the 
 snow, and the blue sky." 
 
 " Now, look out again, Ellie, and listen. I know 
 that a day is to come when those heavens shall be 
 wrapped together as a scroll — they shall vanish 
 away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a 
 garment ; : — and it and all the works that are therein 
 shall be burned up." 
 
 As he spoke, Ellen's fancy tried to follow, — to 
 picture the ruin and desolation of all that stood so 
 fair and seemed to stand so firm before her ; — but 
 the sun shone on, the branches waved gently in the 
 wind, the shadows lay still on the snow, and the 
 blue heaven was fair and cloudless. Fancy was 
 baffled. She turned from the window. 
 
 " Do you believe it ? " said John. 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen,—" I know it ; but I think it 
 is very disagreeable to think about it." 
 
 " It would be, Ellie," said he, bringing her again 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 53 
 
 to his side, — " very disagreeable, — very miserable, 
 indeed, if we knew no more than that. But we 
 know more — read here." 
 
 Ellen took his little Bible and read at the open 
 place. 
 
 " J Behold, I create new heavens and a new 
 earth, and the former shall not be remembered, 
 neither come into mind.' " 
 
 " Why won't they be remembered ? " said Ellen ; 
 — " shall we forget all about them ? " 
 
 " No, I do not think that is meant. The new 
 heavens and the new earth will be so much more 
 lovely and pleasant that we shall not want to think 
 of these." 
 
 Ellen's eye sought the window again. 
 
 " You are thinking that is hardly possible ? " said 
 John, with a smile. 
 
 " I suppose it is possible" said Ellen, — " but " 
 
 " But lovely as this world is, Ellie, man has 
 filled it with sin, and sin has everywhere brought 
 its punishment, and under the weight of both the 
 earth groans. There will be no sin there ; sorrow 
 and sighing shall flee away; love to each other and 
 love to their blessed King will fill all hearts, and 
 His presence will be with them. Don't you see 
 that even if that world shall be in itself no better 
 than this, it will yet be far, far more lovely than 
 this can ever be with the shadow of sin upon 
 it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Ellen. " I know, whenever I 
 feel wrong in any way, nothing seems pretty or 
 pleasant to me, or not half so much." 
 
 " Very well," said John, — " I see you understand 
 me. I like to think of that land, Ellen, — very much." 
 
58 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Mr. John," said Ellen,—" don't you thin* 
 people will know each other again ? " 
 
 " Those that love each other here ? — I have no 
 doubt of it." 
 
 Before either John or Ellen had broken the long 
 musing fit that followed these words, they were 
 joined by Alice. Her head was better ; and taking 
 her place in the window-seat, the talk began again, 
 between the brother and sister now; Ellen too 
 happy to sit with them and listen. They talked of 
 that land again, of the happy company preparing 
 for it ; of their dead mother, but not much of her ; 
 of the glory of their King, and the joy of His 
 service, even here ; — till thoughts grew too strong 
 for words, and silence again stole upon the group. 
 The short winter day came to an end ; the sun- 
 light faded away into moonlight. No shadows lay 
 now on the lawn ; and from where she sat Ellen 
 could see the great hemlock all silvered with the 
 moonlight which began to steal in at the window. 
 It wa6 very, very beautiful ; — yet she could think 
 now without sorrow that all this should come to an 
 «nd ; because of that new heaven and new earth 
 wherein righteousness should dwell. 
 
 " We have eaten up all your grapes, Ellen, " said 
 Alice, — " or rather /have, for John didn't help me 
 much. I think I never tasted so sweet grapes in 
 my life ; John said the reason was because every 
 one tasted of you." 
 
 " I am very glad,'' said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " There is no evil without some good," Alice 
 went on : — " except for my headache John would 
 not have held my head by the hour as he did ; and 
 you couldn't have given me the pleasure you did, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 59, 
 
 Ellie. Oh, Jack ! — there has been many a day* 
 lately when I would gladly have had a headache 
 for the power of laying my head on your shoulder ! " 
 
 " And if mamma had not gone away I should 
 never have known you," said Ellen. " I wish she 
 never had gone, but I am very, very glad for 
 this!" 
 
 She had kneeled upon the window-seat and 
 clasped Alice round the neck, just as they were 
 called to tea. The conversation had banished 
 every disagreeable feeling from Ellen's mind. She 
 met her companions in the drawing-room, almost 
 forgetting that she had any cause of complaint 
 against them. And this appeared when in the course 
 of the evening it came in her way to perform some 
 little office of politeness for Marianne. It was 
 done with the gracefulness that could only come 
 from a spirit entirely free from ungraceful feelings. 
 The children felt it, and for the time were shamed 
 into better behavior. The evening passed pleas- 
 antly, and Ellen went to bed very happy. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 The ancient heroes were illustrious, 
 For being benign, and not blusterous. 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 The next day it happened that the young people 
 were amusing themselves with talking in a room 
 where John Humphreys, walking up and down, was 
 amusing himself with thinking. In the course of his 
 walk he began to find their amusement rather dis- 
 turbing to his. The children were all grouped 
 closely round Margaret Dunscombe, who was 
 entertaining them with a long and very detailed 
 2 
 
J6o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 account of a wedding and great party at Randolph 
 which she had had the happiness of attending. 
 Eagerly fighting her battles over again, and pleased 
 with the rapt attention of her hearers, the speaker 
 forgot herself and raised her voice much more than 
 she meant to do. As every turn of his Walk 
 brought John near, there came to his ears sufficient 
 bits and scraps of Margaret's story to give him a 
 very fair sample of the whole ; and he was sorry to 
 see Ellen among the rest, and as the rest, hanging 
 upon her lips and drinking in what seemed to him 
 to be very poor nonsense. " Her gown was all blue 
 satin, trimmed here, — and so, — you know, with the 
 most exquisite lace, as deep as that, — and on the 
 shoulders and here — you know, it was looped up 
 with the most lovely bunches of " — here John lost 
 the sense. When he came near again she had got 
 upon a different topic — " Miss Simmons," says I, 
 !" what did you do that for ? " " Why," says she, 
 " how could I help it ? I saw Mr. Pyne coming, 
 
 and I thought I'd get behind you, and so " 
 
 The next time the speaker was saying with great 
 animation, " And lo, and behold, when I was in the 
 midst of all my pleasure, up comes a little gentle- 
 man of about his dimensions " He had not 
 
 taken many turns when he saw that Margaret's 
 nonsense was branching out right and left into 
 worse than nonsense. 
 
 " Ellen I " said he, suddenly, — " I want you in the 
 library." 
 
 " My conscience ! " said Margaret, as he left the 
 room, — " King John the second, and no less." 
 
 " Don't go on till I come back," said Ellen ; " I 
 •Won't be three minutes ; just wait for me." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 6l 
 
 She found John seated at one of the tables in the 
 library, sharpening a pencil. 
 
 " Ellen," said he, in his usual manner, — " I want 
 you to do something for me." 
 
 She waited eagerly to hear what, but instead of 
 telling her he took a piece of drawing paper and 
 began to sketch something. Ellen stood by, wonder- 
 ing and impatient to the last degree ; not caring, 
 however, to show her impatience, though her very 
 feet were twitching to run back to her companions. 
 
 " Ellen," said John, as he finished the old stump 
 of a tree with one branch left on it, and a little bit 
 of ground at the bottom, " did you ever try your 
 hand at drawing ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen. 
 
 " Then sit down here," said he, rising from his 
 chair, " and let me see what you can make of 
 that." 
 
 " But I don't know how," said Ellen. 
 
 " I will teach you. There is a piece of paper, 
 and this pencil is sharp enough. Is that chair too 
 low for you ? " 
 
 He placed another, and with extreme unwilling- 
 ness and some displeasure Ellen sat down. It was 
 on her tongue to ask if another time would not do, 
 but somehow she could not get the words out. 
 John showed her how to hold her pencil, how to 
 place her paper, where to begin, and how to go on ; 
 and then went to the other end of the room and 
 took up his walk again. Ellen at first felt more 
 inclined to drive her pencil through the paper than 
 to make quiet marks upon it. However, necessity 
 was upon her. She began her work ; and once 
 fairly begun it grew delightfully interesting. Her 
 
li THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 vexation went off entirely ; she forgot Margaret and 
 her story ; the wrinkles on the old trunk smoothed 
 those on her brow, and those troublesome leaves at 
 the branch end brushed away all thoughts of every- 
 thing else. Her cheeks were burning with intense 
 interest, when the library door burst open and the 
 whole troop of children rushed in ; they wanted 
 Ellen for a round game in which all their number 
 were needed ; she must come directly. 
 
 " I can't come just yet," said she ; " I must finish 
 this first." 
 
 " Afterwards will just do as well," said George ; 
 — " come, Ellen, do ! — you can finish it after- 
 wards." 
 
 " No, I can't," said Ellen, — " I can't leave it till 
 it's done. Why, I thought Mr. John was here ! I 
 didn't see him go out. I'll come in a little while." 
 
 " Did he set you about that precious piece of 
 business ? " said William. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I declare," said Margaret, — " he's fitter to be 
 the Grand Turk than any one else I know of." 
 
 " I don't know who the Grand Turk is," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Til tell you," said William, putting his mouth 
 close to her ear, and speaking in a disagreeable loud 
 whisper, — " it's the biggest gobbler in the yard." 
 
 " Ain't you ashamed, William ? " cried little Ellen 
 Chauncey. 
 
 "That's it exactly," said Margaret — " always 
 strutting about." 
 
 " He isn't a bit," said Ellen, every angry ; " I've 
 seen people a great deal more like gobblers than 
 he is." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 63 
 
 " Well," said Willian, reddening in his turn, " I 
 had rather at any rate be a good turkey gobbler 
 than one of those outlandish birds that have an 
 appetite for stones and glass and bits of morocco, 
 and such things. Come, let's us leave her to do 
 the Grand Turk's bidding. Come, Ellen Chauncey 
 — you mustn't stay to interrupt her — we want you ! " 
 
 They left her alone. Ellen had colored, but 
 William's words did not hit very sore ; since John's 
 talk with her about the matter referred to she had 
 thought of it humbly and wisely ; it is only pride 
 that makes such fault-finding very hard to bear. 
 She was very sorry, however, that they had fallen 
 out again, and that her own passion, as she feared, 
 had been the cause. A few tears had to be wiped 
 away before she could see exactly how the old tree 
 stood, — then taking up her pencil she soon forgot 
 everything in her work. It was finished, and with 
 head now on one side now on the other, she was look- 
 ing at her picture with very great satisfaction, when 
 her eye caught the figure of John standing before her. 
 
 " Is it done ? " said he. 
 
 " It is done," said Ellen, smiling, as she rose up 
 to let him come. He sat down to look at it. 
 
 " It is very well, " he said, — " better than I ex- 
 pected, — it is very well, indeed. Is this your ft?st 
 trial, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Yes— the first." 
 
 "You found it pleasant work? " 
 
 " Oh, very ! — very pleasant. I like it dearly." 
 
 *' Then I will teach you. This shows you have 
 a taste for it, and that is precisely what I wanted 
 to find out. I will give you an easier copy next 
 time. I rather expected when you sat down," said 
 
64 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 he, smiling a little, " that the old tree would gro* 
 a good deal more crooked under your hands than 
 I meant it to be." 
 
 Ellen blushed exceedingly. " I do believe, Mr. 
 John," said she, stammering, " that you know every- 
 thing I am thinking about." 
 
 " I might do that, Ellen, without being as wise 
 as an oracle. But I do not expect to make any 
 very painful discoveries in that line." 
 
 Ellen thought, if he did not, it would not be her 
 fault. She truly repented her momentary anger 
 and hasty speech to William. Not that he did 
 not deserve it, or that it was not true ; but it was 
 unwise, and had done mischief, and " it was not a 
 bit like peacemaking, nor meek at all," Ellen said 
 to herself. She had been reading that morning 
 the fifth chapter of Matthew, and it ran in her head, 
 " Blessed are the meek," — " Blessed are the peace- 
 makers : for they shall be called the children of 
 God." She strove to get back a pleasant feeling 
 toward her young companions, and prayed that 
 she might not be angry at anything they should 
 say. She was tried again at tea-time. 
 
 Miss Sophia had quitted the table, bidding Wil- 
 liam hand the doughnuts to those who could not 
 reach them. Marianne took a great while to make 
 her choice. Her brother grew impatient. 
 
 "Well, I hope you have suited yourself," said 
 he. " Come, Miss Montgomery, don't you be as 
 long; my arm is tired. Shut your eyes, arid then 
 you'll be sure to get the biggest one in the bas- 
 ket." 
 
 " No, Ellen," said John, who none of the children 
 thought was near, — " it would be ungenerous — I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 6$ 
 
 wouldn't deprive Master William of his best argu- 
 ments." 
 
 " What do you mean by my arguments ? " said 
 William, sharply. 
 
 " Generally, those which are the most difficult to 
 take in," answered his tormentor with perfect 
 gravity. 
 
 Ellen tried to keep from smiling, but could not; 
 and others of the party did not try. William and 
 his sister were enraged, the more because John had 
 said nothing they could take hold of, or even re* 
 peat. Gilbert made common cause with them. 
 
 " I wish I was grown up for once," said William. 
 
 " Will you fight me, sir ? " asked Gilbert, who was 
 a matter of three years older, and well grown 
 enough. 
 
 His question received no answer, and was re-» 
 peated. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 11 Why not, sir ? " 
 
 " I am afraid you'd lay me up with a sprained 
 ankle," said John, " and I should not get back ta 
 Doncaster as quickly as I must." 
 
 " It is very mean of him," said Gilbert, as John 
 walked away, — " I could whip him, I know." 
 
 " Who's that ? " said Mr. Howard Marshman, 
 
 "John Humphreys." 
 
 "John Humphreys ! You had better not meddle 
 with him, my dear fellow. It would be no par- 
 ticular proof of wisdom." 
 
 " Why, he is no such great affair," said Gilbert ; 
 " he's tall enough to be sure, but I don't believe 
 he is heavier than I am." 
 
 " You don't know, in the first place x how to 
 
66 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 judge of the size of a perfectly well-made man ; 
 and in the second place, /was not a match for him 
 a year ago • so you may judge — I do not know 
 precisely," he went on to the lady he was walking 
 with, " what it takes to rouse John Humphreys, 
 but when he is roused he seems to me to have 
 strength enough for twice his bone and muscle. I 
 have seen him do curious things once or twice ! " 
 
 " That quiet Mr. Humphreys ? " 
 
 " Humph 1 " said Mr. Howard, — " gunpowder is 
 pretty quiet stuff so long as it keeps cool." 
 
 The next day another matter happened to dis- 
 turb Ellen. Margaret had received an elegant pair 
 of ear-rings as a Christmas present, and was show- 
 ing them for the admiration of her young friends. 
 Ellen's di'd not satisfy her. 
 
 " Ain't they splendid ? " said she. " Tell the 
 truth now, Ellen Montgomery, wouldn't you give a 
 great deal if somebody would send you such a 
 pair ? " 
 
 " They are very pretty," said Ellen, "but I don't 
 think I care much for such things, — I would rather 
 have the money." 
 
 " Oh, you avaricious ! — Mr. Marshman ! " cried 
 Margaret, as the old gentleman was just then pass- 
 ing through the room, — " here's Ellen Montgomery 
 says she'd rather have money than anything else 
 for her present." 
 
 He did not seem to hear her, and went but with- 
 out making any reply. 
 
 " Oh, Margaret ! " said Ellen, shocked and dis- 
 tressed, — " how could you ! how could you ! What 
 Will Mr. Marshman think ? " 
 
 Margaret answered she didn't care what he 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 67 
 
 thought. Ellen could only hope he had not heard. 
 
 But a day or two after, when neither Ellen nor 
 her friends were present, Mr. Marshman asked who 
 it was that had told him Ellen Montgomery would 
 like money better than anything else for her New 
 Year's present." 
 
 " It was I, sir," said Margaret. 
 
 " It sounds very unlike her to say so," remarked 
 Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Did she say so ? " inquired Mr. Marshman. 
 
 " I understood her so," said Margaret, — " I un- 
 derstood her to say she wouldn't care for anything 
 else." 
 
 " I am disappointed in her," said the old gentle- 
 man ; " I wouldn't have believed it." 
 
 " I do not believe it," said Mrs. Chauncey, 
 quietly ; " there has been some mistake." 
 
 It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she 
 thought right. Disagreeable feelings would rise 
 when she remembered the impoliteness, the half 
 sneer, the whole taunt, and the real unkindness of 
 several of the young party. She found herself 
 ready to be irritated, inclined to dislike the sight 
 of those, even wishing to visit some sort of punish- 
 ment upon them. But Christian principle had 
 taken strong hold in little Ellen's heart ; she fought 
 her evil tempers manfully. It was not an easy 
 battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and 
 pride had roots deep enough to keep her pulling 
 up the shoots for a good while. She used to get 
 alone when she could, to read a verse, if no more* 
 of her Bible, and pray ; she could forgive William 
 and Margaret more easily then. Solitude and dark' 
 ness. saw many a prayer and tear of hers that week. 
 
<58 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 As she struggled thus to get rid of sin and to be 
 tnore like what would please God, she grew humble 
 and happy. Never was such a struggle carried on 
 by faith in Him, without success. And after a 
 time, though a twinge of the old feeling might come, 
 it was very slight ; she would bid William and 
 Margaret good-morning, and join them in any en- 
 terprise of pleasure or business, with a brow as un- 
 clouded as the sun. They, however, were too con- 
 scious of having behaved unbecomingly towards 
 their little stranger guest to be over fond of her 
 company. For the most part she and Ellen 
 Chauncey were left to each other. 
 
 Meanwhile the famous needle-book was in a fair 
 way to be finished. Great dismay had at first been 
 excited in the breast of the intended giver, by the 
 discovery that Gilbert had consulted what seemed 
 to be a very extraordinary fancy, in making the 
 rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best to comfort 
 her. She asked Alice, and found there were such 
 things as yellow roses, and they were very beautiful 
 too ; and besides, it would match so nicely the 
 yellow butterfly on the other leaf. 
 
 " I had rather it wouldn't match ! " said Ellen 
 Chauncey ; — "and it don't match the rose-colored 
 silk besides. Are the yellow roses sweet ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen, — "but this couldn't have been 
 a sweet rose at any rate you know." 
 
 "Oh, but," said the other, bursting out into a 
 fresh passion of inconsolable tears, — " I wanted it 
 should be the picture of a sweet rose ! — And I think 
 he might have put a purple butterfly — yellow butter- 
 flies are so common ? I had a great deal rather 
 have had a purple butterfly and a red rose ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. b^ 
 
 What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. 
 The tears were dried, in course of time, and the 
 needle-book with its yellow pictures and pink edges 
 was very neatly finished. Ellen had been busy too 
 on her own account. Alice had got a piece of fine 
 linen for her from Miss Sophia ; the collar for Mr. 
 Van Brunt had been cut out, and EllCn with great 
 pleasure had made it. The stitching, the strings, 
 and the very button-hole, after infinite pains were 
 all finished by Thursday night. She had also 
 made a needle-case for Alice, not of so much pre- 
 tension as the other one ; this was green morocco 
 lined with crimson satin ; no leaves, but ribbon 
 stitched in to hold papers of needles, and a place 
 for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard at this ; it 
 was made with the extremest care, and made beau- 
 tifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very much, and 
 anew lamented the uncouth variety of colors in her 
 own. It was a grave question whether pink or yel- 
 low ribbons should be used for the latter ; Ellen 
 Montgomery recommended pink, she herself in- 
 clined to yellow ; and tired of doubting, at last re- 
 solved to split the difference and put one string of 
 each color. Ellen thought that did not mend mat- 
 ters, but wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Be- 
 sides the needle-case for Alice she had snatched 
 the time whenever she could get away from Ellen 
 Chauncey to work at something for her. She had 
 begged Alice's advice and help ; and between them, 
 out of Ellen's scraps of morocco and silk, they had 
 manufactured a little bag of all the colors of the 
 rainbow, and very pretty and tasteful withal. Ellen 
 thought it a chef d'oenvre, and was unbounded in 
 her admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in 
 
70 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a locked drawer ready for New Year's day. In 
 addition to all these pieces of business, John had 
 begun to give her drawing-lessons, according to his 
 promise. These became Ellen's delight. She 
 would willingly have spent much more time upon 
 them than he would allow her. It was the most loved 
 employment of the day. Her teacher's skill was 
 not greater then the perfect gentleness and kind- 
 ness with which he taught. Ellen thought of Mr. 
 Howard's speech about gunpowder, — she could not 
 understand it. 
 
 " What is your conclusion on the whole ? " asked 
 John, one day, as he stood beside her, mending a 
 pencil. 
 
 "Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, — 
 " how could you guess what I was thinking about, 
 Mr. John ? " 
 
 " Not very difficult, when you are eyeing me so 
 hard." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Ellen, — " I don't know 
 whether it is right in me to tell it — because some- 
 body said you " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Were like gunpowder." 
 
 " Very kind of somebody ! And so you have 
 been in doubt of an explosion ? " 
 
 " No — I don't know — I wondered what he meant." 
 
 " Never believe what you hear said of people, 
 Ellen ; judge for yourself. Look here — that house 
 has suffered from a severe gale of wind, I should 
 think — all the uprights are slanting off to the right 
 — can't you set it up straight ? " 
 
 Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of 
 her house as thus pointed out to her, and set about 
 r eforming it. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 71 
 
 It was Thursday afternoon that Alice and Ellen 
 were left alone in the library, several of the family 
 having been called out to receive some visitors ; 
 Alice had excused herself, and Ellen as soon as 
 they were gone nestled up to her side. 
 
 " How pleasant it is to be alone together, dear 
 Alice ! — I don't have you even at night now." 
 
 " It is very pleasant, dear Ellie ! Home will not 
 look disagreeable again, will it ? even after all our 
 gayety here." 
 
 " No indeed ! — at least your home won't — I don't 
 know what mine will. Oh me ! I had almost for- 
 gotten Aunt Fortune ! " 
 
 " Never mind, dear Ellie ! You and I have each 
 something to bear — we must be brave and bear it 
 manfully. There is a Friend that sticketh closer 
 than a brother, you know. We sha'n't be unhappy 
 if we do our duty and love Him." 
 
 " How soon is Mr. John going away ? " 
 
 " Not for all next week. And so long as he 
 stays, I do not mean that you shall leave me." 
 
 Ellen cried for joy. 
 
 " I can manage it with Miss Fortune, I know," 
 said Alice. " These fine drawing-lessons must not be 
 interrupted. John is very much pleased with your 
 performances." 
 
 " Is he ? " said Ellen, delighted ; — " I have taken 
 all the pains I could." 
 
 " That is the sure way to success, Ellie. But, 
 Ellie, I want to ask you about something. What 
 was that you said to Margaret Dunscombe about 
 wanting money for a New Year's present ? " 
 
 " You know it, then ! " cried Ellen, starting up. 
 " Oh, I'm so glad ! I wanted to speak to you about 
 
7 j THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 it, so I didn't know what to do, and I thought \ 
 oughtn't to. What shall I do about it, dear Alice? 
 How did you know ? George said you were not 
 there." 
 
 " Mrs. Chauncey told me ; she thought there 
 had been some mistake, or something wrong ; — how 
 was it, Ellen ? " 
 
 "Why," said Ellen, "she was showing us her 
 ear-rings, and asking us what we thought of them, 
 and she asked me if I wouldn't like to have such 
 a pair ; and I thought I would a great deal rather 
 have the money they cost, to buy other things with, 
 you know, that I would like better • and I said so ; 
 and just then Mr. Marshman came in, and she 
 called out to him, loud, that I wanted money for a 
 present, or would like it better than anything else, 
 or something like that. Oh, Alice, how I felt ! I 
 was frightened ; — but then I hoped Mr. Marshman 
 did not hear her, for he did not say anything ; but 
 the next day George told me all about what she 
 had been saying in there, and oh ! it made me so 
 unhappy ! " said poor Ellen, looking very dismal. 
 " What will Mr. Marshman think of me ? he will 
 think I expected a present, and I never dreamed of 
 such a thing ! it makes me ashamed to speak of it 
 even ; and I can't bear he should think so — I can't 
 bear it ! What shall I do, dear Alice ? " 
 
 " I don't know what you can do, dear Ellie, but 
 be patient. Mr. Marshman will not think anything 
 very hard of you, I dare say." 
 
 " But I think he does already ; he hasn)jj» kissed 
 me since that as he did before ; I know he does, 
 and I don't know what to do. How could Margaret 
 say that ! oh, how could she ! it was very unkind 
 
& 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 73 
 
 — What can I do ? " said Ellen again, after a pause, 
 and wiping away a few tears. " Couldn't Mrs. 
 Chauncey tell Mr. Marshman not to give me any- 
 thing, for that I never expected it, and would a 
 sreat deal rather not ? " 
 
 " Why, no, Ellie, I do not think that would be 
 exactly the best or most dignified way." 
 
 " What then, dear Alice ? I'll do just as you 
 say." 
 
 " I would just remain quiet." 
 
 " But Ellen says the things are all put on the 
 plates in the morning ; and if there should be money 
 on mine — I don't know what I should do, I should 
 feel so badly. I couldn't keep it, Alice ! — I 
 couldn't ! " 
 
 " Very well — you need not — but remain quiet in 
 the mean while ; and if it should be so, then say 
 what you please, only take care that you say it in 
 a right spirit and in a right manner. Nobody can 
 hurt you much, my child, while you keep the even 
 path of duty; poor Margaret is her own worst 
 enemy." 
 
 " Then if there should be money in the morning, 
 I may tell Mr. Marshman the truth about it ? " 
 
 " Certainly — only do not be in haste ; speak 
 gently." 
 
 " Oh, I wish everybody would be kind and pleas- 
 ant always ! " said poor Ellen, but half comforted. 
 
 " What a sigh was there ! " said John, coming 
 in. u What is the matter with my little sister ? " 
 
 "Some of the minor trials of life, John," said 
 Alice, with a smile. 
 
 " What is the matter, Ellie ? " 
 
 " Oh, something you can't help," said Ellen. 
 
74 'fHE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "And something I mustn't know. Well, to 
 change the scene, — suppose you go with me to 
 visit the greenhouse and hothouses. Have you 
 seen them yet ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, as she eagerly sprang forward 
 to take his hand ; — " Ellen promised to go with 
 me, but we have been so busy." 
 
 " Will you come, Alice ? " 
 
 " Not I," said Alice, — " I wish I could, but I 
 shall be wanted elsewhere." 
 
 " By whom, I wonder, so much as by me ? " 
 said her brother. " However, after to-morrow I 
 will have you all to myself." 
 
 As he and Ellen were crossing the hall they met 
 Mrs. Marshman. 
 
 " Where are you going, John ? " said she. 
 
 " Where I ought to have been before, ma'am, — 
 to pay my respects to Mr. Hutchinson." 
 
 " You've not seen him yet ! that is very ungrate- 
 ful of you. Hutchinson is one of your warmest 
 friends and admirers. There are few people he 
 mentions with so much respect, or that he is so 
 glad to see, as Mr. John Humphreys." 
 
 " A distinction I owe, I fear, principally to my 
 English blood," said John, shaking his head. 
 
 "It is not altogether that," said Mrs. Marsh- 
 man, laughing ; " though I do believe I am the only 
 Yankee good Hutchinson has ever made up his 
 mind entirely to like. But go and see him, do, he 
 will be very much pleased." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Hutchinson ? " said Ellen, as they 
 went on. 
 
 " He is the gardener, or rather the head gardener. 
 He came out with his master some thirty or forty 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 75 
 
 years ago, but his old English prejudice will go to 
 the grave with him, I believe." 
 
 " But why don't he like the Americans ? " 
 
 John laughed. " It would never do for me to 
 attempt to answer that question, Ellen ; fond of 
 going to the bottom of things as you are. We 
 should just get to hard fighting about tea-time, and 
 should barely make peace by midday to-morrow at 
 the most moderate calculation. You shall have an 
 answer to your question, however." 
 
 Ellen could not conceive what he meant, but re- 
 solved to wait for his promised answer. 
 
 As they entered the large and beautifully kept 
 greenhouse, Hutchinson came from the further end 
 of it to meet them ; an old man, of most respectable 
 appearance. He bowed very civilly, and then 
 slipped his pruning knife into his left hand to leave 
 the right at liberty for John, who shook it cordially. 
 
 "And why 'aven't you been to see me before, 
 Mr. John ? I have thought it rather 'ard of you. 
 Miss h'Alice has come several times." 
 
 " The ladies have more leisure, Mr. Hutchinson. 
 You look flourishing here." 
 
 " Why, yes, sir, — pretty middling, within doors ; 
 but I don't like the climate, Mr. John, I don't like 
 the climate, sir. There's no country like h'Eng- 
 land, I believe, for my business. 'Ere's a fine rose, 
 sir, — if you'll step a bit this way — quite a new kind 
 — I got it over last h'autumn — the Palmerston it is. 
 Those are fine buds, sir." 
 
 The old man was evidently much pleased to see 
 his visitor, and presently plunged him deep into 
 English politics, for which he seemed to have lost 
 no interest by forty years' life in America. As Ellen 
 
76 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 could not understand what they were talking about, 
 she quitted John's side and went wandering about 
 by herself. From the moment the sweet aromatic 
 smell of the plants had greeted her she had been 
 in a high state of delight ; and now, lost to all the 
 world beside, from the mystery of one beautiful 
 and strange green thing to another, she went won- 
 dering and admiring, and now and then timidly ad- 
 vancing her nose to see if something glorious was 
 something sweet too. She could hardly leave a 
 superb cactus, in the petals of which there was such 
 a singular blending of scarlet and crimson as almost 
 to dazzle her sight ; and if the pleasure of smell 
 could intoxicate she would have reeled away from a 
 luxuriant daphne odorata in full flower, over which 
 she feasted for a long time. The variety of green 
 leaves alone was a marvel to her ; some rough and 
 brown-streaked, some shining as if they were var- 
 nished, others of hair-like delicacy of structure, — 
 all lovely. At last she stood still with admiration 
 and almost held her breath before a white cam- 
 ellia. 
 
 "What does that flower make you think of, 
 Ellen ? " said John, coming up ; his friend the gar- 
 dener had left him to seek a newspaper in which he 
 wished to show him a paragraph. 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen,. — " I couldn't think 
 of anything but itself." 
 
 " It reminds me of what I ought to be — and of 
 what I shall be if I ever see heaven ; — it seems to 
 me the emblem of a sinless pure spirit,- — looking 
 up in fearless spotlessness. Do you remember 
 what was said to the old Church of Sardis, — ' Thou 
 hast a few names that have not defiled their gar 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 77 
 
 ments 2 and they shall walk with me in white for 
 they are worthy." 
 
 The tears rushed to Ellen's eyes, she felt she was 
 so very unlike this ; but Mr. Hutchinson coming 
 back prevented anything more from being said. 
 She looked at the white camellia ; it seemed to 
 speak to her. 
 
 " That's the paragraph, sir," said the old gar- 
 dener, giving the paper to John. " 'Ere's a little lady 
 that is fond of flowers, if I don't make a mistake 5 
 this is somebody I've not seen before. Is this 
 the little lady little Miss h'Ellen was telling me 
 about ? " 
 
 " I presume so," said John ; — " she is Miss Ellen 
 Montgomery, a sister of mine, Mr. Hutchinson, 
 and Mr. Marshman's guest." 
 
 " By both names h'entitled to my greatest re* 
 spect," said the old man, stepping back and making 
 a very low bow to Ellen, with his hand upon his 
 heart, at which she could not help laughing. " I 
 am very glad to see Miss h'Ellen ; what can I do to 
 make her remember old 'Utchinson ? Would Miss 
 h'Ellen like a bouquet ? " 
 
 Ellen did not venture to say yes, but her blush 
 and sparkling eyes answered him. The old gar* 
 dener understood her, and was as good as his word. 
 He began with cutting a beautiful sprig of a large 
 purple geranium, then a slip of lemon myrtle. 
 Ellen watched him as the bunch grew in his hand, 
 and could hardly believe her eyes as one beauty 
 after another was added to what became a most 
 elegant bouquet. And most sweet too ; to her joy 
 the delicious daphne and fragrant lemon blossom 
 went to make part of it. Her thanks, when it wag 
 
; 8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 given her, were made with few words, but with all 
 her face ; the old gardener smiled, and was quite 
 satisfied that his gift was not thrown away. He 
 afterwards showed them his hothouses, where Ellen 
 was astonished and very much interested to see 
 ripe oranges and lemons in abundance, and pines 
 too, such as she had been eating since she came 
 to Ventnor, thinking nothing less than that they 
 grew so near home. The grapes had all been 
 cut. 
 
 There was to be quite a party at Ventnor in the 
 evening of New Year's day. Ellen knew this, and 
 destined her precious flowers for Alice's adorn- 
 ment. How to keep them in the meanwhile ? She 
 consulted Mr. John, and according to his advice 
 took them to Mrs. Bland, the housekeeper, to be 
 put in water and kept in a safe place for her till 
 the time. She knew Mrs. Bland, for Ellen Chaun- 
 cey and she had often gone to her room to work 
 where none of the children would find and trouble 
 them. Mrs. Bland promised to take famous care 
 of the flowers, and said she would do it with the 
 greatest pleasure. Mr. Marshman's guests, she 
 added smiling, must have everything they wanted. 
 
 " What does that mean, Mrs. Bland ? " said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Why you see, Miss Ellen, there's a deal of com- 
 pany always coming, and some is Mrs. Gillespie's 
 friends, and some Mr. Howard's, and some to see 
 Miss Sophia more particularly, and some belong to 
 Mrs. Marshman, or the whole family, may be ; but 
 now and then Mr. Marshman has an old English 
 friend or so, that he sets the greatest store by ; and 
 them he calls his guests ; and the best in the house 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 79 
 
 is hardly good enough for them, or the country 
 either." 
 
 " And so I am one of Mr. Marshman's guests ! " 
 said Ellen. " I didn't know what it meant." 
 
 She saved out one little piece of rose geranium 
 from her flowers, for the gratification of her own 
 nose, and skipped away through the hall to rejoin 
 her companions, very light-hearted indeed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 This life, sae far's I understand, 
 
 Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 
 
 Where pleasure is the magic wand, 
 
 That, wielded right, 
 Makes hours like minutes hand in hand, 
 
 Dance by fu' light. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 New Year's morning dawned. 
 
 " How I wish breakfast was over ! " thought 
 Ellen, as she was dressing. However, there is no 
 way of getting over this life but by going through 
 it ; so when the bell rang she went down as usual. 
 Mr. Marshman had decreed that he would not have 
 a confusion of gifts at the breakfast table ; other 
 people might make presents in their own way ; they 
 must not interfere with his. Needle-cases, bags, and 
 so forth must therefore wait another opportunity ; 
 and Ellen Chauncey decided it would just make the 
 pleasure so much longer, and was a great improve- 
 ment on the old plan. " Happy New Years " and 
 pleasant greetings were exchanged as the party 
 gathered in the breakfast-room ; pleasure sat on all 
 faces, except Ellen's, and many a one wore a broad 
 smile as they sat down to table. For the napkins 
 were in singular disarrangement this morning ; 
 instead of being neatly folded up on the plates, in 
 
So THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 their usual fashion, they were in all sorts of dis 
 order — sticking up in curious angles, some high, 
 some low, some half folded, some quite unfolded, 
 according to the size and shape of that which they 
 covered. It was worth while to see that long table- 
 ful, and the faces of the company, before yet a nap- 
 kin was touched. An anxious glance at her own 
 showed Ellen that it lay quite flat ; Alice's, which 
 was next, had an odd little rising in the middle, as 
 if there were a small dumpling under it. Ellen was 
 in an agony for this pause to come to an end. It 
 was broken by some of the older persons, and then 
 in a trice every plate was uncovered. And then 
 what a buzz ! — pleasure and thanks and admiration, 
 and even laughter. Ellen dreaded at first to look 
 at her plate ; she bethought her, however, that if 
 she waited long she would have to do it with all 
 e3'es upon her ; she lifted the napkin slowly — yes 
 - — just as she feared — there lay a clean bank note — 
 of what value she could not see, for confusion 
 covered her ; the blood rushed to her cheeks and 
 the tears to her eyes. She could not have spoken, 
 and happily it was no time then • everybody else 
 was speaking; she could not have been heard. 
 She had time to cool and recollect herself ; but she 
 sat with her eyes cast down, fastened upon her plate 
 and the unfortunate bank bill, which she detested 
 with all her heart. She did not know what Alice had 
 received ; she understood nothing that was going 
 on, till Alice touched her and said gently, " Mr. 
 Marshman is speaking to you, Ellen." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Ellen, starting. 
 
 H You need not look so terrified," said Mr. Marsh- 
 man, smiling, — " I only asked you if your bill was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. Si 
 
 a counterfeit — something seems to be wrong about 
 it." 
 
 Ellen looked at her plate and hesitated. Her 
 lip trembled. 
 
 " What is it ? " continued the old gentleman. " Is 
 anything the matter ? " 
 
 Ellen desperately took up the bill, and with burn- 
 ing cheeks marched to his end of the table. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, sir, but I had 
 a great deal rather not ; — if you please — if you 
 please to be so good as to let me give it back to 
 you — I should be very glad " 
 
 " Why, hoity toity ! " «ald the old gentleman, — ■ 
 " what's all this ? what's the matter ? don't you like 
 it ? I thought I was doing the very thing that 
 would please you best of all." 
 
 " I am very sorry you should think so, sir," said 
 Ellen, who had recovered a little breath, but had 
 the greatest difficulty to keep back her tears ; — " I 
 never thought of such a thing as your giving me 
 anything, sir, till somebody spoke of it ; and I had 
 rather never have anything in the world than that 
 you should think what you thought about me." 
 
 " What did I think about you ? " 
 
 " George told me that somebody told you, sir, I 
 wanted money for my present." 
 
 " And didn't you say so ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I didn't, sir ! " said Ellen, with sudden 
 fire. " I never thought of such a thing ! " 
 
 " What did you say then ? " 
 
 " Margaret was showing us her ear-rings., and she 
 
 asked me if I wouldn't like to have some like them ; 
 
 and I couldn't help thinking I would a great deal 
 
 rather have the money they would cost to buy some* 
 
 6 
 
62 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 thing for Alice ; and just when I said so you came in 
 sir, and she said what she did. I was very much 
 ashamed. I wasn't thinking of you, sir, at all, nor 
 of New Year." 
 
 " Then you would like something else better than 
 money ? " 
 
 " No, sir, nothing at all if you please. If you'll 
 only be so good as not to give me this, I will be 
 very much obliged to you indeed ; and please not to 
 think I could be so shameful as you thought I was." 
 
 Ellen's face was not to be withstood. The old 
 gentleman took the bill from her hand. 
 
 ■'-' I will never think anything of you," said he, 
 " but what is the very tip-top of honorable pro- 
 priety. But you make me ashamed now — what am 
 I going to do with this ? Here have you come and 
 made me a present, and I feel very awkward, 
 indeed." 
 
 " I don't care what you do with it, sir," said 
 Ellen, laughing, though in imminent danger of burst- 
 ing into tears ; — " I am very glad it is out of my 
 hands." 
 
 " But you needn't think I am going to let you off 
 so," said he ; — " you must give me half a dozen 
 kisses at least to prove that you have forgiven me 
 for making so great a blunder." 
 
 " Half a dozen is too many at once," said Ellen, 
 gayly ; — " three now, and three to-night." 
 
 So she gave the old gentleman three kisses, but 
 he caught her in his arms and gave her a dozen at 
 least ; after which he found out that the waiter was 
 holding a cup of coffee at his elbow, and Ellen went 
 back to her place with a very good appetite for hel 
 breakfast. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 83 
 
 After breakfast the needle-cases were delivered. 
 Both gave the most entire satisfaction. Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey assured her daughter that she would quite as 
 lief have a yellow as a red rose on the cover, and 
 that she liked the inscription extremely ; which the 
 little girl acknowledged to have been a joint device 
 of her own and Ellen's. Ellen's bag gave great de- 
 light and was paraded all over the house. 
 
 After the bustle of thanks and rejoicing was at 
 last over, and when she had a minute to herself, 
 which Ellen Chauncey did not give her for a good 
 while, Ellen bethought her of her flowers, — a sweet 
 gift still to be made. Why not make it now ? why 
 should not Alice have the pleasure of them all day ? 
 A bright thought ! Ellen ran forthwith to the house- 
 keeper's room, and after a long admiring look at 
 her treasures, carried them glass and all to the li- 
 brary, where Alice and John often were in the morn- 
 ing alone. Alice thanked her in the way she liked 
 best, and then the flowers were smelled and admired 
 afresh. 
 
 " Nothing could have been pleasanter to me, Ellie, 
 except Mr. Marshman's gift." 
 
 " And what was that, Alice ? I haven't seen it 
 yet." 
 
 Alice pulled out of her pocket a small round 
 morocco case, the very thing that Ellen had thought 
 looked like a dumpling under the napkin, and 
 opened it. 
 
 " It's Mr. John," exclaimed Ellen. " Oh, how 
 beautiful ! " 
 
 Neither of her hearers could help laughing. 
 
 " It is very fine, Ellie," said Alice; "you are 
 quite right. Now I know what was the business 
 
84 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 that took John to Randolph every day, and kept 
 him there so long, while I was wondering at him 
 unspeakably. Kind, kind Mr. Marshman." 
 
 " Did Mr. John get anything?" 
 
 " Ask him, Elite." 
 
 " Did you get anything, Mr. John ? " said Ellen, 
 going up to him where he was reading on the 
 sofa. 
 
 " I got this," said John, handing her a little book 
 which lay beside him. 
 
 " What is this ? Wime's — Wiem's — Life of 
 
 Washington — Washington ? he was May I 
 
 look at it ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 She opened the book, and presently sat down on 
 the floor, where she was by the side of the sofa. 
 Whatever she had found within the leaves of the 
 book, she had certainly lost herself. An hour 
 passed. Ellen had not spoken or moved except to 
 turn over leaves. • 
 
 " Ellen ! " said John. 
 
 She looked up, her cheeks colored high. 
 
 " What have you found there ? " said he, smiling. 
 
 " Oh a great deal ! But — did Mr. Marshman give 
 you this ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Ellen, looking puzzled, — " I thought 
 you said you got this this morning." 
 
 " No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie." 
 
 " For me ! " said Ellen, her color deepening very 
 much, — " for me ! did you ? Oh, thank you ! — oh, 
 I'm so much obliged to you, Mr. John." 
 
 " It is only an answer to one of your questions." 
 
 " This ! is it ? — I don't know what, I am sure, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 85 
 
 Oh, I wish I could do something to please you, 
 Mr. John ! " 
 
 " You shall, Ellie ; you shall give me a brother's 
 right again." 
 
 Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive 
 one of his grave kisses ; and then, not at all dis- 
 pleased, went down on the floor and was lost in her 
 book. 
 
 Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day ! — how 
 shall it be told ? The pleasure of that delightful 
 book, in which she was wrapped the whole day ; 
 even when called off, as she often was, by Ellen 
 Chauncey to help her in fifty little matters of busi- 
 ness or pleasure. These were attended to, and 
 faithfully and cheerfully, but the book was in her 
 head all the while. And this pleasure was mixed 
 with Alice's pleasure, the flowers and the miniature, 
 and Mr. Marshman's restored kindness. She never 
 met John's or Alice's eye that day without a smile. 
 Even when she went to be dressed her book went 
 with her, and was laid on the bed within sight, 
 ready to be taken up the moment she was at liberty. 
 Ellen Chauncey lent her a white frock, which was 
 found to answer very well with a tuck let out ; and 
 Alice herself dressed her. While this was doing, 
 Margaret Dunscombe put her head in at the door 
 to ask Anne, Miss Sophia's maid, if she was almost 
 ready to come and curl her hair. 
 
 " Indeed I can't say that I am, Miss Margaret," 
 said Anne. " I've something to do for Miss Hum- 
 phreys, and Miss Sophia hasn't so much as done 
 the first thing towards beginning to get ready yet. 
 It'll be a good hour and more." 
 
 Margaret went away, exclaiming impatiently that 
 
85 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 she could get nobody to help her, and would have 
 to wait till everybody was downstairs. 
 
 A few minutes after she heard Ellen's voice at 
 the door of her room, asking if she might come 
 in. 
 
 " Yes — who's that ? — what do you want ? " 
 
 " I'll fix your hair if you'll let me," said Ellen. 
 
 " You ? I don't believe you can." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I can ; I used to do mamma's very 
 often ; I am not afraid if you'll trust me." 
 
 " Well, thank you, I don't care if you try, then," 
 said Margaret, seating herself, — " it won't do any 
 harm, at any rate; and I want to be downstairs be- 
 fore anybody gets here ; I think it's half the fun to 
 see them come in. Bless me ; you're dressed and 
 all ready." 
 
 Margaret's hair was in long thick curls ; it was 
 not a trifling matter to dress them. Ellen plodded 
 through it patiently and faithfully, taking great 
 pains, and doing the work well, and then went back 
 to Alice. Margaret's thanks, not very gracefully 
 given, would have been a poor reward for the loss 
 of three-quarters of an hour of pleasure. But Ellen 
 was very happy in having done right. It was no 
 longer time to read ; they must go downstairs. 
 
 The New Year's party was a nondescript, — • 
 young and old together; a goodly number of both 
 were gathered from Randolph and the neighboring 
 country. There were games for the young, dancing 
 for the gay, and a superb supper for all ; and the big 
 bright rooms were full of bright faces. It was a 
 very happy evening to Ellen. For a good part of 
 it Mr. Marshman took possession of her, or kept 
 her near him ; and his extreme kindness wouW 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 87 
 
 alone have made the evening piss pleasantly \ she 
 was sure he was her firm friend again. 
 
 In the course of the evening, Mrs. Chauncey 
 found occasion to ask her about her journey up the 
 river, without at all mentioning Margaret or what 
 she had said. Ellen answered that she had come 
 with Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter. 
 
 " Did you have a pleasant time ? " asked Mrs. 
 Chauncey. 
 
 "Why, no, ma'am," said Ellen, — "I don't know 
 — it was partly pleasant and partly unpleasant." 
 
 " What made it so, love ? " 
 
 " I had left mamma that morning, and that made 
 me unhappy." 
 
 " But you said it was partly pleasant ? " 
 
 " Oh, that was because I had such a good friend 
 on board," said Ellen, her face lighting up, as his 
 image came before her. 
 
 " Who was that ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, who he was." 
 
 " A stranger to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am — I never saw him before — I wish 
 I could see him again." 
 
 " Where did you find him ? " 
 
 " I didn't find him — he found me, when I was sit- 
 ting up on the highest part of the boat." 
 
 " And your friends with you ? " 
 
 " What friends ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter." 
 
 " No, ma'am — they were down in the cabin." 
 
 " And what business had you to be wandering 
 about the boat alone ? " said Mr. Marshman, good- 
 humoredly. 
 
 " They were strangers, sir," said Ellen, coloring 
 a little. 
 
88 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Well, so was this man — your friend — a stranger 
 too, wasn't he ? " 
 
 "'Oh, he was a very different stranger," said 
 Ellen, smiling, — " and he wasn't a stranger long, 
 besides." 
 
 " Well, you must tell me more about him, — come, 
 I'm curious ; — what sort of a strange friend was 
 this ? " 
 
 " He wasn't a strange friend, " said Ellen, laugh- 
 ing ; — " he was a very, very good friend ; he took 
 care of me the whole day ; he was very good and 
 very kind." 
 
 " What kind of a man ? " said Mrs. Chauncey ; — 
 " a gentleman ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am ! " said Ellen, looking surprised 
 at the question. " I am sure he was." 
 
 " What did he look like ? " 
 
 Ellen tried to tell, but the portrait was not very 
 distinct. 
 
 " What did he wear ? Coat or cloak ? " 
 
 " Coat— dark brown, I think." 
 
 " This was in the end of October, wasn't it ?" 
 
 Ellen thought a moment and answered, " Yes." 
 
 " And you don't know his name ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I wish I did." 
 
 " I can tell you," said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling ; 
 " he is one of my best friends too, Ellen ; it is my 
 brother, Mr. George Marshman." 
 
 How Ellen's face crimsoned ! Mr. Marshman 
 asked how she knew. 
 
 " It was then he came up the river, you know, 
 sir ; and don't you remember of his speaking of a 
 little girl on board the boat who was traveling with 
 strangers, and whom he endeavored to befriend ? 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 89 
 
 I had forgotten it entirely till a minute 01 two 
 ago." 
 
 " Miss Margaret Dunscombe ! " cried George 
 Walsh, " what kind of a person was that you said 
 Ellen was so fond of when you came up the 
 river ?" 
 
 " I don't know, nor care, "'said Margaret. " Some- 
 body she picked up somewhere." 
 
 " It was Mr. George Marshman ! " 
 
 " It wasn't ! " 
 
 " Uncle George ! " exclaimed Ellen Chauncey,, 
 running Up to the group her cousin had quitted ; — 
 " My Uncle George ? Do you know Uncle George., 
 Ellen?" 
 
 " Very much — I mean — yes," said Ellen. 
 
 Ellen Chauncey was delighted. So was Ellen. 
 Montgomery. It seemed to bring the whole family 
 nearer to her, and they felt it too. Mrs. Marshman 
 kissed her when she heard it, and said she remem- 
 bered very well her son's speaking of her, and was 
 very glad to find who it was. And now, Ellen 
 thought, she would surely see him again some 
 time. 
 
 The next day they left Ventnor. Ellen Chauncey 
 was very sorry to lose her new friend, and begged 
 she would come again " as soon as she could." 
 All the family said the same. Mr. Marshman told 
 her she must give him a large place in her heart,, 
 or he should be jealous of her " strange friend ; " 
 and Alice was charged to bring her whenever she 
 came to see them. 
 
 The drive back to Carra-carra was scarcely less 
 pleasant than the drive out had been ; and home 
 Ellen said, looked lovely. That >s, Alice's home. 
 
9° 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 which she began to think more her own than anj 
 other. The pleasure of the past ten days, though 
 great, had not been unmixed ; the week that fol- 
 lowed was one of perfect enjoyment. In Mr. Hum- 
 phreys' household there was an atmosphere of 
 peace and purity that even a child could feel and 
 in which such a child as Ellen throve exceedingly.- 
 The drawing-lessons went on with great success; 
 •other lessons were begun ; there were fine long 
 walks, and charming sleigh-rides, and more than 
 one visit to Mrs. Vawse ; and what Ellen per- 
 haps liked best of all, the long evenings of conversa- 
 tion and reading aloud, and bright firelights, and 
 brighter sympathy and intelligence and affection. 
 That week did them all good, and no one more than 
 Ellen. 
 
 It was a little hard to go back to Miss Fortune's 
 and begin her old life there. She went in the 
 evening of the day John had departed. They were 
 at supper. 
 
 * " Well ! " said Miss Fortune, as Ellen entered, 
 u have you got enough of visiting ? I should be 
 ashamed to go where I wasn't wanted, for my 
 part." 
 
 " I haven't, Aunt Fortune," said Ellen. 
 
 " She's been nowhere but what's done her good," 
 said Mr. Van Brunt ; " she's really growed hand- 
 some since she's been away." 
 
 " Grown a fiddlestick ! " said Miss Fortune. 
 
 " She couldn't grow handsomer than she was 
 before," said the old grandmother, hugging and 
 •kissing her little granddaughter with great delight; 
 - — " the sweetest posie in the garden she always 
 was ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 91 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked as if he entirely agreed 
 with the old lady. That, while it made some amends 
 for Miss Portune's dryness, perhaps increased it. 
 She remarked, that she thanked heaven, she could 
 always make herself contented at home ; which 
 Ellen couid not help thinking was a happiness for 
 the rest of the world. 
 
 In the matter of the collar, it was hard to say 
 whether the giver or receiver had the most satis- 
 faction. Ellen had begged him not to speak of it 
 to her aunt ; and accordingly one Sunday when 
 he came there with it on, both he and she were in 
 a state of exquisite delight. Miss Fortune's atten- 
 tipn was at last aroused ; she made a particular 
 review of him, and ended it by declaring that "he 
 looked uncommonly dandified, but she could not 
 make out what he had done to himself ; " a remark 
 which transported Mr. Van Brunt and Ellen beyond 
 all bounds of prudence. 
 
 Nancy's Bible, which had been purchased for 
 her at Randolph, was given to her the first oppor- 
 tunity. Ellen anxiously watched her as she slowly 
 turned it over, her face showing, however, very 
 decided approbation of the style of the gift. She 
 shook her head once or twice, and then said, 
 
 " What did you give this to me for, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Because I wanted to give you something for 
 New Year," said Ellen, — " and I thought that 
 would be the best thing, — if you would only read it, 
 ■ — it would make you so happy and good." 
 
 " You are good, I believe," said Nancy, " but I 
 don't expect ever to be myself — I don't think I 
 could be. You might as well teach a snake not to 
 wriggle." 
 
92 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I am not good at all," said Ellen, — "we're none 
 of us good," — and the tears rose to her eyes, — " but 
 the Bible will teach us how to be. If you'll only 
 read it ! — please, Nancy, do ! Say you will read a 
 little every day." 
 
 " You don't want me to make a promise I 
 shouldn't keep, I guess, do you ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen. 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't keep that, so I won't promise 
 it ; but I tell you what I will do, — I'll take precious 
 fine care of it, and keep it always for your sake." 
 
 " Well," said Ellen, sighing, " I am glad you will 
 even do so much as that. But, Nancy — before 
 you begin to read the Bible you may have to go 
 where you never can read it, nor be happy nor 
 good neither." 
 
 Nancy made no answer, but walked away, Ellen 
 thought rather more soberly than usual. 
 
 This conversation had cost Ellen some effort. It 
 had not been made without a good deal of thought 
 and some prayer. She could not hope she had 
 done much good, but she had done her duty. And 
 it happened that Mr. Van Brunt, standing behind 
 the angle of the wall, had heard every word. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 If erst he wished, now he longed sore . 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Ellen's life had nothing to mark it for many 
 months. The rest of the winter passed quietly 
 away, every day being full of employment. At 
 home the state of matters was rather bettered. 
 Either Miss Fortune was softened by Ellen's gentle, 
 inoffensive ways and obedient usefulness, or she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 93 
 
 had resolved to bear what could not be helped, 
 and make the best of the little inmate she could 
 not get rid of. She was certainly resolved to make 
 the most of her. Ellen was kept on the jump a 
 great deal of the time ; she was runner of errands 
 and maid of all work ; to set the table and clear it 
 was only a trifle in the list of her every-day duties ; 
 and they were not ended till the last supper dish 
 was put away and the hearth swept up. Miss 
 Fortune never spared herself and never spared 
 Ellen, so long as she had any occasion for her. 
 
 There were, however, long pieces of time that 
 were left free ; these Ellen seized for her studies 
 and used most diligently. Urged on by a three or 
 four fold motive. For the love of them, and fot 
 her own sake, — that John might think she had 
 done well, — that she might presently please and 
 satisfy Alice, above all, that her mother's wishes 
 might be answered. This thought, whenever it 
 came, was a spur to her efforts ; so was each of the 
 others ; and Christian feeling added another, and 
 kept all the rest in force. Without this, indolence 
 might have weakened or temptation surprised her 
 resolution ; little Ellen was opened to both ; but if 
 ever she found herself growing careless, from either 
 cause, conscience was sure to smite her ; and then 
 would rush in all the motives that called upon her 
 to persevere. Soon faithfulness began to bring its 
 reward. With delight she found herself getting 
 the better of difficulties, beginning to see a little 
 through the mists of ignorance, making some sen- 
 sible progress on the long road of learning. Study 
 grew delightful ; her lessons with Alice one of her 
 greatest enjoyments. And as they were a labor of 
 
94 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 love to both teacher and scholar, and as it was the 
 aim of each to see quite to the bottom of every 
 matter, where it was possible, -and to leave no diffi- 
 culties behind them on the road which they had 
 not cleared away, no wonder Ellen went forward 
 steadily and rapidly. Reading also became a won- 
 derful pleasure. Wiem's Life of Washington was 
 read, and read, and read over again, till she almost 
 knew it by heart ; and from that she went to Alice's 
 library and ransacked it for what would suit her. 
 Happily it was a well picked one, and Ellen could 
 not light upon many books that would do her 
 mischief. For those, Alice's wish was enough ; — 
 she never opened them. Furthermore, Alice in- 
 sisted that when Ellen had once fairly begun a 
 book she should go through with it ; not capri- 
 ciously leave it for another, nor have half a dozen 
 about at a time. But when Ellen had read it once 
 she commonly wanted to go over it again, and 
 seldom laid it aside until she had sucked the sweet- 
 ness all out of it. 
 
 As for drawing, it could not go on very fast while 
 the cold weather lasted. Ellen had no place at 
 home where she could spread out her paper and 
 copies without danger of being disturbed. Her 
 only chance was at the parsonage. John had put 
 all her pencils in order before he went, and had 
 left her an abundance of copies, marked as she was 
 to take them. They, or some of them were bestowed 
 in Alice's desk ; and whenever Ellen had a spare 
 hour or two, of a fine morning or afternoon, she 
 made the best of her way to the mountain ; it made 
 no difference whether Alice were at home or not ; 
 she went in, coaxed up the fire, and began her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 95 
 
 work. It happened many a time that Alice, coming 
 ihome from a walk or a run in the woods, saw the 
 little hood and cloak on the settee before she 
 •opened the glass door, and knew very well how 
 she should find Ellen, bending intently over her 
 desk. These runs to the mountain were very fre- 
 quent ; sometimes to draw, sometimes to recite, 
 always to see Alice and be happy. Ellen grew 
 rosy and hardy, and in spite of her separation from 
 her mother, she was very happy too. Her extreme 
 and varied occupation made this possible. She 
 :had no time to indulge useless sorrow ; on the con- 
 trary, her thoughts were taken up with agreeable 
 matters, either doing or to be done ; and at night 
 she was far too tired and sleepy 10 lie awake mus- 
 ing. And besides she hoped that her mother would 
 come back in the spring, or the summer at farthest. 
 It is true Ellen had no liking for the kind of busi- 
 ness her aunt gave her ; it was oftentimes a trial 
 of temper and patience. Miss Fortune was not the 
 pleasantest work-mistress in the world, and Ellen 
 was apt to wish to be doing something else ; but 
 after all this was not amiss. Besides the discipline 
 •of character, these trials made the pleasant things 
 with which they were mixed up seem doubly pleas- 
 ant ; the disagreeable parts of her life relished the 
 agreeable wonderfully. After spending the whole 
 morning with Miss Fortune in the depths of house- 
 work, how delightful it was to forget all in drawing 
 some nice little cottage with a bit of stonewall and 
 a barrel in front ; or to go with Alice, in thought 
 to the south of France, and learn how the peasants 
 manage their vines, and make the wine from them ; 
 or run over the Rock of Gibraltar with the monkeys; 
 
96 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 or at another time, seated on a little bench in the 
 chimney corner, when the fire blazed up well, before 
 the candles were lighted, to forget the kitchen and 
 the supper and her bustling aunt, and sail round 
 the world with Captain Cook. Yes — these things 
 were all the sweeter for being tasted by snatches. 
 
 Spring brought new occupation ; household 
 labors began to increase in number and measure ; 
 her leisure times were shortened. But pleasures 
 were increased too. When the snow went off, and 
 spring-like days began to come, and birds' notes 
 were heard again, and the trees put on their young 
 leaves, and the brown mountains were looking soft 
 and green, Ellen's heart bounded at the sight. 
 The springing grass was lovely to see ; dandelions 
 were marvels of beauty ; to her each wild wood- 
 flower was a never to be enough admired and loved 
 wonder. She used to take long rambles with Mr. 
 Van Brunt when business led him to the woods, 
 sometimes riding part of the way on the ox-sled. 
 Always a basket for flowers went along ; and when 
 the sled stopped, she would wander all around, seek- 
 ing among the piled-up dead leaves for the white 
 wind-flower, and pretty little hang-head Uvularia, 
 and delicate blood-root, and the wild geranium and 
 columbine ; and many others the names of which she 
 did not know. They were like friends to Ellen ; she 
 gathered them affectionately as well as admiringly 
 into her little basket, and seemed to purify herself 
 in their pure companionship. Even Mr. Van 
 Brunt came to have an indistinct notion that Ellen 
 ar.ql flowers were made to be together. After he 
 found what a pleasure it was to her to go on these 
 expeditions, he made it a point, whenever he was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. gy 
 
 bound to the woods of a fine day, to come to the 
 house for her. Miss Fortune might object as sht 
 pleased ; he always found an answer ; and at last 
 Ellen to her great joy, would be told, " Well ! gc. 
 get your bonnet and be off with yourself." Onc^ 
 under the shadow of the big trees, the dried leaves 
 crackling beneath her feet, and alone with her 
 kind conductor, — and Miss Fortune and all in the 
 world that was disagreeable was forgotten — forgot- 
 ten no more to be remembered till the walk should 
 come to an end. And it would have surprised any- 
 body to hear the long conversations she and Mr. 
 Van Brunt kept up, — he, the silentest man in 
 Thirlwall ! Their talk often ran upon trees, among 
 which Mr. Van Brunt was at home. Ellen wanted 
 to become acquainted with them, as well as with 
 the little flowers that grew at their feet ; and he 
 tried to teach her how to know each separate kind 
 by the bark and leaf and manner of growth. The 
 pine and hemlock and fir were easily learnt ; the 
 white birch too ; beyond those at first she was per- 
 petually confounding one with another. Mr. Van 
 Brunt had to go over and over his instructions ; 
 never weary, always vastly amused. Pleasant les- 
 sons these were ! Ellen thought so, and Mr. Van 
 Brunt thought so too. 
 
 Then there were walks with Alice, pleasanter 
 still, if that could be. And even in the house 
 Ellen managed to keep a token of spring-time. On 
 her toilet-table, the three uncouth legs of which 
 were now hidden by a neat dimity cover, there 
 always stood a broken tumbler with a supply of 
 flowers. The supply was very varied, it is true ; 
 sometimes only a handful of dandelions, sometimes 
 
98 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a huge bunch of lilac flowers, which could not be 
 persuaded to stay in the glass without the help of 
 the wall, against which it leaned in very -undigni 
 fled style ; sometimes the bouquet was of really 
 delicate and beautiful wild flowers. All were charm- 
 ing in Ellen's eyes. 
 
 As the days grew long and the weather warm, 
 Alice and she began to make frequent trips to the 
 Cat's Back, and French came very much into 
 fashion. They generally took Sharp to ease the 
 long way, and rested themselves with a good stay 
 on the mountain. Their coming was always a joy 
 to the old lady. She was dearly fond of them both, 
 and delighted to hear from their lips the language 
 she loved best. After a time they spoke nothing 
 else when with her. She was well qualified to teach 
 them ; and indeed her general education had been 
 far from contemptible, though nature had done 
 more for her. As the language grew familiar to 
 them, she loved to tell, and they to hear, long 
 stories of her youth and native country, — scenes 
 and people so very different from all Ellen had ever 
 seen or heard of ; and told in a lively, simple style 
 which she could not have given in English, and 
 with a sweet coloring of Christian thought and 
 feeling. Many things made these visits good and 
 pleasant. It was not the least of Alice's and Ellen's 
 joy to carry their old friend something that might 
 be for her comfort in her lonely way of life. For 
 even Miss Fortune now and then told Ellen " she 
 might take a piece of that cheese along with her ; " 
 or " she wondered if the old lady would like a little 
 fresh meat ? — she guessed she'd cut her a bit of that 
 nice larnb ; she wouldn't want but a little piece." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 99 
 
 A singular testimony this was to the respect and 
 esteem Mrs. Vawse had from everybody. Miss 
 Fortune very, very seldom was known to take a bit 
 from her own comforts to add to those of another. 
 The ruling passion of this lady was thrift ; her next, 
 good housewifery. First, to gather to herself and 
 heap up of what the world most esteems ; after 
 that, to be known as the most thorough housekeeper 
 and the smartest woman in Thirlwall. 
 
 Ellen made other visits she did not like so welL 
 In the course of the winter and summer she be- 
 came acquainted with most of the neighborhood. 
 She sometimes went with her aunt to a formal tea- 
 drinking, one, two, three, or four miles off, as the 
 case might be. They were not very pleasant. To 
 some places she was asked by herself ; and though 
 the people invariably showed themselves very kind, 
 and did their best to please her, Ellen seldom cared 
 to go a«second time ; liked even home and Miss 
 Fortune better. There were a few exceptions : 
 Jenny Hitchcock was one of her favorites, and 
 Jane Huff was another ; and all of their respective 
 families came in, with good reason, for a share of 
 her regard, Mr. Juniper, indeed, excepted. Once 
 they went to a quilting at Squire Dennison's ; the 
 house was spotlessly neat and well ordered ; the 
 people all kind ; but Ellen thought they did not 
 seem to know how to be pleasant. Dan Dennison 
 alone had no stiffness about him. Miss Fortune 
 remarked with pride that even in this family of 
 pretension, as she thought it, the refreshments 
 could bear no comparison with hers. Once they 
 were invited to tea at the Lawsons' ; but Ellen told 
 Alice, with much apparent disgust, that she never 
 
ioo THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wanted to go again. Mrs. Van Brunt she sa\« 
 often. To Thirlwall Miss Fortune never went. 
 
 Twice in the course of the summer Ellen had a 
 very great pleasure in the company of little Ellen 
 Chauncey. Once Miss Sophia brought her, and 
 once her mother • and the last time they made a 
 visit of two weeks. On both occasions, Ellen was 
 sent for to the parsonage and kept while they stayed ; 
 and the pleasure that she and her little friend 
 had together cannot be told. It was unmixed now. 
 Rambling about through the woods and over the 
 fields, no matter where, it was all enchanting ; 
 helping Alice garden ; helping Thomas make hay, 
 and the mischief they did his haycocks by tumbling 
 upon them, and the patience with which he bore it ; 
 the looking for eggs ; the helping Margery churn, 
 and the helping each other set tables ; the pleasant 
 mornings and pleasant evenings and pleasant mid- 
 days, — it cannot be told. Long to be remembered, 
 sweet and pure, was the pleasure of those summer 
 days, unclouded by a shade of discontent or disagree- 
 ment on either brow. Ellen loved the whole Marsh- 
 man family now, for the sake of one, the one she had 
 first known ; and little Ellen Chauncey repeatedly 
 told her mother in private that Ellen Montgomery 
 was the very nicest girl she had ever seen. They 
 met with joy and parted with sorrow, entreating 
 and promising, if possible, a speedy meeting again. 
 
 Amidst all the improvement and enjoyment of 
 these summer months — and they had a great deal 
 of both for Ellen — there was one cause of sorrow 
 she could not help feeling, and it began to press more 
 and more. Letters, — they came slowly, — and when 
 they came they were not at all satisfactory. Those 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 101 
 
 in her mother's hand dwindled and dwindled, till 
 at last there came only mere scraps of letters from 
 her ; and sometimes after a long interval one from 
 Captain Montgomery would come alone. Ellen's 
 heart sickened with long-deferred hope. She 
 wondered what could make her mother neglect a 
 matter so necessary for her happiness ; sometimes 
 she fancied they were traveling about, and it might 
 be inconvenient to write ; sometimes she thought 
 perhaps they were coming home without letting 
 her know, and would suddenly surprise her some 
 ■day and make her half lose her wits with joy. But 
 they did not come, nor write ; and whatever was 
 the reason, Ellen felt it was very sad, and sadder 
 and sadder as the summer went on. Her own letters 
 became pitiful in their supplications for letters ; 
 they had been very cheerful and filled with encour- 
 aging matter, and in part they were still. 
 
 For a while her mind was diverted from this sad 
 subject, and her brow cleared up, when John came 
 home in August. As before, Alice gained Miss 
 Fortune's leave to keep her at the parsonage the 
 whole time of his stay, which was several weeks. 
 Ellen wondered that it was so easily granted, but 
 she was much too happy to spend time in thinking 
 about it. Miss Fortune had several reasons. She 
 w r as unwilling to displease Miss Humphreys, and 
 conscious that it would be a shame to her to stand 
 openly in the way of Ellen's good. Besides, 
 though Ellen's services were lost for a time, yet 
 she said she got tired of setting her to work ; she 
 liked to dash round the house alone, without think- 
 ing what somebody else was doing or ought to be 
 doing. In short she liked to have her out of the 
 
102 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 way far a while. Furthermore, it did not please 
 her that Mr. Van Brunt and her little handmaid 
 were, as she expressed it, " so thick." His first 
 thought and his last thought, she said, she believed 
 were for Ellen, whether he came in or went out; 
 and Miss Fortune was accustomed to be chief, not 
 only in her own house, but in the regards of all 
 who came to it. At any rate the leave was granted 
 and Ellen went. 
 
 And now was repeated the pleasure of the first 
 week in January. It would have been increased, 
 but that increase was not possible. There was 
 only the difference between lovely winter and 
 lovely summer weather ; it was seldom very hot 
 in Thirlwall. The fields and hills were covered 
 with green instead of white ; fluttering leaves 
 had taken the place of snow-covered sprays 
 and sparkling icicles ; and for the keen north and 
 brisk northwester, soft summer airs were blowing. 
 Ellen saw no other difference, — except that, per- 
 haps, if it could be, there was something more of 
 tenderness in the manner of Alice and her brother 
 towards her. No little sister could have been 
 more cherished and cared for. If there was a 
 change, Mr. Humphreys shared it. It is true, he 
 seldom took much part in the conversation, and 
 seldomer was with them in any of their pursuits or 
 pleasures. He generally kept by himself in his 
 study. But whenever he did speak to Ellen his 
 tone was particularly gentle and his look kind. He 
 sometimes called her " My little daughter," which 
 always gave Ellen great pleasure ; she would jump 
 at such times with double zeal to do anything he 
 asked her. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 103 
 
 Now drawing went on with new vigor under the 
 eye of her master. And many things besides. 
 John took a great deal of pains with her in various 
 ways. He made her read to him ; he helped her 
 and Alice with their French ; he went with them to 
 Mrs. Vawse's ; and even Mr. Humphreys went 
 there too one afternoon to tea. How much Ellen 
 enjoyed that afternoon ! They took with them a 
 great basket of provisions, for Mrs. Vawse could 
 not be expected to entertain so large a party ; and 
 borrowed Jenny Hitchcock's pony, which with old 
 John and Sharp mounted three of the company ; 
 they took turns in walking. Nobody minded that. 
 The fine weather, the beautiful mountain-top, the 
 general pleasure, Mr. Humphreys' uncommon 
 spirits and talkableness, the oddity of their way of 
 traveling, and of a tea-party up on the " Cat's 
 Back," and furthermore, the fact that Nancy stayed 
 at home and behaved very well the whole time, all 
 together filled Ellen's cup of happiness, for the 
 time, as full as it could hold. She never forgot 
 that afternoon. And the ride home was the best 
 of all. The sun was low by the time they reached 
 the plain ; long shadows lay across their road ; 
 the soft air just stirred the leaves on the branches; 
 stillness and loveliness were over all things ; and 
 down the mountain and along the roads, through 
 the open country, the whole way, John walked at 
 her bridle ; so kind in his care of her, so pleasant 
 in his talk to her, teaching her how to sit in the 
 saddle and hold the reins and whip, and much 
 more important things too, that Ellen thought a 
 pleasanter thing could not be than to ride so. 
 After that they took a great many rides, borrow 
 
104 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ing Jenny's pony or some other, and explored the 
 beautiful country far and near. And almost daily 
 John had up Sharp and gave Ellen a regular lesson. 
 She often thought, and sometimes looked, what 
 she had once said to him, " I wish I could do some- 
 thing for you, Mr. John : " — but he smiled at her 
 and said nothing. 
 
 At last he was gone. And in all the weeks he 
 had been at home, and in many weeks before, no 
 letter had come for Ellen. The thought had been 
 kept from weighing upon her by the thousand pleas- 
 ures that filled up every moment of his stay ; she 
 could not be sad then, or only for a minute ; hope 
 threw off the sorrow as soon as it was felt and she 
 forgot how time flew. But when his visit was over, 
 and she went back to her old place and her old 
 life at her aunt's the old feeling came back in 
 greater strength. She began again to count the 
 days and the weeks ; to feel the bitter unsatisfied 
 longing. Tears would drop down upon her Bible ; 
 tears streamed from her eyes when she prayed that 
 God would make her mother well and bring her 
 home to her quickly, — oh, quickly ! — and little 
 Ellen's face began to wear once more something 
 of its old look. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
 All the dull deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 One day in the early part of September, she was 
 standing in front of the house at the little wicket 
 that opened on the road. With her back against 
 the open gate she was gently moving it to and fro, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. iot, 
 
 half enjoying the weather and the scene, half in- 
 dulging the melancholy mood which drove her from 
 the presence of her bustling aunt. The gurgling 
 sound of the brook a few steps off was a great deal 
 more soothing to her ear than Miss Fortune's sharp 
 tones. By and by a horseman came in sight at the 
 far end of the road, and the brook was forgotten. 
 What made Ellen look at him so sharply ? Poor 
 child, she was always expecting news. At first she 
 could only see that the man rode a white horse ; 
 then, as he came nearer, an odd looped-up hat 
 showed itself, — and something queer in his hand, 
 — what was it ? who is it ? — the old newsman ! 
 Ellen was sure. Yes — she could now see his sad- 
 dle bags, and the white horse-tail set in a handle 
 with which he was brushing away the flies from his 
 horse ; the tin trumpet was in his other hand, to 
 blow withal. He was a venerable old figure, with 
 all his oddities ; clad in a suit of snuff brown, with 
 a neat quiet look about him, he and his saddle-bags 
 and the white horse jogged on together, as if they 
 belonged to nothing else in the world but each other. 
 In an ecstasy of fear and hope, Ellen watched the 
 pace of the old horse to see if it gave any sign of 
 slackening near the gate. Her breath came short, 
 she hardly breathed at all, she was trembling from 
 head to foot. Would he stop, or was he going on ! 
 Oh, the long agony of two minutes ! — He stopped. 
 Ellen went towards him. 
 
 " What little gal is this ? " said he. 
 
 " I am Ellen Montgomery, sir," said Ellen 
 eagerly ; — " Miss Fortune's niece — I live here." 
 
 " Stop a bit," said the old man, taking up his 
 saddle-bags, — " Miss Fortune's niece, eh ? Well— 
 
106 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 I believe — as I've got somethin' for her — somethin 1 
 here — aunt well, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " That's more than you be, ain't it ? " said he, 
 glancing aside-ways at Ellen's face. " How do you 
 know but I've got a letter for you here, eh ? " 
 
 The color rushed to that face, and she clasped 
 her hands. 
 
 " No, dear, no," said he, — " I ha'n't got any for 
 you — it's for the old lady — there, run with it, dear." 
 
 But Ellen knew before she touched it that it was 
 a foreign letter, and dashed into the house with it. 
 Miss Fortune coolly sent her back to pay the post- 
 age. 
 
 When she came in again her aunt was still 
 reading the letter. But her look, Ellen felt, was 
 unpromising. She did not venture to speak ; ex- 
 pectation was chilled. She stood till Miss Fortune 
 began to fold up the paper. 
 
 " Is there nothing for me ? " she said then, 
 timidly. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh, why don't she write to me ! " cried Ellen, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 Miss Fortune stalked about the room without any 
 particular purpose, as far as could be seen. 
 
 " It is very strange ! " said Ellen, sorrowfully, — 
 " I am afraid she is worse — does papa say she is 
 worse ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh, if she had only sent me a message! I 
 should think she might ; Oh, I wish she had ! — • 
 three words ! — does papa say why she don't write ! " 
 
 " No." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 107 
 
 " It is very strange ! " repeated poor Ellen. 
 
 " Your father talks of coming home," said Miss 
 Fortune, after a few minutes, during which Ellen 
 had been silently weeping. 
 
 " Home ! — Then she must be better ! " said 
 Ellen, with new life ; " does papa say she is better ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But what does he mean ? " said Ellen, un- 
 easily ; — " I don't see what he means ; he doesn't 
 say she is worse, and he doesn't say she 
 is better, — what does he say ? " 
 
 " He don't say much about anything." 
 
 " Does he say when they are coming home ?" 
 
 Miss Fortune mumbled something about " Spring," 
 and whisked off to the buttery ; Ellen thought no 
 more was to be got out of her. She felt miserable. 
 Her father and her aunt both seemed to act 
 strangely ; and where to find comfort she scarcely 
 iknew. She had one day been telling her doubts 
 and sorrows to John. He did not try to raise her 
 hopes, but said, " Troubles will come in this 
 world, Ellie ; the best is to trust them and ourselves 
 to our dear Saviour, and let trials drive us to him. 
 Seek to love him more and to be patient under his 
 will ; the good Shepherd means nothing but kind- 
 ness to any lamb in his flock, — vou may be sure 
 of that,. Ellie." 
 
 Ellen remembered his words and tried to follow 
 them now, but she could not be " patient under 
 His will " yet, — not quite. It was very hard to be 
 patient in such uncertainty. With swimming eyes she 
 turned over her Bible in search of comfort, and found 
 it. Her eye lit upon words she knew very well, but 
 that were like the fresh sight of a friend's face for. 
 
108 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 all that, — " Let not your heart be troubled ; ye 
 believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father's 
 house are many mansions." There is no parting 
 there, thought little Ellen. She cried a long time, 
 but she was comforted nevertheless. The heart that 
 rests on the blessed One who said those words 
 can never be quite desolate. 
 
 For several days things went on in the old train, 
 only her aunt, she thought, was sometimes rather 
 queer ; — not quite as usual in her manner towards 
 her. Mr. Van Brunt was not rather but very 
 queer ; he scarce spoke or looked at Ellen ; bolted 
 down his food and was off without a word ; and 
 even stayed away entirely from two or three meals. 
 She saw nobody else. Weather and other cir- 
 cumstances prevented her going to the mountain. 
 
 One afternoon she was giving her best attention 
 to a French lesson, when she heard herself called. 
 Miss Fortune was in the lower kitchen dipping 
 candles. Ellen ran down. 
 
 " I don't know what's got into these candles," 
 said Miss Fortune, — " I can't make 'em hang 
 together ; the tallow ain't good, I guess. Where's 
 the nearest place they keep bees ? " 
 
 " They have got bees at Mrs. Hitchcock's," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " So they have in Egypt, for anything I know," 
 said her aunt ; — " one would be about as much 
 good now as t'other. Mrs. Lowndes ! — that ain't 
 far off. Put on your bonnet, Ellen, and run over 
 there, and ask her to let me have a little bees-wax. 
 I'll pay her in something she likes best." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Lowndes keep bee-hives ? " said 
 Ellen doubtfully. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 109 
 
 " No — she makes the bees- wax herself," said 
 Miss Fortune, in the tone she always took when 
 anybody presumed to suppose she might be mistaken 
 in anything. 
 
 " How much shall I ask her for ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know — a pretty good piece." 
 
 Ellen was not very clear what quantity this might 
 mean. However, she wisely asked no more ques- 
 tions, and set out upon her walk. It was hot and 
 disagreeable ; just the time of day when the sun 
 had most power, and Mrs. Lowndes' house was 
 about half way on the road to Alice's. It was not 
 a place where Ellen liked to go, though the people 
 always made much of her ; she did not fancy them, 
 and regularly kept out of their way when she could. 
 Miss Mary Lawson was sitting with Mrs. Lowndes 
 and her daughter when Ellen came in and briefly 
 gave her aunt's message. 
 
 "Bees-wax," said Mrs. Lowndes, — "well, I don't 
 know — how much does she want ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, exactly ; she said a pretty 
 good piece." 
 
 " What's it for ? do you know, honey ? " 
 
 " I believe it's to put in some tallow for candles," 
 said Ellen ; — " the tallow was too soft, she said." 
 
 " I didn't know Miss Fortune's tallow was ever 
 anything but the hardest," said Sarah Lowndes. 
 
 " You had better not let your aunt know you've 
 lold on her, Ellen," remarked Mary Lawson ; " she 
 won't thank you." 
 
 " Had she a good lot of taller to make up ? " 
 inquired the mother, preparing to cut her bees-wax. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am ; she had a big kettle, but 
 I don't know how full it was." 
 
HO THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " You may as well send a good piece, ma, while 
 you are about it," said the daughter ; — " and ask 
 her to let us have a piece of her sage cheese, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Is it worth while to weigh it ? " whispered 
 Mrs. Lowndes. 
 
 Her daughter answered in the same tone, and 
 Miss Mary joining them, a conversation of some 
 length went on over the bees-wax which Ellen could 
 not hear. The tones of the speaker became lower 
 and lower ; till at length her own name and an in- 
 cautious sentence were spoken more distinctly and 
 reached her. 
 
 " Shouldn't you think Miss Fortune might put a 
 black ribbon at least on her bonnet ? " 
 
 " Anybody but her would." 
 
 " Hush ! " They whispered again under 
 
 breath. 
 
 The words entered Ellen's heart like cold iron. 
 She did not move, hand or foot; she sat motion- 
 less with pain and fear, yet what she feared she 
 dared not think. When the bees-wax was given 
 her, she rose up from her chair and stood gazing 
 into Mrs. Lowndes' face as if she had lost her 
 senses. 
 
 " My goodness, child, how you look ! " said that 
 lady. " What ails you, honey ? " 
 
 " Ma'am," said Ellen, — " what was that you 
 said, about " 
 
 " About what, dear ? " said Mrs. Lowndes, with 
 a startled look at the others. 
 
 " About — a ribbon — " said Ellen, struggling to 
 get the words out of white lips. 
 
 "My goodness!" said the other: — "did you 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. in 
 
 ever hear anything like that ? — I didn't say nothing 
 about a ribbon, dear." 
 
 " Do you suppose her aunt ha'n't told her ? " 
 said Miss Mary in an undertone. 
 
 " Told me what ? " cried Ellen—" Oh, what ? — 
 what ? " 
 
 " I wish I was a thousand miles off ! " said Mrs. 
 Lowndes ; — " I don't know, dear — I don't know 
 what it is — Miss Alice knows." 
 
 " Yes, ask Miss Alice," said Mary Lawson ; — 
 ' she knows better than we do." 
 
 Ellen looked doubtfully from one to the other ; 
 then as " Go ask Miss Alice," was repeated on all 
 sides, she caught up her bonnet and flinging the 
 bees-wax from her hand darted out of the house. 
 Those she had left looked at each other a minute 
 in silence. 
 
 " Ain't that too bad, now ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lowndes, crossing the room to shut the door. " But 
 what could I say ? " 
 
 " Which way did she go ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure — I had no head to 
 look, or anything else. I wonder if I had ought to 
 ha' told her. — But I couldn't ha' done it." 
 
 " Just look at her bees-wax ! " said Sarah 
 Lowndes. 
 
 " She will kill herself if she runs up the mountain 
 at that rate," said Mary Lawson. 
 
 They all made a rush to the door to look after 
 her. 
 
 " She ain't in sight," said Mrs. Lowndes ; — " if 
 she's gone the way to the Nose she's got as far as 
 them big poplars already, or she'd be somewhere 
 this side of 'em where we could see her." 
 
112 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " You hadn't ought to ha' let her go, 'ma, in all 
 this sun," said Miss Lowndes. 
 
 " I declare," said Mrs. Lowndes, " she scared 
 me so I hadn't three idees left in my head. I wish 
 I knew where she was, though ; poor little 
 soul ! " 
 
 Ellen was far on her way to the mountain, pressed 
 forward by a fear that knew no stay of heat or 
 fatigue ; they were little to her that day. She saw 
 nothing on her way ; all within and without was 
 swallowed up in that one feeling ; yet she dared 
 not think what it was she feared. She put that by. 
 Alice knew, Alice would tell her ; on that goal her 
 heart fixed, to that she pressed on ; but oh, the 
 while, what a cloud was gathering over her spirit, 
 and growing darker and darker. Her hurry of 
 mind and hurry of body made each other worse ; 
 it must be so ; and when she at last ran round the 
 corner of the house and burst in at the glass door 
 she was in a frightful state. 
 
 Alice started up and faced her as she came in, 
 but with a look that stopped Ellen short. She 
 stood still ; the color in her cheeks, as her eyes 
 read Alice's, faded quite away ; words and the 
 power to speak them were gone together. Alas ! 
 the need to utter them was gone too. Alice burst 
 into tears and held out her arms, saying only, " My 
 poor child ! " Ellen reached her arms, and strength 
 and spirit seemed to fail there. Alice thought 
 she had fainted ; she laid her on the sofa, called 
 Margery, and tried the usual things, weeping 
 bitterly herself as she did so. It was not fainting, 
 however ; Ellen's senses soon came back ; but 
 she seemed like a person stunned with- a great 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 113 
 
 blow, and Alice wished grief had had any other 
 effect upon her. It lasted for days. A kind of 
 stupor hung over her ; tears did not come ; the 
 violent strain of every nerve and feeling seemed to 
 have left her benumbed. She would sleep long 
 heavy sleeps the greater part of the time, and 
 seemed to have no power to do anything else. 
 
 Her adopted sister watched her constantly, and 
 for those days lived but to watch her. She had 
 heard all Ellen's story from Mary Lawson and Mr. 
 Van Brunt ; who had both been to the parsonage, 
 one on Mrs. Lowndes' part, the other on his own, 
 to ask about her ; and she dreaded that a violent 
 fit of illness might be brought on by all Ellen had 
 undergone. She was mistaken, however. Ellen 
 was not ill ; but her whole mind and body bowed 
 under the weight of the blow that had come upon 
 her. As the first stupor wore off there were, in- 
 deed, more lively signs of grief ; she would weep 
 till she wept her eyes out, and that often, but it was 
 very quietly ; no passionate sobbing, no noisy cry- 
 ing ; sorrow had taken too strong hold to be strug- 
 gled with, and Ellen meekly bowed her head to it. 
 Alice saw this with the greatest alarm. She had 
 refused to let her go back to her aunt's ; it was 
 impossible to do otherwise ; yet it may be that 
 Ellen would have been better there. The busy 
 industry to which she would have been forced at 
 home might have roused her ; as it was, nothing 
 drew her, and nothing could be found to draw her, 
 from her own thoughts. Her interest in everything 
 seemed to be gone. Books had lost their charm. 
 Walks and drives and staying at home were all 
 one, except indeed that she rather liked best the 
 8 
 
114 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 latter. Appetite failed ; her cheeks grew colorless , 
 and Alice began to fear that if a stop were not 
 soon put to this gradual sinking it would at last 
 end with her life. But all her efforts were without 
 fruit ; and the winter was a sorrowful one not to 
 Ellen alone. 
 
 As it wore on, there came to be one thing in 
 which Ellen again took pleasure, and that was her 
 Bible. She used to get alone or into a corner with 
 it, and turn the leaves over and over ; looking out 
 its gentle promises and sweet comforting words to 
 the weak and the sorrowing. She loved to read 
 about Christ, — all He said and did; all his kindness 
 to his people and tender care of them ; the love 
 shown them here and the joys prepared for them 
 hereafter. She began to cling more to that one 
 unchangeable Friend from whose love neither life 
 nor death can sever those that believe in him ; 
 and her heart, tossed and shaken as it had been, 
 began to take rest again in that happy resting-place 
 with stronger affection and even with greater joy 
 than ever before. Yet for all that, this joy often 
 kept company with bitter weeping ; the stirring of 
 anything like pleasure roused sorrow up afresh ; 
 and though Ellen's look of sadness grew less dark, 
 Alice could not see that her face was at all less 
 white and thin. She never spoke of her mother, 
 after once hearing when and where she had died ; 
 she never hinted at her loss, except exclaiming in 
 an agony, " I shall get no more letters ! " and 
 Alice dared not touch upon what the child seemed 
 to avoid so carefully ; though Ellen sometimes wept 
 on her bosom, and often sat for hours still and 
 silent with her head in her lap. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 115 
 
 The time drew nigh when John was expected 
 home for the holidays. In the meanwhile they 
 had had many visits from other friends. Mr. Van 
 Brunt had come several times, enough to set the 
 whole neighborhood a wondering if they had only 
 known it ; his good old mother oftener still. Mrs. 
 Vawse as often as possible. Miss Fortune once ; 
 and that because, as she said to herself, " every- 
 body would be talking about what was none of 
 their business if she didn't." As neither she nor 
 Ellen knew in the least what to say to each other, 
 the visit was rather a dull one, spite of all Alice 
 could do. Jenny Hitchcock and the Huffs and the 
 Dennisons, and others, came now and then ; but 
 Ellen did not like to see any of them, all but Mrs. 
 Vawse. Alice longed for her brother. 
 
 He came at last, just before New Year's. It was 
 the middle of a fine afternoon, and Alice and her 
 father had gone in the sleigh to Carra-carra. Ellen 
 had chosen to stay behind, but Margery did not 
 know this, and of course did not tell John. After 
 paying a visit to her in the kitchen he had come 
 back to the empty sitting-room, and was thought- 
 fully walking up and down the floor, when the door 
 of Alice's room slowly opened, and Ellen appeared. 
 It was never her way, when she could help it, to 
 show violent feeling before other people ; so she 
 had been trying to steel herself to meet John with- 
 out crying, and now came in with her little grave 
 face prepared not to give way. His first look had 
 like to overset it all. 
 
 " Ellie ! " said he 3 — " I thought everybody was 
 gone. My dear Ellie ! " 
 
 Ellen could hardly stand the tone of these three 
 
Ii6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 words, and she bore with the greatest difficulty the 
 kiss that followed them ; it took but a word or two 
 more, and a glance at the old look and smile, to 
 break down entirely all her guard. According to 
 her usual fashion she was rushing away ; but John 
 held her fast, and, though gently, drew her close to 
 him. 
 
 " I will not let you forget that I am your brother, 
 Ellie," said he. 
 
 Ellen hid her face on his shoulder, and cried as 
 if she had never cried before. 
 
 " Ellie," said he, after a while, speaking low and 
 tenderly, " the Bible says, ' We have known and 
 believed the love that God hath toward us ; ' — have 
 you remembered and believed this lately ? " 
 
 Ellen did not answer. 
 
 " Have you remembered that God loves every 
 sinner that has believed in His dear Son ? — and 
 loves them so well that He will let nothing come 
 near them to harm them ? — and loves them never 
 better than when He sends bitter trouble on them ? 
 It is wonderful ! but it is true. Have you thought 
 of this, Ellie ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " It is not in anger He does it ; — it is not that 
 He has forgotten you ; — it is not that He is careless 
 of your trembling little heart, — never, never ! If 
 you are His child, all is done in love and shall 
 work good for you ; and if we often cannot see how, 
 it is because we are weak and foolish, and can see 
 but a very little way." 
 
 Ellen listened, with her face hid on his shoulder 
 
 " Do you love Christ, Ellen ? " 
 
 She nodded, weeping afresh. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 117 
 
 " Do you love Him less since He has brought 
 you into this great sorrow ? " 
 
 " No," sobbed Ellen ;— " more." 
 
 He drew her closer to his breast, and was silent 
 a little while. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear you say that ! — then all 
 will be well. And haven't you the best reason to 
 think that all is well with your dear mother ? " 
 
 Ellen almost shrieked. Her mother's name had 
 not been spoken before her in a great while, and 
 she could hardly bear to hear it now. Her whole 
 frame quivered with hysterical sobs. 
 
 " Hush, Ellie ! " said John, in a tone that, low as 
 it was, somehow found its way through all her 
 agitation, and calmed her like a spell ; — " have you 
 not good reason to believe that all is well with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes !— oh, yes ! " 
 
 " She loved and trusted Him too ; and now she 
 is with Him — she has reached that bright home 
 where there is no more sin, nor sorrow, nor death." 
 
 " Nor parting, either," sobbed Ellen, whose 
 agitation was excessive. 
 
 " Nor parting ! — and though we are parted from 
 them, it is but for a little ; let us watch and keep- 
 our garments clean, and soon we shall be all to- 
 gether, and have done with tears forever. She has 
 done with them now. — Did you hear from her 
 again ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! — not a word ! " 
 
 " That is a hard trial. — But in it all, believe, dear 
 Ellie, the love that God hath toward us ; — remember 
 that our dear Saviour is near us, and feels for us,, 
 and is the same at all times. — And don't cry so r 
 Ellie." 
 
Il8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 He kissed her once or twice, and begged her to 
 calm herself. For it seemed as if Ellen's" very 
 heart was flowing away in her tears ; yet they were 
 gentler and softer far than at the beginning. The 
 conversation had been a great relief. The silence 
 between her and Alice on the thing always in her 
 mind, a silence neither of them dared to break, had 
 grown painful. The spell was taken off ; and 
 though, at first, Ellen's tears knew no measure, she 
 was easier even then ; as John soothed her and 
 went on with his kind talk, gradually leading it 
 away from their first subject to other things, she 
 grew not only calm but more peaceful at heart than 
 months had seen her. She was quite herself again 
 fbefore Alice came home. 
 
 " You have done her good already," exclaimed 
 Alice, as soon as Ellen was out of the room ; — " I 
 knew you would ; I saw it in her face as soon as I 
 came in." 
 
 " It is time," said her brother. " She is a dear 
 little thing ! " 
 
 The next day, in the middle of the morning, 
 Ellen, to her great surprise, saw Sharp brought be- 
 fore the door with the side-saddle on, and Mr. 
 John carefully looking to the girth and shortening 
 the stirrup. 
 
 " Why, Alice," she exclaimed. — " what is Mr. 
 John going to do ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Ellie, I am sure ; he does queer 
 things sometimes. What makes you ask ? " 
 
 Before she could answer he opened the door. 
 
 " Come, Ellen — go and get ready. Bundle up 
 well, for it is rather frosty. Alice, has she a pair 
 of gloves that are warm enough ? Lend her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO RID. 119, 
 
 yours, and I'll see if I can rind some at Thirl- 
 walL" 
 
 Ellen thought she would rather not go ; to any- 
 body else she would have said so. Half a minute 
 she stood still — then went to put on her things. 
 
 " Alice, will you be ready by the time we get- 
 back ? — in half an hour." 
 
 Ellen had an excellent lesson, and her master 
 took care it should not be an easy one. She cams 
 back looking as she had not done all winter. 
 Alice was not quite ready ; while waiting for hei 
 John went to the bookcase and took down the first 
 volume of " Rollin's Ancient History ; " and giving 
 it to Ellen, said he would talk with her to-morrow 
 about the first twenty pages. The consequence, 
 was, the hour and a half of their absence, instead 
 of being moped away, was spent in hard study. A 
 pair of gloves was bought at Thirlwall; Jenny 
 Hitchcock's pony was sent for ; and after that,, 
 every day, when the weather would at all do, they 
 took a long ride. By degrees riding and drawing: 
 and all her studies were added to the history, till 
 Ellen's time was well filled with business again. 
 Alice had endeavored to bring this about before,. 
 6ut fruitlessly. What she asked of her Ellen in- 
 deed tried to do ; what John told her was done. 
 She grew a different creature. Appetite came 
 back ; the color sprang again to her cheek ; hope, 
 — meek and sober as it was, — relighted her eye^ 
 In her eagerness to please and satisfy her teacher,, 
 her whole soul was given to the performance of 
 whatever he wished her to do. The effect was all 
 that he looked for. 
 
 The second evening after he came John called 
 
izo THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen to his side, saying he had something he 
 wanted to read to her. It was before candles were 
 brought, but the room was full of light from the 
 blazing wood fire. Ellen glanced at his book as 
 she came to the sofa ; it was a largish volume in a 
 black leather cover, a good deal worn ; it did not 
 look at all interesting. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " It is called," said John, " 'The Pilgrim's Progress 
 from this World to a better.' " 
 
 Ellen thought it did not sound at all interesting. 
 She had never been more mistaken in her life, and 
 that she found almost as soon as he begun. Her 
 attention was nailed ; the listless, careless mood in 
 which she sat down was changed for one of rapt 
 delight ; she devoured every word that fell from 
 the reader's lips ; indeed they were given their 
 fullest effect by a very fine voice and singularly 
 fine reading. Whenever anything might not be 
 quite clear to Ellen, John stopped to make it so ; 
 and with his help, and without it, many a lesson 
 went home. Next day she looked a long time for 
 the book ; it could not be found ; she was forced 
 to wait until evening. Then, to her great joy, it 
 was brought out again, and John asked if she 
 wished to hear some more of it. After that, every 
 evening while he was at home they spent an hour 
 with the " Pilgrim." Alice would leave her work 
 and come to the sofa too ; and with her head on 
 her brother's shoulder, her hand in his, and Ellen's 
 face leaning against his other arm, that was the com- 
 mon way they placed themselves to read and hear. 
 No words can tell Ellen's enjoyment of those read- 
 ings. They made her sometimes laugh and some- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 121 
 
 times cry ; they had much to do in carrying on the 
 cure which John's wisdom and kindness had 
 begun. 
 
 They came to the place where Christian loses 
 his burden at the cross ; and as he stood looking 
 and weeping, three shining ones came to him. 
 The first said to him, " Thy sins be forgiven thee ; " 
 the second stripped him of his rags and clothed 
 him with a change of raiment ; the third also set a 
 mark on his forehead. 
 
 John explained what was meant by the rags and 
 the change of raiment. 
 
 " And the mark in his forehead ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " That is the mark of God's children — the change 
 wrought in them by the Holy Spirit, — the change 
 that makes them different from others, and different 
 from their old selves." 
 
 " Do all Christians have it ? " 
 
 " Certainly. None can be a Christian without 
 it." 
 
 " But how can one tell whether one has it or no ? " 
 said Ellen, very gravely. 
 
 Carry your heart and life to the Bible and see 
 how they agree. The Bible gives a great many 
 signs and descriptions by which Christians may 
 know themselves, — know both what they are and 
 what they ought to be. If you find your own feel- 
 ings and manner of life at one with these Bible 
 words, you may hope that the Holy Spirit has 
 changed you and set His mark upon you." 
 
 " I wish you would tell me of one of those places," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 ^ "The Bible is full of them. ' To them that be- 
 lieve Christ is precious,' — there is one. ' If ye love 
 
122 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Me, keep My commandments ; ' — l He that saith he* 
 •abideth in Him ought himself also so to walk even as 
 Me walked;' — 'Oh, how love I Thy law' The 
 Bible is full of them, Ellie ; but you have need to 
 ask for great help when you go to try yourself by 
 them ; the heart is deceitful." 
 
 Ellen looked sober all the rest of the evening, 
 and the next day she pondered the matter a good 
 deal. 
 
 " I think I am changed," she said to herself at 
 last. " I didn't use to like to read the Bible., and 
 now I do very much ; — I never liked praying in old 
 times, and now, oh, what should I do without it ! 
 — I didn't love Jesus at all, but I am sure I do 
 now. I don't keep His commandments, but I do 
 try to keep them ; — I must be changed a little. Oh, 
 I wish mamma had known it before " 
 
 Weeping with mixed sorrow and thankful joy, 
 Ellen bent her head upon her little Bible to pray 
 that she might be more changed ; and then, as she 
 often did, raised the cover to look at the texts in 
 the beloved handwriting. 
 
 " I love them that love Me, and they that seek 
 Me early shall find Me." 
 
 Ellen's tears were blinding her. " That has come 
 true," she thought. 
 
 " I will be a God to thee and to thy seed after 
 thee." 
 
 " That has come true too ! " she said, almost in 
 surprise, — " and mamma believed it would." — And 
 then, as by a flash, came back to her mind the 
 time it was written ; she remembered how when it 
 was done her mother's head had sunk upon the 
 'open page ; she seemed to see again the thin fingers 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 123 
 
 tightly clasped ; — she had not understood it then ; 
 she did now ! " She v7as praying for me," thought 
 Ellen, — " she was praying for me ! she believed 
 that would come true." 
 
 The book was dashed down, and Ellen fell upon- 
 her knees in a perfect agony of weeping. 
 
 Even this, when she was calm again, served to- 
 steady her mind. There seemed to be a link of com- 
 munion between her mother and her that was want- 
 ing before. The promise, written and believed in 
 by the one, realized and rejoiced in by the other, 
 was a dear something in common, though one had 
 in the meanwhile removed to heaven, and the other 
 was still a lingerer on the earth. Ellen bound the: 
 words upon her heart. 
 
 Another time, when they came to the last scene 
 of Christian's journey, Ellen's tears ran very fast. 
 John asked if he should pass it over ? if it distressed 
 her ? She said, oh, no, it did not distress her ? 
 she wanted him to go on ; — and he went on, though 
 himself much distressed, and Alice was nearly as. 
 bad as Ellen. But the next evening, to his sur- 
 prise, Ellen begged that before he went on to the 
 second part he would read that piece over again. 
 And when he lent her the book, with only the 
 charge that she should not go further than he had 
 been, she pored over that scene with untiring 
 pleasure till she almost had it by heart. In short, 
 never was a child more comforted and contented 
 with a book than Ellen was with the " Pilgrim's 
 Progress." That was a blessed visit of John's. 
 Alice said he had come like a sunbeam into the 
 house ; she dreaded to think what would be when 
 he went away. 
 
124 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 She wrote him, however, when he had been gone 
 a few weeks that his will seemed to carry all before 
 it, present or absent. Ellen went on steadily mend- 
 ing ; at least she did not go back any. They were 
 keeping up their rides, also their studies, most dili- 
 gently ; Ellen was untiring in her efforts to do what- 
 ever he had wished her, and was springing forward, 
 Alice said, in her improvement. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 I keep his house, and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat, and 
 make beds, and do all myself. — Shakspeare. 
 
 The spring had come ; and Alice and Ellen were 
 looking forward to pleasanter rides and walks after 
 the sun should have got a little warmth and the 
 snow should be gone ; when one morning in the 
 early part of March Mr. Van Brunt made his ap- 
 pearance. Miss Fortune was not well, and had 
 sent him to beg that Ellen would come back to her. 
 He was sorry, he said ; — he knew Ellen was in the 
 best place; but her aunt wanted her, and "he 
 s'posed she'd have to go." He did not know what 
 was the matter with Miss Fortune ; it was a little 
 of one thing and a little of another ; " he s'posed 
 she'd overdid, and it was a wonder for he didn't 
 know she could do it. She thought she was as 
 tough as a piece of shoe-leather, but even that could 
 be wore out." 
 
 Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set 
 herself to get her things together, and with Alice's 
 help in half an hour she was ready to go. The 
 parting was hard. They held each other fast a 
 good while, and kissed each other many times with- 
 out speaking. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 125 
 
 "Good-bye, dear Ellie," whispered Alice at last, 
 — " I'll come and see you soon. Remember what 
 John said when he went away." 
 
 Ellen did not trust herself to speak. She pulled 
 herself away from Alice, and turned to Mr. Van 
 Brunt, saying by her manner that she was ready; 
 he took her bundle and they went out of the house 
 together. 
 
 Ellen made a manful effort all the way down the 
 hill to stifle the tears that were choking her. She 
 knew they would greatly disturb her companion, 
 and she did succeed, though with great difficulty, 
 in keeping them back. Luckily for her, he said 
 hardly anything during the whole walk ; she could 
 not have borne to answer a question. It was no 
 fault of Mr. Van Brunt's that he was so silent ; he 
 was beating his brains the whole way to think of 
 something it would do to say, and could not suit 
 himself. His single remark was, " that it was like to 
 be a fine spring for the maple, and he guessed 
 they'd make a heap of sugar." 
 
 When they reached the door he told her she would 
 find her aunt upstairs, and himself turned off to the 
 barn. Ellen stopped a minute upon the threshold to 
 remember the last time she had crossed it, — and 
 the first time ; how changed everything now ! — and 
 the thought came, was this now to be her home for- 
 ever? She had need again to remember John's 
 words. When bidding her good-bye he had said, 
 " My little pilgrim, I hope you will keep the straight 
 road, and win the praise of the servant who was 
 faithful over a few things." " I will try ! " thought 
 poor Ellen ; and then she passed through the 
 kitchen and went up to her own room. Here, with* 
 
126 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 out stopping to think, she took off her things, gave 
 one strange look at the old familiar place and her 
 trunk in the corner, fell on her knees for one minute, 
 and then went to her aunt's room. 
 
 " Come in ! " cried Miss Fortune when Ellen had 
 knocked. "Well, Ellen, there you are. I am 
 thankful it is you ; I was afraid it might be Mirny 
 Lawson or Sarah Lowndes, or some of the rest of 
 the set ; I know they'll all come scampering here 
 as soon as they hear I'm laid up." 
 
 " Are you very sick, Aunt Fortune ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " La ! no, child ; I shall be up again to-morrow ; 
 but I felt queer this morning, somehow, and I 
 thought I'd try lying down. I expect I've caught 
 some cold." 
 
 There was no doubt of this, but this was not all. 
 Besides catching cold, and doing her best to bring 
 it about, Miss Fortune had overtasked her strength ; 
 and by dint of economy, housewifery, and s?nart- 
 ness, had brought on herself the severe punishment 
 of lying idle and helpless for a much longer time 
 than she at first reckoned on. 
 
 "What can I do for you, Aunt Fortune? " said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, as I know," said Miss Fortune, — 
 "only let me alone and don't ask me anything, and 
 keep people out of the house. Mercy ! my head 
 feels as if it would go crazy ! Ellen, look here." said 
 she, raising herself on her elbow, — " I won't have 
 anybody come into this house, — if I lie here till 
 doomsday, I won't ! Now, you mind me. I ain't 
 a going to have Mirny Lawson, nor nobody else, 
 poking all round into every hole and corner, and 
 turning every cheese upside down to see what's 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 127 
 
 under it. There ain't one of 'em too good for it, 
 and they sha'n't have a chance. They'll be streak- 
 ing here, a dozen of 'em, to help take care of the 
 house ; but I don't care what becomes of the house 
 — I won't have anybody in it. Promise me you 
 won't let Mr. Van Brunt bring any one here to help ; 
 I know I can trust you to do what I tell you ; 
 promise me ! " 
 
 Ellen promised, a good deal, gratified at her aunt's 
 last words, and once more asked if she could do 
 anything for her. • 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! " said Miss Fortune, flinging 
 herself back on her pillow ; — " I don't care what 
 you do, if you only keep the house clear. There's 
 the clothes in the basket under the table down- 
 stairs — you might begin to iron 'em ; they're only 
 rough dry. But don't come asking me about any- 
 thing ; I can't bear it — Ellen, don't let a soul go 
 into the buttery except yourself. — And, Ellen ! I 
 don't care if you make me a little catnip tea ; — the 
 catnip 's up in the store-room, — the furthest door 
 in the back attic — here's the keys. Don't go to 
 fussing with anything else there." 
 
 Ellen thought the prospect before her rather dole- 
 ful when she reached the kitchen. It was in order, 
 to be sure, and clean ; but it looked as if the mis- 
 tress was away. The fire had gone out, the room 
 was cold ; even so little a matter as catnip tea 
 seemed a thing far off and hard to come by. While 
 she stood looking at the great logs in the fire- 
 place, which she could hardly move, and thinking 
 it was rather a dismal state of things, in came Mr. 
 Van Brunt with his good-natured face, and wanted 
 to know if he could do anything for her. The very 
 
128 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 room seemed more comfortable as soon as his big 
 figure was in it. He set about kindling the fire 
 forthwith, while Ellen went up to the store-room. 
 A well-filled store-room ! Among other things, 
 there hung at least a dozen bunches of dried herbs 
 from one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew 
 catnip, but after smelling of two or three she be- 
 came utterly puzzled and was fain to carry a 
 leaf of several kinds down to Mr. Van Brunt to find 
 out which was which. When she canie down again 
 she found he had- hung on the kettle for her, and 
 swept up the hearth ; so Ellen, wisely thinking it 
 best to keep busy, put the ironing blanket on the 
 table, and folded the clothes, and set the irons to 
 the fire. By this time the kettle boiled. How to 
 make catnip tea Ellen did not exactly know, but 
 supposed it must follow the same rules as black tea, 
 in the making of which she felt herself very much 
 at home. So she put a pinch or two of catnip leaves 
 into the pot, poured a little water on them, and left 
 it to draw. Meanwhile came in kind Mr. Van 
 Brunt with an armful or two of small short sticks 
 for the fire, which Ellen could manage. 
 
 " I wish I could stay here and take care of you 
 all the while," said he ; "but I'll be round. If you 
 want anything you must come to the door and 
 holler." 
 
 Ellen began to thank him. 
 
 "Just don't say anything about that," said he, 
 moving his hands as if he were shaking her thanks 
 out of them ; " I'd back all the wood you could 
 burn every day for the pleasure of having you hum 
 again, if I didn't know you was better where you was ; 
 but I can't help that. Now, who am I going t« 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 129 
 
 get to stay with you? Who would you like to 
 have ? " 
 
 u Nobody, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt," said 
 Elien ; " Aunt Fortune don't wish it, and I had 
 rather not, indeed." 
 
 He stood up and looked at her in amazement. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say," said he, " that 
 you are thinking, or she is thinking, you can get 
 along here alone without help ? " 
 
 " I'll get along somehow," said Ellen. " Never 
 mind, please let me, Mr. Van Brunt ; it would worry 
 Aunt Fortune very much to have anybody ; don't 
 say anything about it." 
 
 " Worry her ! " said he ; and he muttered some- 
 thing Ellen did not quite understand, about " bring- 
 ing the old woman to reason." 
 
 However, he went off for the present ; and Ellen 
 filled up her tea-pot and carried it upstairs. Her 
 old grandmother was awake ; before, when Ellen 
 was in the room, she had been napping; now she 
 showed the greatest delight at seeing her \ fondled 
 her, kissed, cried over her, and finally insisted on 
 getting up directly and going downstairs. Ellen re- 
 ceived and returned her caresses with great tender- 
 ness, and then began to help her to rise and dress. 
 
 "Yes, do," said Miss Fortune; " I shall have a 
 little better chance of sleeping. My stars ! Ellen, 
 what do you call this? " 
 
 " Isn't it catnip ? " said Ellen, alarmed. 
 
 " Catnip ! it tastes of nothing but the tea-kettle. 
 It's as weak as dish water. Take it down and 
 make some more. How much did you put in? 
 you want a good double-handful stalks and all; 
 make it strong. I can't drink such stuff as that. 
 
130 THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 I think if I could get into a sweat I should be 
 better." 
 
 Ellen went down, established her grandmother in 
 her old corner, and made some more tea. Then, 
 her irons being hot, she began to iron ; doing 
 double duty at the same time, for Mrs. Montgomery 
 had one of her talking fits on, and it was necessary 
 to hear and answer a great many things. Presently 
 the first visitor appeared in the shape of Nancy. 
 
 " Well, Ellen ! " said she ; " so Miss Fortune is 
 really sick for once, and you are keeping house. 
 Ain't you grand ! " 
 
 " I don't feel very grand," said Ellen. " I don't 
 know what is the matter with these clothes ; I can- 
 not make 'em look smooth." 
 
 " Irons ain't hot," said Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, they are, too hot. I've scorched a towel 
 already." 
 
 " My goodness, Ellen ! I guess you have. If 
 Miss Fortune was down you'd get it. Why, they're 
 bone dry ! " said Nancy, plunging her hand into 
 the basket ; — " you haven't sprinkled 'em, have 
 you ? " 
 
 " To be sure," said Ellen, with an awakened face, 
 " I forgot it ! '' 
 
 " Here, get out of the way, I'll do it for you," 
 said Nancy, rolling up her sleeves and pushing 
 Ellen from the table ; "you just get me a bowl of 
 water, will you, and we'll have 'em done in no time. 
 Who's a-coming to help you ? " 
 
 "Nobody." 
 
 " Nobody ! — you poor chicken ; do you think 
 you're a-going to do all the work of the house your 
 self?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 131 
 
 " No," said Ellen, "but I can do a good deal, 
 and the rest will have to go." 
 
 " You ain't going to do no such a thing ; I'll stay 
 myself." 
 
 " No, you can't, Nancy," said Ellen, quietly. 
 
 " I guess I will if I've a mind to. I should like 
 to know how you'd help it ; Miss Fortune's abed." 
 
 " I could help it, though," said Ellen ; " but I am 
 sure you won't when I ask you not." 
 
 " I'll do anything you please," said Nancy, " if 
 you'll get Miss Fortune to let me stay. Come, do, 
 Ellen ! It will be splendid ; and I'll help you 
 finely, and I won't bother you neither. Come \ 
 go ask her ; if you don't I will." 
 
 " I can't, Nancy ; she don't want anybody ; and 
 it worries her to talk to her. I can't go and ask 
 her." 
 
 Nancy impatiently flung down the cloth she was 
 sprinkling and ran upstairs. In a few minutes she 
 came down with a triumphant face and bade Ellen 
 go up to her aunt. 
 
 " Ellen," said Miss Fortune, " if I let Nancy 
 stay will you take care of the keys, and keep her 
 out of the buttery ? " 
 
 " I'll try to, ma'am, as well as I can." 
 
 " I'd as lief have her as anybody," said Miss 
 Fortune, " if she'd behave ; — she was with me a 
 little in the winter ; she is smart and knows the 
 ways ; — if I was sure she would behave herself, but 
 I am afraid she will go rampaging about the house 
 like a wild cat." 
 
 " I think I could prevent that," said Ellen, who 
 to say truth was willing to have anybody come *q 
 share what she felt would be a very great bur^ 
 
132 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " She knows I could tell Mr. Van Brunt if she 
 didn't do right, and she would be afraid of that." 
 
 "Well," said Miss Fortune, disconsolately, "let 
 her stay, then. Oh dear, to lie here ! but tell her 
 if she don't do just what you tell her I'll have Mr. 
 Van Brunt turn her out by the ears. And don't 
 let her come near me, for she drives me made 
 And, Ellen, put the keys in your pocket. Have 
 you got a pocket in that dress? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Put 'em in there and don't take 'em out. Now 
 
 go." 
 
 Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee ; 
 and the little housekeeper felt her mind a good 
 deal easier ; for though Nancy herself was some- 
 what of a charge, she was strong and willing and 
 ready, and, if she liked anybody, liked Ellen. 
 Mr. Van Brunt privately asked Ellen if she chose 
 to have Nancy stay ; and told her, if she gave her 
 any trouble, to let him know and he would make 
 short work with her. The young lady herself also 
 had a hint on the subject. 
 
 ''I'll tell you what," said Nancy, when this 
 business was settled, — "we'll let the men go off to 
 Miss Van Brunt's to meals ; we'll have enough to 
 do without 'em. That's how Miss Fortune has 
 fixed herself, — she would have Sam and Johnny in 
 to board ; they never used to, you know, afore this 
 winter." 
 
 " The men may go," said Ellen, " but I had a 
 great deal rather Mr. Van Brunt would stay than 
 not, — if we can only manage to cook things for 
 him ; we should have to do it at any rate for our- 
 selves, and for grandma." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 133 
 
 "Well, I ain't as fond of him as all that," said 
 Nancy, — " but it'll have to be as you like, I suppose. 
 We'll feed him somehow." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt came ir tc ask if they had any- 
 thing in the house fo su per. Ellen told him 
 " plenty," and would h^v^ him come in just as 
 usual. There was nothing t do but to make tea ; 
 cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all 
 in the buttery ; so that evening went off very quietly, 
 
 When she came down the next morning the fire 
 was burning nicely, and the kettle on and singing. 
 Not Nancy's work ; Mr. Van Brunt had slept in 
 the kitchen, whether on the table, the floor, or the 
 chairs, was best known to himself; and before 
 going to his work had left everything he could 
 think of ready done to her hand ; wood for the 
 fire, pails of water brought from the spout, and 
 some matters in the lower kitchen got out of the 
 way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, 
 when it suddenly darted into her head that it was 
 milking time. In another minute she had thrown 
 open the door and was running across the chip- 
 yard to the barn. There, in the old place, were 
 all her old friends, both four-legged and two- 
 legged ; and with great delight she found Dolly 
 had a fine calf and Streaky another superb one, 
 brindled just like herself. Ellen longed to get 
 near enough to touch their little innocent heads, 
 but it was impossible ; and recollecting the busi- 
 ness on her hands she too danced away. 
 
 " Whew ! " said Nancy, when Ellen told her of 
 the new inmates of the barn-yard ; — " there'll be 
 work to do ! Get your milk-pans ready, Eller. ;— « 
 in a couple of weeks we'll be making butter." 
 
134 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I 
 hope," said Ellen. 
 
 " She won't, then, so you may just make up 
 your mind to it. Dr. Gibson was to see her 
 yesterday forenoon, and he stopped at Miss 
 Lowndes' on his way back ; and he said it was a 
 chance if she got up again in a month and more. 
 So that's what it is, you see." 
 
 " A month and more." It was all that. Miss 
 Fortune was not dangerously ill ; but part of the time 
 in a low nervous fever, part of the time encum- 
 bered with other ailments, she lay from week to 
 week ; bearing her confinement as ill as possible, 
 and making it as disagreeable and burdensome 
 as possible for Ellen to attend upon her. Those 
 were weeks of trial. Ellen's patience and prin- 
 ciple and temper were all put to the proof. She 
 had no love in the first place for household work, 
 and now her whole time was filled up with it. 
 Studies could not be thought of. Reading was 
 only to be had by mere snatches. Walks and rides 
 were at an end. Often when already very tired 
 she had to run up and downstairs for her aunt, or 
 stand and bathe her face and hands with vinegar, 
 or read the paper to her when Miss Fortune 
 declared she was so nervous she should fly out of 
 her skin if she didn't hear something besides the 
 wind. And very often when she was not wanted 
 upstairs, her old grandmother would beg her to 
 come and read to her, — perhaps at the very moment 
 when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best. 
 Miss Fortune never could be put off ; her old 
 mother sometimes could, with a kiss and a promise-, 
 but not always ; and then, rather than she should 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 135 
 
 fret, Ellen would leave everything and give half an 
 hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved to 
 do this at other times ; now it was sometimes 
 burdensome. Nancy, then, could not help her at 
 all in these matters, for neither Miss Fortune nor 
 the old lady would let her come near them. Be- 
 sides all this there was a measure of care con- 
 stantly upon Ellen's mind ; she felt charged with 
 the welfare of all about the house ; and under the 
 effort to meet the charge, joined to the unceasing 
 bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was 
 tired with Nancy's talk ; she longed to be reading 
 and studying again ; she longed, oh, how she 
 longed ! for Alice's and John's company again ; 
 and it was no wonder if she sometimes cast very 
 sad, longing looks further back still. Now and 
 then an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen 
 remembered John's words ; and often in the midst 
 of her work, stopping short with a sort of pang of 
 sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of doing 
 right, she would press her hands together and say- 
 to herself, " I will try to be a good pilgrim ! " Her 
 morning hour of prayer was very precious now ; and 
 her Bible grew more and more dear. Little Ellen 
 found its words a mighty refreshment ; and often 
 when reading it she loved to recall what Alice had 
 said at this and the other place, and John, and 
 Mr. Marshman, and before them her mother. The 
 passages about heaven, which she well remem- 
 bered reading out t^her one particular morning, 
 became great favorites ; they were joined with her 
 mother in Ellen's thoughts; and she used to go 
 over and over them till she nearly knew them by 
 heart. 
 
136 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What do you keep reading that for, the whole 
 time ? " said Nancy one day. 
 
 " Because I like to," said ElleL 
 
 " Well, if you do, you're the first one ever I saw 
 that did." 
 
 " Oh, Nancy ! " said Ellen ; — " your grandma ! " 
 
 " Well, she does, I believe," said Nancy, — " for 
 she's always at it ; but all the rest of the folks that 
 ever I saw are happy to get it out of their hands, 
 I know. They think they must read a little and 
 so they do, and they are too glad if something 
 happens to break 'em off. You needn't tell me; 
 I've seen 'em." 
 
 " I wish you loved it, Nancy," said Ellen. 
 
 " Well, what do you love it for ? come, let's 
 hear ; maybe you'll convert me." 
 
 " I love it for a great many reasons," said Ellen, 
 who had some difficulty in speaking of what she 
 felt Nancy could not understand. 
 
 " Well — I ain't any wiser yet." 
 
 " I like to read it because I want to go to 
 heaven, and it tells me how." 
 
 "But what's the use?" said Nancy; — "yo£ 
 ain't going to die yet ; you're too young ; you've 
 time enough." 
 
 " Oh, Nancy ! — little John Dolan, and Eleanor 
 Parsons, and Mary Huff, — all younger than you 
 and I ; how can you say so ? " 
 
 " Well," said Nancy, — " at any rate, that ain't 
 reading it because you lo|fe it; — it's because you 
 must, like other folks." 
 
 "That's only one of my reasons," said Ellen, 
 hesitating, and speaking gravely ; — " I like to read 
 about the Saviour, and what He has done for me, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 137 
 
 and what a friend He will be to me, and how He 
 forgives me. I had rather have the Bible, Nancy, 
 than all the other books in the world." 
 
 " That ain't saying much," said Nancy ; — " but 
 how come you to be so sure you are forgiven ? " 
 
 " Because the Bible says, ' He that believeth on 
 Him shall not be ashamed,' and I believe in Him ; 
 — and that He will not cast out any one that comes 
 to Him, and I have come to Him ; — and that He 
 loves those that love Him, and I love Him. If it 
 did not speak so very plainly I should be afraid, 
 but it makes me happy to read such verses as 
 these. I wish you knew, Nancy, how happy it 
 makes me." 
 
 This profession of faith was not spoken without 
 starting tears. Nancy made no reply. 
 
 As Miss Fortune had foretold, plenty of people 
 came to the house with proffers of service. 
 Nancy's being there made it easy for Ellen to get 
 rid of them all. Many were the marvels that Miss 
 Fortune should trust her house to " two girls like 
 that," and many the guesses that she would 
 rue it when she got up again. People were wrong. 
 Things went on very steadily and in an orderly 
 manner ; and Nancy kept the peace as she would 
 have done in few houses. Bold and insolent as 
 she sometimes was to others, she regarded Ellen 
 with a mixed notion of respect and protection, 
 which led her at once to shun doing anything 
 that would grieve her, and to thrust her aside from 
 every heavy or difficult job, taking the brunt her- 
 self. Nancy might well do this, for she was at 
 least twice as strong as Ellen ; but she would not 
 have done it for everybody. 
 
138 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 There were visits of kindness as well as visits 
 of officiousness. Alice and Mrs. Van Brunt and 
 Margery, one or the other every day. Margery 
 would come in and mix up a batch of bread ; 
 Alice would bring a bowl of butter, or a basket of 
 cake ; and Mrs. Van Brunt sent whole dinners. 
 Mr. Van Brunt was there always at night, and 
 about the place as much as possible during the 
 day ; when obliged to be absent, he stationed Sam 
 Larkens to guard the house, also to bring wood and 
 water and do whatever he was bid. All the help, 
 however, that was given from abroad could not 
 make Ellen's life an easy one ; Mr. Van Brunt's 
 wishes that Miss Fortune would get up again began 
 to come very often. The history of one day may 
 serve for the history of all those weeks. 
 
 It was in the beginning of April. Ellen came 
 downstairs early, but come when she would she 
 found the fire made and the kettle on. Ellen felt 
 a little as if she had not quite slept off the remem- 
 brance of yesterday's fatigue ; however, that was 
 no matter ; she set to work. She swept up the 
 kitchen, got her milk strainer and pans ready upon 
 the buttery shelf, and began to set the table. By 
 the time this was half done, in came Sam Larkens 
 with two great pails of milk, and Johnny Low 
 followed with another. They were much too 
 heavy for Ellen to lift, but true to her charge she 
 iet no one come into the buttery but herself; she 
 brought the pans to the door, where Sam filled 
 them for her, and as each was done she set it in its 
 place on the shelf. This took some time for there 
 were eight of them. She had scarce wiped up the 
 spilt milk and finished setting the table when Mr. 
 Van Brunt came in. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 139 
 
 " Good morning ! ? " said he. " How d'ye do to- 
 day?" 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 " I wish you'd look a little redder in the face. 
 Don't you be too busy ? Where's Nancy ? " 
 
 " Oh, she's busy, out with the clothes." 
 
 " Same as ever upstairs ? — What are you going 
 to do for breakfast, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Van Brunt ; there isn't any- 
 thing cooked in the house ; we have eaten every- 
 thing up." 
 
 " Cleaned out, eh ? Bread and all ? \ 
 
 " Oh, no, not bread ; there's plenty ot tnat, but 
 there's nothing else." 
 
 " Well, never mind ; — you bring me a ham and a 
 dozen of eggs, and I'll make you a first-rate break- 
 fast." 
 
 Ellen laughed, for this was not the first time Mr. 
 Van Brunt had acted as cook for the family. 
 While she got what he had asked for, and bared a 
 place on the table for his operations, he went to 
 the spout and washed his hands. 
 
 " Now a sharp knife, Ellen, and the frying-pan, 
 and a dish, — and that's all I want of you." 
 
 Ellen brought them, and while he was busy with 
 the ham, she made the coffee, and set it by the 
 side of the fire to boil ; got the cream and butter, 
 and set the bread on the table ; and then set 
 herself down to rest, and amuse herself with Mr. 
 Van Brunt's cookery. He was no mean hand ; his 
 slices of ham were very artist-like, and frying away 
 in the most unexceptionable manner. Ellen 
 watched him and laughed at him, till the ham 
 was taken out and all the eggs broke in ; then, 
 
i 4 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 after seeing that the coffee was right, she went 
 upstairs to dress her grandmother — always the lasf 
 thing before breakfast. 
 
 "Who's frying ham and eggs downstairs ? " in- 
 quired Miss Fortune. 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen. 
 
 This answer was unexpected. Miss Fortune 
 tossed her head over in a dissatisfied kind of way. 
 and told Ellen to " tell him to be careful." 
 
 " Of what ? " thought Ellen ; and wisely con- 
 cluded with herself not to deliver the message ; 
 very certain she should laugh if she did, and she 
 had running in her head an indistinct notion of 
 the command, " Honor thy father and thy mother." 
 
 Breakfast was ready, but no one there when she 
 got downstairs. She placed her grandmother at 
 table, and called Nancy, who all this time had been 
 getting the clothes out of the rinsing water and 
 hanging them out on the line to dry ; said clothes 
 having been washed the day before by Miss Sarah 
 Lowndes, who came there for the purpose. Ellen 
 poured out the coffee, and then in came Mr. Van 
 Brunt with a head of early lettuce, which he had 
 pulled in the garden and washed at the spout. 
 Ellen had to jump up again to get the salt and 
 pepper and vinegar; but she always jumped 
 willingly for Mr. Van Brunt. The meals were 
 pleasanter during those weeks than in all the time 
 Ellen had been in Thirlwall before ; or she thought 
 so. That sharp eye at the head of the table was 
 pleasantly missed. They with one accord sat 
 longer at meals ; more talking and laughing went 
 on ; nobody felt afraid of being snapped up. Mr. 
 Van Brunt praised Ellen's coffee (he had taught 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 141 
 
 her how to make it), and she praised his ham and 
 eggs. Old Mrs. Montgomery praised everything, 
 and seemed to be in particular comfort ; talked as 
 much as she had a mind, and was respectfully 
 attended to. Nancy was in high feather ; and the 
 clatter of knives and forks and teacups went on 
 very pleasantly. But at last, chairs were pushed 
 from the table, and work began again. 
 
 Nancy went back to her tubs. Ellen supplied 
 her grandmother with her knitting and filled her 
 snuff-box ; cleared the table, and put up the dishes 
 ready for washing. Then she went into the buttery 
 to skim the cream. This was a part of the work 
 she liked. It was heavy lifting the pans of milk to 
 the skimming shelf before the window; but as Ellen 
 drew her spoon round the edge of the cream she 
 liked to see it wrinkle up in thick yellow leathery 
 folds, showing how deep and rich it was ; it looked 
 half butter already. She knew how to take it off 
 now very nicely. The cream was set by in a vessel 
 for future churning, and the milk, as each pan was 
 skimmed, was poured down the wooden trough at 
 the left of the window, through which it went into 
 a great hogshead at the lower kitchen door. 
 
 This done, Ellen went upstairs to her aunt. Dn 
 Gibson always came early, and she and her room 
 must be put in apple-pie order first. It was a long, 
 wearisome job. Ellen brought the basin for her to 
 wash her face and hands ; then combed her hair 
 and put on her clean cap. That was always the 
 first thing. The next was to make the bed ; and 
 for this, Miss Fortune, weak or strong, wrapped 
 herself up and tumbled out upon the floor. When 
 she was comfortably placed again, Ellen had to go 
 
142 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 through a laborious dusting of the room and all the 
 things in it, even taking a dustpan and brush to the 
 floor if any speck of dust or crumbs could be seen 
 there. Every rung of every chair must be gone 
 over, though never so clean ; every article put up 
 or put out of the way ; Miss Fortune made the 
 most of the little province of housekeeping that was 
 left her; and a fluttering tape escaping through the 
 crack of the door would have put her whole spirit 
 topsy-turvy. When all was to her mind, and not 
 before, she would have her breakfast. Only gruel 
 and biscuit, or toast and tea, or some such trifle, 
 but Ellen must prepare it, and bring it upstairs, 
 and wait till it was eaten. And very particularly it 
 must be prepared, and very faultlessly it must be 
 served, or with an impatient expression of disgust 
 Miss Fortune would send it down again. On the 
 whole, Ellen always thought herself happy when 
 this part of her day was well over. 
 
 When she got down this morning she found the 
 kitchen in nice order, and Nancy standing by the 
 fire in a little sort of pause, having just done the 
 breakfast dishes. 
 
 " Well ! " said Nancy, — " what are you going to 
 do now ? " 
 
 " Put away these dishes, and then churn," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " My goodness ! so you are. What's going to be 
 for dinner, Ellen ? " 
 
 " That's more than I know," said Ellen laughing. 
 "We have eaten up Mrs. Van Brunt's pie and 
 washed the dish ; — there's nothing but some cold 
 potatoes." 
 
 ** That won't do," said Nancy. " I tell you what 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 143 
 
 Ellen, — we'll just boil pot for to-day; somebody 
 else will send us something by to-morrow most 
 likely." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by ' boil pot,' " 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, you don't know everything yet by half, 
 /know — I'll fix it. You just give me the things, 
 Miss Housekeeper, that's all you've got to do ; I 
 want a piece of pork and a piece of beef, and all 
 the vegetables you've got." 
 
 " All ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Every soul on 'em. Don't be scared, Ellen ; 
 you shall see what I can do in the way of cookery ; 
 if you don't like it you needn't eat it. What have 
 you got in the cellar ? " 
 
 " Come and see, and take what you want, Nancy \ 
 there is plenty of potatoes and carrots and onions, 
 and beets, I believe ; the turnips are all gone." 
 
 " Parsnips out in the yard, ain't there ? " 
 
 " Yes, but you'll have to do with a piece of pork, 
 Nancy. I don't know anything about beef." 
 
 While Nancy went round the cellar, gathering in 
 her apron the various roots she wanted, Eilen un- 
 covered the pork barrel, and, after looking a minute 
 at the dark pickle she never loved to plunge into, 
 bravely bared her arm and fished up a piece of 
 pork. 
 
 " Now, Nancy, just help me with this churn out 
 of the cellar, will you ? and then you may go." 
 
 " My goodness ! it is heavy," said Nancy. 
 " You'll have a time of it, Ellen , but I can't help 
 you." 
 
 She went off to the garden for parsnips, and Ellen 
 quietly put in the dasher and cover, and began to 
 
144 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 churn. It was tiresome work. The churn was 
 pretty full, as Nancy had said ; the cream was rich 
 and cold, and at the end of half an hour grew very 
 stiff. It spattered and sputtered up on Ellen's 
 face and hands and frock and apron, and over the 
 floor ; legs and arms were both weary ; but still 
 that pitiless dasher must go up and down, hard as 
 it might be to force it either way ; she must not 
 stop. In this state of matters she heard a pair of 
 thick shoes come clumping down the stair, and 
 behold Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " Here you are ! " said he. " Churning ! — Been 
 long at it ? " 
 
 ft A good while," said Ellen, with a sigh. 
 
 " Coming ? " 
 
 " I don't know when." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt stepped to the door and shouted 
 for Sam Larkens. He was ordered to take the 
 churn and bring the butter ; and Ellen, very glad 
 of a rest, went out to amuse herself with feeding 
 the chickens, and then upstairs to see what Nancy 
 was doing. 
 
 " Butter come ? " said Nancy. 
 
 " No, Sam has taken it. How are you getting 
 on ? Oh, I am tired ! " 
 
 " I'm getting on first rate ; I've got all the things 
 in." 
 
 " In what ! " 
 
 " Why in the pot ! — in a pot of water, boiling 
 away as fast as they can ; we'll have dinner directly. 
 Hurra ! who comes there ? " 
 
 She jumped to the door. It was Thomas, bring- 
 ing Margery's respects, and a custard pie, for Miss 
 Ellen. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 145 
 
 " I declare," said Nancy, "it is a good thing to 
 have friends, ain't it ? I'll try and get some. — 
 Hollo ! what's wanting ? — Mr. Van Brunt's calling 
 you, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen ran down. 
 
 " The butter's come," said he. " Now, do you 
 know what to do with it ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Ellen, smiling ; " Margery showed 
 me nicely." 
 
 He brought her a pail of water from the spout, 
 and stood by with a pleased kind of look, while she 
 carefully lifted the cover and rinsed down the little 
 bits of butter which stuck to it and the dasher ; 
 took out the butter with her ladle into a large 
 wooden bowl, washed it, and finally salted it. 
 
 "Don't take too much pains," said he; — "the 
 less of the hand it gets the better. That will do 
 very well." 
 
 " Now are you ready ? " said Nancy, coming 
 downstairs, " 'cause dinner is. My goodness ! 
 'Ain't that a fine lot of butter ! there's four pounds, 
 ain't there ? " 
 
 " Five," said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " And as sweet as it can be," said Ellen. " Beau- 
 tiful, isn't it ? Yes, I'm ready, as soon as I set 
 this in the cellar and cover it up." 
 
 Nancy's dish, — the pork, potatoes, carrots, beets, 
 and cabbage, all boiled in the same pot together, 
 — was found very much to everybody's taste, except 
 Ellen's. She made her dinner off potatoes and 
 bread, the former of which she declared, laughing, 
 were very porky and cabbagy ; her meal would 
 have been an extremely light one if it had not been 
 for the custard pi^ 
 10 
 
146 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 After dinner new labors began. Nancy had 
 forgotten to hang on a pot of water for the dishes ; 
 so after putting away the eatables in the buttery, 
 while the water was heating, Ellen warmed some 
 gruel and carried it with a plate of biscuit upstairs 
 to her aunt. But Miss Fortune said she was tired 
 of gruel and couldn't eat it ; she must have some milk 
 porridge : and she gave Ellen very particular direc- 
 tions how to make it. Ellen sighed only once as she 
 went down with her despised dish of gruel, and set 
 about doing her best to fulfill her aunt's wishes. 
 The first dish of milk she burnt ; — another sigh 
 and another trial ; — better care this time had better 
 success, and Ellen had the satisfaction to see her 
 aunt perfectly suited with her dinner. 
 
 When she came down with the empty bowl Nancy 
 had a pile of dishes ready washed, and Ellen took 
 the towel to dry them. Mrs. Montgomery, who had 
 been in an uncommonly quiet fit all day, now laid 
 down her knitting and asked if Ellen would not 
 come and read to her. 
 
 " Presently, grandma, — as soon as I have done 
 here." 
 
 " I know somebody that's tired," said Nancy. 
 •* I tell you what, Ellen, — you had better take to 
 liking pork ; you can't work on potatoes. I ain't 
 tired a bit. There's somebody coming to the door 
 again ! Do run and open it, will you ? my hands 
 are wet. I wonder why folks can't come in with- 
 out giving so much trouble." 
 
 It was Thomas again, with a package for Ellen 
 which had just come, he said, and Miss Alice 
 thought she would like to have it directly. Ellen 
 thanked her, and thanked him, with a face from 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 147 
 
 which all signs of weariness had fled away. The 
 parcel was sealed up, and directed in a hand she 
 was pretty sure she knew. Her fingers burned to 
 break the seals ; but she would not open it there, 
 neither leave her work unfinished ; she went on 
 wiping the dishes with trembling hands and a beat- 
 ing heart. 
 
 " What's that ? " said Nancy ; " what did Thomas 
 Grimes want ? what have you got there ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, smiling ; — " some- 
 thing good, I guess." 
 
 " Something good ? — is it something to eat ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, — " I didn't mean anything to 
 eat when I said something good ; 1 don't think 
 those are the best things." 
 
 To Ellen's delight, she saw that her grandmother 
 had forgotten about the reading and was quietly 
 taking short naps with her head against the chimney. 
 So she put away the last dish, and then seized her 
 package and flew upstairs. She was sure it had 
 come from Doncaster; she was right. It was a 
 beautiful copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, — on the 
 first leaf written, " To my little sister, Ellen Mont- 
 gomery, from J. H.," and within the cover lay a 
 letter. This letter Ellen read in the course of the 
 next six days at least twice as many times ; and 
 never without crying over it. 
 
 " Alice has told me " (said John) " about your 
 new troubles. There is said to be a time ' when 
 the clouds return after the rain.' I am sorry, my 
 little sister, this time should come to you so early. 
 I often think of you, and wish I could be near you. 
 Still, dear Ellie, the good Husbandman knows what 
 His plants want ; do you believe that, and can you 
 
148 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 trust Him ? They should have nothing but sui* 
 shine if that was good for them. He knows it is 
 not ; so there come clouds and rains, and ' stormy 
 wind fulfilling His will. And what is it all for ? — 
 1 Herein is My Father glorified, that ye bear much 
 fruit ;' do not disappoint His purpose, Ellie. We 
 shall have sunshine enough by and by, — but I 
 know it is hard for so young a one as my little sister 
 to look much forward ; so do not look forward, 
 Ellie ; look up ; look off unto Jesus, — from all your 
 duties, troubles,' and wants ; He will help you in 
 them all. The more you look up to Him the more 
 He will look down to you ; and He especially said, 
 * Suffer little children to come unto Me ;' you see 
 you are particularly invited." 
 
 Ellen was a long time upstairs, and when she 
 came down it was with red eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery was now awake and asked for 
 the reading again ; and for three quarters of an 
 hour Ellen and she were quietly busy with the 
 Bible. Nancy meanwhile was downstairs washing 
 the dairy things. When her grandmother released 
 her Ellen had to go up to wait upon her aunt ; 
 after which she went into the buttery, and skimmed 
 the cream, and got the pans ready for the evening 
 milk. By this time it was five o'clock, and Nancy 
 came in with the basket of dry clothes ; at which 
 Ellen looked with the sorrowful consciousness that 
 they must be sprinkled, and folded by and by, and 
 ironed to-morrow. It happened, however, that 
 Jane Huff came in just then with a quantity of hot 
 short-cake for tea ; and seeing the basket she very 
 kindly took the business of sprinkling and folding 
 upon herself. This gave Ellen spirits to carry out 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 149 
 
 a plan she had long had, to delight the whole family 
 with some eggs scrambled in Margery's fashion. 
 After the milk was strained and put away she went 
 about it, while Nancy set the table. A nice bed of 
 coals was prepared ; the spider set over them ; the 
 eggs broken in, peppered and salted ; and she be- 
 gan carefully to stir them as she had seen Margery 
 do. But instead of acting right the eggs maliciously 
 stuck fast to the spider and burned. Ellen was 
 confounded. 
 
 " How much butter did you put in ? " said Mr. 
 Van Brunt, who had come in and stood looking 
 on. 
 
 " Butter ! " said Ellen looking up, — " oh, I forgot 
 all about it ! — I ought to have put that in, oughtn't 
 I ? — I'm sorry ! " 
 
 " Never mind," said Mr. Van Brunt, — " 't aint 
 worth your being sorry about. Here, Nancy — 
 clean us off this spider, and we'll try again." 
 
 At this moment Miss Fortune was heard scream- 
 ing ; Ellen ran up. 
 
 " What did she want ? " said Mr. Van Brunt when 
 she came down again. 
 
 " She wanted to know what was burning." 
 
 " Did you tell her ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, what did she say ? " 
 
 " Said I mustn't use any more eggs without ask- 
 ing her." 
 
 " That ain't fair play," said Mr. Van Brunt ;— 
 " you and I are the head of the house now, I take 
 it. You just use as many on 'em as you've a mind ; 
 and all you spile I'll fetch you again from hum. 
 That's you, Nancy ! Now, Ellen, here's the spider ; 
 
*5° 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 try again ; let's have plenty of butter in this timq 
 and plenty of eggs too." 
 
 This time the eggs were scrambled to a nicety, 
 and the supper met with great favor from all 
 parties. 
 
 Ellen's day was done when the dishes were. 
 The whole family went early to bed. She was 
 weary ; but she could rest well. She had made 
 her old grandmother comfortable ; she had kept 
 the peace with Nancy ; she had pleased Mr. Van 
 Brunt ; she had faithfully served her aunt. Her 
 sleep was uncrossed by a dream, untroubled by a 
 single jar of conscience. And her awaking to 
 another day of labor, though by no means joyful, 
 was yet not unhopeful or unhappy. 
 
 She had a hard trial a day or two after. It was 
 in the end of the afternoon, she had her big apron 
 on, and was in the buttery skimming the milk, 
 when she heard the kitchen door open, and foot- 
 steps enter the kitchen $ut went little Ellen to 
 see who it was, and there stor^ Alice and old Mr. 
 Marshman ! He was going d take Alice home 
 with him the next morning, and wanted Ellen to go 
 too ; and they had come to ask her. Ellen knew 
 it was impossible, that is, that it would not be 
 right, and she said so ; and in spite of Alice's 
 wistful look, and Mr. Marshman's insisting, shg 
 stood her ground. Not without some difficulty, and 
 some glistening of the eyes. They had to give it 
 up. Mr. Marshman then wanted to know what 
 she meant by swallowing herself up in an apron in 
 that sort of a way ? so Ellen had him into the 
 buttery and showed him what she had been about. 
 He would see her skim several pans, and laughed 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 151 
 
 at her prodigiously; though there was a queer 
 look about his eyes, too, all the time. And when 
 he went away, he held her in his arms, and kissed 
 her again, and again ; and said that "some of 
 these days he would take her away from her aunt 
 and she should have her no more." Ellen stood 
 and looked after them till they were out of sight, 
 and then went upstairs and had a good cry. 
 
 The butter-making soon became quite too much 
 for Ellen to manage ; so Jane Huff and Jenny 
 Hitchcock were engaged to come by turns and do 
 the heavy part of it ; all within the buttery being 
 still left to Ellen, for Miss Fortune would have no 
 one else go there. It was a great help to have 
 them take even so much off her hands ; and they 
 often did some other little odd jobs for her. The 
 milk, however, seemed to increase as fast as the 
 days grew longer, and Ellen could not find that 
 she was much less busy. The days were growing 
 pleasant too ; soft airs began to come ; the grass 
 was of a beautiful green ; the buds on the branches 
 began to swell, and on some trees to put out. 
 When Ellen had a moment of time, she used to 
 run across the chip-yard to the barn, or round the 
 garden, or down to the brook, and drink in the 
 sweet air and the lovely sights which never had 
 seemed quite so lovely before. If, once in a while, 
 she could get half an hour before tea, she used to 
 take her book and sit down on the threshold of 
 the front door 5 or on the big log under the apple- 
 tree in the chip-yard. In those minutes the read- 
 ing was doubly sweet ; or else the loveliness of 
 earth and sky was such that Ellen could not take 
 her eyes from them ; till she saw Sam or Johnny 
 
152 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 coming out of the cow-house door with the pails of 
 milk, or heard their heavy tramp over the chips ; — « 
 then she had to jump and run. Those were sweet 
 half hours. Ellen did not at first know how much 
 reason she had to be delighted with her " Pilgrim's 
 Progress ; " she saw to be sure that it was fine 
 copy, well bound, with beautiful cuts. But when she 
 came to look further, she found all through the book, 
 on the margin or at the bottom of the leaves, in 
 John's beautiful handwriting a great many notes ; 
 simple, short, plain, exactly what was needed to 
 open the whole book to her and make it of the 
 greatest possible use and pleasure. Many things 
 she remembered hearing from his lips when they 
 were reading it together ; there was a large part of 
 the book where all was new ; the part he had n^t 
 had time to finish. How Ellen loved the book and 
 the giver when she found these beautiful notes, it 
 is impossible to tell. She counted it her greatest 
 treasure next to her little red Bible. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " Oh what will I do wi' him quo' he, 
 
 What will I do wi' him ? 
 
 What will I do wi' him quo' he, 
 
 What will I do wi' him? " 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 In the course of time Miss Fortune showed 
 signs of mending • and at last towards the latter 
 end of April, she was able to come downstairs. 
 All parties hailed this event for different reasons ; 
 even Nancy was grown tired of her regular life, 
 and willing to have a change. Ellen's joy was, 
 however, soon diminished by the terrible rum- 
 maging which took place. Miss Fortune's hands 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 153 
 
 were yet obliged to lie still, but her eyes did double 
 duty ; they were never known to be idle in the best of 
 times, and it seemed to Ellen now as if they were 
 making amends for all their weeks of forced rest. 
 Oh, those eyes ! Dust was found where Ellen 
 never dreamed of looking for any ; things were said 
 to be dreadfully " in the way " where she had never 
 found it out ; disorder and dirt were groaned over 
 where Ellen did not know the fact or was 
 utterly ignorant how to help it ; waste was sus- 
 pected where none had been, and carelessness, 
 charged where rather praise was due. Impatient 
 to have things to her mind, and as yet unable to* 
 do anything herself, Miss Fortune kept Nancy and 
 Ellen running, till both wished her back in bed ;. 
 and even Mr. Van Brunt grumbled that " to pay- 
 Ellen for having grown white and poor, her aunt 
 was going to work the little flesh she had left off 
 her bones." It was rather hard to bear, just when 
 she was looking for ease too ; her patience and 
 temper were more tried than in all those weeks 
 before. But if there was small pleasure in pleas- 
 ing her aunt, Ellen did earnestly wish to please 
 God ; she struggled against ill-temper, prayed 
 against it ; and though she often blamed herself in 
 secret, she did so go through that week as to call, 
 forth Mr. Van Brunt's admiration, and even to stir 
 a little the conscience of her aunt. Mr. Van Brunt 
 comforted her with the remark that " it is darkest 
 just before day," and so it proved. Before the 
 week was at an end Miss Fortune began, as she 
 expressed it, to " take hold ; " Jenny Hitchcock, 
 and Jane Huff were excused from any more butter- 
 making ; Nancy was sent away ; Ellen's labors 
 
154 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 were much lightened, and the house was itself 
 again. 
 
 The third of May came. For the first time in 
 nearly two months Ellen found in the afternoon 
 she could be spared awhile ; there was no need to 
 think twice what she would do with her leisure. 
 Perhaps Margery could tell her something of 
 Alice ? Hastily and joyfully she exchanged her 
 working frock for a merino, put on nice shoes and 
 stockings and ruffle again, and taking her bonnet 
 and gloves to put on out of doors, away she ran. 
 Who can tell how pleasant it seems, after so many 
 weeks, to be able to walk abroad again, and to 
 walk to the mountain ! Ellen snuffed the sweet 
 air, skipped on the greensward, picked nosegays of 
 grass and dandelions, and at last, unable to con- 
 tain herself, set off to run. Fatigue soon brought 
 this to a stop ; then she walked more leisurely on, 
 enjoying. It was a lovely spring day. Ellen's 
 eyes were gladdened by it ; she felt thankful in 
 her heart that God had made everything so 
 beautiful ; she thought it was pleasant to think He 
 had made them ; pleasant to see in them every- 
 where so much of the wisdom and power and good- 
 ness of him she looked up to with joy as her best 
 friend. She felt quietly happy, and sure He would 
 take care of her. Then a thought of Alice came 
 into her head ; she set off to run again, and kept it up 
 this time till she got to the old house and ran round 
 the corner. She stopped at the shed door and went 
 through into the lower kitchen. 
 
 " Why, Miss Ellen dear ! " exclaimed Margery, — 
 " if that isn't you ! Aren't you come in the very nick 
 of time ! How do you do ? I am very glad to see 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 155 
 
 you — uncommon glad, to be sure. What witch told 
 you to come here just now ? Run in, run into the 
 parlor and see what you'll find there." 
 
 " Has Alice come back ? " cried Ellen. But 
 Margery only laughed and said, " Run in ! " 
 
 Up the steps, through the kitchen, and across 
 the hall, Ellen ran, — burst open the parlor door, — 
 and was in Alice's arms. There were others in 
 the room ; but Ellen did not seem to know it, 
 clinging to her and holding her in a fast glad 
 embrace, till Alice bade her look up and attend to 
 somebody else. And then she was seized round 
 the neck by little Ellen Chauncey ! — and then 
 came her mother, and then Miss Sophia. The two 
 children were overjoyed to see each other, while 
 their joy was touching to see, from the shade of 
 sorrow in the one, and of sympathy in the other. 
 Ellen was scarcely less glad to see kind Mrs. 
 Chauncey ; Miss Sophia's greeting too was very 
 affectionate. But Ellen returned to Alice, and 
 rested herself in her lap, with one arm round 
 her neck, the other hand being in little Ellen's 
 grasp. 
 
 " And now you are happy, I suppose/' said Miss 
 Sophia when they were thus placed. 
 
 " Very," said Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " Ah, but you'll be happier by and by," said 
 Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 " Hush, Ellen ! " said Miss Sophia ;— " what 
 curious things children are ! — You didn't expect 
 to find us all here, did you, Ellen Montgomery ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, ma'am," said Ellen, drawing 
 Alice's cheek nearer for another kiss. 
 
 " We have but just come, Ellie," said her sister. 
 
. *5* 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 u I should not have been long in finding you out 
 My child, how thin you have got." 
 
 " Oh, I'll grow fat again, now," said Ellen 
 
 " How is Miss Fortune ? " 
 
 " Oh, she is up again and well." 
 
 " Have you any reason to expect your father 
 home, Ellen ? " said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; — Aunt Fortune says perhaps he 
 will be here in a week." 
 
 " Then you are very happy in looking forward, 
 aren't you ? " said Miss Sophia, not noticing the 
 cloud that had come over Ellen's brow. 
 
 Ellen hesitated, — colored, — colored more, — and 
 finally with a sudden motion hid her face against 
 Alice. 
 
 " When did he sail, Ellie ? " said Alice, gravely. 
 
 " In the Due d'Orleans — he said he would " 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 "The fifth of April.— Oh, I can't help it P* 
 exclaimed Ellen, failing in the effort to control 
 herself ; she clasped Alice as if she feared even 
 then the separating hand. Alice bent her head 
 down and whispered words of comfort. 
 
 " Mamma ! " said little Ellen Chauncey under 
 her breath, and looking solemn to the last degree, 
 — "don't Ellen want to see her father ? " 
 
 " She's afraid that he may take her away where 
 she will not be with Alice any more ; and you 
 know she has no mother to go to." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Ellen with a very enlightened face ; 
 — " but he won't, will he ? " 
 
 " I hope not; I think not." 
 
 Cheered again, the little girl drew near and 
 silently took one of Ellen's hands. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 157 
 
 "We shall not be parted, Ellie," said Alice, — 
 "you need not fear. If your father takes you 
 away from your Aunt Fortune, I think it will only 
 be to give you to me. You need not fear yet." 
 
 " Mamma says so too, Ellen," said her little 
 friend. 
 
 This was strong consolation. Ellen looked up 
 and smiled. 
 
 "Now come with me," said Ellen Chauncey, 
 pulling her hand, — " I want you to show me some- 
 thing; let's go down to the garden, — come ! exer- 
 cise is good for you." 
 
 " No, no," said her mother, smiling, — " Ellen has 
 had exercise enough lately ; you mustn't take her 
 down to the garden now ; you would find nothing 
 there. Come here ! " 
 
 A long whisper followed, which seemed to 
 satisfy little Ellen, and she ran out of the room. 
 Some time passed in pleasant talk and telling all 
 that had happened since they had seen each other • 
 then little Ellen came back and called Ellen 
 Montgomery to the glass door, saying she wanted 
 her to look at something. 
 
 " It is only a horse we brought with us," said 
 Miss Sophia. " Ellen thinks it is a great beauty, 
 and can't rest till you have seen it." 
 
 Ellen went according to the door. There to be 
 sure was Thomas before it, holding a pony, 
 bridled and saddled. He was certainly a very 
 pretty little creature : brown all over except one 
 white forefoot ; his coat shone, it was so glossy ; 
 his limbs were fine; his eye gentle and bright; his 
 tail long enough to please the children. He stood 
 as quiet as a lamb, whether Thomas held him 01 
 lot. 
 
158 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, what a beauty ! " said Ellen ; — " what a 
 lovely little horse ! " 
 
 " Ain't he ! " said Ellen Chauncey ; — :c and he 
 goes so beautifully besides, and never starts nor 
 nothing; and he is as good-natured as a little 
 dog." 
 
 " As a good-natured little dog, she means, Ellen," 
 said Miss Sophia, — " there are little dogs of very 
 various character." 
 
 " Well, he looks good-natured," said Ellen. 
 " What a pretty head ! — and what a beautiful new 
 side-saddle, and all. I never saw such a dear 
 little horse in my life. Is it yours, Alice ? " 
 
 " No," said Alice, " it is a present to a friend of 
 Mr. Marshman's." 
 
 " She'll be a very happy friend, I should think," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " That's what I said," said Ellen Chauncey, 
 dancing up and down, — " that's what I said. I 
 said you'd be happier by and by, didn't I ? " 
 
 " I ?" said Ellen, coloring. 
 
 "Yes, you, — you are the friend it is for ; it's for 
 you, it's for you ! you are grandpa's friend, aren't 
 you ? " she repeated, springing upon Ellen, and 
 hugging her up in an ecstasy of delight. 
 
 " But it isn't really for me, is it ? " said Ellen, 
 now looking almost pale ; — " oh, Alice ! " 
 
 " Come, come," said Miss Sophia, — " what will 
 papa say if I tell him you received his present so ? 
 — come, hold up your head ! Put on your bonnet 
 and try him ; — come, Ellen ! let's see you." 
 
 Ellen did not know whether to cry or laugh, — 
 till she mounted the pretty pony ; that settled the 
 matter. Not Ellen Chauncey's unspeakable de- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 159 
 
 light was as great as her own. She rode slowly up 
 and down before the house, and once a-going 
 would not have known how to stop if she had not 
 recollected that the pony had traveled thirty miles 
 that day and must be tired. Ellen took not 
 another turn after that. She jumped down, and 
 begged Thomas to take the tenderest care of him ; 
 patted his neck ; ran into the kitchen to beg of 
 Margery a piece of bread to give him from her 
 hand ; examined the new stirrup and housings, 
 and the pony all over a dozen times ; and after 
 watching him as Thomas led him off, till he was 
 out of sight, finally came back into the house with 
 a face of marvelous contentment. She tried to 
 fashion some message of thanks for the kind giver 
 of the pony ; but she wanted to express so much 
 that no words would do. Mrs. Chauncey, however, 
 smiled and assured her she knew exactly what to say. 
 
 " That pony has been destined for you, Ellen," 
 she said, " this year and more ; but my father 
 waited to have him thoroughly well broken. You 
 need not be afraid of him ; he is perfectly gentle 
 and well-trained ; if he had not been sure of that 
 my father would never have sent him ; — though 
 Mr. John is making such a horsewoman of you." 
 
 "I wish I could thank him," said Ellen ; — "but 
 I don't know how." 
 
 " What will you call him, Ellen ? " said Miss 
 Sophia. " My father has dubbed him ' George 
 Marshman ; ' — he says you will like that, as my 
 brother is such a favorite of yours." 
 
 " He didn't really, did he ? " said Ellen, looking 
 from Sophia to Alice. " I needn't call him that, 
 need I ? " 
 
160 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Not unless you like," said Miss Sophia, laugh- 
 ing, — " you may change it ; but what will you call 
 him ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, very gravely, — " he 
 must have a name to be sure." 
 
 " But why don't you call him that ? " said Ellen 
 Chauncey ; — " George is a very pretty name ; — 1 
 like that ; I should call him ' Uncle George.' " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't ! " said Ellen,—" I couldn't call 
 him so ; I shouldn't like it at all." 
 
 " George Washington ? " said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said Ellen. " I guess I 
 wouldn't ! " 
 
 " Why, is it too good, or not good enough ? " said 
 Miss Sophia. 
 
 " Too good ! A great deal too good for a horse I 
 I wouldn't for anything." 
 
 " How would Brandywine do then, since you are 
 so patriotic ? " said Miss Sophia, looking amused. 
 
 " What is 'patriotic ' ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " A patriot, Ellen," said Alice, smiling, " is one 
 who has a strong and true love for his country." 
 
 " I don't know whether I am patriotic," said Ellen, 
 "but I won't call him Brandywine. Why, Miss 
 Sophia ! " 
 
 " No, I wouldn't either," said Ellen Chauncey ; 
 — " It isn't a pretty name. Call him Seraphine 1 
 — like Miss Angell's pony — that's pretty." 
 
 " No, no, — ' Seraphine ! ' nonsense ! " said Miss 
 Sophia ; — " call him Benedict Arnold, Ellen ; and 
 then it will be a relief to your mind to whip him." 
 
 " Whip him ! " said Ellen, — " I don't want to whip 
 him, I am sure ; and I should be afraid to, besides." 
 
 " Hasn't John taught you that lesson yet ? " said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 162 
 
 the young lady ; — " he is perfect in it himself. Da 
 you remember, Alice, the chastising he gave that 
 fine black horse of ours we called the ' Black 
 Prince ' ? — a beautiful creature he was, — more than 
 a year ago ? — My conscience ! he frightened me to 
 death." 
 
 " I remember," said Alice ; " I remember I could 
 not look on." 
 
 " What did he do that for ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " What's the matter, Ellen Montgomery ? " said 
 Miss Sophia, laughing, — ■• where did you get that 
 long face ? Are you thinking of John or the horse ? " 
 
 Ellen's eye turned to Alice. 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said Alice, smiling, though 
 she spoke seriously, " it was necessary ; it sometimes 
 is necessary to do such things. You do not sup- 
 pose John would do it cruelly or unnecessarily ? " 
 
 Ellen's face shortened considerably. 
 
 " But what had the horse been doing ? " 
 
 " He had not been doing anything ; he would not 
 do, — that was the trouble ; he was as obstinate as 
 a mule." 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said Alice ; " it was no such 
 rerrible matter as Sophia's words have made you 
 believe. It was a clear case of obstinacy. The 
 horse was resolved to have his own way and not 
 do what his rider required of him ; it was necessary 
 that either the horse or the man should give up ; 
 and as John has no fancy for giving up, he carried 
 his point, — partly by management, partly, I confess, 
 by judicious use of the whip and spur ; but there 
 was no such furious flagellation as Sophia seems to 
 mean, and which a good horseman would scarce be 
 guilty of." 
 
162 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " A very determined J use,' " said Miss Sophie 
 * I advise you, Ellen, not to trust your pony with 
 Mr. John ; he will have no mercy on him." 
 
 '"Sophia is laughing, Ellen," said Alice. "You 
 and I know John, do we not ? " 
 
 " Then he did right ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Perfectly right — except in mounting the horse 
 at all, which I never wished him to do. No one. 
 on the place would ride him." 
 
 " He carried John beautifully all the day after 
 that, though," said Miss Sophia, " and I dare say he 
 might have ridden him to the end of the chapter 
 if you would have let papa give him to him. But 
 he was of no use to anybody else. Howard couldn't 
 manage him — I suppose he was too lazy. Papa 
 was delighted enough that day to have given John 
 anything. And I can tell you Black Prince the 
 Second is spirited enough ; I am afraid you won't 
 like him." 
 
 " John has a present of a horse too, Ellen," said 
 Alice. 
 
 " Has he ? — from Mr. Marshman ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I'm very glad ! Oh, what rides we can take 
 now, can't we, Alice ? We sha'n't want to borrow 
 Jenny's pony any more. What kind of a horse is 
 Mr. John's ? " 
 
 " Black, — perfectly black." 
 
 " Is he handsome ? " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 il Is his name Black Prince ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Ellen began to consider the possibility of calling 
 h«r pony the Brown Princess, or by some similar 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. iG$ 
 
 title — the name of John's two chargers seeming the 
 very most striking a horse could be known by. 
 
 *' Don't forget, Alice," said Mrs. Chauncey, " to 
 tell John to stop for him on his way home. It will 
 give us a chance of seeing him, which is not a com- 
 mon pleasure, in any sense of the term." 
 
 They went back to the subject of the name, which 
 Ellen pondered with uneasy visions of John and her 
 poor pony flitting through her head. The little horse 
 was very hard to fit, or else Ellen's taste was very 
 hard to suit ; a great many names were proposed, 
 none of which were to her mind. Charley, and 
 Cherry, and Brown, and Dash, and Jumper, — but 
 she said they had " John " and " Jenny " already 
 in Thirlwall, and she didn't want a " Charley ; " 
 " Brown " was not pretty, and she hoped he wouldn't 
 " dash " at anything, nor be a " jumper " when she 
 was on his back. Cherry she mused awhile about, 
 but it wouldn't do. 
 
 " Call him Fairy," said Ellen Chauncey ;— " that's 
 a pretty name. Mamma says she used to have a 
 horse called Fairy. Do, Ellen ! call him Fairy." 
 
 " No," said Ellen ; "he can't have a lady's name 
 — that's the trouble." 
 
 " I have it, Ellen ! " said Alice ; — " I have a name 
 for you, — call him the Brownie." 
 
 " The ' Brownie ' ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes — brownies are male fairies ; and brown is 
 his color ; so how will that do ? " 
 
 It was soon decided that it would do very well. 
 It was simple, descriptive, and not common ; Ellen 
 made up her mind that " The Brownie " should be 
 his name. No sooner given, it began to grow dear. 
 Ellen's face quitted its look of anxious gravity and 
 
1 64 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 came out into the broadest and fullest satisfaction* 
 She never showed joy boisterously ; but there was a 
 light in her eye which brought many a smile into 
 those of her friends as they sat round the tea-table. 
 
 After tea it was necessary to go home, much to 
 the sorrow of all parties. Ellen knew, however, it 
 would not do to stay ; Miss Fortune was but just 
 got well, and perhaps already thinking herself ill- 
 used. She put on her things. 
 
 " Are you going to take your pony home with 
 you ? " said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, not to-night. I must see about 
 a place for him ; and besides, poor fellow, he is 
 tired, I dare say." 
 
 " I do believe you would take more care of his 
 legs than of your own," said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " But you'll be here to-morrow early, Ellie ? " 
 
 " Oh, won't I ! " exclaimed Ellen, as she sprang 
 to Alice's neck ; — " as early as I can, at least ; I 
 don't know when Aunt Fortune will have done 
 with me." 
 
 The way home seemed as nothing. If she was 
 tired she did not know it. The Brownie ! the 
 Brownie ! — the thought of him carried her as clev- 
 erly over the ground as his very back would have 
 done. She came running into the chip-yard. 
 
 " Hollo ! " cried Mr. Van Brunt, who was stand- 
 ing under the apple tree cutting a piece of wood for 
 the tongue of the ox-cart, which had been broken, 
 — I'm glad to see you can run. I was afeared you'd 
 hardly be able to stand by this time ; but there 
 you come like a young deer ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, coming close 
 up to him and speaking in an undertone, — " you 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 165 
 
 .•don't know what a present I have had ! What do 
 you think Mr. Marshman has sent me from Vent- 
 *nor ? " 
 
 " Couldn't guess," said Mr. Van Brunt, resting 
 the end of his pole on the log, and chipping at it 
 with his hatchet ; — " never guessed anything in my 
 life ; — what is it ? " 
 
 " He has sent me the most beautiful little horse 
 you ever saw ! — for my own — for me to ride ; and 
 a new beautiful saddle and bridle ; you never saw 
 .anything so beautiful, Mr. Van Brunt ; he is all 
 brown, with one white fore-foot, and I've named 
 him the ' Brownie ; ' and oh, Mr. Van Brunt ! do 
 you think Aunt Fortune will let him come here ? " 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt chipped away at his pole, look- 
 ing very good-humored. 
 
 " Because, you know, I couldn't have half the 
 good of him if he had to stay away from me up on 
 the mountain. I shall want to ride him every day. 
 Do you think Aunt Fortune will let him be kept 
 here, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " I guess she will," said Mr. Van Brunt, soberly, 
 and his tone said to Ellen, " /will, if she don't." 
 
 " Then will you ask her and see about it ? — if 
 you please, Mr. Van Brunt ! I'd rather you would. 
 And you won't have him put to plow or anything, 
 will you, Mr. Van Brunt ? Miss Sophia says it 
 would spoil him." 
 
 "I'll plow myself, first," said Mr. Van Brunt 
 with his half smile ; — " there sha'n't be a hair of 
 his coat turned the wrong way. /' 7 see to him — 
 as if he was a prince." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Van Brunt ! How 
 good you are. Then I shall not speak about him 
 
1 66 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 •it all till you do, remember. I am very much ob 
 liged to you, Mr. Van Brunt ! " 
 
 Ellen ran in. She got a chiding for her long 
 stay, but it fell upon ears that could not hear. 
 The Brownie came like a shield between her and 
 all trouble. She smiled at her aunt's hard words 
 as if they had been sugar-plums. And her sleep 
 that night might have been prairie land, for the 
 multitude of horses of all sorts that chased through 
 it. 
 
 " Have you heerd the news ? " said Mr. Van 
 Brunt, when he had got his second cup of coffee 
 at breakfast next morning. 
 
 " No," said Miss Fortune. " What news ? " 
 
 " There ain't as much news as there used to be 
 when I was young," said the old lady; — "seems 
 to me I don't hear nothing nowadays." 
 
 " You might, if you'd keep your ears open, 
 mother. What news, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " Why, here's Ellen's got a splendid little horse 
 sent her, a present from some of her great friends, 
 — Mr. Marshchalk " 
 
 " Mr. Marshman," said Ellen. 
 
 " Mr. Marshman. There ain't the like in the 
 country, as I've heerd tell ; and I expect next 
 thing she'll be flying over all the fields and fences 
 like smoke." 
 
 There was a meaning silence. Ellen's heart beat. 
 
 " What's going to be done with him, do you sup- 
 pose ? " said Miss Fortune. Her look said, " If 
 you think I am coming round you are mistaken." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Van Brunt, slowly, — " I 
 s'pose he'll eat grass in the meadow, — and there'll 
 be a place fixed for him in the stables." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 167 
 
 " Not in my stables," said the lady, shortly. 
 
 " No, — in mine," said Mr. Van Brunt, half smil- 
 ing ; — " and I'll settle with you about it by and by, 
 — when we square our accounts." 
 
 Miss Fortune was very much vexed ; Ellen could 
 see that ; but she said no more, good or bad, about 
 the matter, so the Brownie was allowed to take 
 quiet possession of meadow and stables, to hia 
 mistress's unbounded joy. 
 
 Anybody that knew Mr. Van Brunt would have 
 been surprised to hear what he said that morning ; 
 for he was thought to be quite as keen a looker 
 after the main chance as Miss Fortune herself, 
 only, somehow, it was never laid against him as it 
 was against her. However that might be, it was 
 plain he took pleasure in keeping his word about 
 the pony. Ellen herself could not have asked 
 more careful kindness for her favorite than the 
 Brownie had from every man and boy about the 
 farm. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII, 
 
 Thou must run to him ; for thou hast stayed so long that going will 
 scarce serve the turn. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Captain Montgomery did not come the next 
 week, nor the week after ; and what is more, the 
 Duck Dorleens, as his sister called the ship in 
 which he had taken passage, was never heard of 
 from that time. She sailed duly on the fifth of 
 April, as they learnt from the papers ; but what- 
 ever became of her she never reached port. It re- 
 mained a doubt whether Captain Montgomery had 
 actually gone in her ; and Ellen had many weeks 
 of anxious watching, first for himself, and then for 
 news of him in case he were still in France. None 
 
1 68 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ever came. Anxiety gradually faded into certainty T 
 and by midsummer no doubt of the truth remained 
 in any mind. If Captain Montgomery had been 
 alive, he would certainly have written, if not be- 
 fore, on learning the fate of the vessel in which he 
 had told his friends to expect him home. 
 
 Ellen rather felt that she was an orphan than 
 that she had lost her father. She had neveE 
 learned to love him, he had never given her much 
 cause. Comparatively a small portion of her life 
 had been passed in his society, and she looked 
 back to it as the least agreeable of all ; and it had 
 not been possible for her to expect with pleasure 
 his return to America and visit to Thirlwall ; she 
 dreaded it. Life had nothing now worse for her 
 than a separation from Alice and John Hum- 
 phreys ; she feared her father might take her away 
 and put her in some dreadful boarding-school, or 
 carry her about the world wherever he went, a 
 wretched wanderer from everything good and pleas- 
 ant. The knowledge of his death had less pain 
 for her than the removal of this fear brought relief. 
 
 Ellen felt sometimes, soberly and sadly, that she 
 was thrown upon the wide world now. To all in- 
 tents and purposes, so she had been a year and 
 three quarters before ; but it was something to 
 have a father and mother living, even on the other 
 side of the world. Now, Miss Fortune was her sole 
 guardian and owner. However, she could hardly 
 realize that, with Alice and John so near at hand. 
 Without reasoning much about it, she felt toler- 
 ably secure that they would take care of her inter* 
 ests, and make good their claim to interfere if eve/ 
 need were. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 169 
 
 Ellen and her little horse grew more and more 
 fond of each other. This friendship, no doubt, 
 was a comfort to the Brownie, but to his mistress 
 it made a large part of the pleasure of her every- 
 day life. To visit him was her delight, at all hours, 
 early and late ; and it is to the Brownie's credit 
 that he always seemed as glad to see her as she 
 was to see him. At any time Ellen's voice would 
 bring him from the far end of the meadow where 
 he was allowed to run. He would come trotting 
 up at her call, and stand to have her scratch his 
 forehead or pat him and talk to him ; and, though 
 the Brownie could not answer her speeches, he 
 certainly seemed to hear them with pleasure. Then 
 throwing up his head he would bound off, take a 
 turn in the field, and come back again to stand as 
 still as a lamb so long as she stayed there herself. 
 Now and then, when she had a little more time, 
 she would cross the fence and take a walk with 
 him ; and there, with his nose just at her elbow, 
 wherever she went the Brownie went after her. 
 After a while there was no need that she should 
 call him ; if he saw or heard her at a distance it 
 was enough ; he would come running up directly. 
 Ellen loved him dearly. 
 
 She gave him more proof of it than words and 
 caresses. Many were the apples and scraps of 
 bread hoarded up for him ; and if these failed, 
 Ellen sometimes took him a little salt to show that 
 he was not forgotten. There were not, certainly, 
 many scraps left at Miss Fortune's table, nor apples 
 to be had at home for such a purpose, except what 
 she gathered up from the poor ones that were left 
 under the trees for the hogs ; but Ellen had other 
 
• 70 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 sources of supply. Once she had begged from 
 Jenny Hitchcock a waste bit that she was going to 
 throw away ; Jenny found what she wanted to do 
 with it, and after that many a basket of apples 
 and many a piece of cold shortcake was set by 
 for her. Margery, too, remembered the Brownie 
 when disposing of her odds and ends ; likewise 
 did Mrs. Van Brunt ; so that among them all Ellen 
 seldom wanted something to give him. Mr. Marsh- 
 man did not know what happiness he was bestowing 
 when he sent her that little horse. Many, many, 
 were the hours of enjoyment she had upon his 
 back. Ellen went nowhere but upon the Brownie. 
 Alice made her a riding-dress of dark gingham ; 
 and it was the admiration of the country to see her 
 trotting or cantering by, all alone, and always look- 
 ing happy. Ellen soon found that if the Brownie 
 was to do her much good she must learn to saddle 
 and bridle him herself. This was very awkward at 
 first, but there was no help for it. Mr. Van Brunt 
 showed her how to manage, and after a while it 
 became quite easy. ShS used to call the Brownie 
 to the bar-place, put the bridle on, and let him 
 out ; and then he would stand motionless before 
 her while she fastened the saddle on, looking round 
 sometimes as if to make sure that it was she herself, 
 and giving a little kind of satisfied neigh when he 
 saw that it was. Ellen's heart began to dance as 
 soon as she felt him moving under her ; and once 
 off and away on the docile and spirited little animal, 
 over the roads, through the lanes, up and down 
 the hills, her horse her only companion, but having 
 the most perfect understanding with him, both 
 Ellen and the Brownie cast care to the winds. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 17, 
 
 " I do believe," said Mr. Van Brunt, "that critter 
 would a leetle rather have Ellen on his back than 
 not." He was the Brownie's next best friend. Miss 
 Fortune never said anything to him or of him. 
 
 Ellen, however, reaped a reward for her faithful 
 steadiness to duty while her aunt was ill. Things 
 were never after that as they had been before. She 
 was looked on with a different eye. To be sure, 
 Miss Fortune tasked her as much as ever, spoke as 
 sharply, was as ready to scold if anything went 
 wrong ; — all that was just as it used to be ; but 
 beneath all that, Ellen felt with great satisfaction 
 that she was trusted and believed. She was no 
 longer an interloper, in everybody's way ; she was 
 not watched and suspected ; her aunt treated her 
 as one of the family and a person to be depended 
 on. It was a very great comfort to little Ellen's 
 life. Miss Fortune even owned that " she believed 
 she was an honest child and meant to do right," 
 — a great deal from her ; Miss Fortune was never 
 over-forward to give any one the praise of honesiy. 
 Ellen now went out and came in without feeling 
 she was an alien. And though her aunt was 
 always bent on keeping herself and everybody else 
 at work, she did not now show any particular 
 desire for breaking off Ellen from her studies, and 
 was generally willing, when the work was pretty 
 well done up, that she should saddle the Brownie 
 and be off to Alice or Mrs. Vawse. 
 
 Though Ellen was happy, it was a sober kind 
 of happiness ; — the sun shining behind a cloud. 
 And if others thought her so, it was not because 
 she laughed loudly or wore a merry face. 
 
 "I can't help but think," said Mrs. Van Brunt, 
 
172 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " that that child has something more to make het 
 happy than what she gets in this world." 
 
 There was a quilting party gathered that after- 
 noon at Mrs. Van Brunt's house. 
 
 " There is no doubt of that, neighbor/' said Mrs.. 
 Vawse ; " nobody- ever found enough here to make/ 
 him happy yet." 
 
 " Well, I don't want to see a prettier girl than 
 that," said Mrs. Lowndes ; — " you'll never catch. 
 her, working at home or riding along on that hand- 
 some little critter of her'n, that she ha'n't a pleasant 
 look and a smile for you, and as pretty-behaved as, 
 can be. I never see her look sorrowful but 
 once." 
 
 " Ain't that a pretty horse ? " said Mirny Lawsom. 
 
 " Pve see her look sorrowful though," said Sarah 
 Lowndes ; " I've been up at the house when Miss 
 Fortune was hustling everybody round, and as 
 sharp as vinegar, and you'd think it would take 
 Job's patience to stand it ; — and for all there 
 wouldn't be a bit of crossness in that child's face, 
 — she'd go round, and not say a word that wasn't 
 just so ; you'd ha' thought her bread was all spread 
 with honey ; and everybody knows it ain't. I don't 
 see how she could do it, for my part. I know 1 
 couldn't." 
 
 " Ah, neighbor," said Mrs. Vawse, " Ellen looks 
 higher than to please her aunt ; she tries to please 
 her God ; and one can bear people's words or looks 
 when one is pleasing Him. — wShe is a dear child ! " 
 
 "And there's 'Brahm," said Mrs. Van Brunt, — 
 " he thinks the hull world of her. I never see him 
 take so to any one. There ain't an airthly thing he 
 wouldn't do to please her. If she was his own 
 
ME WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 173 
 
 child I've no idee he could set her up more than he 
 does." 
 
 " Very well ! " said Nancy, coi.-.ng up, — " good 
 reason ! Ellen don't set him up any, does she ? I 
 wish you'd just seen her once, the time when Miss 
 Fortune was abed, — the way she'd look out for him ! 
 Mr. Van Brunt's as good as at home in that house, 
 sure enough, whoever's downstairs." 
 
 " Bless her dear little heart ! " said his mother. 
 
 " A good name is better than precious ointment." 
 
 August had come, and John was daily expected 
 home. One morning Miss Fortune was in the lower 
 kitchen, up to the elbows in making a rich fall 
 cheese ; Ellen was busy upstairs, when her aunt 
 shouted to her to " come and see what was all 
 that splashing and crashing in the garden." Ellen 
 ran out. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Fortune," said she, — "Timothy has 
 broken down the fence and got in." 
 
 " Timothy ! " said Miss Fortune, — " what Tim- 
 othy ? " 
 
 " Why, Timothy, the near ox," said Ellen, laugt 
 ing ; — " he has knocked down the fence over there 
 where it was low, you know." 
 
 " The near ox ! " said Miss Fortune, — " I wish 
 he warn't quite so near this time. Mercy ! he'll be 
 at the corn and over everything. Run and drive 
 him into the barn-yard, can't you ? " 
 
 But Ellen stood still and shook her head. " He 
 wouldn't stir for me," she said ; " and besides, I 
 am as afraid of that ox as can be. If it was Clover 
 I wouldn't mind." 
 
 " But he'll have every bit of the corn eaten up in 
 five minutes \ Where's Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
174 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 *\ I heard him say he was going home till noon," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " And Sam Larkens is gone to the mill — and 
 Johnny Low is laid up with the shakes. Very care- 
 less of Mr. Van Brunt ! " said Miss Fortune, draw- 
 ing her arms out of the cheese-tub and wringing off 
 the whey, — " I wish he'd mind his own oxen. There 
 was no business to be a low place in the fence ! 
 Well, come along ! you ain't afraid with me, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 Ellen followed, at a respectful distance. Miss 
 Fortune however feared the face of neither man nor 
 beast ; she pulled up a bean pole, and made such 
 a show of fight that Timothy after looking at her a 
 little, fairly turned tail, and marched out at the 
 breach he had made. Miss Fortune went after, 
 and rested not till she had driven him quite into the 
 meadow ; — get him into the barn-yard she could 
 not. 
 
 " You ain't worth a straw, Ellen ! " said she, when 
 she came back : — " Couldn't you ha' headed him 
 and driv' him into the barn-yard ? Now that 
 plaguy beast will just be back again by the time I get 
 well to work. He ha'n't done much mischief yet 
 — there's Mr. Van Brunt's salary he's made a pretty 
 mess of ; I'm glad on't ; He should ha' put 
 potatoes, as I told him. I don't know what's to be 
 done — I can't be leaving my cheese to run and mind 
 the garden every minute, if it was full of Timothys : 
 and you'd be scared if a mosquito flew at you; — 
 you had better go right off for Mr. Van Brunt and 
 fetch him straight home — serve him right ! he has 
 no business to leave things so. Run along, — and 
 don't let the grass grow under your feet! 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 75 
 
 Ellen wisely thought her pony's feet would do the 
 business quicker. She ran and put on her gingham 
 dress and saddled and bridled the Brownie in three 
 minutes ; but before setting off she had to scream 
 to her aunt that Timothy was just coming round 
 the corner of the barn again ; and Miss Fortune 
 rushed out to the garden as Ellen and the Brownie 
 walked down to the gate. 
 
 The weather was fine, and Ellen thought with her- 
 self it was an ill wind that blew no good. She was 
 getting a nice ride in the early morning, that she 
 would not have had but for Timothy's lawless be- 
 havior. To ride at that time was particularly pleas- 
 ant and rare ; and forgetting how she had left poor 
 Miss Fortune between the ox and the cheese tub, 
 Ellen and the Brownie cantered on in excellent 
 spirits. 
 
 She looked in vain as she passed his grounds to 
 see Mr. Van Brunt in the garden or about the barn. 
 She went on to the little gate of the courtyard, dis- 
 mounted, and led the Brownie in. Here she was 
 met by Nancy, who came running from the way of 
 the barn-yard. 
 
 11 How d'ye do, Nancy? " said Ellen ; — " where's 
 Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " Goodness ! Ellen ! — what do you want ? " 
 
 " I want Mr. Van Brunt, — where is he ? " 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt ! — he's out in the barn, — but 
 he's used himself up." 
 
 " Used himself up ! what do you mean ? " 
 
 "Why, he's fixed himself in fine style ; — he's fell 
 through the trap-door and broke his leg." 
 
 "Oh, Nancy!" screamed Ellen. — uV% ~ S&an't I 
 How could he ? " 
 
176 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Why, easy enough, if he didn't look where he 
 was going, — there's so much hay on the floor. But 
 it's a pretty bad place to fall." 
 
 " How do you know his leg is broken ? " 
 " 'Cause he says so, and anybody with eyes can 
 see it must be. I'm going over to Hitchcock's to 
 get somebody to come and help in with him ; for 
 you know me and Mrs. Van Brunt ain't Sam- 
 sons." 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Van Brunt ? " 
 " She's out there — in a terrible to-do." 
 Nancy sped on to the Hitchcocks' ; and, greatly 
 frightened and distressed, Ellen ran over to the 
 barn, trembling like an aspen. Mr. Van Brunt 
 was lying in the lower floor, just where he had fallen 
 one leg doubled under him in such a way as left no 
 doubt it must be broken. He had lain there some 
 time before any one found him ; and on trying to 
 change his position when he saw his mother's dis- 
 tress, he had fainted from pain. She sat by weep- 
 ing most bitterly. Ellen could bear but one look 
 at Mr. Van Brunt ; that one sickened her. She 
 went up to his poor mother, and getting down on 
 her knees by her side put both arms round her 
 neck. 
 
 "Don't cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt," (Ellen was 
 crying so she could hardly speak herself,) — " pray 
 don't do so ! — he'll be better — Oh, what shall 
 we do ? " 
 
 '• Oh, ain't it dreadful ! " said poor Mrs. Van 
 Brunt ; — " Oh, 'Brahm, 'Brahm ! my son ! — the best 
 son that ever was to me — Oh, to see him there — 
 ain't it dreadful ? he's dying ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, he isn't," said Ellen, — " Oh, no, he isn't! 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 177 
 
 —what shall we do, Mrs. Van Brunt ? — what shall 
 we do ? " 
 
 " The doctor ! " said Mrs. Van Brunt, — " he 
 said ' send for the doctor ; ' — but I can't go, and 
 there's nobody to send. Oh, he'll die ! — Oh, my 
 dear 'Brahm ! I wish it was me ! " 
 
 " What doctor ? " said Ellen ;— " I'll find some- 
 body to go ; what doctor ? " 
 
 " Dr. Gibson, he said ; but he's away off to Thirl- 
 wall ; and he's been lying here all the morning 
 a'ready ; — nobody found him — he couldn't make us 
 hear. Oh, isn't it dreadful ! " 
 
 " Oh, don't cry so, dear Mrs. Van Brunt," said 
 Ellen, pressing her cheek to the poor old lady's ; — 
 *.' he'll be better — he will ! I've got the Brownie 
 here, and I'll ride over to Mrs. Hitchcock's and get 
 somebody to go right away for the doctor. I won't 
 be long, — we'll have him him here in a little while ! 
 don't feel so bad ! " 
 
 " You're a dear, blessed darling ! " said the old 
 lady, hugging and kissing her, — " if ever there was 
 one. Make haste, dear, if you love him ! — he loves 
 you." 
 
 Ellen stayed but to give her another kiss. Trem- 
 bling so that she could hardly stand she made her 
 way back to the house, led out the Brownie again, 
 and set off, full-speed, for Mrs. Hitchcock's. It was 
 well her pony was sure-footed, for letting the reins 
 hang, Ellen bent over his neck crying bitterly, only 
 urging him now and then to greater speed ; till 
 at length the feeling that she had something to 
 <io came to her help. She straightened herself, 
 gathered up her reins, and by the time she reached 
 Mrs. Hitchcock's was looking calm again, though 
 12 
 
iyS THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 very sad and very earnest. She did not alight, but 
 stopped before the door and called Jenny. Jenny 
 came out, expressing her pleasure. 
 
 " Dear Jenny," said Ellen, — " isn't there some- 
 body here that will go right off to Thirlwall for Dr. 
 Gibson ? Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg, I am 
 afraid, and wants the doctor directly." 
 
 " Why, dear Ellen," said Jenny, " the men have 
 just gone off this minute to Mrs. Van Brunt's. 
 Nancy was here for them to come and help move 
 him in a great hurry. How did it happen ? I 
 couldn't get anything out of Nancy." 
 
 "He fell down through the trap-door. But, dear 
 Jenny, isn't there anybody about ? Oh," said Ellen, 
 clasping her hands, — " I want somebody to go for 
 the doctor so much ! " 
 
 " There ain't a living soul ! " said Jenny ; " two 
 of the men and all the teams are 'way on the other 
 side of the hill plowing, and pa and June and 
 Black 1 Bill have gone over, as I told you ; but I 
 don't believe they'll be enough. Where's his leg 
 broke ? " 
 
 " I didn't meet them," said Ellen ; — " I came 
 away only a little while after Nancy." 
 
 "They went 'cross lots, I guess, — that's how it 
 was ; and that's the way Nancy got the start of 
 you." 
 
 " What shall I do ? " said Ellen. She could not 
 bear to wait till they returned ; if she rode back she 
 might miss them again, besides the delay ; and 
 then a man on foot would make a long journey of 
 it. Jenny told her of a house or two where she 
 might try for a messenger ; but they were strangers 
 to her ; she could not make up her mind to ask 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 179 
 
 such a favor of them. Her friends were too far 
 out of the way. 
 
 " I'll go myself ! " she said, suddenly. " Tell 
 'em, dear Jenny, will you, that I have gone for Dr. 
 Gibson, and that I'll bring him back as quick as 
 ever I can. I know the road to Thirlwall." 
 
 " But Ellen ! you mustn't," said Jenny ; — " I am 
 afraid to have you go all that way alone. Wait till 
 the men come back, — they won't be long." 
 
 " No, I can't, Jenny," said Ellen, — " I can't wait ; 
 I must go. You needn't be afraid. Tell 'em I'll 
 be as quick as I can." 
 
 " But see, Ellen ! " cried Jenny, as she was 
 moving off, — " I don't like to have you." 
 
 " I must, Jenny. Never mind." 
 
 " But see, Ellen ! " cried Jenny again, — " if you 
 will go — if you don't find Dr. Gibson just get Dr. 
 Marshchalk, — he's every bit as good and some 
 folks think he's better; — he'll do just as well. 
 Good-bye ! " 
 
 Ellen nodded and rode off. There was a little 
 fluttering of the heart at taking so much upon her- 
 self ; she had never been to Thirlwall but once 
 since the first time she saw it. But she thought of 
 Mr. Van Brunt, suffering for help which could not 
 be obtained, and it was impossible for her to hesi- 
 tate. " I am sure I am doing right," she thought, — 
 " and what is there to be afraid of ? If I ride two 
 miles alone, why shouldn't I four? — And I am 
 doing right — God will take care of me." Ellen 
 earnestly asked Him to do so ; and after that she 
 felt pretty easy. " Now, dear Brownie," said she, 
 patting his neck, — " you and I have work to do 
 to-day ; behave like a good little horse as you are." 
 
l8o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 The Brownie answered with a little cheerful kind 
 of neigh, as much as to say, Never fear me ! — 
 They trotted on nicely. 
 
 But nothing could help that's being a disagree- 
 able ride. Do what she would, Ellen felt a little 
 afraid when she found herself on a long piece of 
 road where she had never been alone before. 
 There were not many houses on the way ; the few 
 there were looked strange ; Ellen did not know 
 exactly where she was, or how near the end of her 
 journey ; it seemed a long one. She felt rather 
 lonely ; — a little shy of meeting people, and yet a 
 little unwilling to have the intervals between them 
 so very long. She repeated to herself, " I am doing 
 right — God will take care of me," — still there was 
 a nervous trembling at heart. Sometimes she 
 would pat her pony's neck and say, " Trot on, dear 
 Brownie ! we'll soon be there ! " — by way of cheer- 
 ing herself ; for certainly the Brownie needed no 
 cheering, and was trotting on bravely. Then the 
 thought of Mr. Van Brunt, as she had seen him 
 lying on the barn floor, made her feel sick and 
 miserable ; many tears fell during her ride when 
 she remembered him. " Heaven will be a good 
 place," thought little Ellen as she went ; " there 
 will be no sickness, no pain, no sorrow ; but Mr. 
 Van Brunt ! — I wonder if he is fit to go to Heaven ? " 
 — This was a new matter of thought and uneasiness, 
 not now for the first time in Ellen's mind ; and so 
 the time passed till she crossed the bridge over 
 the little river and saw the houses of Thirlwall 
 stretching away in the distance. Then she felt 
 comfortable. 
 
 Long before, she had bethought her thai she did 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 181, 
 
 not know where to find Dr. Gibson, and had for- 
 gotten to ask Jenny. For one instant Ellen drew 
 bridle, but it was too far to go back, and she rec- 
 ollected anybody could tell her where the doctor 
 lived. When she got to Thirlwall, however, Ellen 
 found that she did not like to ask anybody ; she 
 remembered her old friend Mrs. Forbes of the Star 
 Inn, and resolved she would go there in the first 
 place. She rode slowly up the street, looking 
 carefully till she came to the house. There was 
 no mistaking it ; there was the very same big star 
 over the front door that had caught her eye from 
 the coach-window, and there was the very same 
 boy or man, Sam, lounging on the sidewalk. 
 Ellen reined up and asked him to ask Mrs. Forbes 
 if she would be so good as to come out to her 
 for one minute. Sam gave her a long Yankee look 
 and disappeared, coming back again directly with 
 the landlady. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Mrs. Forbes ? " said Ellen, 
 holding out her hand ; — " don't you know me ? I 
 am Ellen Montgomery — that you were so kind to, 
 and gave me bread and milk, — when I first came 
 here, — Miss Fortune's " 
 
 " Oh, bless your dear little heart," cried the 
 landlady; "don't I know you ! and ain't I glad to 
 see you ! I must have a kiss. Bless you ! I 
 couldn't mistake you in Jerusalem, but the sun was 
 in my eyes in that way I was a'most blind. But 
 ain't you grown though ! Forget you ? I guess 
 I ha'n't ! There's one o' your friends wouldn't let 
 me do that in a hurry ; if I ha'n't seen you I've 
 heerd on you. But what are you sitting there in 
 the sun for ? Come in — come in — and I'll give you 
 
t&2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 something better than bread and milk this time 
 Come ! jump down." 
 
 " Oh, I can't, Mrs. Forbes," said Ellen,—" I am 
 in a great hurry ; — Mr. Van Brunt has broken his 
 leg, and I want to find the doctor." 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt ! " cried the landlady. " Broken 
 his leg ! The land sakes ! how did he do that ? 
 —he too ! " 
 
 " He fell down through the trap-door in the 
 barn ; and I want to get Dr. Gibson as soon as I 
 can to come to him. Where does he live, Mrs. 
 Forbes ? " 
 
 " Dr. Gibson ? — you won't catch him to hum, 
 dear ; he's flying around somewheres. But how 
 come the trap-door to be open ? and how happened 
 Mr. Van Brunt not to see it afore he put his foot 
 in it ? Dear ! I declare I'm real sorry to hear you 
 tell. How happened it, darlin' ? I'm cur'ous to 
 hear." 
 
 " I don't know, Mrs. Forbes," said Ellen, — 
 " but, oh, where shall I find Dr. Gibson ? Do tell 
 me ! — he ought to be there now ; — oh, help me ! 
 where shall I go for him ? " 
 
 " Well, I declare," said the landlady, stepping 
 back a pace, — " I don' know as I can tell — there 
 ain't no sort o' likelihood that he's to hum at this 
 time o' day. — Sam ! you lazy feller, you ha'n't got 
 nothing to do but to gape at folks, ha' you seen the 
 doctor go by this forenoon ? " 
 
 " I seen him go down to Miss' Perriman's," said 
 Sam — " Miss' Perriman was a dyin' — Jim Barsto* 
 said." 
 
 " How long since ? " said his mistress. 
 
 But Sam shuffled and shuffled, looked every 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 183 
 
 way but at Ellen or Mrs. Forbes, and " didn' 
 know." 3 
 
 " Well, then," said Mrs. Forbes, turning to 
 Ellen, " I don' know but you might about as well 
 go down to the post-office — but if I was you, I'd 
 just get Dr. Marshchalk instead i he's a smarter 
 man than Dr. Gibson any day in the year ; and he 
 ain't quite so awful high, neither, and that's some- 
 thing. Td get Dr. Marshchalk ; they say there 
 ain't the like o' him in the country for settin' 
 bones ; it's quite a gift ; — he takes to it natural 
 like." 
 
 But Ellen said Mr. Van Brunt wanted Dr. Gibson, 
 and if she could she must find him. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Forbes, " every one has theh 
 fancies; — /wouldn't let Dr. Gibson come near me 
 with a pair of tongs ; — but anyhow, if you must 
 have him, your best way is to go right straight 
 down to the post-office and ask for him there. — 
 Maybe you'll catch him." 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said Ellen; — "where is 
 the post-office ? " 
 
 " It's that white-faced house down street," said 
 the landlady, pointing with her finger where Ellen 
 saw no lack of white-faced houses, — " you see that 
 big red store with the man standing out in front ? 
 — the next white house below that is Miss Perri- 
 man's ; just run right in and ask for Dr. Gibson. 
 Good-bye, dear, — I'm real sorry you can't come in.; 
 — that first white house." 
 
 Glad to get free, Ellen rode smartly down to the 
 post-office. Nobody before the door ■ there was 
 nothing for it but to get off here and go in ; she 
 did not know the people either. " Never mind J 
 
484 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 Wait for me a minute, dear Brownie, like a good 
 little horse as you are ! " 
 
 No fear of the Brownie. He stood as if he did 
 not mean to budge again in a century. At first going 
 in Ellen saw nobody in the post-office ; presently, 
 at an opening in a kind of boxed-up place in one 
 corner, a face looked out and asked what she 
 wanted. 
 
 " Is Dr. Gibson here ? " 
 
 " No," said the owner of the face, with a dis- 
 agreeable kind of smile. 
 
 " Isn't this Miss Perriman's house? " 
 
 " You are in the right box, my dear, and no 
 mistake," said the young man, — "but then it ain't 
 Dr. Gibson's house, you know." 
 
 " Can you tell me, sir, where I can find him ? " 
 
 " Can't indeed — the doctor never tells me where 
 he is going, and I never ask him. I am sorry I 
 didn't this morning, for your sake." 
 
 The way, and the look, made the words extremely 
 disagreeable, and furthermore Ellen had an uncom- 
 fortable feeling that neither was new to her. Where 
 *had she seen the man before ? she puzzled herself 
 to think. Where but in a dream had she seen that 
 bold, ill-favored face, that horrible smile, that sandy 
 hair ? — She knew ! It was Mr. Saunders, the man 
 who had sold her the merino at St. Clair and 
 Fleury's. She knew him ; and she was very sorry 
 to see that he knew her, All she desired now was 
 to get out of the house and away ; but on turning 
 she saw another man, older and respectable-looking, 
 whose face encouraged her to ask again if Dr. 
 •Gibson was there. He was not, the man said : he 
 had been there and gone. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 185 
 
 " Do you know where I should be likely to find 
 him, sir ? " 
 
 " No, I don't," said he ; — " who wants him ? " 
 
 " I want to see him, sir." 
 
 " For yourself ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; Mr. Van Brunt has broken his leg and 
 wants Dr. Gibson to come directly and set it." 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt ! " said he, — " Farmer Van- 
 Brunt that lives down towards the Cat's Back ? 
 I'm very sorry ! How did it happen ? " 
 
 Ellen told as shortly as possible, and again begged 
 to know where she might look for Dr. Gibson. 
 
 " Well," said he, " the best plan I can think of 
 will be for you How did you come here ? " 
 
 " I came on horseback, sir." 
 
 " Ah — well — the best plan will be for you to ride 
 up to his house ; maybe he'll have left word there, 
 and anyhow you can leave word for him to come 
 down as soon as he gets home. Do you know 
 where the doctor lives ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Come here," said he, pulling her to the door, 
 — " you can't see it from here ; but you must ride 
 up street till you have passed two churches : one on. 
 the right hand first, and then a good piece beyond 
 you'll come to another red brick one on the left 
 hand ; and Dr. Gibson lives in the next block bat 
 one after that on the other side ; — anybody will tell 
 you the house. Is that your horse ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I'm very much obliged to you." 
 
 " Well, I will say ! — if you ha'n'tthe prettiest fit- 
 out in Thirlwall — shall I help you ? — will you have 
 a cheer ? " 
 
 " No, I thank you, sir; I'll bring him up to this' 
 
1 86 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 step ,; it will do just as well. I am very much 
 obliged to you, sir." 
 
 He did not seem to hear her thanks ; he was all 
 eyes ; and with his clerk stood looking after her 
 till she was out of sight. 
 
 Poor Ellen found it a long way up to the doctor's. 
 The post-office was near the lower end of the town 
 and the doctor's house was near the upper ; she 
 passed one church, and then the other, but there 
 was a long distance between, or what she thought 
 so. Happily the Brownie did not seem tired at all ; 
 his little mistress was tired, and disheartened too. 
 And there, all this time, was poor Mr. Van Brunt 
 lying without a doctor ! She could not bear to 
 think of it. 
 
 She jumped down when she came to the block 
 she had been told of, and easily found the house 
 where Dr. Gibson lived. She knocked at the door. 
 A gray-haired woman with a very dead-and-alive 
 face presented herself. Ellen asked for the doctor. 
 
 " He ain't to hum." 
 
 " When will he be at home ?" 
 
 " Couldn't say." 
 
 " Before dinner ? " 
 
 The woman shook her head. — " Guess not till 
 late in the day." 
 
 " Where is he gone ? " 
 
 " He is gone to Babcock — gone to * attend a 
 consummation,' I guess he told me. — Babcock is a 
 considerable long way." 
 
 Ellen thought a minute. 
 
 " Can you tell me where Dr. Marshchalk lives ? " 
 
 " I guess you'd better wait till Dr. Gibson comes 
 back, ha'n't you ? " said the woman, coaxingly ;— « 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 187 
 
 " he'll be along by and by. If you'll leave me 
 your name I'll give it to him." 
 
 " I cannot wait," said Ellen, — " I am in a dread- 
 ful hurry. Will you be so good as to tell me where 
 Dr. Marshchalk lives ? " 
 
 " Well — if so be you're in such a takin' you 
 can't wait — you know where Miss Forbes lives ? " 
 
 " At the inn ?— the Star ?— yes." 
 
 " He lives a few doors this side o' her'n ; you'll 
 know it the first minute you set your eyes on it — 
 it's painted a bright yaller." 
 
 Ellen thanked her, once more mounted, and rode 
 down the street. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 And he had ridden o'er dale and down 
 
 By eight o' clock in the day, 
 When he was ware of a bold Tanner, 
 
 Came riding along the way. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The yellow door, as the old woman had said, 
 was not to be mistaken. Again Ellen dismounted 
 and knocked ; then she heard a slow step coming, 
 along the entry, and the pleasant kind face of Miss 
 Janet appeared at the open door. It was a real 
 refreshment, and Ellen wanted one. 
 
 " Why, it's dear little — ain't it ? — her that lives 
 down to Miss Fortune Emerson's ? — yes, it is ; — 
 come in, dear ; I'm very glad to see you. How's 
 all at your house ? " 
 
 " Is the doctor at home, ma'am ? " 
 
 " No, dear, he ain't to home just this minute, 
 but he'll be in directly. Come in ; — is that your 
 horse ? — just hitch him to the post there so he 
 
1 88 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 won't run away, and come right in. Who did yon 
 come along with ? " 
 
 " Nobody, ma'am ; I came alone," said Ellen, 
 while she obeyed Miss Janet's directions. 
 
 " Alone ! — on that 'ere little skittish creeter ? — 
 he's as handsome as a picture too — why, do tell if 
 you warn't afraid ? it a'most scares me to think of 
 it." 
 
 " I was a little afraid," said Ellen, as she fol- 
 lowed Miss Janet along the entry, — " but I couldn't 
 help that. You think the doctor will soon be in, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, sure of it," said Miss Janet, kissing 
 Ellen and taking off her bonnet ; — " he won't be 
 .five minutes, for it's a'most dinner time. What's 
 the matter, dear ? is Miss Fortune sick again ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am," said Ellen, sadly, — " Mr. Van 
 Brunt has fallen through the trap-door in the barn 
 and broken his leg." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the old lady, with a face of real 
 horror, — " you don't tell me ! Fell through the 
 trap-door ! .and he ain't a light weight neither ; — 
 oh, that is a lamentable event ! And how is the 
 poor old mother, dear ? " 
 
 " She is very much troubled, ma'am," said Ellen, 
 crying at the remembrance ; — "and he has been 
 lying ever since early this morning without any- 
 body to set it ; I have been going round and 
 round for a doctor this ever so long." 
 
 " Why, warn't there nobody to come but you, 
 you poor lamb ? " said Miss Janet. 
 
 "No, ma'am : nobody quick enough ; and I had 
 the Brownie there, and so I came." 
 
 " Well, cheer up, dear ! the doctor will be here 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 189 
 
 now and we'll send him right off ; he won't be 
 long about his dinner, I'll engage. Come and set 
 in this big cheer — do ! — it'll rest you ; I see you're 
 a'most tired out, and it ain't a wonder. There — ■ 
 don't that feel better ? Now I'll give you a little 
 sup of dinner, for you won't want to swallow it at 
 the rate Leander will his'n. Dear ! dear ! — to 
 think of poor Mr. Van Brunt. He's a likely man 
 too ; — I'm very sorry for him and his poor mother. 
 A kind body she is as ever the sun shined upon." 
 
 " And so is he," said Ellen. 
 
 "Well, so I dare say," said Miss Janet, — "but I 
 don't know so much about him ; howsever, he's got 
 everybody's good word as far as I know ; — he's a 
 likely man." 
 
 The little room into which Miss Janet had 
 brought Ellen was very plainly furnished indeed, 
 but as neat as hands could make it. The carpet 
 was as crumbless and lintless as if meals were 
 never taken there nor work seen ; and yet a little 
 table ready set for dinner forbade the one conclu- 
 sion, and a huge basket of nakeries in one corner 
 showed that Miss Janet's industry did not spend 
 itself in housework alone. Before the fire stood 
 a pretty good-sized kettle, and a very appetizing 
 smell came from it to Ellen's nose. In spite of 
 sorrow and anxiety her ride had made her hiingry. 
 It was not without pleasure that she saw her kind 
 hostess arm herself with a deep plate and tin dip- 
 per, and carefully taking off the pot-cover so that 
 no drops might fall on the hearth, proceed to ladle 
 out a goodly supply of what Ellen knew was that 
 excellent country dish called pot-pie. Excellent 
 it is when well made, and that was Miss Janet's. 
 
190 . THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 The pieces of crust were white and light like ne* 
 bread ; the very tit-bits of the meat she culled out 
 for Ellen ; and the soup-gravy poured over all 
 would have met eve^ Miss Fortune's wishes, from 
 its just degre of richness and exact seasoning. 
 Smoking hot it was placed before Ellen n a little 
 stand by her easy-chair, with some nic bread and 
 butter , and presently Miss Janet poured her out 
 a cup of tea, " for," she said, " Leander never could 
 take his dinner without it." Ellen's appetite need- 
 ed no silver fork. Tea and pot-pie were never 
 better liked ; yet Miss Janet's enjoyment was per- 
 haps greater still. She sat talking and looking 
 at her little visitor with secret but immense satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Have you heard what fine doings we're agoing 
 to have here by and by ? " said she. " The doc- 
 tor's tired of me : he's going to get a new house- 
 keeper ; — he's going to get married some of these 
 days." 
 
 " Is he ! " said Ellen. " Not to Jenny ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, he is — to Jenny — Jenny Hitch- 
 cock ; and a nice little wife she'll make him. 
 You're a great friend of Jenny, I know." 
 
 " How soon ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Oh, not just yet — by and by — after we get a 
 little smarted up, I guess ; — before a great while. 
 Don't you think he'll be a happy man ? " 
 
 Ellen could not help wondering, as the doctor 
 just then came in and she looked up at his unfor- 
 tunate three-cornered face, whether Jenny would 
 be a happy woman ? But as people often do, she 
 judged only from the outside; Jenny had not made 
 such a bad choice after all. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. , 191 
 
 The doctor said he would go directly to Mr. 
 Van Brunt after he had been over to Mrs. Sib- 
 north's ; it wouldn't be a minute. Ellen meant to 
 ride back in his company ; and having finished her 
 dinner waited now only for him. But the one 
 minute passed — two minutes — ten — twenty — she 
 waited impatiently, but he came not. 
 
 " I'll tell you how it must be," said his sister, — 
 " he's gone off without his dinner, calculating to get 
 it at Miss Hitchcock's, — he'd be glad of the chance. 
 That's how it is, dear ; and you'll have to ride 
 home alone ; I'm real sorry. S'pose you stop till 
 evening, and I'll make the doctor go along with 
 you. But, oh dear ! maybe he wouldn't be able to 
 neither ; he's got to go up to that tiresome Mrs. 
 Robin's ; it's too bad. Well, take good care of 
 yourself, darling ; — couldn't you stop till it's cooler ; 
 — well, come and see me as soon as you can again, 
 but don't come without some one else along ! 
 Good-bye ! I wish I could keep you." 
 
 She went to the door to see her mount, and 
 smiled and nodded her off. 
 
 Ellen was greatly refreshed with her rest and 
 her dinner ; it grieved her that the Brownie had not 
 fared as well. All the refreshment that kind words 
 and patting could give him, she gave ; promised 
 him the freshest of water and the sweetest of hay 
 when he should reach home ; and begged him to 
 keep up his spirits and hold on for a little longer. 
 It may be doubted whether the Prownie under- 
 stood the full sense of her words, but he probably 
 knew what the kind tones and gentle hand meant. 
 He answered cheerfully ; threw up his head and 
 gave a little neigh, as much as to say he wasn't go 
 
192 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ing to mind a few hours of sunshine ; and trotted 
 on as if he knew his face was towards home, — 
 which no doubt he did. Luckily it was not a very 
 hot day ; for August, it was remarkably cool and 
 beautiful ; indeed there was little very hot weather 
 ever known in Thirlwall. Ellen's heart felt easier, 
 now that her business was done ! and when she 
 had left the town behind her and was again in the 
 fields, she was less timid than she had been be- 
 fore ; she was going towards home ; that makes a 
 great difference ; and every step was bringing her 
 nearer. " I am glad I came, after all," she thought ; 
 — " but I hope I shall never have to do such a 
 thing again. But I am glad I came." 
 
 She had no more than crossed the little bridge, 
 however, when she saw what brought her heart 
 into her mouth. It was Mr. Saunders, lolling 
 under a tree. What could he have come there for 
 at that time of day ? A vague feeling crossed her 
 mind that if she could only get past him she should 
 pass a danger; she thought to ride by without 
 seeming to see him, and quietly gave the Brownie 
 a pat to make him go faster. But as she drew 
 near Mr. Saunders rose up, came to the middle of 
 the road, and taking hold of her bridle checked 
 her pony's pace so that he could walk alongside ; 
 to Ellen's unspeakable dismay. 
 
 " What's kept you so long ? " said he ; — " I've 
 been looking out for you this great while. Had 
 hard work to r ::?A the doctor ? " 
 
 " Won't you please to let go of my horse," said 
 Ellen, her heart beating very fast; — "I am in a 
 great hurry to get home ; — please don't keep me." 
 
 " Oh, I want to see you a little," said Mr. Saunders; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 193 
 
 ■ — " you ain't in such a hurry to get away from me 
 as that comes to, are you ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " It's quite a long time since I saw you last/' 
 said he ; — " how have the merinos worn \ " 
 
 Ellen could not bear to look at his face and did 
 not see the expression which went with these words, 
 yet she felt it. 
 
 "They have worn very well," said she, "but I 
 want to get home very much — please let me go." 
 
 " Not yet — not yet," said he, — " Oh, no, not yet, 
 I want to talk to you ; why, what are you in such a 
 devil of a hurry for ? I came out on purpose ; do 
 you think I am going to have all my long waiting 
 for nothing ? " 
 
 Ellen did not know what to say ; her heart sprang 
 with a nameless pang to the thought, if she ever got 
 free from this ! Meanwhile she was not free.. 
 
 " Whose horse is that you're on ? " 
 
 " Mine," said Ellen. 
 
 " Your'n ! that's a likely story. I guess he ain't 
 your'n and so you won't mind if I touch him up a 
 little; — I want to see how well you can sit a 
 horse." 
 
 Passing his arm through the bridle as he said 
 these words, Mr. Saunders led the pony down to 
 the side of the road, where grew a clump of high 
 bushes ; and with some trouble cut off a long, stout 
 sapling. Ellen looked in every direction while he 
 was doing this, despairing, as she locked, of aid 
 from any quarter of the broad, quiet, open country. 
 Oh, for wings ! But she could not leave the Brownie 
 if she had them. 
 
 Returning to the middle of the road, Mr; Saunders 
 13 
 
194 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 amused himself as they walked along with stripping 
 off all the leaves and little twigs from his sapling, 
 leaving it when done a very good imitation of an 
 ox-whip in size and length, with a fine lash-like 
 point. Ellen watched him in an ecstasy of ap- 
 prehension, afraid alike to speak or to be silent 
 
 " There ! what do you think of that ? " said he, 
 giving it two or three switches in the air to try its 
 suppleness and toughness ; — " don't that look like 
 a whip ? Now we'll see how he'll go ! " 
 
 " Please don't do anything with it," said Ellen, 
 earnestly £ — " I never touch him with a whip, — he 
 doesn't need it, — he isn't used to it ; pray, pray 
 do not ! " 
 
 " Oh, we'll just tickle him a little with it," said 
 Mr. Saunders, coolly, — " I want to see how well 
 you'll sit him ; — just make him caper a little bit." 
 
 He accordingly applied the switch lightly to the 
 Brownie's heels, enough to annoy without hurting 
 him. The Brownie showed signs of uneasiness, 
 quitted his quiet pace, and took to little starts and 
 springs and other motions, most unpleasing to his 
 rider. 
 
 " Oh, do not ! " cried Ellen, almost beside her- 
 self, — " he's very spirited, and I don't know what he 
 will do if you trouble him." 
 
 " You let me take care of that," said Mr. Saun- 
 ders ; — "if he troubles me I'll give it to him! If 
 he rears up, only you catch hold of his mane and 
 hold on tight, and you won't fall off ; — I want to 
 see him rear." 
 
 " But you'll give him bad tricks ! " said Ellen. 
 " Oh, pray don't do so ! It's very bad for him to 
 be teased. I am afraid he will kick if you do so, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 195 
 
 and he'd be ruined if he got a habit of kicking. 
 Oh, please let us go!" said she, with the most 
 acute accents of entreaty, — " I want to go home." 
 
 " You keep quiet," said Mr. Saunders, coolly ; — • 
 " if he kicks I'll give him such a lathering as he 
 never had yet ; he won't do it but once. I ain't 
 a-going to hurt him, but I am a-going to make him 
 rear; — no, I won't, — I'll make him leap over a rail, 
 the first bar-place we come to ; that'll be prettier." 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't do that," said Ellen ; — " I have 
 not learned to leap yet ; I couldn't keep on ; you 
 mustn't do that if you please." 
 
 " You just hold last and hold your tongue. Catch 
 hold of his ears, and you'll stick on fast enough ; 
 if you can't you may get down, for I am going to 
 make him take the leap, whether you will or no." 
 
 Ellen feared still more to get off and leave the 
 Brownie to her tormentor's mercy, than to stay 
 where she was and take her chance. She tried in 
 vain, as well as she could, to soothe her horse ; the 
 touches of the whip coming now in one place and 
 now in another, and some of them pretty sharp, he 
 began to grow very frisky indeed ; and she began to 
 be very much frightened for fear she should suddenly 
 be jerked off. With a good deal of presence of 
 mind, though wrought up to a terrible pitch of ex- 
 citement and fear, Ellen gave her best attention to 
 keeping her seat as the Brownie sprang, and started, 
 and jumped to one side and the other ; Mr. Saun- 
 ders holding the bridle as loose as possible so as 
 to give him plenty of room. For some little time 
 he amused himself with this game, the horse grow- 
 ing more and more irritated. At length a smart 
 stroke of the whip upon his haunches made the 
 
i 9 6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Brownie spring in a way that brought Ellen's heart 
 into her mouth, and almost threw her off. 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " cried Ellen, bursting into tears 
 for the first time, — she had with great effort com- 
 manded them back until now ; — " poor Brownie ! — 
 How can you ! Oh, please let us go ! — please let 
 us go ! " 
 
 For one minute she dropped her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " said Mr. Saunders. " Here's a 
 bar-place — now for the leap ! " 
 
 Ellen wiped away her tears, forced back those 
 that were coming, and began the most earnest re- 
 monstrance and pleading with Mr. Saunders that 
 she knew how to make. He paid her no sort of 
 attention. He led the Brownie to the side of the 
 road, let down all the bars but the lower two, let 
 go the bridle, and stood a little off, prepared with 
 his whip to force the horse to take the spring. 
 
 " I tell you I shall fall," said Ellen,. reining him 
 back. " How can you be so cruel ! — I want to go 
 home ! " 
 
 " Well, you ain't a-going home, yet. Get off, if 
 you are afraid." 
 
 But though trembling in every nerve from head 
 to foot, Ellen fancied the Brownie was safer so 
 long as he had her on his back ; she would not 
 leave him. She pleaded her best, which Mr. Saun- 
 ders heard as if it was amusing, and without making 
 any answer kept the horse capering in front of the 
 bars, pretending every minute he was going to whip 
 him up to take the leap. His object, however, was 
 merely to gratify the smallest of minds by teasing 
 a child he had a spite against; he had no intention 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 197 
 
 to risk breaking her bones by a fall from her horse ; 
 so in time he had enough of the bar-place ; took the 
 bridle again, and walked on. Ellen drew breath a 
 little more freely. 
 
 " Did you hear how I handled your old gentle- 
 man after that time ? " said Mr. Saunders. 
 
 Ellen made no answer. 
 
 " No one ever affronts me that don't hear news 
 of it afterwards, and so he found to his cost. / 
 paid him off to my heart's content. I gave the 
 old fellow a lesson to behave in future. I forgive 
 him now, entirely. By the way, I've a little account 
 to settle with you — didn't you ask Mr. Perriman 
 this morning if Dr. Gibson was in the house ? " 
 
 " I don't know who it was," said Ellen. 
 
 " Well, hadn't I told you just before he warn't 
 there ? " 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " What did you do that for, eh ? Didn't you 
 believe me ? " 
 
 Still she did not speak. 
 
 " I say," said Mr. Saunders, touching the 
 Brownie as he spoke, — " did you think I told you 
 a lie about it ? — eh ? " 
 
 " I didn't know but he might be there," Ellen 
 forced herself to say. 
 
 " Then you didn't believe me ? " said he, always 
 with that same smile upon his face-; Ellen knew 
 that. 
 
 " Now that warn't handsome of you — and I'm 
 a-going to punish you for it, somehow or 'nother; 
 but it ain't pretty to quarrel with ladies, so Brownie 
 and me'll settle it together. You won't mind thaty 
 I dare say." 
 
198 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " said Ellen, as he 
 once more drew her down to the side of the fence. 
 
 " Get off and you'll see," said he, laughing : — 
 " get off and you'll see." 
 
 " What do you want to do ? " repeated Ellen, 
 though scarce able to speak the words. 
 
 " I'm just going to tickle Brownie a little, to 
 teach you to believe honest folks when they speak 
 the truth ; get off ! " 
 
 " No, I won't," said Ellen, throwing both arms 
 round the neck of her pony ; — " poor Brownie ! 
 — you sha'n't do it. He hasn't done any harm, 
 nor I either ; you are a bad man ! " 
 
 " Get off ! " repeated Mr. Saunders. 
 
 " I will not ! " said Ellen, still clinging fast. 
 
 "Very well," said he, coolly, — "then I will take 
 you off ; it don't make much difference. We'll go 
 along a little further till I find a nice stone for you 
 to sit down upon. If you had got off then I 
 wouldn't ha' done much to him, but I'll give it to 
 him now ! If he hasn't been used to a whip he'll 
 know pretty well what it means by the time I have 
 done with him ; and then you may go home as fast 
 as you can." 
 
 It is very likely Mr. Saunders would have been 
 as good, or as bad, as his word. His behavior to 
 Ellen in the store at New York, and the measures 
 taken by the old gentleman who had befriended 
 her, had been the cause of his dismissal from the 
 employ of Messrs. St. Clair and Fleury. Two o r 
 three other attempts to get into business had come 
 to nothing, and he had been obliged to return to 
 his native town. Ever since, Ellen and the old 
 gentleman had lived in his memory as objects of 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 199 
 
 the deepest spite ; — the one for interfering, the 
 other for having been the innocent cause ; and he 
 no sooner saw her in the post-office than he 
 promised himself revenge, such revenge as only 
 the meanest and most cowardly spirit could have 
 taken pleasure in. His best way of distressing 
 Ellen, he found, was through her horse ; he had 
 almost satisfied himself ; but very naturally his 
 feeling of spite had grown stronger and blunter with 
 indulgence, and he meant to wind up with such 
 a treatment of her pony, real or seeming, as he 
 knew would give great pain to the pony's mistress. 
 He was prevented. 
 
 As they went slowly along, Ellen still clasping 
 the Brownie's neck and resolved to cling to him to 
 the last, Mr. Saunders making him caper in a way 
 very uncomfortable to her, one was too busy and 
 the other too deafened by fear to notice the sound 
 of fast-approaching hoofs behind them. It hap- 
 pened that John Humphreys had passed the night 
 at Ventnor; and having an errand to do for a 
 friend at Thirlwall had taken that road, which led 
 him but a few miles out of his way, and was now 
 at full speed on his way home. He had never made 
 the Brownie's acquaintance, and did not recognize 
 Ellen as he came up ; but in passing them some 
 strange notion crossing his mind, he wheeled his 
 horse round directly in front of the astonished pair. 
 Ellen quitted her pony's neck, and stretching out 
 both arms towards him exclaimed, almost shrieked, 
 " Oh, John ! John ! send him away ! make him let 
 me go ! " 
 
 " What are you about, sir ? " said the new< 
 comer, sternly. 
 
2 oo THE WIDE, WIVE WORLD. 
 
 " It's none of your business ! " answered Mr. 
 Saunders, in whom rage for the time overcame 
 cowardice. 
 
 " Take your hand off the bridle ! " — with a slight 
 touch of the riding-whip upon the hand in question. 
 
 " Not for you, brother," said Mr. Saunders, 
 sneeringly ; — " I'll walk with any lady I've a mind 
 to. Look out for yourself ! " 
 
 " We will dispense with your further attendance," 
 said John, coolly. " Do you hear me ?— do as I 
 order you ! " 
 
 The speaker did not put himself in a passion, 
 and Mr. Saunders, accustomed for his own part to 
 make bluster serve instead of prowess, despised a 
 command so calmly given. — Ellen, who knew the 
 voice, and still better could read the eye, drew con- 
 clusions very different. She was almost breathless 
 with terror. Saunders was enraged and mortified 
 at an interference that promised to baffle him ; he 
 was a stout young man, and judged himself the 
 stronger of the two, and took notice besides that 
 the stranger had nothing in his hand but a slight 
 riding-whip. He answered very insolently and 
 with an oath ; and John saw that he was taking the 
 bridle in his left hand and shifting his sapling 
 whip so as to bring the club end of it uppermost. 
 The next instant he aimed a furious blow at his 
 adversary's horse. The quick eye and hand of 
 the rider disappointed that with a sudden swerve. 
 In another moment, and Ellen hardly saw how, it 
 was so quick, — John had dismounted, taken Mr. 
 Saunders by the collar, and hurled him quite over 
 into the gulley at the side of the road, where he 
 lay at full length without stirring. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 201 
 
 " Ride on, Ellen ! " said her deliverer. 
 
 She obeyed. He stayed a moment to say to his 
 fallen adversary a few words of pointed warning as 
 to ever repeating his offense ; then remounted and 
 spurred forward to join Ellen. All her power of 
 keeping up was gone, now that the necessity was 
 over.. Her head was once more bowed on her 
 pony's neck, her whole frame shaking with convul- 
 sive sobs ; she could scarce with great effort keep 
 from crying out aloud. 
 
 " Ellie ! " — said her adopted brother, in a voice 
 that could hardly be known for the one that had 
 last spoken. She had no words, but as he gently 
 took one of her hands, the convulsive squeeze it 
 gave him showed the state of nervous excitement 
 she was in. It was very long before his utmost 
 efforts could soothe her, or she could command 
 herself enough to tell him her story. When at last 
 told, it was with many tears. 
 
 " Oh, how could he ! how could he ! " said poor 
 Ellen ; — " how could he do so ! — it was very hard ! " 
 
 An involuntary touch of the spurs made John's 
 horse start. 
 
 " But what took you to Thirlwall alone ? " said 
 he ; — " you have not told me that yet." 
 
 Ellen went back to Timothy's invasion of the 
 cabbages, and gave him the whole history of the 
 morning. 
 
 " I thought when I was going for the doctor,, at 
 first," said she, — " and then afterwards when I 
 had found him, what a good thing it was that 
 Timothy broke down the garden fence and got in 
 this morning ! for if it had not been for that 
 I should not have gone to Mr. Van Brunt's ;— 
 
202 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and then again after that I thought, if he onlj 
 hadn't ! " 
 
 " Little things often draw after them long trains 
 of circumstances," said John, — " and that shows 
 the folly of those people who think that God does 
 not stoop to concern Himself about trifles ; — life, 
 and much more than life, may hang upon the turn 
 of a hand. But, Ellen, you must ride no more alone. 
 — Promise me that you will not." 
 
 " I will not to Thirlwall certainly," said Ellen, — 
 " but mayn't I to Alice's ? — how can I help it ? " 
 
 "Well — to Alice's — that is a safe part of the 
 country ; — but I should like to know a little more 
 of your horse before trusting you even there." 
 
 " Of the Brownie ? " said Ellen ; — " oh, ne is as 
 good as he can be ; you need not be afraid of him ; 
 he has no trick at all ; there never was such a good 
 little horse." 
 
 John smiled. " How do you like mine ? " said he. 
 
 " Is that your new one ? Oh, what a beauty ! — 
 Oh, me, what a beauty ! I didn't look at him be- 
 fore. Oh, I like him very much ! he's handsomer 
 than the Brownie ; — do you like him ? " 
 
 " Very well ! — this is the first trial I have made 
 of him. I was at Mr. Marshman's last night, and 
 they detained me this morning or I should have 
 been here much earlier. I am very well satisfied 
 with him, so far." 
 
 " And if you had notbeen detained ! " — said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, Ellie — I should not have fretted at my 
 late breakfast and having to try Mr. Marshman's 
 favorite mare, if I had known what good purpose 
 the delay was to serve. I wish I could have been 
 here half an hour sooner, though. " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 203 
 
 " Is his name the Black Prince ? " said Ellen, re- 
 turning to the horse. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so ; but you shall change it, 
 Ellie, if you can find one you like better." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot ! — I like that very much. How 
 beautiful he is ! Is he good ? " 
 
 " I hope so," said John, smiling ; — " if he is not 
 I shall be at the pains to make him so. We are 
 hardly acquainted yet." 
 
 Ellen looked doubtfully at the black horse and 
 his rider, and patting the Brownie's neck, observed 
 with great satisfaction that he was very good. 
 
 John had been riding very slowly on Ellen's 
 account ; they now mended their pace. He saw, 
 however, that she still looked miserably, and exerted 
 himself to turn her thoughts from everything dis- 
 agreeable. Much to her amusement he rode round 
 her two or three times, to view her horse and show 
 her his own ; commended the Brownie ; praised 
 her bridle hand ; corrected several things about 
 her riding ; and by degrees engaged her in very 
 animated conversation. Ellen roused up; the 
 color came back to her cheeks ; and when' they 
 reached home and rode round to the glass door 
 she looked almost like herself. 
 
 She sprang off as usual, without waiting for any 
 help. John scarce saw that she had done so, when 
 Alice's cry of joy brought him to the door, and 
 from that together they went in to their father's 
 study. Ellen was left alone on the lawn. Some- 
 thing was the matter; for she stood with swimming 
 eyes and a trembling lip, rubbing her stirrup, which 
 really needed no polishing, and forgetting the tired 
 horses, which would have had her sympathy at any 
 
204 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 other time. What was the matter ? Only — that 
 Mr. John had forgotten the kiss he always gave her 
 on going or coming. Ellen was jealous of it as a 
 pledge of sistership, and could not want it ; and 
 though she tried as hard as she could to get her 
 face in order, so that she might go in and meet them, 
 somehow it seemed to take a great while. She was 
 still busy with her stirrup, when she suddenly felt 
 two hands on her shoulders, and looking up received 
 the very kiss the want of which she had been lament- 
 ing. But John saw the tears in her eyes, and asked 
 her, she thought with somewhat of a comical look, 
 what the matter was ? Ellen was ashamed to tell, 
 but he had her there by the shoulders, and besides, 
 whatever that eye demanded she never knew how 
 to keep back; so with some difficulty she told him. 
 
 " You are a foolish child, Ellie," said he gently, 
 and kissing her again. " Run in out of the sun 
 while I see to the horses." 
 
 Ellen ran in, and told her long story to Alice ; 
 and then feeling very weary and weak she sat on 
 the sofa and lay resting in her arms in a state of 
 the most entire and unruffled happiness. Alice, 
 however, after a while transferred her to bed, think- 
 ing, with good reason, that a long sleep would be 
 the best thing for her. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Now is the pleasant time, 
 The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 
 To the night-warbling bird ; that now awake, 
 Tunes sweetest her love-labored song ; now reigns 
 Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light, 
 Shadowy, sets off the face of things. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 When Ellen came out of Alice's room again it 
 was late in the afternoon. The sun was so low 
 that the shadow of the house had crossed the nar- 
 now lawn and mounted up near to the top of the 
 trees ; but on them he was still shining brightly, 
 and on the broad landscape beyond, which lay 
 open to view through the gap in the trees. The 
 glass door was open ; the sweet summer air and 
 the sound of birds and insects and fluttering leaves 
 floated into the room, making the stillness musical. 
 On the threshold pussy sat crouched, with his fore- 
 feet doubled under his breast, watching with intense 
 gravity the operations of Margery, who was setting 
 the table on the lawn just before his eyes. Alice 
 was paring peaches. 
 
 " Oh, we are going to have tea out of doors, 
 aren't we ? " said Ellen. " I'm very glad. What 
 a lovely evening, isn't it ? Just look at pussy, will 
 you, Alice ? don't you believe he knows what Mar- 
 gery is doing ? — Why didn't you call me to go along 
 with you after peaches ? " 
 
 " I thought you were doing the very best thing 
 you possibly could, Ellie, my dear. How do you 
 do ? " 
 
 " Oh, nicely now ! Where's Mr. John ? I hope 
 
2o6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 he won't ask for my last drawing to-night, — I want 
 to fix the top of that tree before he sees it." 
 
 M Fix the top of your tree, you little Yankee ? " 
 said Alice ; — " what do you think John would say 
 to that ? — unfix it you mean ; it is too stiff already, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " Well, what shall I say ? " said Ellen, laughing. 
 " I am sorry that is Yankee, for I suppose one must 
 speak English. — I want to do something to my tree, 
 then. — Where is he, Alice ? " 
 
 " He is gone down to Mr. Van Brunt's, to see 
 how he is, and to speak to Miss Fortune about you 
 on his way back." 
 
 " Oh, how kind of him ! — he's very good ; that is 
 just what I want to know ; but I am sorry, after 
 his long ride " 
 
 " He don't mind that, Ellie. He'll be home 
 presently." 
 
 " How nice those peaches look • — they are as 
 good as strawberries, don't you think so ? — better, 
 — I don't know which is best ; — but Mr. John likes 
 these best, don't he ? Now, you've done ! — shall I 
 set them on the table ? — and here's a pitcher of 
 splendid cream, Alice ! " 
 
 " You had better not tell John so, or he will make 
 you define splendid" 
 
 John came back in good time, and brought word 
 that Mr. Van Brunt was doing very well, so far as 
 could be known 5 also, that Miss Fortune consented 
 to Ellen's remaining where she was. He wisely 
 did not say, however, that her consent had been 
 slow to gain till he had hinted at his readiness to 
 provide a substitute for Ellen's services ; on which 
 Miss Fortune had instantly declared she did not 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 207 
 
 want her and she might stay as long as she pleased. 
 This was all that was needed to complete Ellen's 
 felicity. 
 
 " Wasn't your poor horse too tired to go out again 
 this afternoon, Mr. John ? " 
 
 " I did not ride him, Ellie ; I took yours." 
 
 "The Brownie! — did you? — I'm very glad! 
 How did you like him ? But perhaps he was tired 
 a little, and you couldn't tell so well to-day." 
 
 " He was not tired with any work you had given 
 him, Ellie ; — perhaps he may be a little now." 
 
 " Why ? " said Ellen, somewhat alarmed. 
 
 " I have been trying him ; and instead of going 
 quietly along the road we have been taking some 
 of the fences in our way. As I intend practicing 
 you at the bar, I wished to make sure in the first 
 place that he knew his lesson." 
 
 "Well, how did he do?" 
 
 "Perfectly well — I believe he is a good little 
 fellow. I wanted to satisfy myself if he was fit to 
 be trusted with you ; and I rather think Mr. Marsh- 
 man has taken care of that." 
 
 The whole wall of trees was in shadow when the 
 little family sat down to table ; but there was still the 
 sun-lit picture behind ; and there was another kind 
 of sunshine in every face at the table. Quietly 
 happy the whole four, or at least the whole three, 
 were ; first, in being together, — after that, in all 
 things beside. Never was tea so refreshing, or 
 bread and butter so sweet, or the song of birds so 
 delightsome. When the birds were gone to their 
 nests, the cricket and grasshopper and tree-toad and 
 katydid, and nameless other songsters, kept up a 
 concert, — nature's own, — in delicious harmony with 
 
208 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 woods and flowers and summer breezes and even- 
 ing light. Ellen's cup of enjoyment was running 
 over. From one beautiful thing to another her eye 
 wandered, — from one joy to another her thoughts 
 went, — till her full heart fixed on the God who had 
 made and given them all, and that Redeemer whose 
 blood had been their purchase-money. From the 
 dear friends beside her, the best-loved she had in the 
 world, she thought of the one dearer yet from whom 
 death had separated her ; — yet living still, — and to 
 whom death would restore her, thanks to Him who 
 had burst the bonds of death and broken the gates 
 of the grave, and made a way for His ransomed to 
 pass over. And the thought of Him was the joy- 
 fullest of all ! 
 
 " You look happy, Ellie," said her adopted 
 brother. 
 
 " So I am," said Ellen, smiling a very bright 
 smile. 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 But John saw it would not do to press his ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " You remind me," said he, " of some old fairy 
 story that my childish ears received, in which the 
 fountains of the sweet and bitter waters of life were 
 .said to stand very near each other, and to mingle 
 their streams but a little way from their source. 
 Your tears and smiles seem to be brothers and sis- 
 ters ; — whenever we see one we may be sure the 
 other is not far off." 
 
 ** My dear Jack ! " said Alice, laughing, — " what 
 an unhappy simile ! Are brothers and sisters al- 
 ways found like that ? " 
 
 " I wish they were," said John, sighing and smil 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 209 
 
 ing ; — " but my last words had nothing to do with 
 my simile, as you call it." 
 
 When tea was over, and Margery had withdrawn 
 the things and taken away the table, they still lin- 
 gered in their places. It was far too pleasant to go 
 in. Mr. Humphreys moved his chair to the side 
 of the house, and throwing a handkerchief over his 
 head to defend him from the mosquitoes, a few of 
 which were buzzing about, he either listened, med- 
 itated, or slept ; — most probably one of the two lat- 
 ter ; for the conversation was not very loud nor 
 very lively ; it was happiness enough merely to 
 breathe so near each other. The sun left the distant 
 fields and hills ; soft twilight stole through the 
 woods, down the gap, and over the plain ; the grass 
 lost its green ; the wall of trees grew dark and 
 dusky ; and very faint and dim showed the picture 
 that was so bright a little while ago. As they sat 
 quite silent, listening to what nature had to say to 
 them, or letting fancy and memory take their way, 
 the silence was broken — hardly broken — by the dis- 
 tinct, far-off cry of a whip-poor-will. Alice grasped 
 her brother's arm, and they remained motionless, 
 while it came nearer, nearer, — then quite near, — 
 with its clear, wild, shrill, melancholy note sounding 
 close by them again and again, — strangely, plain- 
 tively, — then leaving the lawn, it was heard further 
 and further off, till the last faint " whip-poor-will," 
 in the far distance, ended its pretty interlude. It 
 was almost too dark to read faces, but the eyes of 
 the brother and sister had sought each other and 
 remained fixed till the bird was out of hearing ; then 
 Alice's hand was removed to his, and her head 
 found its old place on her brother's shoulder. 
 14 
 
2io THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Sometimes, John," said Alice, " I am afraid 
 I have one tie too strong to this world. I cannot 
 bear — as I ought — to have you away from me." 
 
 Her brother's lips were instantly pressed to her 
 forehead. 
 
 " I may say to Alice, as Col. Gardiner said to his 
 wife, ■ We have an eternity to spend together ! ' " 
 
 " I wonder," said Alice, after a pause, — " how 
 those can bear to love or be loved, whose affection 
 can see nothing but a blank beyond the grave." 
 
 "Few people, I believe," said her brother T 
 " would come exactly under that description ; most 
 flatter themselves with a vague hope of reunion 
 after death." 
 
 "But that is a miserable hope — very different 
 from ours." 
 
 " Very different indeed ! — and miserable ; for it 
 can only deceive ; but ours is sure. ' Them that 
 sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.' V 
 
 " Precious ! " said Alice. " How exactly fitted 
 to every want and mood of the mind are the sweet 
 Bible words." 
 
 " Well ! " said Mr. Humphreys, rousing himself, 
 — " I am going in ! These mosquitoes have half 
 eaten me up. Are you going to sit there all night ? " 
 
 " We are thinking of it, papa," said Alice, cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 He went in, and was heard calling Margery for 
 a light. 
 
 They had better lights on the lawn. The stars 
 began to peep out through the soft blue, and as the 
 blue grew deeper they came out more and brighter, 
 till all heaven was hung with lamps. But that was 
 not all. In the eastern horizon, just above the low 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 211 
 
 hills that bordered the far side of the plain, a white 
 light, spreading and growing and brightening, prom- 
 ised the moon, and promised that she would rise 
 very splendid ; and even before she came began to 
 throw a faint luster over the landscape. All eyes 
 were fastened, and exclamations burst, as the first 
 silver edge showed itself, and the moon rapidly ris- 
 ing looked on them with her whole broad bright 
 face, lighting up not only their faces and figures 
 but the wide country view that was spread out 
 below, and touching most beautifully the trees in 
 the edge of the gap, and faintly the lawn ; while 
 the wall of wood stood in deeper and blacker 
 shadow than ever. 
 
 " Isn't that beautiful ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Come round here, Ellie," said John ; — " Alice 
 may have you all the rest of the year, but when I 
 am at home you belong to me. What was your 
 little head busied upon a while ago ? " 
 
 " When ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " When I asked you " 
 
 " Oh, I know, — I remember. I was thinking " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I was thinking — do you want me to tell you ? " 
 
 " Unless you would rather not." 
 
 " I was thinking about Jesus Christ," said Ellen, 
 in a low tone. 
 
 "What about Him, dear Ellie?" said her 
 brother, drawing her closer to his side. 
 
 " Different things, — I was thinking of what He 
 said about little children, — and about what He said, 
 you know, — ' In My Father's house are many 
 mansions ; ' — and I was thinking that mamma was 
 *here ; and I thought, — that we all " 
 
212 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen could get no further. 
 
 " ' He that believeth in Him shall not be 
 ashamed,' " said John, softly. " ' This is the 
 promise that He hath promised us, even eternal 
 life ; and who shall separate us from the love of 
 Christ ? Not death, nor things present, nor things 
 to come. But he that hath this hope in Him, 
 purifieth himself even as He is pure ; ' — let us 
 remember that too." 
 
 " Mr. John," said Ellen, presently, — " don't you 
 like some of the chapters in the Revelation very 
 much ? " 
 
 " Yes — very much. Why ? — do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember reading parts of them to 
 mamma, and that is one reason, I suppose ; but I 
 like them very much. There is a great deal I 
 can't understand, though." 
 
 "There is nothing finer in the Bible than parts 
 of that book," said Alice. 
 
 " Mr. John," said Ellen, — " what is meant by 
 the ' white stone ? ' " 
 
 " ' And in the stone a new name written ? ' " 
 
 "Yes— that I mean." 
 
 " Mr. Baxter says it is the sense of God'-s love 
 in the heart; and indeed that is it, 'which no man 
 knoweth saving him that receiveth it.' This, I 
 take it, Ellen, was Christian's certificate, which he 
 used to comfort himself with reading in, you 
 remember ? " 
 
 " Can a child have it," said Ellen, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Certainly — many children have had it — you 
 may have it. Only seek it faithfully. ' Thou 
 meetest Him that rejoiceth and worketh righteous' 
 ness, those that remember Thee in Thy ways.'—* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO RID, 213 
 
 And Christ said, 'He that loveth Me shall be 
 loved of my Father, and I will love him, and I will 
 manifest myself to him ! ' There is no failure in 
 these promises, Ellie ; He that made their "s the 
 same yesterday, to-day, and forever." 
 
 For a little while each was busy with his own 
 meditations. The moon, meanwhile, rising higher 
 and higher, poured a flood of light through the 
 gap in the woods before them, and stealing among 
 the trees here and there lit up a spot of ground 
 under their deep shadow. The distant picture lay 
 in mazy brightness. All was still, but the cease- 
 less chirrup of insects, and gentle flapping of 
 leaves ; the summer air just touched their cheeks 
 with the lightest breath of a kiss, sweet from 
 distant hay-fields, and nearer pines and hemlocks, 
 and other of nature's numberless perfume-boxes. 
 The hay-harvest had been remarkably late this 
 year. 
 
 "This is higher enjoyment," said John, — " than 
 half those who make their homes in rich houses 
 and mighty palaces have any notion of." 
 
 " But cannot rich people look at the moon ? " 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, but the taste for pure pleasures is com- 
 monly gone when people make a trade of pleasure." 
 
 " Mr. John,"— Ellen began. 
 
 " I will forewarn you," said he, — " that Mr. 
 John has made up his mind he will do nothing 
 more for you. So if you have anything to ask, it 
 must lie still, — unless you will begin again." 
 
 Ellen drew back. He looked grave, but she 
 saw Alice smiling. 
 
 " But what shall I do ? " said she, a little per 
 
214 Tfrj* WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 plexed and half laughing. " What do you mean, 
 Mr. John ? What does he mean, Alice ? " 
 
 " You could speak without a ' Mr.' to me this 
 morning when you were in trouble." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Ellen, laughing, — " I forgot myself 
 then." 
 
 " Have the goodness to forget yourself per- 
 manently for the future." 
 
 " Was that man hurt this morning, John ? " said 
 his sister. 
 
 " What man ? " 
 
 " That man you delivered Ellen from." 
 
 " Hurt ? no — nothing material ; I did not wish 
 to hurt him. He richly deserved punishment; but 
 it was not for me to give it." 
 
 " He was in no hurry to get up," said Ellen. 
 
 " I do not think he ventured upon that till we 
 were well out of the way. He lifted his head and 
 looked after us as we rode off." 
 
 " But I wanted to ask something," said Ellen, — 
 " Oh ! what is the reason the moon looks so much 
 larger when she first gets up than she does after- 
 wards ? " 
 
 " Whom are you asking ? " 
 
 " You." 
 
 " And who is you ? Here are two people in the 
 moonlight." 
 
 " Mr. John Humphreys, — Alice's brother, and 
 that Thomas calls ' the young master,' " said 
 Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " You are more shy of taking a leap than your 
 little horse is," said John, smiling, — " but I shall 
 bring you up to it yet. What is the cause of the 
 sudden enlargement of my thumb ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 215 
 
 He had drawn a small magnifying glass from 
 Ais pocket and held it between his hand and 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Why, it is not enlarged," said Ellen, — " it is only 
 magnified." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " Why, the glass makes it look larger." 
 
 " Do you know how, or why ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 He put up the glass again. 
 
 " But what do you mean by that ? " said Ellen ; — ■ 
 " there is no magnifying glass between us and the 
 moon to make her look larger." 
 
 " You are sure of that? " 
 
 " Why, yes ! " said Ellen ; — " I am perfectly 
 sure; there is nothing in the world. There she is, 
 right up there, looking straight down upon us, and 
 there is nothing between." 
 
 " What is it that keeps up that pleasant flutter- 
 ing of leaves in the wood ? " 
 
 " Why, the wind." 
 
 " And what is the wind ? " 
 
 " It is air — air moving, I suppose." 
 
 " Exactly. Then there is something between us 
 and the moon." 
 
 "The air! But, Mr. John, one can see quite 
 clearly through the air; it doesn't make things look 
 larger or smaller." 
 
 " How far do you suppose the air reaches from 
 us towards the moon ? " 
 
 "Why, all the way, don't it?" 
 
 " No — only about forty miles. If it reached all 
 the way there would indeed be no magnifying glass 
 in the case." 
 
2i6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " But how is it ? " said Ellen. " I don't under 
 stand." 
 
 " I cannot tell you to-night, Ellen. There is a 
 long ladder of knowledge to go up before we can 
 get to the moon, but we will begin to mount to- 
 morrow, if nothing happens. Alice, you have that 
 little book of Conversations on Natural Philos- 
 ophy, which you and I used to delight ourselves 
 with in old time ? " 
 
 " Safe and sound in the book-case," said Alice. 
 " I have thought of giving it to Ellen before, but 
 she has been busy enough with what she had 
 already." 
 
 "I have done Rollin, now, though," said Ellen; 
 — " that is lucky. I am ready for the moon." 
 
 This new study was begun the next day, and 
 Ellen took great delight in it. She would have 
 run on too fast in her eagerness but for the steady 
 hand of her teacher ; he obliged her to be very 
 thorough. This was only one of her items of 
 business. The weeks of John's stay were as usual 
 not merely weeks of constant and varied delight, 
 but of constant and swift improvement too. 
 
 A good deal of time was given to the riding- 
 lessons. John busied himself one morning in pre- 
 paring a bar for her on the lawn ; so placed that 
 it might fall if the horse's heels touched it. Here 
 Ellen learned to take first standing and then run- 
 ning leaps. She was afraid at first, but habit wore 
 that off ; and the bar was raised higher and higher, 
 till Margery declared she " couldn't stand and look 
 at her going over it." Then John made her ride 
 without the stirrup, and with her hands behind her, 
 while he, holding the horse by a long halter, made 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 217 
 
 him go round in a circle, slowly at first, and after- 
 wards trotting and cantering, till Ellen felt almost 
 as secure on his back as in a chair. It took a good 
 many lessons, however, to bring her to this, and 
 she trembled very much at the beginning. Her 
 teacher was careful and gentle, but determined ; 
 and whatever he said she did, tremble or no trem- 
 ble, and in general loved her riding lessons dearly. 
 
 Drawing too went on finely. He began to let 
 her draw things from nature ; and many a pleasant 
 morning the three went out together with pencils 
 and books and work, and spent hours in the 
 open air. They would find a pretty point of view,, 
 or a nice shady place where the breeze came, and 
 where there was some good old rock with a tree 
 beside it, or a piece of fence, or a house or barn in 
 the distance, for Ellen to sketch ; and while she 
 drew and Alice worked, John read aloud to them. 
 Sometimes he took a pencil too, and Alice read ; 
 and often, often, pencils, books, and work were all 
 laid down, and talk — lively, serious, earnest, and 
 always delightful — took the place of them. When 
 Ellen could not understand the words, at least she 
 could read the faces ; and that was a study she 
 was never weary of. At home there were other 
 studies and much reading ; many tea drinkings on 
 the lawn, and even breakfastings, which she thought 
 pleasanter still. 
 
 As soon as it was decided that Mr. Van Brunt's 
 leg was doing well, and in a fair way to be sound 
 again, Ellen went to see him ; and after that rarely 
 let two days pass without going again. John and 
 Alice used to ride with her so far, and taking a 
 turn beyond while she made her visit, call for he* 
 
218 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 on their way back. She had a strong motive foi 
 going in the pleasure her presence always gave, 
 both to Mr. Van Brunt and his mother. Sam Lar- 
 kens had been to Thirlwall and seen Mrs. Forbes, 
 and from him they had heard the story of her 
 riding up and down the town in search of the 
 doctor ; neither of them could forget it. Mrs. Van 
 Brunt poured out her affection in all sorts of ex- 
 pressions whenever she had Ellen's ear; her son 
 was not a man of many words ; but Ellen knew 
 his face and manner well enough without them, 
 and read there whenever she went into his room 
 what gave her great pleasure. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Van Brunt ? " she said on 
 one of these occasions. 
 
 " Oh, I'm getting along, I s'pose," said he ; — " get- 
 ting along as well as a man can that's lying on his 
 back from morning to night ; — prostrated, as 'Squire 
 Dennison said his corn was t'other day." 
 
 " It is very tiresome, isn't it ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " It's the tiresomest work .nat ever was, for a 
 man that has two arms to be a-doing nothing, day 
 after day. And what bothers me is the wheat in 
 that ten-acre lot, that ought to be prostrated too, 
 and ain't, nor ain't like to be, as I know, unless 
 the rain comes and does it. Sam and Johnny'll 
 make no headway at all with it — I can tell as well 
 as if I see 'em." 
 
 " But Sam is good, isn't he ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Sam's as good a boy as ever was ; but then 
 Johnny Low is mischievous, you see, and he gets 
 Sam out of his tracks once in a while; I never see 
 a finer growth of wheat. I had a sight rather cut 
 and harvest the hull of it than to lie here and think 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 of it getting spoiled. I'm 
 trap-doors, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen could not help smiling. 
 
 " What can I do for you, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 "There ain't nothing," said he ; — " I wish there 
 was. How are you coming along at home ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen ; — " I am not there 
 just now, you know ; I am staying up with Miss 
 Alice again." 
 
 " Oh, ay ! while her brother's at home. He's a 
 splendid man, that youncr Mr. Humphreys, ain't 
 he ? " 
 
 "Oh, /knew that a great while ago," said Ellen, 
 the bright color of pleasure overspreading her face. 
 
 "Well, /didn't, you see, till the other day, when 
 he came here, very kindly, to see how I was get- 
 ting on. I wish something would bring him again, 
 I never heerd a man talk I liked to hear so much." 
 
 Ellen secretly resolved something should bring 
 him ; and went on with a purpose she had had for 
 some time in her mind. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be pleasant, while you are lying 
 there and can do nothing, — wouldn't you like to 
 have me read something to you, Mr. Van Brunt ? 
 /should like to, very much." 
 
 " It's just like you," said he, gratefully, — " to 
 think of that ; but I wouldn't have you be bothered 
 with it." 
 
 " It wouldn't indeed. I should like it very 
 much." 
 
 " Well, if you've a mind," said he ; — " I can't 
 say but it would be a kind o' comfort to keep that 
 grain out o' my head a while. Seems to me I have 
 cut and housed it all three times over, already^ 
 
22 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Read just whatever you have a mind to. If you 
 was to go over a last year's almanac, it would be as 
 good as a fiddle to me." 
 
 " I'll do better for you than that, Mr. Van Brunt," 
 said Ellen, laughing in high glee at having gained 
 her point. — She had secretly brought her Pilgrim's 
 Progress with her, and now with marvelous satis- 
 faction drew it forth. 
 
 " I ha'n't been as much of a reader as I had 
 ought to," said Mr. Van Brunt, as she opened the 
 book and turned to the first page ; — " but, however, 
 I understand my business pretty well ; and a man 
 •can't be everything at once. Now let's hear what 
 you've got there." 
 
 With a throbbing heart, Ellen began ; and read, 
 notes and all, till the sound of tramping hoofs and 
 Alice's voice made her break off. It encouraged 
 and delighted her to see that Mr. Van Brunt's 
 attention was perfectly fixed. He lay still, without 
 moving his eyes from her face, till she stopped ; 
 then thanking her, he declared that was a " first- 
 rate book," and he " should like mainly to hear the 
 hull on it." 
 
 From that time Ellen was diligent in her attend- 
 ance on him. That she might have more time 
 for reading than the old plan gave her, she set off 
 by herself alone some time before the others, of 
 course riding home with them. It cost her a little 
 sometimes, to forego so much of their company ; 
 but she never saw the look of grateful pleasure 
 with which she was welcomed without ceasing to 
 regret her self-denial. How Ellen blessed those 
 notes as she went on with her reading ! They said 
 exactly what she wanted Mr. Van Brunt to hear. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 221 
 
 and in the best way, and were too short and sim- 
 ple to interrupt the interest of the story. After a 
 while she ventured to ask if she might read him a 
 chapter in the Bible. He agreed very readily ; 
 owning, " he hadn't ought to be so long without 
 reading one as he had been." Ellen then made it 
 a rule to herself, without asking any more ques- 
 tions, to end every reading with a chapter in the 
 Bible ; and she carefully sought out those that 
 might be most likely to take hold of his judgment 
 or feelings. They took hold of her own very 
 deeply, by this means ; what was strong, or ten- 
 der, before, now seemed to her too mighty to be 
 withstood ; and Ellen read not only with her lips 
 but with her whole heart the precious words, long- 
 ing that they might come with their just effect 
 upon Mr. Van Brunt's mind. 
 
 Once as she finished reading the tenth chapter 
 of John, a favorite chapter, which between her own 
 feeling of it and her strong wish for him had moved 
 her even to tears, she cast a glance at his face to 
 see how he took it. His head was a little turned 
 to one side, and his eyes closed ; she thought he 
 was asleep. Ellen was very much disappointed. 
 She sank her head upon her book and prayed that 
 a time might come when he would know the worth 
 of those words. The touch of his hand startled her. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said he. " Are you 
 tired ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, looking hastily up : — " Oh, no ! 
 I'm not tired." 
 
 " But what ails you ? " said the astonished Mr. 
 Van Brunt; "what have you been a-crying for? 
 What's the matter J>" 
 
222 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said Ellen, brushing hei 
 hand over her eyes, — " it's no matter." 
 
 "Yes, but I want to know," said Mr. Van Brunt ; 
 — " you sha'n't have anything to vex you that 1 
 can help ; what is it ? " 
 
 "It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, 
 bursting into tears again, — " only I thought you 
 were asleep — I — I thought you didn't care enough 
 about the Bible to keep awake — I want so much 
 that you should be a Christian ! " 
 
 He half groaned and turned his head away. 
 
 " What makes you wish that so much ? " said he, 
 after a minute or two. 
 
 " Because I want you to be happy," said Ellen, 
 — " and I know you can't without." 
 
 "Well, I am pretty tolerable happy," said he ; — 
 "as happy as most folks, I guess." 
 
 " But I want you to be happy when you die, too," 
 said Ellen ; — " I want to meet you in heaven." 
 
 " I hope I will go there, surely," said he, gravely, 
 — " when the time comes." 
 
 Ellen was uneasily silent, not knowing what to 
 say. 
 
 " I ain't as good as I ought to be," said he, 
 presently, with a half sigh ; — " I ain't good enough 
 to go to heaven — I wish I was. You are, I do be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " I ! Oh, no, Mr. Van Brunt, do not say that ; 
 — I am not good at all — I am full of wrong 
 things." 
 
 " Well, I wish I was full of wrong things, too, in 
 the same way," said he. 
 
 " But I am," said Ellen, — " whether you will be- 
 lieve it or not. Nobody i? ^ood, Mr. Van Brunt 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 223 
 
 But Jesus Christ has died for us, — and if we ask 
 Him He will forgive us, and wash away our sins, 
 and teach us to love Him, and make us good, and 
 take us to be with Him in heaven. Oh, I wish 
 you would ask Him ! " she repeated, with an ear 
 nestness that went to his heart. " I don't believe 
 any one can be very happy that don't love Him." 
 
 " Is that what makes you happy ? " said he. 
 
 " I have a great many things to make me happy," 
 said Ellen, soberly, — "but that is the greatest of 
 all. It always makes me happy to think of Him, 
 and it makes everything else a thousand times 
 pleasanter. I wish you knew how it is, Mr. Van 
 Brunt." 
 
 He was silent for a little, and disturbed, Ellen 
 thought. 
 
 " Well ! " said he, at length,—" t'ain't the folks 
 that thinks themselves the best that is the best 
 always ; — if you ain't good I should like to know 
 what goodness is. There's somebody that thinks 
 you be," said he a minute or two afterwards, as 
 the horses were heard coming to the gate. 
 
 " No, she knows me better than that," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " It isn't any she that I mean," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. — " There's somebody else out there, ain't 
 there ? " 
 
 " Who ? " said Ellen,—" Mr. John ?— Oh, no, 
 indeed he don't. It was only this morning he was 
 telling me of something I did that was wrong." — 
 Her eyes watered as she spoke. 
 
 " He must have mighty sharp eyes, then," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, — " for it beats all my powers of see* 
 ing things." 
 
224 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " And so he has," said Ellen, putting on hei 
 bonnet, — " he always knows what I am thinking of 
 just as well as if I told him. Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye," said he ; "I ha'n't forgotten what 
 you've been saying, and I don't mean to." 
 
 How full of sweet pleasure was the ride home ! 
 
 The " something wrong," of which Ellen had 
 spoken, was this. The day before, it happened 
 that Mr. John had broken her off from a very 
 engaging book to take her drawing-lesson : and as 
 he stooped down to give a touch or two to the 
 piece she was to copy, he said, " I don't want you 
 to read any more of that, Ellen ; it is not a good 
 book for you." Ellen did not for a moment ques- 
 tion that he was right, nor wish to disobey ; but 
 she had become very much interested, and was a 
 good deal annoyed at having such a sudden stop 
 put to her pleasure. She said nothing, and went 
 on with her work. In a little while Alice asked 
 her to hold a skein of cotton for her while she 
 wound it. Ellen was annoyed again at the inter- 
 ruption ; the harpstrings were jarring yet, and 
 gave fresh discord at every touch. She had, how- 
 ever, no mind to let her vexation be seen ; she 
 went immediately and held the cotton, and as 
 soon as it was done sat down again to her draw- 
 ing. Before ten minutes had passed Margery 
 came to set the table for dinner ; Ellen's papers 
 and desk must move. 
 
 " Why, it is not dinner-time yet this great while, 
 Margery," said she ; — " it isn't much after twelve." 
 
 " No, Miss Ellen," said Margery under her 
 breath, for John was in one corner of the room 
 reading, — ''but by and by I'll be busy with the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. ^25 
 
 chops and frying the salsify, and I couldn't leave 
 the kitchen ; — if you'll let me have the table now." 
 
 Ellen said no more, and moved her things to a 
 stand before the window ; where she went on with 
 her copying till dinner was ready. Whatever the 
 reason was, however, her pencil did not work 
 smoothly ; her eyes did not see true ; and she 
 lacked her usual steady patience. The next morn- 
 ing, after an hour and more's work and much pains- 
 taking, the drawing was finished. Ellen had quite 
 forgotten her yesterday's trouble. But when John 
 came to review her drawing, he found several 
 faults with it ; pointed out two or three places in 
 which it had suffered from haste and want of care ; 
 and asked her how it had happened. Ellen knew 
 it happened yesterday. She was vexed again, 
 though she did her best not to show it ; she stood 
 quietly and heard what he had to say. He then 
 told her to get ready for her riding lesson. 
 
 " Mayn't I just make this right first ? " said Ellen ; 
 — " it won't take me long." 
 
 " No," said he, — " you have been sitting long 
 enough ; I must break you off. The Brownie will 
 be here in ten minutes." 
 
 Ellen was impatiently eager to mend the bad 
 places in her drawing, and impatiently displeased 
 at being obliged to ride first. Slowly and reluc- 
 tantly she went to get ready ; John was already 
 gone ; she would not have moved so leisurely if he 
 had been anywhere within seeing distance. As it 
 was, she found it convenient to quicken her move- 
 ments ; and was at the door ready as soon as he 
 and the Brownie. She was soon thoroughly en- 
 gaged in the management of herself and her horse : 
 
226 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a little smart riding shook all the ill-humor out of 
 her, and she was entirely herself again. At the 
 end of fifteen or twenty minutes they drew up under 
 the shade of a tree to let the Brownie rest a little. 
 It was a warm day and John had taken off his hat 
 and stood resting too, with his arm leaning on the 
 neek of the horse. Presently he looked round to 
 Ellen, and asked her, with a smile, if she felt right 
 again ? 
 
 " Why ? " said Ellen, the crimson of her cheeks 
 mounting to her forehead. But her eye sunk im- 
 mediately at the answering glance of his. He then 
 in very few words set the matter before her, with 
 such a happy mixture of pointedness and kindness 
 that while the reproof, coming from him, went to 
 the quick, Ellen yet joined with it no thought of 
 harshness or severity. She was completely sub- 
 dued, however ; the rest of the riding-lesson had to 
 be given up ; and for an hour Ellen's tears could 
 not be stayed. But it was, and John had meant it 
 should be, a strong check given to her besetting 
 sin. It had a long and lasting effect. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Speed, But tell me true, will 't be a match ? 
 
 Lawn. Ask my dog ; if he say, ay, it will ; if he say, no, it will ; if he 
 shake his tail and say nothing, it will. — Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 In due time Mr. Van Brunt was on his legs 
 again, much to everybody's joy, and much to the 
 advantage of fields, fences, and grain. Sam and 
 Johnny found they must " spring to," as their leader 
 said ; and Miss Fortune declared she was thankful 
 she could draw a long breath again, for do what 
 she would she couldn't be everywhere. Before this 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 227 
 
 John and the Black Prince had departed, and Alice 
 and Ellen were left alone again. 
 
 " How long will it be, dear Alice," said Ellen, as 
 they stood sorrowfully looking down the road by 
 which he had gone, " before he will be through that 
 — before he will be able to leave Doncaster ? " 
 
 " Next summer." 
 
 " And what will he do then ? " 
 
 " Then he will be ordained." 
 
 " Ordained ?— what is that ? " 
 
 " He will be solemnly set apart for the work of 
 the ministry, and appointed to it by a number of 
 clergymen." 
 
 " And then will he come and stay at home, 
 Alice ? " 
 
 " I don't know what then, dear Ellen," said Alice, 
 sighing ; — " he may for a little ; but papa wishes 
 very much that before he is settled anywhere he 
 should visit England and Scotland and see our 
 friends there. Though I hardly think John will do 
 it unless he sees some further reason forgoing. If 
 he do not, he will probably soon be called some- 
 where — Mr. Marshman wants him to come to Ran- 
 dolph. I don't know how it will be." 
 
 " Well ! " said Ellen, with a kind of acquiescing 
 sigh, — " at any rate now we must wait until next 
 Christmas." 
 
 The winter passed with little to mark it except 
 the usual visits to Ventnor ; which, however, by 
 common consent, Alice and Ellen had agreed should 
 not be when John was at home. At all other times 
 they were much prized and enjoyed. Every two or 
 three months, Mr. Marshman was sure to come for 
 them, or Mr. Howard, or perhaps the carriage only 
 
228 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 with a letter j and it was bargained for, that Mr. 
 Humphreys should follow to see them home. It 
 was not always that Ellen could go, but the disap- 
 pointments were seldom ; she, too, had become 
 quite domesticated at Ventnor, and was sincerely 
 loved by the whole family. Many as were the times 
 she had been there, it had oddly happened that she 
 had never met her old friend of the boat again ; 
 but she was very much attached to old Mr. and Mrs. 
 Marshman, and Mrs. Chauncey and her daughter ; 
 the latter of whom reckoned all the rest of her 
 young friends as nothing compared with Ellen 
 Montgomery. Ellen, in her opinion, did every- 
 thing better than any one else of her age. 
 
 " She has good teachers," said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! I should think she had. Alice, 
 — I should think anybody would learn well with her ; 
 — and Mr. John — I suppose he's as good, though I 
 don't know so much about him ; but he must be a 
 great deal better teacher than Mr. Sandford, mam- 
 ma, for Ellen draws ten times as well as I do ! " 
 
 " Perhaps that is your fault and not Mr. Sand- 
 ford's," said her mother, — " though I rather think 
 you overrate the difference." 
 
 " I am sure I take pains enough, if that's all," 
 said the little girl ; — " what more can I do, mamma ? 
 But Ellen is so pleasant about it always ; she never 
 seems to think she does better than I ; and she is 
 always ready to help me and take ever so much 
 time to show me how to do things ; — she is so 
 pleasant ; isn't she, mamma ? I know I have heard 
 you say she is very polite." 
 
 " She is certainly that," said Mrs. Gillespie, — 
 " and there is a grace in her politeness that can 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 229 
 
 only proceed from great natural delicacy and re- 
 finement of character ; how she can have such 
 manners, living and working in the way you say 
 she does, I confess is beyond my comprehension." 
 
 " One would not readily forget the notion of 
 good-breeding in the society of Alice and John 
 Humphreys," said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " And Mr. Humphreys," said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 "There is no society about him," said Miss 
 Sophia ; — " he don't say two dozen words a day." 
 
 " But she is not with them," said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 
 " She is with them a great deal, Aunt Matilda," 
 said Ellen Chauncey, — " and they teach her every- 
 thing, and she does learn ! She must be very clever ; 
 don't you think she is, mamma ? Mamma, she 
 beats me entirely in speaking French, and she 
 knows all about English history ; and arithmetic ! 
 — and did you ever hear her sing, mamma ? " 
 
 " I do not believe she beats you, as you call it, 
 in generous estimation of others," said Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey, smiling, and bending forward to kiss her 
 daughter — " but what is the reason Ellen is so much 
 better read in history than you ? " 
 
 " I don't know, mamma, unless — I wish I wasn't 
 so fond of reading stories." 
 
 "Ellen Montgomery is just as fond -~ r them, 
 I'll warrant," said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " Yes, — oh, I know she is fond of the.n ; but 
 then, Alice and Mr. John don't let her read them, 
 except now and then one." 
 
 " I fancy she does it though, when their backs 
 are turned," said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 
 " She ! Oh, Aunt Matilda ! she wouldn't do the 
 least thing they don't like for the whole world. I 
 
230 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 know she never reads a story when she is here, 
 unless it is my Sunday books, without asking Alice 
 first." 
 
 " She is a most extraordinary child ! " said Mrs. 
 Gillespie. 
 
 " She is a good child ! " said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Yes, mamma, and that is what I wanted to say ; 
 — I do not think Ellen is so polite because she is 
 so much with Alice and Mr. John, but because she 
 is so sweet and good. I don't think she could 
 help being polite." 
 
 " It is not that," said Mrs. Gillespie ; — " mere 
 sweetness and goodness would never give so much 
 elegance of manner. As far as I have seen, Ellen 
 Montgomery is a perfectly well-behaved child." 
 
 "That she is," said Mrs. Chauncey; — "but 
 neither would any cultivation or example be suffi- 
 cient for it, without Ellen's thorough good principle 
 and great sweetness of temper." 
 
 " That's exactly what / think, mamma," said 
 Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 Ellen's sweetness of temper was not entirely 
 born with her ; it was one of the blessed fruits of 
 religion and discipline. Discipline had not done 
 with it yet. When the winter came on, and the 
 house-work grew less, and with renewed vigor she 
 was bending herself to improvement in all sorts of 
 ways, it unluckily came into Miss Fortune's head 
 that some of Ellen's spare time might be turned to 
 account in a new line. With this lady, to propose 
 and to do were two things always very near together. 
 The very next day Ellen was summoned to help 
 her downstairs with the big spinning-wheel. Most 
 unsuspiciously, and with her accustomed pleasant- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 231 
 
 ness, Ellen did it. But when she was sent up 
 again for the rolls of wool, and Miss Fortune, after 
 setting up the wheel, put one of them into her hand 
 and instructed her how to draw out and twist the 
 thread of yarn, she saw all that was coming. 
 She saw it with dismay. So much yarn as Mis;* 
 Fortune might think it well she should spin, so. 
 much time must be taken daily from her beloved 
 reading and writing, drawing and studying ; her 
 very heart sunk within her. She made no remon- 
 strance, unless her disconsolate face might be 
 thought one. She stood half a day at the big 
 spinning-wheel, fretting secretly, while Miss Fortune 
 went round with an inward chuckle visible in her 
 countenance, that in spite of herself increased 
 Ellen's vexation. And this was not the annoyance 
 of a day ; she must expect it day after day through 
 the whole winter. It was a grievous trial. Ellen 
 cried for a great while when she got to her own 
 room, and a long hard struggle was necessary be- 
 fore she could resolve to do her duty. " To be 
 patient and quiet ! — and spin nobody knows how 
 much yarn — and my poor history and philosophy 
 and drawing and French and reading ! " — Ellen 
 cried very heartily. But she knew what she ought 
 to do; she prayed long, humbly, earnestly, that 
 "her little rushlight might shine bright ;" — and her 
 aunt had no cause to complain of her. Sometimes, 
 if overpressed, Ellen would ask Miss Fortune to let 
 her stop ; saying, as Alice had advised her that 
 she wished to have her do such and such things ; 
 Miss Fortune never made any objection ; and the 
 hours of spinning that wrought so many knots of 
 yarn for her aunt, wrought better things yet for the 
 
232 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 little spinner ; patience and gentleness grew with 
 the practice of them ; this wearisome work was one 
 of the many seemingly untoward things which in 
 reality bring out good. The time Ellen did secure 
 to herself was held the more precious and used the 
 more carefully. After all it was a very profitable 
 and pleasant winter to her. 
 
 John's visit came as usual at the holidays and 
 was enjoyed as usual ; only that every one seemed 
 to Ellen more pleasant than the last. The sole 
 other event that broke the quiet course of things 
 (beside the journeys to Ventnor) was the death of 
 Mrs. Van Brunt. This happened very unexpectedly 
 and after a short illness, not far from the end of 
 January. Ellen was very sorry, both for her own 
 sake and Mr. Van Brunt's, who, she was sure, felt 
 much, though, according to his general custom, he 
 said nothing. Ellen felt for him none the less. 
 She little thought what an important bearing this 
 event would have upon her own future well-being. 
 
 The winter passed and the spring came. One 
 fine mild pleasant afternoon, early in May, Mr. 
 Van Brunt came into the kitchen and asked Ellen 
 if she wanted to go with him and see the sheep 
 salted. Ellen was seated at the table with a large 
 tin pan in her lap, and before her a huge heap of 
 white beans which she was picking over for the 
 Saturday's favorite dish of pork and beans. She 
 looked up at him with a hopeless face. 
 
 " I should like to go very much indeed, Mr. Van 
 Brunt/but you see I can't. All these to do ! " 
 
 " Beans, eh ? "• said he, putting one or two in his 
 mouth. " Where's your aunt ? " 
 
 Ellen pointed to the buttery. He immediately 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 233 
 
 went to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles. 
 " Here, ma'am," said he, — " can't you let this child 
 go with me ? I want her along to help feed the 
 sheep." 
 
 To Ellen's astonishment her aunt called to her 
 through the closed door to " go along and leave the 
 beans till she came back." Joyfully Ellen obeyed. 
 She turned her back upon the beans, careless of 
 the big heap which would still be there to pick 
 over when she returned ; and ran to get her bonnet. 
 In all the time she had been in Thirlwall some- 
 thing had always prevented her seeing the sheep fed 
 with salt, and she went eagerly out of the door with 
 Mr. Van Brunt to a new pleasure. 
 
 They crossed two or three meadows back of the 
 barn to a low rocky hill covered with trees. On 
 the other side of this they came to a fine field of 
 spring wheat. Footsteps must not go over the 
 young grain ; Ellen and Mr. Van Brunt coasted 
 carefully round by the fence to another piece of 
 rocky woodland that lay on the far side of the 
 wheat-field. It was a very fine afternoon. The 
 grass was green in the meadow ; the trees were be- 
 ginning to show their leaves ; the air was soft and 
 spring-like. In great glee Ellen danced along, 
 luckily needing no entertainment from Mr. Van 
 Brunt, who was devoted to his salt-pan. His natural 
 taciturnity seemed greater than ever ; he amused 
 himself all the way*over the meadow with turning 
 over his salt and tasting it, till Ellen laughingly 
 told him she believed he was as fond of it as the 
 sheep were ; and then he took to chucking little 
 bits of it right and left, at anything he saw that was 
 big enough to serve for a mark. Ellen stopped him 
 
234 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 again by laughing at his wastefulness ; and so the} 
 came to the wood. She left him then to do as he 
 liked, while she ran hither and thither to search for 
 flowers. It was slow getting through the wood. 
 He was fain to stop and wait for her. 
 
 " Aren't these lovely ? " said Ellen, as she came 
 up with her hands full of anemones, — " and look — 
 there's the liverwort. I thought it must be out be- 
 fore now — the dear little thing ! — but I can't find 
 any blood-root, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 " I guess they're gone," said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " 1 suppose they must," said Ellen. " I am 
 sorry ; I like them so much. Oh, I believe I did 
 get them earlier than this two years ago, when I 
 used to take so many walks with you. Only think 
 of my not having been to look for flowers before, 
 this spring." 
 
 " It hadn't ought to ha' happened so, that's a 
 fact," said Mr. Van Brunt. " I don't know how it 
 has." 
 
 " Oh, there are my yellow bells ! " exclaimed 
 Ellen ; — " oh, you beauties ! Aren't they, Mr. Van 
 Brunt ? " 
 
 " I won't say but what I think an ear of wheat's 
 handsomer," said he, with his half smile. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Van Brunt ! how can you ? — but an 
 ear of wheat's pretty too. — Oh, Mr. Van Brunt, 
 what is that ? Do get me some of it, will you, 
 please ? Oh, how beautiful ! — what is it ? " 
 
 "That's black birch," said he;— "'tis kind o' 
 handsome ; — stop, I'll find you some oak blossoms 
 directly. — There's some Solomon's seal — do you 
 want some of that ? " 
 
 Ellen sprang to it with exclamations of joy, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 235 
 
 before she could rise from her stooping posture dis 
 covered some cowslips to be scrambled for. Wild 
 columbine, the delicate corydalis, and more uvu- 
 larias, which she called yellow bells, were added 
 to her handful, till it grew a very elegant bunch, 
 indeed. Mr. Van Brunt looked complacently on, 
 much as Ellen would at a kitten running round 
 after its tail. 
 
 " Now, I won't keep you any longer, Mr. Van 
 Brunt," said she, when her hands were as full as 
 they could hold ; — " I have kept you a great while ; 
 you are very good to wait for me." 
 
 They took up their line of march again, and after 
 crossing the last piece of rocky woodland, came to 
 an open hill-side, sloping gently up, at the foot of 
 which were several large flat stones. 
 
 " But where are the sheep, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " I guess they ain't fur," said he. " You keep 
 quiet, 'cause they don't know you ; and they are 
 mighty scary. Just stand still there by the fence. — 
 Ca-nan ! ca-nan ! Ca-nan, nan, nan, nan, nan, 
 nan, nan ! " 
 
 This was the sheep-call, and raising his voice 
 Mr. Van Brunt made it sound abroad far over the 
 hills. Again and again it sounded ; and then 
 Ellen saw the white nose of a sheep at the edge of 
 the woods on the top of the hill. On the call's 
 sounding again the sheep set forward, and in a 
 long train they came running along a narrow foot- 
 path down towards where Mr. Van Brunt was 
 standing with his pan. The soft tramp of a multi- 
 tude of light hoofs in another direction turned 
 Ellen's eyes that way, and there were two more 
 
236 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 single files of sheep running down the hill from 
 different points in the woodland. The pretty 
 things came scampering along, seeming in a great 
 hurry, till they got very near ; then the whole mul- 
 titude came to a sudden halt, and looked very 
 wistfully and doubtfully indeed at Mr. Van Brunt 
 and the strange little figure standing so still by 
 the fence. They seemed in great doubt, every 
 sheep of them, whether Mr. Van Brunt were not a 
 traitor, who had put on a friend's voice and lured 
 them down there with some dark evil intent, which, 
 he was going to carry out by means of that same 
 dangerous-looking stranger by the fence. Ellen 
 almost expected to see them turn about and go as- 
 fast as they had come. But Mr. Van Brunt, gently 
 repeating his call, went quietly up to the nearest 
 stone and began to scatter the salt upon it, full in 
 their view. Doubt was at an end ; he had hung 
 out the white flag; they flocked down to the 
 stones, no longer at all in fear of double-dealing, 
 and crowded to get at the salt ; the rocks where it 
 was strewn were covered with more sheep than 
 Ellen would have thought it possible could stand 
 upon them. They were like pieces of floating ice 
 heaped up with snow, or queen-cakes with an im- 
 moderately thick frosting. It was one scene oi 
 pushing and crowding ; those which had not had 
 their share of the feast forcing themselves up to 
 get at it, and shoving others off in consequence. 
 Ellen was wonderfully pleased. It was a new and 
 pretty sight, the busy, hustling crowd of gentle 
 creatures ; with the soft noise of their tread upon 
 grass and stones, and the eager devouring of the 
 salt. She was fixed with pleasure, looking and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 237 
 
 listening, and did not move till the entertainment 
 was over, and the body of the flock were carelessly- 
 scattering here and there, while a few that had 
 perhaps been disappointed of their part still 
 lingered upon the stones in the vain hope of yet 
 licking a little saltness from them. 
 
 " Well," said Ellen, " I never k^ew what salt 
 was worth before. How they do love it ! Is it 
 good for them, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " Good for them ? " said he, — " to be sure, it is 
 good for them. There ain't a critter that walks, 
 as I know, that it ain't good for, — 'cept chickens, 
 and it's very queer it kills them." 
 
 They turned to go homeward. Ellen had taken 
 the empty pan to lay her flowers in, thinking it 
 would be better for them than the heat of her 
 hand ; and greatly pleased with what she had come 
 to see, and enjoying her walk as much as it was 
 possible, she was going home very happy ; yet 
 she could not help missing Mr. Van Brunt's old 
 sociableness. He was uncommonly silent, even 
 for him, considering that he and Ellen were alone 
 together ; and she wondered what had possessed 
 him with a desire to cut down all the young 
 saplings he came to, that were large enough 
 for walking sticks. He did not want to make any 
 use of them, that was certain, for as fast as he cut 
 and trimmed out one he threw it away and cut 
 another. Ellen was glad when they got out into 
 the open fields where there were none to be found. 
 
 " It is just about this time a year ago," said she, 
 " that Aunt Fortune was getting well of her long fit 
 of sickness." 
 
 " Yes ! " said Mr. Van Brunt, with a very pro* 
 
238 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 found air ; — " something is always happening most 
 years." 
 
 Ellen did not know what to make of this very 
 philosophical remark. 
 
 " I am very glad nothing is happening this year," 
 said she ; — " I think it is a great deal pleasanter to 
 have things go on quietly." 
 
 " Oh, something might happen without hindering 
 things going on quietly, I s'pose, — mightn't it ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, wonderingly ; — "why, 
 Mr. Van Brunt, what is going to happen ? " 
 
 " I declare," said he, half laughing, — " you are 
 as cute as a razor ; I didn't say there was anything 
 going to happen, did I ? " 
 
 " Put is there ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Ha'n't your aunt said nothing to you about it ? " 
 
 "Why, no," said Ellen, — " she never tells me 
 anything ; what is it ? " 
 
 " Why, the story is," said Mr. Van Brunt,—" at 
 least, I know, for I've understood as much from 
 herself, that — I believe she's going to be married 
 before long." 
 
 " She ! " exclaimed Ellen. " Married ! — Aunt 
 Fortune ! " 
 
 " I believe so," said Mr. Van Brunt, making a 
 lunge at a tuft of tall grass and pulling off two or 
 three spears of it, which he carried to his mouth. 
 
 There was a long silence, during which Ellen 
 saw nothing in earth, air or sky, and knew no 
 longer whether she was passing through woodland 
 or meadow. To frame words into another sentence 
 was past her power. They came in sight of the 
 barn at length. She would not have much more 
 time. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 23* 
 
 " Will it be soon, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
 " Why, pretty soon, as soon as next week, * 
 guess ; so I thought it was time you ought to be 
 told. Do you know to who ? " 
 
 " I don't know" said Ellen, in a low voice ; — " I 
 couldn't help guessing." 
 
 " I reckon you've guessed about right," said he, 
 without looking at her. 
 
 There was another silence, during which it 
 seemed to Ellen that her thoughts were -4un\bling 
 head over heels, they were in such confusion. 
 
 " The short and long of it is," said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 as they rounded the corner of the barn, — " we have 
 made up our minds to draw in the same yoke ; and 
 we're both on us pretty go-ahead folks, so I guess 
 we'll contrive to pull the cart along. I had just as 
 lieve tell you, Ellen, that all this was as good as 
 settled a long spell back, — afore ever you came to 
 Thirlwall ; but I was never a-going to leave my old 
 mother without a home ; so I stuck to her, and 
 would, to the end of time, if I had never been 
 married. But now she is gone, and there is 
 nothing to keep me to the old place any longer. 
 So now you know the hull on it, and I wanted you 
 should." 
 
 With this particularly cool statement of his 
 matrimonial views, Mr. Van Brunt turned off into 
 the barn-yard, leaving Ellen to go home by herself. 
 She felt as if she were walking on air while she 
 crossed the chip-yard, and the very house had a 
 seeming of unreality. Mechanically she put her 
 flowers in water, and sat down to finish the beans ; 
 but the beans might have been flowers and the 
 flowers beans, for all the difference Ellen saw in 
 
240 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 them. Miss Fortune and she shunned each other's 
 faces most carefully for a long time ; Ellen felt it 
 impossible to meet her eyes ; and it is a matter of 
 great uncertainty which in fact did first look at the 
 other. Other than this there was no manner of 
 difference in anything without or within the house. 
 Mr. Van Brunt's being absolutely speechless was 
 not a very uncommon thing. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing, 
 
 Must we no longer live together ? 
 And dost thou prune thy trembling wing 
 
 To take thy flight thou knowest not whither? 
 
 Prior. 
 
 As soon as she could Ellen carried this wonderful 
 news to Alice, and eagerly poured out the whole 
 story, her walk and all. She was somewhat dis- 
 appointed at the calmness of her hearer. 
 
 " But you don't seem half as surprised as I 
 expected, Alice ; I thought you would be so much 
 surprised." 
 
 " I am not surprised at all, Ellie." 
 
 " Not ! — aren't you ? — why, did you know any- 
 thing of this before ? " 
 
 " I did not know, but I suspected. I thought it 
 was very likely. I am very glad it is so." 
 
 " Glad I are you glad ? I am so sorry ; — why 
 are you glad, Alice ? " 
 
 " Why are you sorry, Ellie ? " 
 
 " Oh, because ! — I don't know — it seems so 
 queer ! — I don't like it at all. I am very sorry 
 indeed." 
 
 " For your aunt's sake, or for Mr. Van Brunt's 
 sake?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 241 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, do you think he or she will be a loser 
 by the bargain ? " 
 
 " Why, he, to be sure ; I think he will ; I don't 
 think she will. I think he is a great deal too good. 
 And besides — I wonder if he wants to really ; — it 
 was settled so long ago — maybe he has changed 
 his mind since." 
 
 " Have you any reason to think so, Ellie ? " said 
 Alice, smiling. 
 
 " I don't know — I don't think he seemed par- 
 ticularly glad." 
 
 " It will be safest to conclude that Mr. Van 
 Brunt knows his own mind, my dear ; and it is 
 certainly pleasanter for us to Jiope so." 
 
 " But then, besides," said Ellen, with a face of 
 great perplexity and vexation, — " I don't know — it 
 don't seem right ! How can I ever — must I — do 
 you think I shall have to call him anything but Mr. 
 Van Brunt ? " 
 
 Alice could not help smiling again. 
 
 " What is your objection, Ellie ? " 
 
 "Why, because I can't — I couldn't do it, some- 
 how. It would seem so strange. Must I, Alice ? 
 Why in the world are you glad, dear Alice ? " 
 
 "It smooths my way for a plan I have had in my 
 head ; you will know by and by why I am glad, 
 Ellie." 
 
 " Well, I am glad if you are glad," said Ellen, 
 sighing ; — " I don't know why I was so sorry, but I 
 couldn't help it ; I suppose I sha'n't mind it after 
 a while." 
 
 She sat for a few minutes, musing over the pos- 
 sibility or impossibility of ever forming her lips to 
 t6 
 
242 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the words " Uncle Abraham," " Uncle Van Brunt," 
 or barely " Uncle," her soul rebelled against all 
 three. " Yet if he should think me unkind. — ■ 
 Then I must, — oh, rather fifty times over than 
 that ! " Looking up, she saw a change in Alice's 
 countenance, and tenderly asked, — 
 
 " What is the matter, dear Alice ? what are you 
 thinking about ? " 
 
 " I am thinking, Ellie, how I shall tell you some- 
 thing that will give you pain." 
 
 " Pain ! you needn't be afraid of giving me 
 pain," said Ellen, fondly, throwing her arms around 
 her ; — " tell me, dear Alice ; is it something I have 
 done that is wrong ? What is it ? " 
 
 Alice kissed her, and burst into tears. 
 
 ' What is the matter, oh, dear Alice ! " said 
 Ellen, encircling Alice's head with both her arms: 
 — " oh, don't cry ! do tell me what it is ! " 
 
 " It is only sorrow for you, dear Ellie." 
 
 " But why ? " said Ellen in some alarm ; — " why 
 are you sorry for me? I don't care if it don't 
 trouble you, indeed I don't ! Never mind me ; is 
 it something that troubles you, dear Alice ? " 
 
 " No — except for the effect it may have on 
 others." 
 
 " Then I can bear it," said Ellen ; — " you need 
 not be afraid to tell me, dear Alice ; — what is it t 
 don't be sorry for me ! " 
 
 But the expression of Alice's face was such that 
 she could not help being afraid to hear ; she 
 anxiously repeated, " What is it ? " 
 
 Alice fondly smoothed back the hair from her 
 brow, looking herself somewhat anxiously and 
 somewhat sadly upon the uplifted face. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 243 
 
 " Suppose, Ellie," she said at length — " that you 
 and I were taking a journey together — a trouble- 
 some, dangerous journey — and that /had a way of 
 getting at once safe to the end of it ; — would you 
 be willing to let me go, and you do without me for 
 the rest of the way ? " 
 
 " I would rather you should take me with you," 
 said Ellen, in a kind of maze of wonder and fear ; 
 — " why, where are you going, Alice ? " 
 
 " I think I am going home, Ellie, — before you." 
 
 " Home ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, — home I feel it to be ; it is not a strange 
 land ; I thank God it is my home I am going to." 
 Ellen sat looking at her, stupefied. 
 
 " It is your home too, love, I trust and believe/' 
 said Alice, tenderly ; — " we shall be together at 
 last. I am not sorry for myself ; I only grieve to 
 leave you alone, — and others, — but God knows 
 best. We must both look to Him." 
 
 " Why, Alice," said Ellen, starting up suddenly, 
 — " what do you mean ? what do you mean ? — I 
 don't understand you — what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Do you not understand me, Ellie ? " 
 
 " But, Alice ! — but, Alice — dear Alice — what 
 makes you say so ? Is there anything the matter 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Do I look well, Ellie ? " 
 
 With an eye sharpened to painful keenness, 
 Ellen sought in Alice's face for the tokens of what 
 she wished and what she feared. It had once or 
 twice lately flitted through her mind that Alice was 
 very thin, and seemed to want her old strength, 
 whether in riding, or walking, or any other exer- 
 tion ; and it had struck her that the bright spots of 
 
244 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 color in Alice's face were just like what hei 
 mother's cheeks used to wear in her last illness. 
 These thoughts had just come and gone ; but now 
 as she recalled them and was forced to acknowl- 
 edge the justness of them, and her review of 
 Alice's face pressed them home anew, — hope for a 
 moment faded. She grew white, even to her lips. 
 
 " My poor Ellie ! my poor Ellie ! " said Alice, 
 pressing her little sister to her bosom, — " it must 
 be ! We must say \ the Lord's will be done ; ' — we 
 must not forget He does all things well." 
 
 But Ellen rallied; she raised her head again; 
 she could not believe what Alice had told her. To 
 her mind it seemed an evil too great to happen ; it 
 could not be ! Alice saw this in her look, and 
 again sadly stroked the hair from her brow. " It 
 must be, Ellie," she repeated. 
 
 " But have you seen somebody ? — have you asked 
 somebody ? " said Ellen ; — " some doctor ? " 
 
 " I have seen, and I have asked," said Alice ; — 
 " it was not necessary, but I have done both. They 
 think as I do." 
 
 " But these Thirlwall doctors " 
 
 " Not them ; I did not apply to them. I saw an 
 excellent physician at Randolph, the last time I went 
 to Ventnor." 
 
 " And he said " 
 
 " As I have told you." 
 
 Ellen's countenance fell — fell. 
 
 " It is easier for me to leave you than for you to 
 be left, — I know that, my dear little Ellie! You 
 have no reason to be sorry for me — I am sorry 
 for you ; but the hand that is taking me away is one 
 that will touch neither of us but to do us good ; — I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 245 
 
 know that, too. We must both look away to our 
 dear Saviour, and not for a moment doubt His love. 
 I do not — you must not. Is it not said that ' He 
 loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus ' ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, who never stirred her eyes. 
 from Alice's. 
 
 " And might he not — did it not rest with a word 
 from his lips, to keep Lazarus from dying, and save 
 his sisters from all the bitter sorrow his death, 
 caused them ? " 
 
 Again Ellen said "yes," or her lips seemed to< 
 say it. 
 
 "And yet there were reasons, good reasons, why 
 he should not, little as poor Martha and Mary could 
 understand it. — But had he at all ceased to lave them 
 when he bade all that trouble come ? Do you re- 
 member, Ellie — oh, how beautiful those words are I 
 — when at last he arrived near the place, and first 
 one sister came to him with the touching reminder 
 that he might have saved them from this, and then ; 
 the other, — weeping and falling at his feet, and re- 
 peating, ' Lord if Thou hadst been here ! ■ — when 
 He saw their tears, and more, saw the torn hearts 
 that tears could not ease, — He even wept with them 
 too ! Oh, I thank God for those words ! He saw 
 reason to strike, and His hand did not spare ; but 
 His love shed tears for them ! and He is just the 
 same now." 
 
 Some drops fell from Alice's eyes, not sorrowful 
 ones ; Ellen had hid her face. 
 
 " Let us never doubt His love, dear Ellie, and 
 surely then we can bear whatever that love may- 
 bring upon us. I do trust it. I do believe it shall 
 be well with them that fear God. I believe it will 
 
246 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 be well for me when I die, — well for you, my dear, 
 dear Ellie, — well even for my father " 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, afraid to trust 
 herself. — But oh, Ellen knew what it would have 
 been ; and it suddenly startled into life all the load 
 of grief that had been settling heavily on her heart. 
 Her thoughts had not looked that way before ; — 
 now when they did, this new vision of misery was 
 too much to bear. Quite unable to contain herself, 
 and unwilling to pain Alice more than she could 
 help, with a smothered burst of feeling she sprang 
 away, out of the door, into the woods, where she 
 would be unseen and unheard. 
 
 And there in the first burst of her agony, Ellen 
 almost thought she should die. Her grief had not 
 now indeed the goading sting of impatience ; she 
 knew the hand that gave the blow, and did not 
 raise her own against it ; she believed too what 
 Alice had been saying, and the sense of it was, in a 
 manner, present with her in her darkest time. But 
 her spirit died within her ; she bowed her head as 
 if she were never to lift it up again ; and she was 
 ready to say with Job, " what good is my life to 
 me?" 
 
 It was long, very long after, when slowly and 
 mournfully she came in again to kiss Alice before 
 going back to her aunt's. She would have done it 
 hurriedly and turned away ; but Alice held her and 
 looked sadly for a minute into the woe-begone little 
 face, then clasped her close, and kissed her again 
 and again. 
 
 " Oh, Alice," soboed Ellen on her neck, — " aren't 
 you mistaken ? maybe you are mistaken ? " 
 
 ■" I am not mistaken, my dear Ellie, my own 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 24? 
 
 Ellie," said Alice's clear sweet voice j — " not sorry, 
 except for others. I will talk with you more about 
 this. You will be sorry for me at first, and then, 
 I hope, you will be glad. It is only that I am go- 
 ing home a little before you. Remember what I 
 was saying to you a while ago. Will you tell Mr. 
 Van Brunt that I should like to see him for a few 
 minutes some time when he has leisure ? — And 
 come to me early to-morrow, love." 
 
 Ellen could hardly get home. Her blinded eyes 
 could not see where she was stepping ; and again 
 and again her fullness of heart got the better of 
 everything else, and unmindful of the growing twi- 
 light she sat down, on a stone by the wayside or 
 flung herself on the ground to let sorrow have full 
 sway. In one of these fits of bitter struggling with 
 pain, there came on her mind, like a sunbeam 
 across a cloud, the thought of Jesus weeping at the 
 grave of Larazus. It came with singular power. 
 Did He love them so well? thought Ellen — and is 
 He looking down upon us with the same tenderness 
 even now ? — She felt that the sun was shining still, 
 though the cloud might be between ; her broken 
 heart crept to His feet and laid its burden there, 
 and after a few minutes she rose up and went on 
 her way, keeping that thought still close to her 
 heart. The unspeakable tears that were shed dur- 
 ing those few minutes were that softened outpour- 
 ing of the heart that leaves it eased. Very, very 
 sorrowful as she was, she went on calmly now and 
 stopped no more 
 
 It was getting dark, and a little wa}- from the 
 gate, on the road, she met Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 '* Why, I was beginning to get scared about you," 
 
248 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 said he. " I was coming to see where you was. 
 How come you so late ? " 
 
 Ellen made no answer, and as she now came 
 nearer and he could see more distinctly, his tone 
 changed. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said he, — " you ha'n't 
 been well ! what has happened ? what ails you, 
 Ellen ? " 
 
 In astonishment, and then in alarm, he saw that 
 she was unable to speak, and anxiously and kindly 
 begged her to let him know what was the matter, 
 and if he could do anything. Ellen shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Ain't Miss Alice well ? " said he ; — " you ha'n't 
 heered no bad news up there on the hill, have you ? " 
 
 Ellen was not willing to answer this question 
 with yea or nay. She recovered herself enough to 
 give him Alice's message. 
 
 " I'll be sure and go," said he — " but you ha'n't 
 told me yet what's the matter ! Has anything, 
 happened ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen,— " Don't ask me— she'll tell 
 you — don't ask me." 
 
 " I guess I'll go up first thing in the morning, 
 then, " said he, — " before breakfast." 
 
 "No," said Ellen, — "better not — perhaps she 
 wouldn't be up so early." 
 
 " After breakfast then, — I'll go up right after 
 breakfast. I was a-going with the boys up into 
 that 'ere wheat lot, but anyhow I'll do that first." 
 They won't have a chance to do much bad or good 
 before I get back to them, I reckon." 
 
 As soon as possible she made her escape from 
 Miss Fortune's eye and questions of curiosity, which 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 249 
 
 she could not bear to answer, and got to her own 
 room. There the first thing she did was to find the 
 eleventh chapter of John. She read it as she never 
 had read it before, — she found in it what she had 
 never found before ; one of those cordials that none 
 but the sorrowing drink. On the love of Christ, 
 as there shown, little Ellen's heart fastened ; and 
 with that one sweetening thought amid all its deep 
 sadness, her sleep that night might have been 
 envied by many a luxurious roller in pleasure. 
 
 At Alice's wish she immediately took up her 
 quarters at the parsonage, to leave her no more. 
 But she could not see much difference in her from 
 what she had been for several weeks past ; and 
 with the natural hopefulness of childhood, her mind 
 presently almost refused to believe the extremity 
 of the evil which had been threatened. Alice her- 
 self was constantly cheerful, and sought by all 
 means to further Ellen's cheerfulness ; though 
 careful, at the same time, to forbid, as far as she 
 could, the rising of the hope she saw Ellen was in- 
 clined to cherish. 
 
 One evening they were sitting together at the 
 window, looking out upon the same old lawn and 
 distant landscape, now in all the fresh greenness of 
 the young spring. The woods were not yet in full 
 leaf ; and the light of the setting sun upon the 
 trees bordering the other side of the lawn showed 
 them in the most exquisite and varied shadows of 
 color. Some had the tender green of the newleaf r 
 some were in the red or yellow browns of the half- 
 opened bud ; others in various stages of forward- 
 ness, mixing all the tints between, and the ever- 
 greens standing dark as ev^r, setting off the deli- 
 
250 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 cate hues of the surrounding foliage. This was all 
 softened off in the distance ; the very light of the 
 spring was mild and tender compared with that of 
 other seasons ; and the air that stole round the 
 corner of the house and came in at the open win- 
 dow was laden with aromatic fragrance. Alice and 
 Ellen had been for some time silently breathing it 
 and gazing thoughtfully on the loveliness that was 
 abroad. 
 
 " I used to think," said Alice, " that it must be 
 a very hard thing to leave such a beautiful world. 
 Did you ever think so, Ellie ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, faintly, — " I don't 
 remember." 
 
 " I used to think so," said Alice. " But I do not 
 now, Ellie ; my fe.eling has changed. — Do you feel 
 so now, Ellie ? " 
 
 " Oh, why do you talk about it, dear Alice ? " 
 
 " For many reasons, dear Ellie. Come here and 
 sit in my lap again." 
 
 " I am afraid you cannot bear it." 
 
 " Yes, I can. Sit here, and let your head rest 
 where it used to ; " — and Alice laid her cheek upon 
 Ellen's forehead ; — " you are a great comfort to me., 
 dear Ellie." 
 
 " Oh r Alice, don't say so — you'll kill me ! " ex- 
 claimed Ellen, in great distress. 
 
 "Why should I not say so, love?" said Alice, 
 soothingly. " I like to say it, and you will be glad 
 to know it by and by. You are a great comfort to 
 me." 
 
 " And what have you been to me ! " said Ellen, 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 " What I cannot be much longer ; and I want to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 251 
 
 accustom you to think of it, and to think of it rightly. 
 I want you to know that if I am sorry at all in the 
 thought, it is for the sake of others, not myself. 
 Ellie, you yourself will be glad for me in a little 
 while ; — you will not wish me back." 
 
 Ellen shook her head. 
 
 " I know you will not — after a while ; — and I shalt 
 leave yon in good hands — I have arranged for that* 
 my dear little sister ! " 
 
 The sorrowing child neither knew nor cared 
 what she meant, but a mute caress answered the 
 spirit of Alice's words. 
 
 " Look up, Ellen, — look out again. Lovely — 
 lovely ! all that is, — but I know heaven is a great 
 deal more lovely. Feasted as our eyes are with- 
 beauty, I believe that eye has not seen, nor heart 
 imagined the things that God has prepared for 
 them that love Him. You believe that, Ellie ; you 
 must not be so very sorry that I have gone to see 
 it a little before you." 
 
 Ellie could say nothing. 
 
 " After all, Ellie, it is not beautiful things nor a 
 beautiful world that make people happy — it is lov- 
 ing and being loved ; and that is the reason why I 
 am happy in the thought of heaven. I shall, if he 
 receives me, I shall be with my Saviour ; I 
 shall see-Him and know Him, without any of the 
 clouds that come between here. I am often for- 
 getting and displeasing Him now, — never serving 
 Him well nor loving Him right. I shall be glad to 
 find myself where all that will be done with for- 
 ever. I shall be like Him ! — Why do you cry sot 
 Ellie ? " said Alice, tenderly. 
 
 " I can't help it, Alice," 
 
352 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " It is only my love for you — and for two more 
 — that could make me wish to stay here, — nothing 
 <else ; — and I give all that up, because I do not 
 know what is best for you or myself. And I look 
 to meet you all again before long. Try to think of 
 it as I do, Ellie." 
 
 " But what shall I do without you ? " said poor 
 Ellen. 
 
 " I will tell you, Ellie. You must come here and 
 take my place, and take care of those I leave be- 
 hind ; will you ?-— and they will take care of you." 
 
 " But," said Ellen, looking up eagerly, " Aunt 
 Fortune " 
 
 " I have managed all that. Will you do it, 
 Ellie ? I shall feel easy and happy about you, and 
 far easier and happier about my father, if I leave 
 you established here, to be to him as far as you 
 can, what I have been. Will you promise me, 
 Ellie ? " 
 
 In words it was not possible ; but what silent 
 kisses, and the close pressure of the arms round 
 Alice's neck could say, was said. 
 
 " I am satisfied, then," said Alice, presently. 
 " My father will be your father — think him so, dear 
 Ellie, — and I know John will take care of you. 
 And my place will not be empty. I am very, very 
 glad." 
 
 Ellen felt her place surely would be empty, but 
 she could not say so. 
 
 " It was for this I was so glad of your aunt's mar- 
 riage, Ellie," Alice soon went on. " I foresaw she 
 might raise some difficulties in my way, — hard to 
 remove perhaps ; but now I have seen Mr. Van 
 Brunt, and he has promised me that nothing shall 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO KID. 253 
 
 hinder your taking up your abode and making your 
 home entirely here. Though I believe, Ellie, he 
 would truly have loved to have you in his own 
 house." 
 
 "lam sure he would," said Ellen, "but oh, 
 how much rather " 
 
 "He behaved very well about it the other morn- 
 ing, — in a very manly, frank, kind way, — showed a 
 good deal of feeling I think, too. He gave me to 
 understand that for his own sake he should be ex- 
 tremely sorry to let you go ; but he assured me 
 that nothing over which he had any control should 
 stand in the way of your good." 
 
 " He is very kind — he is very good — he is always 
 so," said Ellen. " I love Mr. Van Brunt very much. 
 He always was as kind to me as he could be." 
 
 They were silent for a few minutes, and Alice was 
 looking out of the window again. The sun had 
 set, and the coloring of all without was graver. 
 Yet it was but the change from one beauty to 
 another. The sweet air seemed still sweeter than 
 before the sun went down. 
 
 " You must be happy, dear Ellie, in knowing that 
 I am. I am happy now. I enjoy all this, and I 
 love you all, — but I can leave it andean leave you, 
 — yes, — both, — for I would see Jesus ! He who has 
 taught me to love Him will not forsake me now. 
 Goodness and mercy have followed me all the 
 days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of 
 the Lord forever. I thank Him ? Oh, I thank 
 Him ! " 
 
 Alice's face did not belie her words, though her 
 syes shone through tears. 
 
 " Ellie, dear, — you must love Him with all your 
 
254 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 heart, and live constantly in His presence, x 
 know if you do He will make you happy, in any 
 event. He can always give more than He takes 
 away. Oh, how good He is ! — and what wretched 
 returns we make Him ! — I was miserable when 
 John first went away to Doncaster ; I did not 
 know how to bear it. But, now, Ellie, I think I 
 can see it has done me good, and I can even be 
 thankful for it. All things are ours — all things ; 
 — the world, and life, and death too." 
 
 " Alice," said Ellen, as well as she could, — " you 
 know what you were saying to me the other day ? " 
 
 " About what, love ? " 
 
 " That about — you know, — that chapter -" 
 
 " About the death of Lazarus ? " 
 
 " Yes. It has comforted me very much." 
 
 " So it has me, Ellie. It has been exceeding 
 sweet to me at different times. Come, sing to me, 
 — • How firm a foundation.' " 
 
 From time to time Alice led to this kind of con- 
 versation, both for Ellen's sake and her own 
 pleasure. Meanwhile she made her go on with all 
 her usual studies and duties ; and but for these 
 talks Ellen would have scarce known how to 
 believe that it could be true which she feared. 
 
 The wedding of Miss Fortune and Mr. Vaa 
 Brunt was a very quiet one. It happened at far too 
 busy a time of year, and they were too cool calcu- 
 lators, and looked upon their union in much too 
 business-like a point of view, to dream of such a 
 wild thing as a wedding-tour, or even resolve upon 
 so troublesoms a thing as a wedding-party. Miss 
 Fortune would not have left her cheese and butter 
 making to see all the New Yorks and Bostons that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 255 
 
 ever were built ; and she would have scorned a 
 trip to Randolph. And Mr. Van Brunt would as 
 certainly have wished himself all the while back 
 among his furrows and crops. So one day they 
 were quietly married at home, the Rev. Mr. Clark 
 having been fetched from Thirlwall for the purpose. 
 Mr. Van Brunt would have preferred that Mr. 
 Humphreys should perform the ceremony ; but 
 Miss Fortune was quite decided in favor of the 
 Thirlwall gentleman, and of course he it was. 
 
 The talk ran high all over the country on the 
 subject of this marriage, and opinions were greatly 
 divided ; some congratulating Mr. Van Brunt on 
 having made himself one of the richest land- 
 holders " in town " by the junction of another fat 
 farm to his own ; some pitying him for having got 
 more than his match within doors, and " guessing 
 he'd missed his reckoning for once." 
 
 " If he has, then," said Sam Larkens, who heard 
 some of these condoling remarks,—" it's the first 
 time in his life, I can tell you. If she ain't a little 
 mistaken, I wish I mayn't get a month's wages in a 
 year to come. I tell you, you don't know Van Brunt ; 
 he's as easy as anybody as long as he don't 
 care about what you're doing ; but if he once takes 
 a notion you can't make him gee nor haw no more 
 than you can our near ox Timothy when he's out 
 o' yoke ; and he's as ugly a beast to manage as 
 ever 1 see when he ain't yoked up. Why, bless 
 you ! there ha'n't been a thing done on the farm this 
 five year but just what he liked — she don't know it. 
 I've heerd her," said Sam, chuckling, — " I've heerd 
 her a-telling him how she wanted this thing done, 
 and t'other, and he'd just not say a word and go 
 
25O THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and do it right t'other way. It'll be a wonder ii 
 somebody ain't considerably startled in her calcu- 
 lations afore summer's out." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 She enjoys sure peace for evermore, 
 As weather-beaten ship arrived on happy shore. 
 
 Spencer. 
 
 It was impossible at first to make Mr. Hum 
 phreys believe that Alice was right in her notion 
 about her health. The greatness of the evil was 
 such that his mind refused to receive it, much as 
 Ellen's had done. His unbelief, however, lasted 
 longer than hers. Constantly with Alice as she 
 was, and talking to her on the subject, Ellen 
 slowly gave up the hope she had clung to ; though 
 still bending all her energies to the present 
 pleasure and comfort of her adopted sister, her 
 mind shrank from looking at the end. Daily and 
 hourly, in every way, she strove to be what Alice 
 said she was, a comfort to her, and she succeeded. 
 Daily and hourly Alice's look and smile and 
 manner said the same thing over and over. It was 
 Ellen's precious reward, and in seeking to earn it 
 she half the time earned another in forgetting her- 
 self. It was different with Mr. Humphreys. He 
 saw much less of his daughter ; and when he was 
 with her, it was impossible for Alice, with all her 
 efforts, to speak to him as freely and plainly as she 
 was in the habit of speaking to Ellen. The con- 
 sequences were such as grieved her, but could not 
 be helped. 
 
 As soon as it was known that her health was 
 failing, Sophia Marshman came and took up her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 257 
 
 abode at the parsonage. Ellen was almost sorry ; 
 \t broke up in a measure the sweet and peaceful 
 way of life she and Alice had held together ever 
 since her own coming. Miss Sophia could not 
 make a third in their conversations. But as 
 Alice's strength grew less and she needed more 
 attendance and help, it was plain her friend's being 
 there was a happy thing for both Alice and Ellen. 
 Miss Sophia was active, cheerful, untiring in her 
 affectionate care, always pleasant in manner and 
 temper ; a very useful person in a house where 
 one was ailing. Mrs. Vawse was often there too, 
 and to her Ellen clung whenever she came, as to a 
 pillar of strength. Miss Sophia could do nothing 
 to help her ; Mrs. Vawse could, a great deal. 
 
 Alice had refused to write or allow others to 
 write to her brother. She said he was just finish- 
 ing his course of study at Doncaster ; she would 
 not have him disturbed or broken off by bad news 
 from home. In August he would be quite through ; 
 the first of August he would be home. 
 
 Before the middle of June, however, her health 
 began to fail much more rapidly than she had 
 counted upon. It became too likely that if she 
 waited for his regular return at the first of August 
 she would see but little of her brother. She at last 
 reluctantly consented that Mrs. Chauncey should 
 write to him and from that moment counted the 
 days. 
 
 Her father had scarcely till now given up his old 
 confidence respecting her. He came into her 
 room one morning when just about to set out for 
 Carra-carra to visit one or two of his poof 
 parishioners. 
 17 
 
2$S THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " How are you to-day, my daughter ? " he asked, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Easy, papa, — and happy," said Alice. 
 
 " You are looking better," said he. " We shall 
 have you well again among us yet." 
 
 There was some sorrow for him in Alice's smile, 
 as she looked up at him and answered, " Yes, 
 papa, — in the land where the inhabitant shall no 
 more say, ' I am sick.' " 
 
 He kissed her hastily and went out. 
 
 " I almost wish I was in your place, Alice," said 
 Miss Sophia. "I hope I may be half as happy 
 when my time comes." 
 
 " What right have you to hope so, Sophia ? " said 
 Alice, rather sadly. 
 
 "To be sure," said the other, after a pause, "you 
 have been ten times as good as I. I don't wonder 
 you feel easy when you look back and think how 
 blameless your life has been." 
 
 " Sophia, Sophia ! " said Alice, — " you know it 
 is not that. I never did a good thing in my life 
 that was not mixed and spoiled with evil. I never 
 came up to the full measure of duty in any matter." 
 
 " But surely," said Miss Sophia, — " if one does 
 the best one can, it will be accepted ? " 
 
 '* It won't do to trust to that, Sophia. God's law 
 requires perfection ; and nothing less than perfec- 
 tion will be received as payment of its demand. If 
 you owe a hundred dollars, and your creditor will not 
 hold you quit for anything less than the whole sum, 
 it is of no manner of signification whether you offer 
 him ten or twenty." 
 
 " Why, according to that," said Miss Sophia, " it 
 makes no difference what kind of life one leads." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 259 
 
 Alice sighed and shook her head. 
 
 " The fruit shows what the tree is. Love to God 
 will strive to please Him — always." 
 
 " And is it of no use to strive to please Him ? " 
 
 " Of no manner of use, if you make that your 
 trusts 
 
 "Well, I don't see what one is to trust to," said 
 Miss Sophia, — " if it isn't a good life." 
 
 " I will answer you," said Alice, with a smile in 
 which there was no sorrow, — " in some words that 
 I love very much, of an old Scotchman, I think ; — • 
 * I have taken all my good deeds and all my bad, 
 and have cast them together in a heap before the 
 Lord ; and from them all I have fled to Jesus 
 Christ, and in Him alone I have sweet peace,' " 
 
 Sophia was silenced for a minute by her look. 
 
 " Well," said she, " I don't understand it ; that 
 is what George is always talking about ; but I can't 
 understand him." 
 
 " I am very sorry you cannot," said Alice, gravely. 
 
 They were both silent for a little while, 
 
 " If all Christians were like you," said Miss 
 Sophia, " I might think more about it ; but they 
 are such a dull set, there seems to be no life nor 
 pleasure among them." 
 
 Alice thought of the lines, — 
 
 " Their pleasures rise to things unseen, 
 Beyond the bounds of time ; 
 Where neither eyes nor ears have been, 
 Nor thoughts of mortals climb." 
 
 " You judge," said she, " like the rest of the 
 world, of that which they see not. After all, they 
 know best whether they are happy. What do yQU 
 think of Mrs. Vawse ? " 
 
26o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I don't know what to think of her ; she is won- 
 derful to me ; she is past my comprehension en- 
 tirely. Don't make her an example." 
 
 " No, religion has done that for me. What do 
 you think of your brother ? " 
 
 " George ? — He is happy, — there is no doubt of 
 that ; he is the happiest person in the family, by all 
 odds ; but then — I think he has a natural knack at 
 being happy ; — it is impossible for anything to put 
 him out." 
 
 Alice smiled and shook her head again. 
 
 " Sophistry, Sophia. What do you think of 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't see what reason you have to be any- 
 thing but happy." 
 
 " What have I to make me so ? " 
 
 Sophia was silent. Alice laid her thin hand upon 
 hers. 
 
 " I am leaving all I love in this world. Should 
 I be happy if I were not going to somewhat I love 
 better ? Should I be happy if I had no secure 
 prospect of meeting with them again ? — or if I were 
 doubtful of my reception in that place whither I 
 hope to go ? " 
 
 Sophia burst into tears. " Well, I don't know," 
 said she ; " I suppose you are right ; but I don't 
 understand it." 
 
 Alice drew her face down to hers and whispered 
 something in her ear. 
 
 Undoubtedly Alice had much around as well 
 as within her to make a declining life happy. Mrs. 
 Vawse and Miss Marshman were two friends and 
 nurses not to be surpassed, in their different ways. 
 Margery's motherly affection, her zeal, and her skill, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 261 
 
 left nothing for heart to wish in her line of duty. 
 And all that affection, taste, and kindness, with 
 abundant means, could supply was at Alice's com- 
 mand. Still her greatest comfort was Ellen. Her 
 constant thoughtful care ; the thousand tender 
 attentions, from the roses daily gathered for her 
 table to the chapters she read and the hymns she 
 sung to her ; the smile that often covered a pang ; 
 the pleasant words and tone that many a time came 
 from a sinking heart ; they were Alice's daily and 
 nightly cordial. Ellen had learned self-command 
 in more than one school ; affection, as once before, 
 was her powerful teacher now, and taught her well. 
 Sophia openly confessed that Ellen was the best 
 nurse ; and Margery, when nobody hp~~d her, mut- 
 tered blessings on the child's head. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys came in often to see his daughter, 
 but never stayed long. It was plain he could not 
 bear it. It might have been difficult, too, for Alice 
 to bear, but she wished for her brother. She 
 reckoned the time from Mrs. Chauncey's letter to 
 that when he might be looked for ; but some irregu- 
 larities in the course of the post-office made it im- 
 possible to count with certainty upon the exact time 
 of his arrival. Meanwhile her failure was very 
 rapid. Mrs. Vawse began to fear he would not 
 arrive in time. 
 
 The weeks of June ran out ; the roses, all but a 
 few late kinds, blossomed and died ; July came. 
 
 One morning when Ellen went into her room, 
 Alice drew her close to her and said, "You re- 
 member, Ellie, in the Pilgrim's Progress, when 
 Christiana and her companions were sent for to go 
 over the river ? — I think the messenger has come 
 
262 THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 for me. You mustn't cry, love ; — listen — this is the 
 token he seems to bring me, — ' I have loved thee 
 with an everlasting love.' I am sure of it, Ellie ; I 
 have no doubt of it, — so don't cry for me. You 
 have been my dear comfort, my blessing — we shall 
 love each other in heaven, Ellie." 
 
 Alice kissed her earnestly several times, and then 
 Ellen escaped from her arms and fled away. It was 
 long before she could come back again. But she 
 came at last ; and went on through all that day as 
 she had done for weeks before. The day seemed 
 long, for every member of the family was on the 
 watch for John's arrival, and it was thought his 
 sister would not live to see another. It wore away ; 
 hour after hour passed without his coming ; and 
 the night fell. Alice showed no impatience, but 
 she evidently wished and watched for him ; and 
 Ellen, whose affection read her face and knew what 
 to make of the look at the opening door,— the eye 
 turned toward the window — the attitude of listen- 
 ing, — grew feverish with her intense desire that she 
 should be gratified. 
 
 From motives of convenience, Alice had moved 
 upstairs, to a room that John generally occupied 
 when he was at home ; directly over the sitting- 
 room, and with pleasant windows toward the East. 
 Mrs. Chauncey, Miss Sophia, and Mrs. Vawse were 
 all there. Alice was lying quietly on the bed, and 
 seemed to be dozing ; but Ellen noticed, after 
 lights were brought, that every now and then she 
 opened her eyes and gave an inquiring look round 
 the room. Ellen could not bear it ; slipping softly 
 out she went downstairs and seated herself on the 
 threshold of the glass door, as if by watching there 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 263 
 
 she could be any nearer the knowledge of what she 
 wished for. 
 
 It was a perfectly still summer night. The moon 
 shone brightly on the little lawn and poured its 
 rays over Ellen, just as it had done one well- 
 remembered evening nearly a year ago. Ellen's 
 thoughts went back to it. How like and how un- 
 like ! All around was just the same as it had been 
 then ; the cool moonlight upon the distant fields, 
 the trees in the gap lit up, as then, the lawn a flood 
 of brightness. But there was no happy party 
 gathered there now ; — they were scattered. One 
 was away; one a sorrowful watcher alone in the 
 moonlight ; — one waiting to be gone where there is 
 no need of moon or stars for evermore. Ellen 
 almost wondered they could shine so bright upon 
 those that had no heart to rejoice in them ; she 
 thought they looked down coldly and unfeelingly 
 upon her distress. She remembered the whip-poor- 
 will ; none was heard to-night, near or far ; she was 
 glad of it ; it would have been too much ; and there 
 were no fluttering leaves ; the air was absolutely still. 
 Ellen looked up again at the moon and stars. They 
 shone calmly on, despite the reproaches she cast 
 upon them ; and as she still gazed up towards them 
 in their purity and steadfastness, other thoughts be- 
 gan to come into her head of that which was more 
 pure still, and more steadfast. How long they have 
 been shining, thought Ellen ; — going on just the 
 same from night to night and from year to year, — 
 as if they never would come to an end. But they 
 will come to an end — the time 7i>ill come when they 
 will stop shining — bright as they are ; and then, 
 when they all are swept away, then heaven will be 
 
264 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 only begun ; that will never end ! — never. And in 
 a few years we who were so happy a year ago and 
 are so sorry now, shall be all glad together there, — ■ 
 this will be all over ! And then as she looked, and 
 the tears sprang to her thoughts, a favorite hymn 
 of Alice's came to her remembrance : 
 
 "Ye stars are but the shining dust 
 
 Of my divine abode ; 
 The pavements of those heavenly courts 
 
 Where I shall see my God. 
 The Father of eternal lights 
 
 Shall there His beams display : 
 And not one moment's darkness mix 
 
 With that unvaried day." 
 
 " Not one moment's darkness ! " " Oh," thought, 
 little Ellen, — " there are a great many here ! " — 
 Still gazing up at the bright calm heavens, while 
 the tears ran fast down her face, and fell into her 
 lap, there came trooping through Ellen's mind 
 many of those words she had been in the habit of 
 reading to her mother and Alice, and which she 
 knew and loved so well. 
 
 " And there shall be no night there ; and they 
 need no candle, neither light of the sun ; for the 
 Lord God giveth them light : and they shall reign 
 for ever and ever. And there shall be no more 
 curse : but the throne of God and of the Lamb 
 shall be in it ; and His servants shall serve Him : 
 and they shall see His face ; and His name shall 
 be in their foreheads. And God shall wipe away 
 all tears from their eyes ; and there shall be no 
 more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither 
 shall there be any more pain : for the former 
 things have passed away. 
 
 " And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 265 
 
 come again and receive you unto Myself ; that 
 where I am, there ye may be also." 
 
 While Ellen was yet going over and over these 
 precious things, with a strong sense of their 
 preciousness in all her throbbing grief, there came 
 to her ear through the perfect stillness of the 
 night the faint, far-off, not-to-be-mistaken, sound 
 of quick-coming horse's feet, — nearer and nearer 
 every second. It came with a mingled pang of 
 pain and pleasure, both very acute ; she rose 
 instantly to her feet, and stood pressing her 
 hand to her heart while the quick-measured beat of 
 hoofs grew louder and louder, until it ceased at the 
 very door. The minutes were few ; but they were 
 moments of intense bitterness. The tired horse 
 stooped his head, as the rider flung himself from 
 the saddle and came to the door where Ellen stood 
 fixed. A look asked, and a look answered, the 
 question that lips could not speak. Ellen only 
 pointed the way and uttered the word " upstairs " ; 
 and John rushed thither. He checked himself, 
 however, at the door of the room, and opened it 
 and went in as calmly as if he had but come from a 
 walk. But his caution was very needless. Alice 
 knew his step, she knew his horse's step, too well ; 
 she had raised herself up and stretched out both 
 arms towards him before he entered. In another 
 moment they were round his neck, and she was 
 supported in his. There was a long, long silence. 
 
 " Are you happy, Alice ? " whispered her 
 brother. 
 
 " Perfectly. This was all I wanted. Kiss me, 
 dear John." 
 
 As he did so, again and again, she felt his tears 
 
*36 THE WIDE, V/IDE WORLD. 
 
 on her cheek, and put up her hand to his face to 
 wipe them away ■ kissed him then, and then once 
 again laid her head on his breast. They remained 
 so a little while without stirring ; except that some 
 whispers were exchanged too low for others to 
 hear, and once more she raised her face to kiss 
 him. A few minutes after those who could look 
 saw his color change ; he felt the arms unclasp 
 their hold ; and as he laid her gently back on the 
 pillow they fell languidly down ; the will and the 
 power that had sustained them were gone. Alice 
 was gone ; but the departing spirit had left a ray 
 of brightness on its earthly house ; there was a 
 half smile on the sweet face, of most entire peace 
 and satisfaction. Her brother looked for a mo- 
 menta—closed the eyes, — kissed, once and again 
 the sweet lips, — and left the room. 
 
 Ellen saw him no more that night, nor knew how 
 he passed it. For her, wearied with grief and ex- 
 citement, it was spent in long heavy slumber. 
 From the pitch to which her spirits had been 
 wrought by care, sorrow, and self-restraint, they 
 now suddenly and completely sank down ; natu- 
 rally, and happily, she lost all sense of trouble in 
 sleep. 
 
 When sleep at last left her, and, she stole down 
 stairs into the sitting-room in the morning, it was 
 rather early. Nobody was stirring about the house 
 but herself. It seemed deserted ; the old sitting- 
 room looked empty and forlurn ; the stillness was 
 oppressive. Ellen could not bear it. Softly open- 
 ing the glass door she went out upon the lawn, 
 where everything was sparkling in the early fresh- 
 ness of the summer morning. How could it loci 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 26, 
 
 so pleasant without, when all pleasantness was 
 gone within ? — It pressed upon Ellen's heart. With 
 a restless feeling of pain, she went on, round the 
 corner of the house, and paced slowly along the 
 road till she came to the foot-path that led up to 
 the place on the mountain John had called the 
 Bridge of the Nose. Ellen took that path, often 
 traveled and much loved by her ; and slowly, and 
 with slow- dripping tears, made her way up over 
 moss wet with the dew, and the stones and rocks 
 with which the rough way was strewn. She passed 
 the place where Alice had first found her, — she 
 remembered it well ; — there was the very stone be- 
 side which they had kneeled together, and where 
 Alice's folded hands were laid. Ellen knelt down 
 beside it again, and for a moment laid her cheek 
 to the cold stone, while her arms embraced it, and 
 a second time it was watered with tears. She rose 
 up again quickly and went on her way, toiling up 
 the steep path beyond, till she turned the edge of 
 the mountain and stood on the old place where 
 she and Alice that evening had watched the setting 
 sun. Many a setting sun they had watched from 
 thence ; it had been a favorite pleasure of them 
 both to run up there for a few minutes before or 
 after tea, and see the sun go down at the far end 
 of the long valley. It seemed to Ellen one of 
 Alice's haunts ; she missed her there ; and the 
 thought went keenly home that there she would 
 come with her no more. She sat down on the 
 stone she called her own, and leaning her head on 
 Alice's, which was close by, she wept bitterly. Yet 
 not very long ! she was too tired and subdued for 
 bitter weeping; she raised her head again, and 
 
268 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wiping away her tears looked abroad over the beau- 
 tiful landscape. Never more beautiful than then. 
 
 The early sun filled the valley with patches of 
 light and shade. The sides and tops of the hills 
 looking towards the east were bright with the cool 
 brightness of the morning ; beyond and between 
 them deep shadows lay. The sun could not yet 
 look at that side of the mountain where Ellen sat, 
 nor at the long reach of ground it screened from 
 his view, stretching from the mountain foot to the 
 other end of the valley ; but to the left, between 
 that and the Cat's Back, the rays of the sun 
 streamed through touching the houses of the vil- 
 lage, showing the lake, and making every tree and 
 barn and clump of wood in the distance stand out 
 in bright relief. Deliciously cool, both the air and 
 the light, though a warm day was promised. The 
 night had wept away all the heat of yesterday. 
 Now, the air was fresh with the dew and sweet 
 from hayfield and meadow ; and the birds were 
 singing like mad all around. There was no answer- 
 ing echo in the little human heart that looked and 
 listened. Ellen loved all these things too well not 
 to notice them even now ; she felt their full beauty ; 
 but she felt it sadly. " She will look at it no more ! " 
 she said to herself. But instantly came an answer 
 to her thoughts : — " Behold I create new heavens, 
 and a new earth ; and the former shall not be re- 
 membered, nor come into mind. Thy sun shall no 
 more go down ; neither shall thy moon withdraw 
 itself ; for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, 
 and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." 
 
 " She is there now," thought Ellen. — " she is 
 happy, — why should I be sorry for her ? I am 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 269 
 
 not ; but oh ! I must be sorry for myself — Oh, 
 Alice ! — dear Alice ! " 
 
 She wept ; but then again came sweeping over 
 her mind the words with which she was so famil- 
 iar, — " the days of thy mourning shall be ended ; " 
 and again with her regret mingled the consciousness 
 that it must be for herself alone. And for herself, 
 — " Can I not trust Him whom she trusted ? " she 
 thought. Somewhat soothed and more calm, she 
 sat still looking down into the brightening valley, 
 or off to the hills that stretched away on either 
 hand of it ; when up through the still air the sound 
 of the little Carra-carra church bell came to her 
 ear. It rang for a minute and then stopped. 
 
 It crossed Ellen's mind to wonder what it could 
 be ringing for at that time of day ; but she went 
 back to her musings and had entirely forgotten it, 
 when again, clear and full through the stillness the 
 sound came pealing up. 
 
 " One— two ! " 
 
 Ellen knew now ! It went through her very heart. 
 
 It is the custom in the country to toll the church 
 bell upon occasion of the death of any one in the 
 township or parish. A few strokes are rung by 
 way of drawing attention ; these are followed after 
 a little pause by a single one if the knell is for a 
 man, or two for a woman. Then another short 
 pause. Then follows the number of the years the 
 person has lived, told in short, rather slow strokes, 
 as one would count them up. After pausing once 
 more the tolling begins, and is kept up for some 
 time ; the strokes following in slow and sad suc- 
 cession, each one being permitted to die quite away 
 before another breaks upon the ear. 
 
^o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen had been told of this custom, but habit 
 had never made it familiar. Only once she had 
 happened to hear this notice of death given out ; 
 and that was long ago ; the bell could not be heard 
 at Miss Fortune's house. It came upon her now 
 with all the force of novelty and surprise. As the 
 number of the years of Alice's life was sadly told 
 out, every stroke was to her as if it fell upon a raw 
 nerve. Ellen hid her face in her lap and tried to 
 keep from counting, but she could not ; and as 
 the tremulous sound of the last of the twenty-four 
 died away upon the air, she was shuddering from 
 head to foot. A burst of tears. relieved her when 
 the sound ceased. 
 
 Just then a voice close beside her said low, as if 
 the speaker might not trust its higher tones, — " I 
 will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence 
 cometh my help ! " 
 
 How differently that sound struck upon Ellen's 
 ear ! With an indescribable air of mingled ten- 
 derness, weariness, and sorrow, she slowly rose 
 from her seat and put both her arms round the 
 speaker's neck. Neither said a word ; but to Ellen 
 the arm that held her was more than all words ; it 
 was the dividing line between her and the world, — 
 On this side everything, on that side nothing. 
 
 No word was spoken for many minutes. 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said her brother, softly, — 
 * how came you here ? " 
 
 " I don't know," whispered Ellen, — ' : there was 
 tiobody there — I couldn't stay in the house." 
 
 " Shall we go home now ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes — whenever you please." 
 
 But neither moved yet. Ellen had raised h& 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 27 1 
 
 head ; she still stood with her arm upon her 
 brother's shoulder ; the eyes of both were on the 
 scene before them ; the thoughts of neither. He 
 presently spoke again. 
 
 " Let us try to love our God better, Ellie, the 
 less we have left to love in this world ; — that is 
 Plis meaning — let sorrow but bring us closer to 
 Him. Dear Alice is well — she is well, — and if we 
 are made to suffer, we know and we love the 
 hand that has done it, — do we not, Ellie ? " 
 
 Ellen put her hands to her face ; she thought 
 her heart would break. He gently drew her to a 
 seat on the stone, beside him, and still keeping his 
 arm round her, slowly and soothingly went on — 
 
 " Think that she is happy ; — think that she is 
 safe ; — think that she is with that blessed One 
 whose face we seek at a distance, — satisfied with 
 his likeness instead of wearily struggling with sin ; 
 think that sweetly and easily she has got home \ 
 and it is our home too. We must weep, because 
 we are left alone ; but for her — ' I heard a voice 
 from heaven saying unto me, Blessed are the dead 
 that die in the Lord ! ' " 
 
 As he spoke in low and sweet tones, Ellen's 
 tears calmed and stopped ; but she still kept her 
 hands to her face. 
 
 " Shall we go home, Ellie ? " said her brother, 
 after another silence. She rose up instantly and 
 said yes. But he held her still, and looking for a 
 moment at the tokens of watching and grief and 
 care in her countenance, he gently kissed the pale 
 little face, adding a word of endearment which 
 almost broke Ellen's heart again. Then taking 
 her hand they went down the mountain together, 
 
27* THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 ** I have seen angels by the sick one's pillow ; 
 
 Theirs was the soft tone and the soundless tread, 
 
 Where smitten hearts were drooping like the willow, 
 
 They stood ' between the living and the dead.' " 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 The whole Marshman family arrived to-day 
 from Ventnor ; some to see Alice's loved remains, 
 and all to follow them to the grave. The par- 
 sonage could not hold so many; the two Mr, 
 Marshmans, therefore, with Major and Mrs. 
 Gillespie, made their quarters at Thirl wall. Mar- 
 gery's hands were full enough with those that were 
 left. In the afternoon, however, she found time 
 for a visit to the room, the room. She was stand- 
 ing at the foot of the bed, gazing on the sweet face 
 she loved so dearly, when Mrs. Chauncey and 
 Mrs. Vawse came up for the same purpose. All 
 three stood some time in silence. 
 
 The bed was strewn with flowers, somewhat 
 singularly disposed. Upon the pillow and upon 
 *nd about the hands, which were folded on the 
 oreast, were scattered some of the rich late roses, 
 — roses and rosebuds, strewn with beautiful and 
 profuse carelessness. A single stem of white 
 lilies lay on the side of the bed ; the rest of the 
 flowers, a large quantity, covered the feet, seeming 
 to have been flung there without any attempt at 
 arrangement. They were of various kinds, chosen, 
 however, with exquisite taste and feeling. Beside 
 the roses, there were none that were not either 
 white or distinguished for their fragrance. The 
 delicate white verbena, the pure feverfew, mjgnoiv 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 273 
 
 ette, sweet geranium, white myrtle, the rich- 
 scented heliotrope, were mingled with the late- 
 blossoming damask and purple roses ; no yellow 
 flowers, no purple, except those mentioned ; even 
 the flaunting petunia, though white, had been left 
 out by the nice hand that had culled them. But 
 the arranging of these beauties seemed to have 
 been little more than attempted ; though indeed 
 it might be questioned whether the finest art 
 could have bettered the effect of what the over- 
 tasked hand of affection had left half done. Mrs. 
 Chauncey, however, after a while began slowly to 
 take a flower or two from the foot and place them 
 on other parts of the bed. 
 
 " Will Mrs. Chauncey pardon my being so bold," 
 said Margery then, who had looked on with no 
 pleasure while this was doing, — " but if she had 
 seen when those flowers were put there, — it 
 wouldn't be her wish, I am sure it wouldn't be her 
 wish, to stir one of them." 
 
 Mrs. Chauncey's hand, which was stretched out 
 for a fourth, drew back. 
 
 " Why, who put them here ? " she asked. 
 
 -'Miss Ellen, ma'am." 
 
 "Where is Ellen?" 
 
 " I think she is sleeping, ma'am. Poor child ! 
 She's the most wearied of us all with sorrow and 
 watching," said Margery, weeping. 
 
 " You saw her bring them up, did you ? " 
 
 " I saw her, ma'am. Oh, will I ever forget it as 
 long as I live ! " 
 
 "Why ? " said Mrs. Chauncey gently. 
 
 " It's a thing one should have seen, ma'am, to 
 understand. I don't know as I can tell it well." 
 18 
 
274 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Seeing, however, that Mrs. Chauncey still looked 
 her wish, Margery went on, half under her 
 breath. 
 
 " Why, ma'am, the way it was, — I had come up 
 to get some linen out of the closet, for I had 
 watched my time ; Mrs. Chauncey sees, I was 
 afeard of finding Mr. John here, and I knew he was 
 lying down just then, so " 
 
 " Lying down, was he ? " said Mrs. Vawse. " I 
 did not know he had taken any rest to-day." 
 
 " It was very little he took, ma'am, indeed, 
 though there was need enough, I am sure ; — he 
 had been up with his father the live-long blessed 
 night. And then the first thing this morning he 
 was away after Miss Ellen, poor child ! wherever she 
 had betaken herself to ; I happened to see her 
 before anybody was out, going round the corner of 
 the house, and so I knew when he asked me for 
 her." 
 
 " Was she going after flowers then f " said Mrs. 
 Chauncey. 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, — it was a long time after ; it 
 was this morning some time. — I had come up to 
 the linen closet, knowing Mr. John was in his 
 room, and I thought I was safe ; and I had just 
 taken two or three pieces on my arm, you know, 
 ma'am, when somehow I forgot myself and forgot 
 what I had come for, and leaving what I should 
 ha' been a-doing, I was standing there, looking out 
 this way at the dear features I never thought to 
 see in death, — and I had entirely forgotten what I 
 was there for, ma'am, — when I heard Miss Ellen's 
 little footstep coming softly upstairs. I didn't 
 want her to catch sight of me just then, so I had 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 275 
 
 just drew myself back a bit, so as I could see her 
 without her seeing me, back in the closet where I 
 was. But it had like to have got the better of me 
 entirely, ma'am, when I see her come in with a 
 lap full of them flowers, and looking so as she did 
 too ! but with much trouble I kept quiet. She 
 went up and stood by the side of the bed, just 
 where Mrs. Chauncey is standing, with her sweet, 
 sad little face, — it's the hardest thing to see a 
 child's face to look so, — and the flowers all 
 gathered up in her frock. It was odd to see her, 
 she didn't cry, — not at all, — only once I see her 
 brow wrinkle, but it seemed as if she had a mind 
 not to, for she put her hand up to her face and 
 held it a little, and then she began to take out the 
 flowers one by one, and she'd lay a rose here and a 
 rosebud there, and so ; and then she went round 
 £0 the other side and laid the lilies, and two or 
 three more roses there on the pillow. But I could 
 see all the while it was getting too much for her ; 
 I see very soon she wouldn't get through ; she just 
 placed two or three more, and one rose there in that 
 hand, and that was the last. I could see it work- 
 ing in her face ; she turned as pale as her lilies all 
 at once, and just tossed up all the flowers out of 
 her frock on to the bed-foot there, — that's just as 
 they fell, — and down she went on her knees, and 
 her face in her hands, on the side of the bed. " I 
 thought no more about my linen," said Margery, 
 weeping, — " I couldn't do anything but look at that 
 child kneeling there, — and her flowers, — and all, 
 beside her she used to call her sister, and that 
 couldn't be a sister to her no more ; and she's 
 without a sister now, to be sure . poor child ! " 
 
276 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " She has a brother, unless I am mistaken," 
 said Mrs. Chauncey, when she could speak. 
 
 " And that's just what I was going to tell you, 
 ma'am. She had been there five or ten minutes 
 without moving, or more — I am sure I don't know 
 how long it was, I didn't think how time went, — 
 when the first thing I knew I heard another step, 
 and Mr. John came in. I thought, and expected, 
 he was taking some sleep-; but I suppose," said 
 Margery, sighing, " he couldn't rest. I knew his 
 step, and just drew myself back further. He came 
 just where you are, ma'am, and stood with his arms 
 folded a long time looking. I don't know how 
 Miss Ellen didn't hear him come in ; but, however, 
 she didn't ; — and they were both as still as death, 
 one on one side, and the other on the other side. 
 And I wondered he didn't see her ; but her white 
 dress and all — and I suppose he had no thought 
 but for one thing. I knew the first minute he did 
 see her, when he looked over and spied her on the 
 other side of the bed ; — I see his color change ; 
 and then his mouth took the look it always did 
 whenever he sets himself to do anything. He stood 
 a minute, and then he went round, and knelt down 
 beside of her, and softly took away one of her 
 hands from under her face, and held it in both his 
 own, and then he made such a prayer ! — Oh," said 
 Margery, her tears falling fast at the recollection, 
 — u I never heard the like ! I never did. He 
 gave thanks for Miss Alice, and he had reason 
 enough, to be sure, — and for himself and Miss 
 Ellen — I wondered to hear him ! — and he prayed 
 for them too, and others, — and — oh, I thought I 
 couldn't stand and hear him ; and I was afeard to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 277 
 
 breathe the whole time, lest he would know I was 
 there. It was the beautifullest prayer I did ever 
 hear, or ever shall, however." 
 
 " And how did Ellen behave ? " said Mrs. 
 Chauncey, when she could speak. 
 
 " She didn't stir, nor make the least motion nor 
 sound, till he had done, and spoke to her. They 
 stood a little while then, and Mr. John put the rest 
 of the flowers up there round her hand and the 
 pillow, — Miss Ellen hadn't put more than half a 
 dozen ; — I noticed how he kept hold of Miss 
 Ellen's hand all the time. I heard her begin to 
 tell him how she didn't finish the flowers, and he 
 told her, ' I saw it all, Ellie,' he said ; and he said, 
 1 it didn't want finishing.' I wondered how he 
 should see it, but I suppose he did, however. / 
 understood it very well. They went away down- 
 stairs after that." 
 
 " He is beautifully changed," said Mrs. Vawse. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," said Margery, — " I've 
 heard that said afore, but I can't say as I ever 
 could see it. He always was the same to me — al- 
 ways the honorablest, truest, noblest — my husband 
 says he was a bit fiery, but I never could tell that 
 the one temper was sweeter than the other ; only 
 everybody always did whatever Mr. John wanted, 
 to be sure ; but he was the perfectest gentleman, 
 always." 
 
 " I have not seen either Mr. John or Ellen since 
 my mother came," said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " No, ma'am," said Margery, — " they were out 
 reading under the trees for a long time ; and Miss 
 Ellen came in the kitchen-way a little while ago and 
 went to lie down." 
 
278 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " How is Mr. Humphreys?" 
 
 " Oh, I can't tell you, ma'am — he is worse than 
 any one knows of, I am afraid, unless Mr. John ; 
 you will not see him, ma'am ! he has not been here 
 once, nor don't mean to, I think. It will go hard 
 with my poor master, I am afraid," said Margery, 
 weeping ; — " dear Miss Alice said Miss Ellen was to 
 take her place; but it would want an angel to do that." 
 
 "Ellen will do a great deal," said Mrs. Vawse ; 
 — " Mr. Humphreys loves her well now, I know." 
 
 " So do I, ma'am, I am sure ; and so does every 
 one ; but still " 
 
 Margery broke off her sentence and sorrowfully 
 went downstairs. Mrs. Chauncey moved no more 
 flowers. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the next day Margery 
 came softly into Ellen's room. 
 
 " Miss Ellen, dear, you are awake, aren't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Margery," said Ellen, sitting up on the 
 bed ; — " come in. What is it ? " 
 
 " I came to ask Miss Ellen if she could do me a 
 great favor ; — there's a strange gentleman come, 
 and nobody has seen him yet, and it don't seem 
 right. He has been here this some time." 
 
 " Have you told Mr. John ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Ellen ; he's in the library with my 
 master; and somehow I durstn't go to the door; 
 mayhap they wouldn't be best pleased. Would 
 Miss Ellen mind telling Mr. John of the gentleman's 
 being here ? " 
 
 Ellen would mind it very much, there was no 
 doubt of that ; Margery could hardly have asked 
 her to put a greater force upon herself ; she did not 
 say so. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 279 
 
 " You are sure he is there, Margery ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure, Miss Ellen. I am very sorry 
 to disturb you; but if you wouldn't mind — I am 
 ashamed to have the gentleman left to himself so 
 long." 
 
 " I'll do it, Margery." 
 
 She got up, slipped on her shoes, and mechanic- 
 ally smoothing her hair, set off to the library. On 
 the way she almost repented her willingness to 
 oblige Margery ; the errand was marvelous dis- 
 agreeable to her. She had never gone to that room 
 except with Alice ; never entered it uninvited. She 
 could hardly make up her mind to knock at the 
 door. But she had promised ; it must be done. 
 
 The first fearful tap was too light to arouse any 
 mortal ears. At the second, though not much bet- 
 ter, she heard some one move, and John opened 
 the door. Without waiting to hear her speak he 
 immediately drew her in, very unwillingly on her 
 part, and led her silently up to his father. The old 
 gentleman was sitting in his great study-chair with 
 a book open at his side. He turned from it as she 
 came up, took her hand in his, and held it for a 
 few moments without speaking. Ellen dared not 
 raise her eyes. 
 
 " My little girl," said he, very gravely, though not 
 without a tone of kindness too, — " are you coming 
 here to cheer my loneliness ? " 
 
 Ellen in vain struggled to speak an articulate 
 word ; it was impossible 3 she suddenly stooped 
 down and touched her lips to the hand that lay on 
 the arm of the chair. He put the hand tenderly 
 upon her head. 
 
 " God bless you," said he, " abundantly, for all 
 
280 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the love you showed her. Come, — if you will, — and 
 be, as far as a withered heart will let you, all that 
 she wished. All is yours — except what will be 
 buried with her." 
 
 Ellen was awed and pained, very much. Not 
 because the words and manner were sad and 
 solemn ; it was the tone that distressed her. There 
 was no tearfulness in it ; it trembled a little ; it 
 seemed to come indeed from a withered heart. 
 She shook with the effort she made to control her- 
 self. John asked her presently what she had come 
 for. 
 
 " A gentleman," said Ellen, — " there's a gentle- 
 man — a stranger " 
 
 He went immediately out to see him, leaving her 
 standing there. Ellen did not know whether to go 
 or stay ; she thought from his not taking her 
 with him he wished her to stay ; she stood doubt- 
 fully. Presently she heard steps coming back 
 along the hall — steps of two persons — the door 
 opened, and the strange gentleman came in. No 
 stranger to Ellen ! she knew him in a moment ; it 
 was her old friend, her friend of the boat — Mr. 
 George Marsh man. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys rose up to meet him, and the 
 two gentlemen shook hands in silence. Ellen had 
 at first shrunk out of the way to the other side of 
 the room, and now when she saw an opportunity 
 she was going to make her escape ; but John gen- 
 tly detained her ; and she stood still by his side, 
 though with a kind of feeling that it was not there 
 the best place or time for her old friend to recog- 
 nize her. He was sitting by Mr. Humphreys and 
 for the present quite occupied with him. Ellen 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 281 
 
 thought nothing of what they were saying ; with 
 eyes eagerly fixed upon Mr. Marshman she was 
 reading memory's long story over again. The same 
 pleasant look and kind tone that she remembered 
 so well came to comfort her in her first sorrow, — 
 the old way of speaking, and even of moving an arm 
 or hand, the familiar figure and face ; how they 
 took Ellen's thoughts back to the deck of the 
 steamboat, the hymns, the talks ; the love and 
 kindness that led and persuaded her so faithfully 
 and effectually to do her duty ; — it was all present 
 again ; and Ellen gazed at him as at a picture of the 
 past, forgetting for the moment everything else. 
 The same love and kindness were endeavoring 
 now to say something for Mr. Humphreys* relief ; it 
 was a hard task. The old gentleman heard and 
 answered, for the most part briefly, but SO' as to 
 show that his friend labored in vain ; the bitter- 
 ness and hardness of grief were unallayed yet. It 
 was not till John made some slight remark that Mr. 
 Marshman turned his head that way ; he looked 
 for a moment in some surprise, and then said, his 
 countenance lightening, " Is that Ellen Mont- 
 gomery ? " 
 
 Ellen sprang across at that word to take his out- 
 stretched hand. But as she felt the well-remem- 
 bered grasp of it, and met the old look, the thought 
 of which she had treasured up for years, — it was 
 too much. Back as in a flood to her heart seemed 
 to come at once all the thoughts and feelings of the 
 time since then ; — the difference of this meeting 
 from the joyful one she had so often pictured to 
 herself ; the sorrow of that time mixed with the sor- 
 row now ; and the sense that the very hand that 
 
282 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had wiped those first tears away was the one now 
 laid in the dust by death. All thronged on her 
 heart at once ; and it was too much. She had scarce 
 touched Mr. Marshman's hand when she hastily 
 withdrew her own, and gave way to an overwhelm- 
 ing burst of sorrow. It was infectious. There was 
 such an utter absence of all bitterness or hardness 
 in the tone of this grief ; there was so touching an 
 expression of submission mingled with it, that even 
 Mr. Humphreys was overcome. Ellen was not the 
 only subdued weeper there ; not the only one whose 
 tears came from a broken-up heart. For a few 
 minutes the silence of stifled sobs was in the room, 
 till Ellen recovered enough to make her escape ; 
 and then the color of sorrow was lightened, in one 
 breast at least. 
 
 " Brother," said Mr. Humphreys, — " I can hear 
 you now better than I could a little while ago. I 
 had almost forgotten that God is good. ' Light in 
 the darkness ; ' — I see it now. That child has 
 given me a lesson." 
 
 Ellen did not know what had passed around her, 
 nor what had followed her quitting the room. But 
 she thought when John came to the tea-table he 
 looked relieved. If his general kindness and 
 tenderness of manner toward herself could have 
 been greater than usual, she might have thought it 
 was that night ; but she only thought he felt better. 
 
 Mr. Marshman was not permitted to leave the 
 house. He was a great comfort to everybody. 
 Not himself overburdened with sorrow, he was 
 able to make that effort for the good of the rest 
 which no one yet had been equal to. The whole 
 family, except Mr. Humphreys, were gathered 
 
THh WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 *&3 
 
 together at this time ; and his grave, cheerful un- 
 ceasing kindness made that by far the most com- 
 fortable meal that had been takea It was ex- 
 ceeding grateful to Ellen to see and hear him, from 
 the old remembrance as well as the present effect. 
 
 And he had not forgotten his old kindness for 
 her; she saw it in his look, his words, his voice,, 
 shown in every way ; and the feeling that she had 
 got her old friend again and should never lose 
 him now gave her more deep pleasure than any- 
 thing else could possibly have done at that time. 
 His own family too had not seen him in a long 
 time, so his presence was a matter of general 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Later in the evening .alien was sitting beside 
 him on the sofa, looking and listening, — he was 
 like a piece of old music to her, — when John came 
 to the back of the sofa and said he wanted to 
 speak to her. She went with him to the other side 
 of the room. 
 
 " Ellie," said he in a low voice, " I think my 
 father would like to hear you sing a hymn, — do you 
 think you could ? " 
 
 Ellen looked up, with a peculiar mixture of un- 
 certainty and resolution in her countenance, and 
 said yes. 
 
 " Not if it will pain you too much, — and not 
 unless you think you can surely go through with it, 
 Ellen," he said, gently. 
 
 " No," said Ellen ;— " I will try." 
 
 " Will it not give you too much pain ? do yon 
 think you can ? " 
 
 " No — I will try," she repeated. 
 
 As she went along the hall she said and resolvedi 
 
284 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to herself that she would do it. The library was 
 dark ; coming from the light Ellen at first could see 
 nothing. John placed her in a chair, and went 
 away himself to a little distance where he remained 
 perfectly still. She covered her face with her 
 hands for a minute, and prayed for strength ; she 
 was afraid to try. 
 
 Alice and her brother were remarkable for 
 beauty of voice and utterance. The latter Ellen 
 had in part caught from them ; in the former she 
 thought herself greatly inferior. Perhaps she 
 underrated herself ; her voice, though not indeed 
 powerful, was low and sweet and very clear ; and 
 the entire simplicity and feeling with which she 
 sang hymns was more effectual than any higher 
 qualities of tone and compass. She had been 
 very much accustomed to sing with Alice, who 
 excelled in beautiful truth and simplicity of ex- 
 pression ; listening with delight, as she had often 
 •done, and often joining with her, Ellen had caught 
 something of her manner. 
 
 She thought nothing of all this now ; she had 
 a trying task to go through. Sing ! — then, and 
 there ! — And what should she sing ? All that class 
 of hymns that bore directly on the subject of their 
 sorrow must be left on one side ; she hardly dared 
 think of them. Instinctively she took up another 
 class, that without baring the wound would lay the 
 balm close to it. A few minutes of deep stillness 
 were in the dark room ; then very low, and in 
 tones that trembled a little, rose the words, 
 
 How sweet the name of Jesus sounds 
 
 In a believer's ear ; 
 It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 
 
 And drives away his fear. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 285 
 
 The tremble in her voice ceased, as she went on 
 
 It makes the wounded spirit whole, 
 
 And calms the troubled breast ; 
 'Tis manna to the hungry soul, 
 
 And to the weary, rest. 
 
 By Him my prayers acceptance gain, 
 
 Although with sin denied ; 
 Satan accuses me in vain, 
 And I am owned a child. 
 
 Weak is the effort of my heart, 
 
 And cold my warmest thought, — 
 But when I see Thee as thou art, 
 
 I'll praise Thee as I ought. 
 
 Till then I would Thy love proclaim 
 
 With every lab 'ring breath; 
 And may the music of Thy name 
 
 Refresh my soul in death. 
 
 Ellen paused a minute. There was not a sound 
 to be heard in the room. She thought of the 
 hymn, " Loving Kindness ; " but the tune, and 
 the spirit of the words, was too lively. Her 
 mother's favorite, " 'Tis my happiness below," 
 but Ellen could not venture that ; she strove to 
 forget it as fast as possible. She sang, clearly and 
 sweetly as ever now, 
 
 Hark, my soul, it is the Lord, 
 'Tis thy Saviour, hear His word ; — 
 Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee, 
 " Say, poor sinner, lovest thou Me? 
 
 " I delivered thee when bound, 
 And when bleeding healed thy wound ; 
 Sought thee wandering, set thee right, 
 Turned thy darkness into light. 
 
 " Can a mother's tender care 
 Cease toward the child she bare ? 
 Yea — she may forgetful be, 
 Yet will I remember thee- 
 
26» THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Mine ie an unchanging love ; 
 Higher than the heights above, 
 Deeper than the depths beneath, 
 Free and faithful, strong as death.. 
 
 '* Thou shalt see My glory soon, 
 When the work of life is done, 
 Partner of My throne shall be, — 
 Say, poor sinner, lovest thou Me ? n 
 
 Lord, it is my chief complaint, 
 That my love is weak and faint ; 
 Yet I love Thee and adore, — 
 Oh for grace to love Thee more I 
 
 Ellen's task was no longer painful, but most de* 
 lightful. She hoped she was doing some good ; 
 and that hope enabled her, after the first trembling 
 beginning, to go on without any difficulty. She 
 was not thinking of herself. It was very well she 
 could not see the effect upon her auditors. 
 Through the dark her eyes could only just discern 
 a dark figure stretched upon the sofa and another 
 standing by the the mantel-piece. The room was 
 profoundly still, except when she was singing, 
 The choice of hymns gave her the greatest trouble. 
 She thought of "Jerusalem, my happy home," but 
 it would not do ; she and Alice had too often sung 
 it in strains of joy. Happily came to her mind the 
 beautiful, 
 
 "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord," etc. 
 
 She went through all the seven long verses. 
 Still, when Ellen paused at the end of this, the 
 breathless silence seemed to invite her to go on. 
 She waited a minute to gather breath. The 
 blessed words had gone down into her very heart, 
 did they ever seem half so sweet before ? She 
 was cheered and strengthened, and thought she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 287 
 
 could go through with the next hymn, though it 
 (had been much loved and often used, both by her 
 mother and Alice. 
 
 Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 
 Let me to Thy bosom fly, 
 While the billows near me roll, 
 
 While the tempest still is nigh. 
 Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, 
 
 Till the storm of life be past ; — 
 Safe into the haven guide, — 
 
 receive my soul at last ! 
 
 Other refuge have I none, 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee. 
 Leave, ah ! leave me not alone 1 
 
 Still support and comfort me. 
 All my trust on Thee is stayed, 
 
 All my help from Thee I bring ; — 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 Beneath the shadow of Thy wing. 
 
 Thou, O Christ, art all I want; 
 
 More than all in Thee I find ; 
 Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, 
 
 Heal the sick, and lead the blind, 
 Just aud holy is Thy name, 
 
 1 am all unrighteousness ; 
 Vile and full of sin I am, 
 
 Thou art full of truth and grace. 
 
 Still silence ; — " silence that spoke ! " Ellen did 
 not know what it said, except that her hearers did 
 not wish her to stop. Her next was a very favorite 
 hymn of them all. 
 
 " What are these in bright array," etc. 
 
 Ellen had allowed her thoughts to travel too far 
 along with the words, for in the last lines her voice 
 was unsteady and faint. She was fain to make a 
 longer pause than usual to recover herself. But in 
 vain ; the tender nerve was touched ; there was 
 «io stilling its quivering. 
 
288 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 " Ellen " — said Mr. Humphreys then after a few 
 minutes. She rose and went to the sofa. He 
 folded her close to his breast. 
 
 "Thank you, my child," he said, presently; — 
 " you have been a comfort to me. Nothing but a 
 choir of angels could have been sweeter." 
 
 As Ellen went away back through the hall her 
 tears almost choked her ; but for all that, there 
 was a strong throb of pleasure at her heart. 
 
 " I have been a comfort to him," she repeated. 
 " Oh, dear Alice !— so I will ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " A child no more ! — a maiden now — 
 A graceful maiden with a gentle brow ; 
 A cheek tinged lightly, and a dove-like eye, 
 And all hearts bless her as she passes by." 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 The whole Marshman family returned to Ventnor 
 immediately after the funeral, Mr. George excepted ; 
 he stayed with Mr. Humphreys over the Sabbath, 
 and preached for him ; and much to every one's, 
 pleasure lingered still a day or two longer ; then 
 he was obliged to leave them. John also must go 
 back to Doncaster for a few weeks ; he would not 
 be able to get home again before the early part of 
 August. For the month between and as much 
 longer indeed as possible, Mrs. Marshman wished 
 to have Ellen at Ventnor ; assuring her that it was 
 to be her home always whenever she chose to make 
 it so. At first neither Mrs. Marshman nor her 
 daughters would take any denial ; and old Mr. 
 Marshman was fixed upon it. But Ellen begged 
 with tears that she might stay at home and begin 
 at once, as far she could, to take Alice's place 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 2^9 
 
 Her kind friends insisted that it would do her harm 
 to be left alone for so long at such a season. Mr. 
 Humphreys in the best of times kept very much 
 to himself, and now he would more than ever ; she 
 would be very lonely. " But how lonely he will be 
 if I go away ! " said Ellen ; — " I can't go." Find- 
 ing that her heart was set upon it, and that it would 
 be a real grief to her to go to Ventnor, John at last 
 joined to excuse her ; and he made an arrangement 
 with Mrs. Vawse instead that she should come and 
 stay with Ellen at the parsonage till he came back. 
 This gave Ellen great satisfaction ; and her kind 
 Ventnor friends were obliged unwillingly to leave 
 her. 
 
 The first few days after John's departure were 
 indeed sad days — very sad to every one ; it could 
 not be otherwise. Ellen drooped miserably. She 
 had, however, the best possible companion in her 
 old Swiss friend. Her good sense, her steady 
 cheerfulness, her firm principle, were always awake 
 for Ellen's good, ever ready to comfort her, to 
 cheer her, to prevent her from giving undue way 
 to sorrow, to urge her to useful exertion. Affection 
 and gratitude, to the living and the dead, gave 
 powerful aid to these efforts. Ellen rose up in the 
 morning and lay down at night with the present 
 pressing wish to do and be for the ease and com- 
 fort of her adopted father and brother all that it 
 was possible for her. Very soon, so soon as she 
 could rouse herself to anything, she began to turn 
 over in her mind all manner of ways and means for 
 this end. And in general, whatever Alice would 
 have wished, what John did wish, was law to her. 
 
 " Margery," said Ellen, one day, " I wish you 
 
rgo 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 would tell me all the things Alice used to do ; sa 
 that I may begin to do them, you know, as soon as 
 I can. 5 ' 
 
 " What things, Miss Ellen ? " 
 
 '• I mean, the things she used to do about the 
 house, or to help you, — don't you know ? — all sorts 
 of things. I want to know them all, so that I may 
 do them as she did. I want to very much." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Ellen dear," said Margery, tearfully, 
 *' you are too little and tender to do them things ; 
 — I'd be sorry to see you, indeed ! " 
 
 " Why, no, I am not, Margery," said Ellen ; — 
 " don't you know how I used to do at Aunt For- 
 tune's ? Now tell me — please, dear Margery ! If 
 I can't do it, I won't, you know." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Ellen, she used to see to various 
 things about the house ; — I don't know, as I can 
 tell 'em all directly ; some was to help me, and 
 some to please her father, or Mr. John, if he was 
 at home ; she thought of every one else before 
 herself, sure enough." 
 
 " Well, what, Margery ? what were they ? Tell 
 me all you can remember." 
 
 " Why, Miss Ellen, — for one thing, — she used 
 to go into the library every morning, to put it in 
 order, and dust the books and papers and things ; 
 in fact, she took the charge of that room entirely ; 
 I never went into it at all, unless once or twice 
 in the year, or to wash the windows." 
 
 Ellen looked grave ; she thought with herself 
 there might be a difficulty in the way of her taking 
 this part of Alice's daily duties ; she did not feel 
 that she had the freedom of the library. 
 
 " And then," said Margery, "she used to skin? 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 291 
 
 the cream for me, most mornings, when I'd be 
 busy ; and wash up the breakfast things " 
 
 " Oh, I forgot all about the breakfast things ! " 
 exclaimed Ellen, — " how could I ! I'll do them to 
 be sure, after this. I never thought of them, Mar- 
 gery. And I'll skim the cream too." 
 
 " Dear Miss Ellen, I wouldn't want you to ; I 
 didn't mention it for that, but you was wishing me 
 to tell you — I don't want you to trouble your dear 
 little head about such work. It was more the 
 thoughtfulness that cared about me than the help 
 of all she could do, though that wasn't a little ; — ■ 
 I'll get along well enough ! " 
 
 " But I should like to, — it would make me hap- 
 pier ; and don't you think /want to help you too, 
 Margery ? " 
 
 " The Lord bless you, Miss Ellen," said Mar- 
 gery, in a sort of desperation, setting down one 
 iron and taking up another, " don't talk in that 
 way, or you'll upset me entirely. — I ain't a bit bet- 
 ter than a child," said she, her tears falling fast on 
 the sheet she was hurriedly ironing. 
 
 " What else, dear Margery ? " said Ellen, pres- 
 ently. " Tell me what else ? " 
 
 "Well, Miss Ellen," said Margery, dashing away 
 the water from either eye, — " she used to look 
 over the clothes when they went up from the wash ; 
 and put them away ; and mend them if there was 
 any places wanted mending." 
 
 " I am afraid I don't know how to manage that," 
 said Ellen, very gravely. — " There is one thing I 
 can do, — I can darn stockings very nicely ; but 
 that's only one kind of mending. I don't know 
 much about the other kinds." 
 
292 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Ah, well, but she did, however," said Margery, 
 searching in her basket of clothes for some partic- 
 ular pieces. " A beautiful mender she was, to be 
 sure ! Look here, Miss Ellen, — just see that patch 
 < — the way it is put on — so evenly by a thread all 
 round ; and the stitches, see — and see the way 
 this rent is darned down ; — oh, that was the way 
 she did everything ! " 
 
 " I can't do it so," said Ellen, sighing, — " but I 
 can learn ; — that I can do. You will teach me, 
 Margery, won't you ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Ellen, dear, it's more than I can 
 myself ; but I will tell you who will ; and that's 
 Mrs. Vawse. I am thinking it was her she learned 
 of in the first place, — but I ain't certain. Any- 
 how she's a first-rate hand." 
 
 " Then I'll get her to teach me," said Ellen ; — 
 " that will do very nicely. And now, Margery, 
 what else ? " 
 
 "Oh dear, Miss Ellen, — I don't know,— there 
 was a thousand little things that I'd only recollect 
 at the minute ; she'd set the table for me when my 
 hands was uncommon full ; and often she'd come 
 out and make some little things for the master 
 when I wouldn't have the time to do the same my- 
 self ; — and I can't tell — one can't think of those 
 things but just at the minute. Dear Miss Ellen, I'd 
 be sorry indeed, to see you a trying your little 
 hands to do all that she done." 
 
 " Never mind, Margery," said Ellen, and she 
 threw her arms round the kind old woman as she 
 spoke, — " I won't trouble you — and you won't be 
 troubled if I am awkward about anything at first, 
 will you ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 293 
 
 Margery could only throw down her holder to 
 return most affectionately as well as respectfully 
 Ellen's caress and press a very hearty kiss upon 
 her forehead. 
 
 Ellen next went to Mrs. Vawse to beg her help 
 in the mending and patching line. Her old friend 
 was very glad to see her take up anything with 
 interest, and readily agreed to do her best in the 
 matter. So some old clothes were looked up ; 
 pieces of linen, cotton, and flannel gathered to- 
 gether ; a large basket found to hold all these rags 
 of shape and no shape ; and for the next week or 
 two Ellen was indefatigable. She would sit mak- 
 ing vain endeavors to arrange a large linen patch 
 properly, till her cheeks were burning with excite- 
 ment ; and bend over a darn, doing her best to 
 take invisible stitches, till Mrs. Vawse was obliged 
 to assure her it was quite unnecessary to take so 
 much pains. Taking pains, however, is the sure 
 way to success. Ellen could not rest satisfied till 
 she had equalled Alice's patching and darning ; 
 and though when Mrs. Vawse left her she had not 
 quite reached that point, she was bidding fair to 
 do so in a little while. 
 
 In other things she was more at home. She 
 could skim milk well enough, and immediately be- 
 gan to do it for Margery. She at once also took 
 upon herself the care of the parlor cupboard and 
 all the things in it, which she well knew had been 
 Alice's office ; and, thanks to Miss Fortune's train- 
 ing, even Margery was quite satisfied with her neat 
 and orderly manner of doing it. Ellen begged her 
 when the clothes came up from the wash, to show 
 her where everything went, so that for the future she 
 
294 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 might be able to put them away ; and she studied 
 the shelves of the linen closet, and the chests of 
 drawers in Mr. Humphreys' room, till she almost 
 knew them by heart. As to the library, she dared 
 not venture. She saw Mr. Humphreys at meals 
 and at prayers, — only then. He had never asked 
 her to come into his study since the night she sang 
 to him, and as for her asking — nothing could have 
 been more impossible. Even when he was out of 
 the house, out by the hour, Ellen never thought of 
 going where she had not been expressly permitted 
 to go. 
 
 When Mr. Van Brunt informed his wife of 
 Ellen's purpose to desert her service and make 
 her future home at the parsonage, the lady's 
 astonishment was only less than her indignation ; 
 the latter not at all lessened by learning that Ellen 
 was to become the adopted child of the house. 
 For a while her words of displeasure were poured 
 forth in a torrent ; Mr. Van Brunt meantime 
 saying very little, and standing by like a steadfast 
 rock that the waves dash past, not upon. She 
 declared this was "the cap-sheaf of Miss Hum- 
 phreys' doings ; she might have been wise enough to 
 have expected as much ; she wouldn't have been 
 such a fool if she had ! This was what she had let 
 Ellen go there for ! a pretty return ! " But she went 
 on. " She wondered who they thought they had to 
 deal with ; did they think she was going to let Ellen 
 go in that way ? she had the first and only right to 
 her ; and Ellen had no more business to go and give 
 herself away than one of her oxen ; they would 
 find it out, she guessed, pretty quick ; Mr. John 
 and all; she'd have b^r back in no time!" What 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 295 
 
 were her thoughts and feelings, when after having 
 spent her breath she found her husband quietly 
 opposed to this conclusion, words cannot tell. 
 Her words could not ; she was absolutely dumb, 
 till he had said his say ; and then, appalled by the 
 cerenity of his manner she left indignation on one 
 side for the present and began to argue the matter. 
 But Mr. Van Brunt coolly said he had promised ; 
 she might get as many help as she liked, he would 
 pay for them and welcome ; but Ellen would have 
 to stay where she was. He had promised Miss 
 Alice ; and he wouldn't break his word * for kings, 
 lords, and commons." A most extraordinary ex- 
 pletive for a good republican, — which Mr. Van 
 Brunt had probably inherited from his father and 
 grandfather. What can waves do against a rock ? 
 The whilom Miss Fortune disdained a strugglr 
 which must end in her own confusion, and wisely 
 kept her chagrin to herself ; never even approach 
 ing the subject afterwards, with him or any other 
 person. Ellen had left the whole matter to Mr. 
 Van Brunt, expecting a storm and not wishing to 
 share it. Happily, it all blew over. 
 
 As the month drew to an end, and, indeed, long 
 before, Ellen's thoughts began to go forward 
 eagerly to John's coming home. She had learned 
 by this time how to mend clothes ; she had grown 
 somewhat wonted to her new round of little house- 
 hold duties ; in everything else the want of him 
 was felt. Study flagged ; though, knowing what 
 his wish would be, and what her duty was, she 
 faithfully tried to go on with it. She had no heart 
 for riding or walking by herself. She was lonely ; 
 she was sorrowful ; she was weary ; all Mrs. 
 
296 THE WIDl WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Vawse's pleasant society was not worth the mere 
 knowledge that he was in the house ; she longed 
 for his coming. 
 
 He had written what day they might expect him. 
 But when it came, Ellen found that her feeling 
 had. changed ; it did not look the bright dav she 
 had* expected it would. Up to that time she had 
 thought only of herself ; now she remembered 
 what sort of a coming home this must be to him ; 
 and she dreaded almost as much as she wished 
 for the moment of his arrival. Mrs. Vawse was 
 surprised to see that her face was sadder that day 
 than it had been for many past; she could not 
 understand it. Ellen did not explain. It was late 
 in the day before he reached home, and her anxious 
 watch of hope and fear for the sound of his horse's 
 leet grew very painful. She busied herself with 
 setting the tea-table ; it was all done ; and she 
 could by no means do anything else. She could 
 not go to the door to listen there ; she remembered 
 too well the last time ; and she knew he would 
 remember it. 
 
 He came at last. Ellen's feeling had judgeu 
 rightly of his, for the greeting was without a word 
 on either side ; and when he left the room to go to 
 his father, it was very, very long before he came 
 back. And it seemed to Ellen for several days 
 that he was more grave and talked less than even 
 the last time he had been at home. She was sorry 
 when Mrs. Vawse proposed to leave them. But 
 the old lady wisely said they would all feel better 
 when she was gone : and it was so. Truly as she 
 was respected and esteemed, on all sides, it was 
 felt a relief by every -> n e of the family when sh* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 297 
 
 went back to her mountain-top. They were left to 
 themselves ; they saw what their numbers were ; 
 there was no restraint upon looks, words, or silence. 
 Ellen saw at once that the gentlemen felt easier, 
 that was enough to make her so. The extreme 
 oppression that had grieved and disappointed her 
 the first few days after John's return gave place to 
 a softened gravity ; and the household fell again 
 into all its old ways ; only that upon every brow 
 there was a chastened air of sorrow, in everything 
 that was said, a tone of remembrance, and that a 
 little figure was going about where Alice's used to 
 move as mistress of the house. 
 
 Thanks to her brother, that little figure was an 
 exceeding busy one. She had in the first place her 
 household duties, in discharging which she was 
 perfectly untiring. From the cream skimmed for 
 Margery, and the cups of coffee poured out every 
 morning for Mr. Humphreys and her brother, to 
 the famous mending which took up often one half 
 of Saturday, whatever she did was done with her 
 best diligence and care ; and from love to both the 
 dead and the living, Ellen's zeal never slackened. 
 These things, however, filled but a small part of 
 her time, let her be as particular as she would ; and 
 Mr. John effectually hindered her from being too 
 particular. He soon found a plenty for both her 
 and himself to do. 
 
 Not that they ever forgot or tried to forget Alice ; 
 on the contrary, they sought to remember her, 
 humbly, calmly, hopefully, thankfully ! By diligent 
 performance of duty, by Christian faith, by conver- 
 sation and prayer, they strove to do this, and aftef 
 
298 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a time succeeded. Sober that winter was, but it 
 was very far from being an unhappy one. 
 
 " John," said Ellen, one day, some time aftel 
 Mrs. Vawse had left them, — " do you think Mr. 
 Humphreys would let me go into his study every 
 day when he is out, to put it in order and dust the 
 books ? " 
 
 " Certainly. But why does not Margery do it ? " 
 
 " She does, I believe, but she never used to ; and 
 I should like to do it very much if I was sure he 
 would not dislike it. I would be careful not to 
 disturb anything ; I would leave everything just as 
 I found it." 
 
 " You may go when you please, and do what you 
 please there, Ellie." 
 
 " But I don't like to — I couldn't without speak- 
 ing to him first ; I should be afraid he would 
 come back and find me there, and he might think I 
 hadn't had leave." 
 
 " And you wish me to speak to him, — is that it ? 
 Cannot you muster resolution enough for that, 
 Ellie ? " 
 
 Ellen was satisfied, for she knew by his tone 
 lie would do what she wanted. 
 
 " Father." said John, the next morning at break- 
 fast ; — " Ellen wishes to takes upon herself the 
 daily care of your study, but she is afraid to .ven- 
 ture without being assured it will please you to see 
 her there." 
 
 The old gentleman laid his hand affectionately 
 on Ellen's head, and told her she was welcome to 
 come and go when she would ; — the whole house 
 was hers. 
 
 The grave kindness and tenderness of the tone 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 299 
 
 and action spoiled Ellen's breakfast. She could 
 not look at anybody nor hold her head up for the 
 rest of the time. 
 
 As Alice had anticipated, her brother was called 
 to take the charge of a church at Randolph, and 
 at the same time another more distant was offered 
 him. He refused them both, rightly judging 
 that his place for the present was at home. But 
 the call from Randolph being pressed upon him 
 very much, he at length agreed to preach for them 
 during the winter ; riding thither for the purpose 
 every Saturday and returning to Carra-carra on 
 Monday. 
 
 As the winter wore on a grave cheerfulness stole 
 over the household. Ellen little thought how much 
 she had to do with it. She rjjver heard Margery tell 
 her husband, which she often did, with great affec- 
 tion, " that that blessed child was the light of the 
 house." And those who felt it the most said noth- 
 ing. Ellen was sure, indeed, from the way in which 
 Mr. Humphreys spoke to her, looked at her, now 
 and then laid his hand on her head, and sometimes, 
 very rarely, kissed her forehead, that he loved her 
 And loved to see her about ; and that her wish of 
 supplying Alice's place was in some little measure 
 fulfilled. Few as those words and looks were, they 
 said more to Ellen than whole discourses would 
 from other people ; the least of them gladdened her 
 heart with the feeling that she was a comfort to him. 
 But she never knew how much. Deep as the gloom 
 still over him was, Ellen never dreamed how much 
 deeper it would have been, but for the little figure 
 flitting round and filling up the vacancy ; how much 
 lie reposed on the gentle "ook of affection, the pleas- 
 
300 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ant voice, the watchful thoughtfulness that nevei 
 left anything undone that she could do for his 
 pleasure. Perhaps he did not know it himself. 
 She was not sure he even noticed many of the little 
 things she daily did or tried to do for him. Always 
 silent, and reserved, he was more so now than ever ; 
 she saw him little, and very seldom long at a time, 
 unless when they were riding to church together \ 
 he was always in his study or abroad. But the 
 trifles she thought he did not see were noted and 
 registered, and repaid with all the affection he had 
 to give. 
 
 As for Mr. John, it never came into Ellen's head 
 to think whether she was a comfort to him ; he was 
 a comfort to her ; she looked at it in quite another 
 point of view. He had gone to his old sleeping- 
 room upstairs which Margery had settled with her- 
 self he would make his study ; and for that he had 
 taken the 'sitting-room. This was Ellen's study toot, 
 so she was constantly with him ; and of the 
 quietest she thought her movements would have 
 to be. 
 
 " What are you stepping so softly for ? " said he, 
 one day, catching her hand as she was passing 
 near him. 
 
 " You were busy — I thought you were busy," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " I was afraid of disturbing you." 
 
 " You never disturb me," said he ; — " you need 
 not fear it. Step as you please, and do not shut 
 the doors carefully. I see you and hear you ; but 
 without any disturbance." 
 
 Ellen found it was so. But she was an exception 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 301 
 
 to the general rule ; other people disturbed him, as 
 she had one or two occasions of knowing. 
 
 Of one thing she was perfectly sure, whatever he 
 might be doing, — that he saw and heard her ; and 
 equally sure that if anything were not right she 
 should sooner or later hear of it. But this was a 
 censorship Ellen rather loved than feared. In the 
 first place, she was never misunderstood ; in the 
 second, however ironical and severe he might be to 
 others, and Ellen knew he could be both when 
 there was occasion, he never was either to her. 
 With great plainness always, but with an equally 
 happy choice of time and manner, he either said 
 or looked what he wished her to understand. This 
 happened, indeed, only about comparative trifles ; 
 to have seriously displeased him, Ellen would have 
 thought the last great evil that could fall upon her 
 in this world. 
 
 One day Margery came i .it ) the room with a 
 paper in her hand. 
 
 " Miss Ellen," said she, in a low tone, — " here 
 is Anthony Fox again — he has brought another of 
 his curious letters that he wants to know if Miss 
 Ellen will be so good as to write out for him once 
 more. He says he is ashamed to trouble you so 
 much." 
 
 Ellen was reading, comfortably ensconced in the 
 corner of the wide sofa. She gave a glance, a most 
 ungratified one, at the very original document in 
 Margery's hand. Unpromising it certainly looked. 
 
 " Another ! Dear me ! — I wonder if there isn't 
 somebody else he could get to do it for him, Mar- 
 gery ! I think I have had my share. You don't 
 know what a piece of work it is, to copy out one 
 
g02 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 of those scrawls. It takes me ever so long in tha 
 first place to find what he has written, and then to 
 put it so that any one else can make sense of it — 
 I've got about enough of it. Don't you suppose 
 he could find plenty of other people to do it for 
 him?" 
 
 " I don't know, Miss Ellen, — I suppose he 
 could." 
 
 " Then ask him, do ; won't you, Margery ? I'm 
 so tired of it ! and this is the third one ; and I've 
 got something else to do. Ask him if there isn't 
 somebody else he can get to do it ; — if there isn't, 
 I will ; — tell him I am busy." 
 
 Margery withdrew, and Ellen buried herself again 
 in her book. Anthony Fox was a poor Irishman, 
 whose uncouth attempts at a letter Ellen had once 
 offered to write out and make straight for him, 
 upon hearing Margery tell of his lamenting that 
 he could not make one fit to send home to his 
 mother. 
 
 Presently Margery came in again, stopping this 
 time at the table which Mr. John had pushed to 
 the far side of the room to get away from the fire. 
 
 ' ; I beg your pardon, sir," she said, — " I am 
 ashamed to be so troublesome, — but this Irish body, 
 this Anthony Fox, has begged me, and I didn't 
 know how to refuse him, to come in and ask for a 
 sheet of paper and a pen for him, sir, — he wants to 
 copy a letter, — if Mr. John would be so good ; a 
 quill pen, sir, if you please ; he cannot write with 
 any other." 
 
 " No," said John, coolly. " Ellen will do it." 
 
 Margery looked in some doubt from the table to 
 the sofa, but Ellen instantly rose up and with a 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 303 
 
 burning cheek came forward and took the paper 
 from the hand where Margery still held it. 
 
 " Ask him to wait a little while, Margery," she 
 said, hurriedly, — " I'll do it as soon as I can, — tell 
 him in half an hour." 
 
 It was not a very easy nor quick job. Ellen 
 worked at it patiently, and finished it well by the 
 end of the half hour ; though with a burning cheek 
 still : and a dimness over her e_) es frequently obliged 
 her to stop till she could clear them. It was done, 
 and she carried it out to the kitchen herself. 
 
 The poor man's thanks were very warm ; but 
 that was not what Ellen wanted. She could not 
 rest till she had got another word from her brother. 
 He was busy ; she dared not speak to him ; she sat 
 fidgeting and uneasy in the corner of the sofa till 
 it was time to get ready for riding. She had plenty 
 of time to make up her mind about the right and 
 the wrong of her own conduct. 
 
 During the ride he was just as usual, and she 
 began to think he did not mean to say anything 
 more on the matter. Pleasant talk and pleasant 
 exercise had almost driven it out of her head, when 
 as they were walking their horses over a level place, 
 he suddenly began. 
 
 " By the by, you are too busy, Ellie," said he. 
 " Which of your studies shall we cut of! ? " 
 
 "Please, Mr. John," said Ellen, blushing, — " don't 
 say anything about that ! I was not studying at 
 all — I was just amusing myself with a book — I was 
 only selfish and lazy." 
 
 " Only — I would rather you were too busy, Ellie." 
 
 Ellen's eyes filled. 
 
 " I was wrong," she said, — " I knew it at the 
 
304 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 time, — at least as soon as as you spoke I knew it; 
 and a little before; — I was very wrong! " 
 
 And his keen eye saw that the confession was 
 not out of compliment to him merely; it came 
 from the heart. 
 
 " You are right now," he said, smiling. " But 
 how are your reins?" 
 
 Ellen's heart was at rest again. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot them," said she gayly, — " I was 
 thinking of something else." 
 
 ''You must not talk when you are riding, unless 
 you can contrive to manage two things at once; 
 and no more lose command of your horse than 
 you would of yourself." 
 
 FHen's eye met his with all the contrition, affev, 
 tip m, and ingenuousness that even he wished to see 
 there; and they put their horses to the canter. 
 
 This winter was in many ways a very precious 
 one to Ellen. French gave her now no trouble; 
 she was a clever arithmetician, she knew geography 
 admirably, and was tolerably at home in both Eng- 
 lish and American history; the way was cleared for 
 the course of improvement in which her brother's 
 hand led and helped her. He put her into Latin; 
 carried on the study of natural philosophy they had 
 begun the year before, and which, with his instruc- 
 tions, was perfectly delightful to Ellen; he gave 
 her some works of stronger reading than she had 
 yet tried, besides histories in French and English, 
 and higher branches of arithmetic. These things 
 were not crowded together so as to fatigue, nor 
 hurried through so as to overload. Carefully and 
 thoroughly she was obliged to puther mind through 
 every subject they entered upon; and just at that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 305 
 
 age, opening as her understanding was, it grappled 
 eagerly with all that he gave her, as well from love 
 to learning as from love to him. In reading too, 
 she began to take new and strong delight. Espe- 
 cially two or three new English periodicals, which 
 John sent for on purpose for her, were mines of 
 pleasure to Ellen. There was no fiction in them 
 either ; they were as full of instruction as of interest. 
 At all times of the day and night, in her intervals 
 of business, Ellen might be seen with one of these 
 in her hand, nestled among the cushions of the 
 sofa, or on a little bench by the side of the fireplace 
 in the twilight, where she could have the benefit of 
 the blaze, which she loved to read by as well as 
 ever. Sorrowful remembrances were then flown, 
 all things present were out of view, and Ellen's 
 face was dreamingly happy. 
 
 It was well there was always somebo*dy by, who, 
 whatever he might himself be doing, never lost 
 sight of her. If ever Ellen was in danger of bend- 
 ing too long over her studies or indulging herself 
 too much in the sofa-corner, she was sure to be 
 broken off to take an hour or two of smart exercise, 
 riding or walking, or to recite some lesson (and 
 their recitations were very lively things), or to read 
 aloud, or to talk. Sometimes if he saw that she 
 seemed to be drooping or a little sad, he would 
 come and sit down by her side or call her to his, 
 find out what she was thinking about ; and then, 
 instead of slurring it over, talk of it fairly and set it 
 before her in such a light that it was impossible 
 to think of it again gloomily, for that day at least. 
 Sometimes he took other ways ; but never when he 
 was present allowed her long to look weary or sor« 
 20 
 
306 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 rowful. He often read to her, and every day made 
 her read aloud to him. This Ellen disliked very 
 much at first, and ended with as much liking it. 
 She had an admirable teacher. He taught her how 
 to manage her voice and how to manage the lan- 
 guage ; in both which he excelled himself, and was 
 determined that she should ; and besides this their 
 reading often led to talking that Ellen delighted in. 
 Always when he was making copies for her she 
 read to him, and once at any rate in the course of 
 the day. 
 
 Every day when the weather would permit, the 
 Black Prince and the Brownie with their respective 
 riders might be seen abroad in the country, far and 
 wide. In the course of their rides Ellen's horse- 
 manship was diligently perfected. Very often their 
 turning place was on the top of the Cat's Back, and 
 the horses had a rest and Mrs. Vawse a visit be- 
 fore they went down again. They had long walks 
 too, by hill and dale ; pleasantly silent or pleasantly 
 talkative, — all pleasant to Ellen ! 
 
 Her only lonely or sorrowful time was when John 
 was gone to Randolph. It began early Saturday 
 morning, and perhaps ended with Sunday night . 
 for all Monday was hope and expectation. Even 
 Saturday she had not much time to mope ; that was 
 the day for her great week's mending. When John 
 was gone and her morning affairs were out of 
 the way, Ellen brought out her work-basket, and 
 established herself on the sofa for a quiet day's 
 sewing, without the least fear of interruption. But 
 sewing did not always hinder thinking. And then 
 certainly the room did seem very empty, and very 
 still ; and the clock, which she never heard the rest 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 307 
 
 of the week, kept ticking an ungracious reminder 
 that she was alone. Ellen would sometimes forget 
 it in the intense interest of some nice little piece of 
 repair which must be exquisitely done in a wrist- 
 band or a glove ; and then perhaps Margery would 
 softly open the door and come in. 
 
 " Miss Ellen, dear, you're lonesome enough ; 
 isn't there something I can do for you ? I can't 
 rest for thinking of your being here all by your- 
 self." 
 
 " Oh, never mind, Margery," said Ellen, smiling, 
 — " I am doing very well. I am living in hopes of 
 Monday. Come_ and look here, Margery, — how 
 will that do ? — don't you think I am learning to 
 mend?" 
 
 " It's beautiful, Miss Ellen ! I can't make out 
 how you've learned so quick. I'll tell Mr. John 
 some time who does these things for him." 
 
 " No, indeed, Margery ! don't you. Please not, 
 Margery. I like to do it very much indeed, but I 
 don't want he should know it, nor Mr. Humphreys. 
 Now you won't, Margery, will you ? " 
 
 " Miss Ellen, dear, I wouldn't do the least little 
 thing as would be worrisome to you for the whole 
 world. Aren't you tired sitting here all alone ? " 
 
 " Oh, sometimes, a little," said Ellen, sighing. 
 " I can't help that, you know." 
 
 " I feel it even out there in the kitchen," said 
 Margery — " I feel it lonesome hearing the house so 
 still ; I miss the want of Mr. John's step up and 
 down the room. How fond he is of walking so, to 
 be sure ! How do you manage, Miss Ellen, with 
 him making his study here ? don't you have to keep 
 uncommon quiet ? " 
 
308 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " No,'' said Ellen, — " no quieter than I like. 1 
 do just as I have a mind to." 
 
 " I thought, to be sure," said Margery, " he 
 would have taken upstairs for his study, or the next 
 room, one or t'other ; he used to be mighty par- 
 ticular in old times ; he didn't like to have anybody 
 round when he was busy ; but I am glad he is 
 altered, however ; it is better for you, Miss Ellen, 
 dear, though I didn't know how you was ever going 
 to make out at first." 
 
 Ellen thought for a minute, when Margery was 
 gone, whether it could be that John was putting a 
 force upon his liking for her sake, bearing her pres- 
 ence when he would rather have been without it. 
 But she thought of it only a minute ; she was sure, 
 when she recollected herself, that, however it hap- 
 pened, she was no hindrance to him in any kind of 
 work ; that she went out and came in, and as he 
 had said, he saw and heard her without any dis- 
 turbance. Besides, he had said so ; and that was 
 enough. 
 
 Saturday evening she generally contrived to busy 
 herself in her books. But when Sunday morning 
 came with its calmness and brightness ; when the 
 business of the week was put away, and quietness 
 abroad and at home invited to recollection, then 
 Ellen's thoughts went back to old times, and then 
 she missed the calm, sweet face that had agreed so 
 well with the day. She missed her in the morning, 
 when the early sun streamed in through the empty 
 room. She missed her at the breakfast-table, where 
 John was not to take her place. On the ride to 
 church, where Mr. Humphreys was now her silent 
 companion, and every tree in the road and every 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD}. 
 
 309 
 
 opening in the landscape seemed to call for Alice, 
 to see it with her. Very much she missed her 
 in church. The empty seat beside her, — the unused 
 hymn-book on the shelf, — the want of her sweet 
 voice in the singing, — oh, how it went to Ellen's 
 heart ! And Mr. Humphreys' grave, steadfast look 
 and tone kept it in her mind ; she saw it was in 
 his. Those Sunday mornings tried Ellen. At first 
 they were bitterly sad ; her tears used to flow 
 abundantly whenever they could r mseen. Time 
 softened this feeling. 
 
 While Mr. Humphreys went on to /lis second 
 service in the village beyond, Ellen stayed at Carra- 
 carra and tried to teach a Sunday-school. She de- 
 termined as far as she could to supply beyond the 
 home circle the loss that was not felt only there. 
 She was able, however, to gather together but her 
 own four children whom she had constantly taught 
 from the beginning, and, two others. The rest 
 were scattered. After her lunch, which, having no 
 companion but Margery, was now a short one^ 
 Ellen went next to the two old women that Alice 
 had been accustomed to attend for the purpose of 
 reading, and what Ellen called preaching. These 
 poor old people had sadly lamented the loss of the 
 faithful friend whose place they never expected to 
 see supplied in this world, and whose kindness had 
 constantly sweetened their lives with one great 
 pleasure a week. Ellen felt afraid to take so much, 
 upon herself, as to try to do for them what Alice 
 had done ; however she resolved ; and at the very 
 first attempt their gratitude and joy far overpaid 
 her for the effort she had made. Practice and the 
 motive she had, soon enabled Ellen to remember 
 
310 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and repeat faithfully the greater part of Mr. Hum- 
 phreys' morning sermon. Reading the Bible to Mrs. 
 Blockson was easy ; she had often done that ; and 
 to repair the loss of Alice's pleasant comments and 
 explanations she bethought her of her Pilgrim's 
 Progress. To her delight the old woman heard it 
 greedily, and seemed to take great comfort in it ; 
 often referring to what Ellen had read before, and 
 begging to hear such a piece over again. Ellen 
 generally went home pretty thoroughly tired, yet 
 feeling happy ; the pleasure of doing good still far 
 overbalanced the pains. 
 
 Sunday evening was another lonely time ; Ellen 
 ;spent it as best she could. Sometimes with her 
 Bible and prayer, and then she ceased to be lonely ; 
 sometimes with so many pleasant thoughts that 
 had sprung up out of the employments of the 
 morning that she could not be sorrowful ; sometimes 
 she could not help being both. In any case, she 
 was very apt when the darkness fell to take to 
 singing hymns ; and it grew to be a habit with Mr. 
 Humphreys when he heard her to come out of his 
 study and lie down upon the sofa and listen, suffer- 
 ing no light in the room but that of the fire. Ellen 
 never was better pleased than when her Sunday 
 evenings were spent so. She sung with wonderful 
 pleasure when she sung for him ; and she made it 
 her business to fill her memory with all the beautiful 
 :hymns she ever knew or could find, or that he liked 
 particularly. 
 
 With the first opening of her eyes on Monday 
 morning came the thought, " John will be at home 
 4o-day ! " That was enough to carry Ellen pleas- 
 antly through whatever the day might bring. She 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 311 
 
 generally kept her mending of stockings for Monday 
 morning, because with that thought in her head 
 she did not mind anything. She had no visits from 
 Margery on Monday ; but Ellen sang over her 
 work, sprang about with happy energy, and studied 
 her hardest ; for John in what he expected her to 
 do made no calculations for work of which he knew 
 nothing. He was never at home till late in the 
 day ; and when Ellen had done all she had to do> 
 and set the supper-table with punctilious care, and 
 a face of busy happiness it would have been a 
 pleasure to see if there had been any one to look 
 at it, she would take what happened to be the 
 favorite book and plant herself near the glass door ; 
 like a very epicure, to enjoy both the present and 
 the future at once. Even then the present often 
 made her forget the future ; she would be lost in 
 her book, perhaps hunting the elephant in India 01 
 fighting Nelson's battles over again, and the first 
 news she would have of what she had set herself 
 there to watch for would be the click of the door- 
 lock or a tap on the glass, for the horse was almost 
 always left at the further door. Back then she 
 came, from India or the Nile ; down went the book ; 
 Ellen had no more thought but for what was before 
 her. 
 
 For the rest of that evening the measure of Ellen's 
 happiness was full. It did not matter whether 
 John were in a talkative or a thoughtful mood ; 
 whether he spoke to her and looked at her or not ; 
 it was pleasure enough to feel that he was there. 
 She was perfectly satisfied merely to sit down near 
 him, though she did not get a word by the hour 
 together. 
 
312 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Ne in all the welkin was no cloud. 
 
 Chaucml 
 
 One Monday evening, John being tired, was 
 resting in the corner of the sofa. The silence had 
 lasted a long time. Ellen thought so, and stand- 
 ing near, she by and by put her hand gently into 
 one of his which he was thoughtfully passing 
 through the locks of his hair. Her hand was 
 clasped immediately, and quitting his abstracted 
 look he asked what she had been doing that day ? 
 Ellen's thoughts went back to toes of stockings 
 and a long rent in her dress ; she merely answered, 
 smiling, that she had been busy. 
 
 " Too busy, I'm afraid. Come round here and 
 sit down. What have you been busy about ? " 
 
 Ellen never thought of trying to evade a ques- 
 tion of his. She colored and hesitated. He did 
 not press it any further. 
 
 " Mr. John," said Ellen, when the silence seemed 
 to have set in again, — " there is something I have 
 been wanting to ask you this great while " 
 
 " Why hasn't it been asked this great while ? " 
 
 " I didr't quite like to ; — I didn't know what you 
 would say to it." 
 
 " I am sorry I am at all terrible to you, Ellie." 
 
 " Why, you are not ! " said Ellen, laughing, — 
 " how you talk ! but I don't much like to ask 
 people things." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said he, smiling; — 
 " my memory rather seems to say that you ask 
 things pretty often." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 3*3 
 
 " Ah, yes, — those things, — but I mean — I don't 
 like to ask things when I am not quite sure how 
 people will like it." 
 
 " You are right, certainly, to hesitate when you 
 are doubtful in such a matter ; but it is best not to 
 be doubtful when I am concerned." 
 
 " Well," said Ellen, — " I wished very much — I 
 was going to ask — if you would have any objection 
 to let me read one of your sermons." 
 
 " None in the world, Ellie," said he, smiling, — 
 " but they have never been written yet." 
 
 " Not written ! " 
 
 " No — there is all I had to guide me yesterday." 
 
 " A half sheet of paper ! — and only written on 
 one side ! — Oh, I can make nothing of this. What 
 is this ?— Hebrew ? " 
 
 " Shorthand." 
 
 " And is that all ! I cannot understand it," 
 said Ellen, sighing, as she gave back the paper. 
 
 " What if you were to go with me next time ? 
 They want to see you very much at Ventnor." 
 
 " So do I want to see them," said Ellen ; — " very 
 much indeed." 
 
 " Mrs. Marshman sent a most earnest request 
 by me that you would come to her the next time I 
 go to Randolph." 
 
 Ellen gave the matter a very serious considera- 
 tion ; if one might judge by her face. 
 
 " What do you say to it ? " 
 
 " I should like to go — very much," said Ellen,, 
 slowly, — " but " 
 
 " But you do not think it would be pleasant ? " 
 
 " No, no," said Ellen, laughing, — " I don't mean 
 that ; but I think I would rather not." 
 
314 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh — I have some reasons." 
 
 " You must give me very good ones, or I think 
 I shall over-rule your decision, Ellie." 
 
 " I have very good ones, — plenty of them, — 
 only " 
 
 A glance, somewhat comical in its keenness, 
 overturned Ellen's hesitation. 
 
 " I have, indeed," said she, laughing, — " only I 
 did not want to tell you. The reason why I didn't 
 wish to go was because I thought I should be 
 missed. You don't know how much I miss you," 
 said she, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " That is what I was afraid of ! Your reasons 
 anake against you, Ellie." 
 
 " I hope not ; — I don't think they ought." 
 
 " But, Ellie, I am very sure my father would 
 rather miss you once or twice than have you want 
 what would be good for you." 
 
 " I know that ! I am sure of that ; but that 
 <lon't alter my feeling, you know. And besides — 
 that isn't all." 
 
 ; ' Who else will miss you ? " 
 
 Ellen's quick look seemed to say that he knew 
 too much already, and that she did not wish him 
 to know more. He did not repeat the question, but 
 Ellen felt that her secret was no longer entirely her 
 own. 
 
 " And what do you do, Ellie, when you feel 
 lonely ? " he went on presently. 
 
 Ellen's eyes watered at the tone in which these 
 words were spoken ; she answered, " Different 
 things." 
 
 " The best remedy for it is prayer. In seeking 
 
THk 'A ' ZDX, WIDE WORLD. 315 
 
 the face of our best Friend we forget the loss of 
 others. That is what I try, Ellen, when I feel 
 alone, — do you try it ? " said he, softly. 
 
 Ellen looked up ; she could not well speak at. 
 that moment. 
 
 " There is an antidote in that for every trouble. 
 You know who said, ' he that cometh to Me shall 
 never hunger, and he that believeth on Me, shall 
 never thirst.' " 
 
 " It troubles me," said he, after a pause, — " to 
 leave you so much alone. I don't know that it 
 were not best to take you with me every week." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Ellen,—" don't think of me. I 
 don't mind it indeed. I do not always feel so — 
 sometimes, — but I get along very well • and I 
 would rather stay here, indeed I would. I am. 
 always happy as soon as Monday morning comes." 
 
 He rose up suddenly and began to walk up and 
 down the room. 
 
 " Mr. John " 
 
 " What, Ellie ? " . 
 
 " I do sometimes seek His face very much when 
 I cannot find it." 
 
 She hid her face in the sofa-cushion. He was 
 silent a few minutes, and then stopped his walk. 
 
 " There is something wrong then with you, Ellie," 
 he said, gently. " How has it been through the 
 week ? If you can let day after day pass without 
 remembering your best Friend, it may be that when, 
 you feel the want you will not readily find Him.. 
 How is it daily. Ellie ? is seeking His face your 
 first concern ? do you give a sufficient time faith* 
 fully to your Bible and prayer ? " 
 
 Ellen shook her head ; no words were possible,. 
 
3 £6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 He took up his walk again. The silence had 
 lasted a length of time and he was still walking, 
 when Ellen came to his side and laid her hand on 
 his arm. 
 
 " Have you settled that question with your con- 
 science, Ellie ? " 
 
 She weepingly answered yes. They walked a 
 few turns up and down. 
 
 " Will you promise me, Ellie, that every day 
 when it shall be possible, you will give an hour 
 at least to this business ? — whatever else may be 
 done or undone ? " 
 
 Ellen promised ; and then with her hand in his 
 they continued their walk through the room till 
 Mr. Humphreys and the servants came in. Her 
 brother's prayer that night Ellen never forgot. 
 
 No more was said at that time about her going 
 to Ventnor. But a week or two after John smilingly 
 told her to get all her private affairs arranged, and 
 to let her friends know they need not expect to see 
 her the next Sunday, for that he was going to take 
 her with him. As she saw he had made up his 
 mind, Ellen said nothing in the way of objecting ; 
 and now that the decision was taken from her was 
 really very glad to go. She arranged everything, 
 as he had said ; and was ready Saturday morning 
 to set off with a very light heart. 
 
 They went in the sleigh. In a happy quiet mood 
 of mind, Ellen enjoyed everything exceedingly. 
 She had not been to Ventnor in several months ; 
 the change of scene was very grateful. She could 
 not help thinking, as they slid along smoothly and 
 swiftly over the hard-frozen snow, that it was a 
 $;ood deal pleasanter, for once, than sitting alone in 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 317 
 
 the parlor at home with her work-basket. Those 
 days of solitary duty, however, had prepared her 
 for the pleasure of this one; Ellen knew that, and 
 was ready to be thankful for everything. Through- 
 out the whole way, whether the eye and mind 
 silently indulged in roving, or still better, loved 
 talk interrupted that, as it often did, Ellen was in a 
 state of most unmixed and unruffled satisfaction. 
 John had not the slightest reason to doubt the cor- 
 rectness of his judgment in bringing her. He 
 went in but a moment at Ventnor, and leaving her 
 there, proceeded himself to Randolph. 
 
 Ellen was received as a precious lending that 
 must be taken the greatest care of and enjoyed as 
 much as possible while one has it. Mrs. Marshman 
 and Mrs. Chauncey treated her as if she had been 
 their own child. Ellen Chauncey overwhelmed her 
 with joyful caresses, and could scarcely let her out 
 of her arms, by night or day. She was more than 
 ever Mr. Marshman's pet ; but indeed she was well 
 petted by all the family. It was a very happy visit. 
 
 Even Sunday left nothing to wish for. To her 
 great joy not only Mrs. Chauncey went with her in 
 the morning to hear her brother (for his church 
 was not the one the family attended), but the car- 
 riage was ordered in the afternoon also ; and Mrs. 
 Chauncey and her daughter and Miss Sophia went 
 with her again. When they returned, Miss Sophia, 
 who had taken a very great fancy to her, brought 
 her into her own room and made her lie down with 
 her upon the bed, though Ellen insisted she was 
 not tired. 
 
 " Well, you ought to be, if you are not," said the 
 lady, " I am. Keep away, Ellen Chauncey — you 
 
318 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 can't be anywhere without talking. You can live 
 without Ellen for half an hour, can't ye ? Leave us 
 a little while in quiet." 
 
 Ellen for her part was quite willing to be quiet. 
 But Miss Sophia was not sleepy, and it soon ap- 
 peared had no intention of being silent herself. 
 
 " Well, how do you like your brother in the 
 pulpit ? " she began. 
 
 " I like him anywhere, ma'am," said Ellen, 
 smiling a very unequivocal smile. 
 
 " I thought he would have come here with you 
 last night ; — it is very mean of him ! He never 
 comes near us ; he always goes to some wretched 
 little lodging or place in the town there ; — always ; 
 never so much as looks at Ventnor, unless some- 
 times he may stop for a minute at the door." 
 
 " He said he would come here to-night," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Amazingly condescending of him ! However, 
 he isn't like anybody else ; I suppose we must not 
 judge him by common rules. How is Mr. Hum- 
 phreys, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," said Ellen, — " it is hard 
 to tell ; he doesn't say much. I think he is rather 
 more cheerful — if anything — than I expected he 
 would be." 
 
 " And how do you get along there, poor child ! 
 with only two such grave people about you ? "' 
 
 " I get along very well, ma'am," said Ellen, with 
 what Miss Sophia thought a somewhat curious 
 smile. 
 
 " I believe you will grow to be as sober as the 
 rest of them," said she. How does Mr. John be- 
 have ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 319 
 
 Ellen turned so indubitably curious a look upon 
 her at this that Miss Sophia half laughed and went 
 on : 
 
 " Mr. Humphreys was not always as silent and 
 reserved as he is now ; I remember him when he 
 was different ; — though I don't think he ever was 
 much like his son. Did you ever hear about it ? " 
 
 " About what, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Oh, all about his coming to this country, and 
 what brought him to Carra-carra ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " My father, you see, had come out long before, 
 but the two families had been always very intimate 
 in England, and it was kept up after he came away. 
 He was a particular friend of an elder brother of Mr. 
 Humphreys ; his estate and my grandfather's lay 
 very near each other ; and besides, there were other 
 things that drew them to each other ; — he married 
 my aunt, for one. My father made several journeys 
 back and forth in the course of years, and so kept 
 up his attachment to the whole family, you know ; 
 and he became very desirous to get Mr. Humphreys 
 over here, — this Mr. Humphreys, you know. He 
 was the younger brother — younger brothers in Eng- 
 land generally have little or nothing ; but you don't 
 know anything about that, Ellen. He hadn't any- 
 thing then but his living and that was a small one ; 
 he had some property left him though, just before 
 he came to America." 
 
 " But, Miss Sophia " — Ellen hesitated, — " are 
 you sure they would like I should hear all this ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, child ! — of course they would ; every- 
 body knows it. Some things made Mr. Humphreys 
 as willing to leave England about that time as my 
 
32 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 father was to have him. An excellent situation was 
 offered him in one of the best institutions here, and 
 he came out. That's about — let me see — I was just 
 twelve years old and Alice was one year younger. 
 She and I were just like sisters always from that 
 time. We lived near together, and saw each other 
 every day, and our two families were just like one. 
 But they were liked by everybody. Mrs. Hum- 
 phreys was a very fine person, — very ; oh, very ! I 
 never saw any woman I admired more. Her death 
 almost killed her husband ; and I think Alice — I 
 don't know ! — there isn't the least sign of delicate 
 health about Mr. Humphreys nor Mr. John, — not 
 the slightest, — nor about Mrs. Humphreys either. 
 She was a very fine woman ! " 
 
 " How long ago did she die ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Five, — six, seven, — seven years ago. Mr. John 
 had been left in England till a little before. Mr. 
 Humphreys was never the same after that. He 
 wouldn't hold his professorship any longer ; he 
 couldn't bear society ; he just went and buried him- 
 self at Carra-carra. That was a little after we came 
 here." 
 
 How much all this interested Ellen ! She was 
 glad, however, when Miss Sophia seemed to have 
 talked herself out, for she wanted very much to 
 think over John's sermon. And as Miss Sophia 
 happily fell into a doze soon after, she had a long 
 quiet time for it, till it grew dark, and Ellen Chaun- 
 cey, whose impatience could hold no longer, came 
 to seek her. 
 
 John came in the evening. Ellen's patience and 
 politeness were severely tried in the course of it ; 
 for while she longed exceedingly to hear what her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 321 
 
 brother and the older members of the family were 
 talking about, — animated, delightful conversation, 
 she was sure, — Ellen Chauncey detained her in 
 another part of the room ; and for a good part of 
 the evening she had to bridle her impatience, and 
 attend to what she did not care about. She did it, 
 and Ellen Chauncey did not suspect it ; and at last 
 she found means to draw both her and herself near 
 the larger group. But they seemed to have got 
 through what they were talking about ; there was 
 a lull. Ellen waited ; and hoped they would begin 
 again. 
 
 " You had a full church this afternoon, Mr* 
 John," said Miss Sophia. 
 
 He bowed gravely. 
 
 " Did you know whom you had among your audi' 
 
 tors ? the and were there ; " naming some 
 
 distinguished strangers in the neighborhood. 
 
 " I think I saw them." 
 
 " You ' think,' you did ! Is that an excess of 
 pride or an excess of modesty ? Now do be a rea- 
 sonable creature, and confess that you are not in- 
 sensible to the pleasure and honor of addressing 
 such an audience ! " 
 
 Ellen saw something like a flash of contempt 
 for an instant in his face, instantly succeeded by a 
 smile. 
 
 " Honestly, Miss Sophia, I was much more inter- 
 ested in an old woman that sat at the foot of the 
 pulpit stairs." 
 
 " That old thing ! " said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " I saw her," said Mrs. Chauncey ; — " poor old 
 creature ! she seemed most deeply attentive when 
 I looked at her." 
 21 
 
322 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " /saw her! " cried Ellen Chauncey, — " and the 
 tears were running down her cheeks several times." 
 
 " I didn't see her," said Ellen Montgomery, as 
 John's eye met hers. He smiled. 
 
 " But do you mean to say,'' continued Miss So- 
 phia, " that you are absolutely careless as to who 
 hears you ? " 
 
 " I have always one hearer, Miss Sophia, of so 
 much dignity, that it sinks the rest into great insig- 
 nificance." 
 
 " That is a rebuke," said Miss Sophia ; — " but 
 nevertheless I shall tell you that I liked you very 
 much this afternoon." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " I suppose you will tell me next," said the 
 young lady laughing, " that you are sorry to hear 
 me say so." 
 
 " I am," said he gravely. 
 
 " Why ?— may I ask ? " 
 
 " You show me that I have quite failed in my 
 aim, so far at least as one of my hearers was con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " Do you remember what Louis the Fourteenth 
 said to Massillon ? — Mon pere, j'ai entendu plu- 
 sieurs grands orateurs dans ma chapelle ; j'an ai e'te 
 fort content : pour vous, toutes les fois que je vous 
 ai entendu, j'ai ete' tres mecontent de moi-meme ! " 
 
 Ellen smiled. Miss Sophia was silent for an 
 instant. 
 
 " Then you really mean to be understood, that 
 provided you fail of your aim, as you say, you do 
 not care a straw what people think of you ? " 
 
 " As I would take a bankrupt's promissory note 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 323 
 
 In lieu of told gold. It gives me small gratification, 
 Miss Sophia, — very small indeed, — to see the bow- 
 ing heads of the grain that yet my sickle cannot 
 reach." 
 
 " I agree with you most heartily," said Mr. George 
 Marshman. The conversation dropped ; and the 
 two gentlemen began another in an undertone, 
 pacing up and down the floor together. 
 
 The next morning, not sorrowfully, Ellen entered 
 the sleigh again and they set off homewards. 
 
 "What a sober little piece that is," said Mr, 
 Howard. 
 
 " Oh ! — sober," cried Ellen Chauncey ; — " that is 
 because you don't know her, Uncle Howard. She 
 is the cheerfullest, happiest girl that I ever saw, — •. 
 always." 
 
 " Except Ellen Chauncey, — always," said her 
 uncle. 
 
 " She is a singular child," said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 " She is grave certainly, but she don't looked moped 
 at all, and I should think she would be to death." 
 
 " There's not a bit of moping about her," said 
 Miss Sophia. " She can laugh and smile as well as 
 anybody ; though she has sometimes that peculiar 
 grave look of the eyes that would make a stranger 
 doubt it. I think John Humphreys has infected 
 her; he has something of the same look himself.'* 
 
 " I am not sure whether it is the eyes or the 
 mouth, Sophia," said Mr. Howard. 
 
 " It is both ! "said Miss Sophia. " Did you ever 
 see the eyes look one way, and the mouth another ? '* 
 
 "And besides," said Ellen Chauncey, "she has 
 reason to look sober, I am sure." 
 
 " She is a fascinating child," said Mrs. Gilles* 
 
324 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 pie. " I cannot comprehend where she gets the 
 manner she has. I never saw a more perfectly 
 polite child ; and there she has been for months 
 with nobody to speak to but two gentlemen and the; 
 servants. It is natural to her, I suppose ; she can 
 have nobody to teach her." 
 
 " I am not so sure as to that," said Miss Sophia ; 
 " but I have noticed the same thing often. Did 
 you observe her last night, Matilda, when John 
 Humphreys came in ? you were talking to her at 
 the moment ; — I saw her, before the door was 
 opened, — I saw the color come and her eyes sparkle, 
 but she did not look towards him for an instant, 
 till you had finished what you were saying to her 
 and she had given, as she always does, her modest, 
 quiet answer ; and then her eye went straight as an 
 arrow to where he was standing." 
 
 " And yet," said Mrs. Chauncey, " she never 
 moved towards him when you did, but stayed 
 quietly on that side of the room with the young 
 ones till he came round to them, and it was some 
 time too." 
 
 " She is an odd child," said Miss Sophia, laugh- 
 ing, — " what do you think she said to me yesterday ? 
 I was talking to her and getting rather communi- 
 cative on the subject of my neighbors' affairs ; and 
 she asked me gravely, — the little monkey ! — if I 
 was sure they would like her to hear it ? I felt 
 quite rebuked ; though I didn't choose to let her 
 know as much." 
 
 " I wish Mr. John would bring her every week," 
 said Ellen Chauncey, sighing ; " it would be too 
 pleasant to have her." 
 
 Towards the end of the winter Mr. Humphreys 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 325 
 
 began to propose that his son should visit England 
 and Scotland during the following summer. He 
 wished him to see his family and to know his native 
 country, as well as some of the most distinguished 
 men and institutions in both kingdoms. Mr. George 
 Marshman also urged upon him some business in 
 which he thought he could be eminently useful. 
 But Mr. John declined both propositions, still think- 
 ing he had more important duties at home. This 
 only cloud that rose above Ellen's horizon, scattered 
 away. 
 
 One evening, it was a Monday, in the twilight, 
 John was as usual pacing up and down the floor, 
 Ellen was reading in the window. 
 
 " Too late for you, Ellie." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, — " I know — I will stop in 
 two minutes." But in a quarter of that time she had 
 lost every thought of stopping, and knew no longer 
 that it was growing dusk. Somebgdy else, how- 
 ever, had not forgotten it. The two minutes were 
 not ended, when a hand came between her and the 
 page and quietly drew the book away. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon ? " cried Ellen, starting 
 up. " I entirely forgot all about it ! " 
 
 He did not look displeased ; he was smiling. 
 He drew her arm within his. 
 
 " Come and walk with me. Have you had any 
 exercise to-day ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I had a good deal to do, and I had fixed my- 
 self so nicely on the sofa with my books ; and it 
 looked cold and disagreeable out of doors." 
 
 " Since when have you ceased to be a fixture ? " 
 
\2(\ THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "What* -Oh," said Ellen, laughing,— " ho* 
 shall I ever get rid of that troublesome word ? 
 What shall I say ? — I had arranged myself, estab- 
 lished myself, so nicely on the sofa." 
 
 " And did you think that a sufficient reason for 
 not going out ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen, "I did not; and I did not 
 decide that I would not go ; and yet I let it keep 
 me at home after all — just as I did about reading 
 a few rnimites ago. I meant to stop, but I forgot 
 it, and I should have gone on I don't know how long 
 if you had not stopped me. I very often do so." 
 
 He paused a minute and then said, 
 
 " You must not do so any more, Ellie." 
 
 The tone, in which there was a great deal both 
 of love and decision, wound round Ellen's heart, 
 and constrained her to answer immediately, 
 
 " I will not— I will not." 
 
 " Never parley with conscience ; — it is a danger- 
 ous habit." 
 
 " But then — it was only " 
 
 " About trifles ; I grant you ; but the habit is no 
 trifle. There will not be a just firmness of mind 
 and steadfastness of action, where tampering with 
 duty is permitted even in little things." 
 
 " I will try not to do it," Ellen repeated. 
 
 " No," said he, smiling, — " let it stand as at first. 
 ' Iwill?iotJ means something; ' J will try,' is very 
 apt to come to nothing. ' I will keep thy precepts 
 with my whole heart ! ' — not ' I will try. 1 Your re- 
 liance is precisely the same in either case." 
 
 "I will not, John," said Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " What were you poring over so intently a while 
 ago ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 327 
 
 " It was an old magazine — Blackwood's Maga- 
 zine, I believe, is the name of it — I found two great 
 piles of them in a closet upstairs the other day ; 
 and I brought this one down." 
 
 " This is the first that you have read ? " 
 
 " Yes — I got very much interested in a curious 
 story there ; — why ? " 
 
 " What will you say, Ellie, if I ask you to leave 
 the rest of the two piles unopened ? " 
 
 " Why, I will say that I will do it, of course," 
 said Ellen, with a little smothered sigh of regret, 
 however ; — " if you wish it." 
 
 " I do wish it, Ellie." 
 
 " Very well — I'll let them alone then. I have 
 enough other reading ; I don't know how I hap- 
 pened to take that one up ; because I saw it there, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Have you finished Nelson yet ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! — 1 finished it Saturday night. Oh, I 
 like it very much ! I am going all over it again, 
 though. I like Nelson very much ; don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes — as well as I can like a man of very fine 
 qualities without principle." 
 
 " Was he that ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes ; did you not find it out ? I am afraid your 
 eyes were blinded by admiration." 
 
 " Were they ? " said Ellen. " I thought he was 
 so very fine, in everything ; and I should be sorry 
 to think he was not." 
 
 " Look over the book again by all means, with a 
 more critical eye ; and when you have done so you 
 shall give me your cool estimate of his character." 
 
 " Oh me ! " said Ellen. " Well,— but I don't 
 know whether I can give you a cool estimate of 
 
328 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 him; — however, I'll try. I cannot think coolly o| 
 him now, just after Trafalgar. I think it was a 
 shame that Collingwood did not anchor as Nelson 
 told him to ; don't you ? I think he might have 
 been obeyed while he was living, at least." 
 
 " It is difficult," said John, smiling, " to judge 
 correctly of many actions without having been on 
 the spot and in the circumstances of the actors. I 
 believe you and I must leave the question of Tra- 
 falgar to more nautical heads." 
 
 " How pleasant this moonlight is ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " What makes r: pleasant ? " 
 
 " What makes it pleasant ! — I don't know ; I 
 never thought of such a thing. It is made to be 
 pleasant, — I can't tell why ; can anybody?" 
 
 " The eye loves light for many reasons, but all 
 kinds of light are not equally agreeable. What 
 makes the peculiar charm of these long streams of 
 pale light across the floor ? and the shadowy bright- 
 ness without ? " 
 
 " You must tell," said Ellen ; " I cannot." 
 
 " You know we enjoy anything much more by 
 contrast ; I think that is one reason. Night is the 
 reign of darkness, which we do not love ; and here 
 is light struggling with the darkness, not enough 
 to overcome it entirely, but yet banishing it to 
 nooks and corners, and distant parts, by the side 
 of which it shows itself in contrasted beauty. Our 
 eyes bless the unwonted victory." 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, — "we only have moonlight 
 nights once in a while." 
 
 " But that is only one reason out of many, and 
 not the greatest. It is a very refined pleasure, and 
 to resolve it into its elements is something like 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 329 
 
 trying to divide one of these same white rays of light 
 into the many various colored ones that go to form 
 it , — and not by any means so easy a task." 
 
 " Then it was no wonder I couldn't answer it," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " No — you are hardly a full-grown philosopher 
 yet, Ellie." 
 
 " The moonlight is so calm and quiet," Ellen 
 observed, admiringly. 
 
 " And why is it calm and quiet ? — I must have 
 an answer to that." 
 
 " Because we are generally calm and quiet at such 
 times ? " Ellen ventured after a little thought. 
 
 " Precisely ! — we and the world. And associa- 
 tion has given the moon herself the same character. 
 Besides that her mild sober light is not fitted for 
 the purposes of active employment, and therefore 
 the more graciously invites us to the pleasures of 
 thought and fancy." 
 
 " I am loving it more and more, the more you 
 talk about it," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " And there you have touched another reason, 
 Ellie, for the pleasure we have, not only in the 
 moonlight, but in most other things. When two 
 things have been in the mind together, and made 
 any impression, the mind associates them ; and you 
 cannot see or think of the one without bringing 
 back the remembrance or the feeling of the other. 
 If we have enjoyed the moonlight in pleasant 
 scenes, in happy hours, with friends that we loved, 
 -though the sight of it may not always make us 
 directly remember them, it yet brings with it a 
 waft from the feeling of the old times, — sweet as 
 long as life lasts ! " 
 
33 O THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " And sorrowful things may be associated too ? * 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, and sorrowful things. — But this power of 
 association is the cause of half the pleasure we 
 enjoy. There is a tune my mother used to sing — 
 I cannot hear it now without being carried swiftly 
 back to my boyish days, — to the very spirit of the 
 time ; I feel myself spring over the greensward as I 
 did then." 
 
 "Oh, I know that is true," said Ellen. "The 
 camellia, the white camellia, you know, — I like 
 it so much ever since what you said about it 
 one day. I never see it without thinking of it ; 
 and it would not seem half so beautiful but for 
 that." 
 
 " What did I say about it ? " 
 
 " Don't you remember ? you said it was like 
 what you ought to be, and what you should be if 
 you ever reached heaven ; and you repeated that 
 verse in the Revelation about ' those that have not 
 defiled their garments.' I always think of it It 
 seems to give me a lesson." 
 
 " How eloquent of beautiful lessons all nature 
 would be to us," said John musingly, " if we had 
 but the eye and the ear to take them in." 
 
 " And in that way you would heap associations 
 upon associations." 
 
 " Yes ; till our storehouse of pleasure was very 
 full." 
 
 " You do that now," said Ellen. " I wish you 
 would teach me." 
 
 " I have read precious things sometimes in the 
 bunches of flowers you are so fond of, Ellie. Can 
 not you ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 331 
 
 " I don't know — I only think of themselves ; 
 except — sometimes, they make me think of Alice." 
 
 " You know from any works we may form some 
 judgment of the mind and character of their 
 author.' 7 
 
 ' ; From their writings I know you can," said 
 Ellen ; — " from what other works ? " 
 
 " From any which are not mechanical ; from any 
 in which the mind, not the hand, has been the 
 creating power. I saw you very much interested 
 the other day in the Eddystone lighthouse ; did it 
 help you to form no opinion of Mr. Smeaton ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, certainly," said Ellen, — " I admired 
 him exceedingly for his cleverness and perse- 
 verance ; but what other works ? — I can't think of 
 any." 
 
 "There is the lighthouse, — that is one thing. 
 What do you think of the ocean waves that now 
 and then overwhelm it ? " 
 
 Ellen half shuddered. " I shouldn't like to go to 
 sea, John ! But you were speaking of men's works 
 and women's works ? " 
 
 " Well, women's works, — I cannot help forming 
 some notion of a lady's mind and character from 
 the way she dresses herself." 
 
 " Can you ! do you ! " 
 
 " I cannot help doing it. Many things appear in 
 the style of a lady's dress that she never dreams 
 of ; — the style of her thoughts among others." 
 
 "It is a pity ladies didn't know that," said 
 Ellen, laughing ; — ' they would be very careful." 
 
 " It wouldn't mend the matter, Ellie. That is 
 one of the things in which people are obliged to 
 speak truth. A.s the mind is, so it will show itself." 
 
332 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " But we have got a great way from the flowers,* 
 said Ellen. 
 
 " You shall bring me some to-morrow, Ellie, and 
 we will read them together." 
 
 " There are plenty over there now," said Ellen, 
 looking towards the little flower-stand, which was 
 as full and as flourishing as ever, — " but we 
 couldn't see them well by this light." 
 
 " A bunch of flowers seems to bring me very 
 near the Hand that made them. They are the 
 work of His fingers ; and I cannot consider them 
 without being joyfully assured of the glory and 
 loveliness of their Creator. It is written as plainly 
 to me in their delicate painting and sweet breath 
 and curious structure, as in the very pages of the 
 Bible ; though no doubt without the Bible I could 
 not read the flowers." 
 
 " I never thought much of that," said Ellen. 
 " And then you find particular lessons in particular 
 flowers ? " 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, come here ! " said Ellen, pulling him 
 towards the flower-stand, — " and tell me what this 
 daphne is like — you need not see that, only smell 
 it, that's enough ; — do, John, and tell me what it is 
 like ! " 
 
 He smiled as he complied with her request, and 
 walked away again. 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " said Ellen ; " I know you 
 have thought of something." 
 
 " It is like the fragrance that Christian society 
 sometimes leaves upon the spirit ; when it is just 
 what it ought to be." 
 
 " My Mr. Marshman ! " exclaimed Ellen: 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 333 
 
 John smiled again. " I thought of him, Ellie. 
 And I thought also of Cowper's lines : — 
 
 " ' When one who holds communion with the skies, 
 Has filled his urn where those pure waters rise, 
 Descends and dwells among us meaner things, — 
 It is as if an angel shook his wings ! ' " 
 
 Ellen was silent a minute from pleasure. 
 
 " Well, I have got an association now with the 
 daphne ! " she said, joyously ; and presently added, 
 sighing, — " How much you see in everything, that I 
 do not see at all." 
 
 " Time, Ellie," said John : — " there must be time, 
 for that. It will come. Time is cried out upon 
 as a great thief ; it is people's own fault. Use him 
 but well ; and you will get from his hand more 
 than he will ever take from you." 
 
 Ellen's thoughts traveled on a little way from 
 this speech, — and then came a sigh, of some 
 burden, as it seemed ; and her face was softly laid 
 against the arm she held. 
 
 " Let us leave all that to God," said John, 
 gently. 
 
 Ellen started. " How did you know — how could 
 you know what I was thinking of ? " 
 
 " Perhaps my thoughts took the same road," 
 said he, smiling. " But, Ellie, dear, let us look to 
 that one source of happiness that can never be 
 dr.ed up ; it is not safe to count upon anything 
 else." 
 
 " It is not wonderful," said Ellen, in a tremulous 
 voice,—" if I " 
 
 " It is not wonderful, Ellie, nor wrong. But we, 
 who look up to God as our Father, — who rejoice in 
 Christ our Saviour, — we are happy, whatever be* 
 
334 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 side we may gain or lose. Let us trust Him, and 
 never doubt that, Ellie." 
 
 " But still " said Ellen. 
 
 " But still, we will hope and pray alike in that 
 matter. And while we do, and may, with our whole 
 hearts, let us leave ourselves in our Father's hand. 
 The joy of the knowledge of Christ ! the joy the 
 world cannot intermeddle with, the peace it cannot 
 take away ! — Let us make that our own, Ellie ; and 
 for the rest, put away all anxious care about what 
 we cannot control." 
 
 Ellen's hand, however, did not just then lie quite 
 so lightly on his arm as it did a few minutes ago ; 
 he could feel that ; and could see the glitter of one 
 or two tears in the moonlight as they fell. The 
 hand was fondly taken in his ; and as they slowly 
 paced up and down, he went on in low tones of 
 kindness and cheerfulness with his pleasant talk, 
 till she was too happy in the present to be anxious 
 about the future ; looked up again brightly into 
 his face, and questions and answers came as gayly 
 as ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Who knows what may happen ? Patience and shuffle the cards .... 
 Perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and come back St. Peter. 
 
 Longfellow.* 
 
 The rest of the winter, or rather the early part 
 of the spring, passed happily away. March, at 
 Thirlwall, seemed more to belong to the former 
 than the latter. Then spring came in good earnest ; 
 April and May brought warm days and wild flowers. 
 Ellen refreshed herself and adorned the room 
 with quantities of them ; and as soon as might 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 335 
 
 be she set about restoring the winter-ruined 
 garden. Mr. John was not fond of gardening ; he 
 provided her with all manner of tools, ordered 
 whatever work she wanted to be done for her, 
 supplied her* with new plants, and seeds, and roots, 
 and was always ready to give her his help in any 
 operations or press of business that called for 
 it. But for the most part Ellen hoed, and raked, 
 and transplanted, and sowed seeds, while he 
 walked or read ; often giving his counsel, indeed, 
 asked and unasked, and always coming in between 
 her and any difficult or heavy job. The hours 
 tfius spent were to Ellen hours of unmixed delight. 
 When he did not choose to go himself he sent 
 Thomas with her, as the garden was some little 
 distance down the mountain, away from the house 
 and from everybody ; he never allowed her to go 
 there alone. 
 
 As if to verify Mr. Van Brunt's remark, that 
 " something is always happening most years," 
 about the middle of May there came letters that 
 after all determined John's going abroad. The 
 sudden death of two relatives, one after t: e other, 
 had left the family estate to Mr. Humphreys ; it 
 required the personal attendance either of himself 
 or his son ; he could not, therefore his son must, 
 go. Once on the other side of the Atlantic, Mr. 
 John thought it best his going should fulfill all the 
 ends for which both Mr. Humphreys and Mr. 
 Marshman had desired it ; this would occasion his 
 stay to be prolonged to at least a year, probably 
 more. And he must set off without delay. 
 
 In the midst, not of his hurry, for Mr. John 
 seldom was or seemed to be in a hurry about any- 
 
336 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 thing ; but in the midst of his business, he took 
 special care of everything that concerned or could 
 possibly concern Ellen. He arranged what books 
 she should read, what studies she should carry on , 
 and directed that about these matters as well as 
 about all others she should keep up a constant 
 communication with him by letter. He requested 
 Mrs. Chauncey to see that she wanted nothing, 
 and to act as her general guardian in all minor 
 things, respecting which Mr. Humphreys could be 
 expected to take no thought whatever. And what 
 Ellen thanked him for most of all, he found time 
 for all his wonted rides, and she thought more than 
 his wonted talks with her ; endeavoring, as he well 
 knew how, both to strengthen and cheer her mind 
 in view of his long absence. The memory of those 
 hours never went from her. 
 
 The family at Ventnor were exceeding desirous 
 that she should make one of them, during all the 
 time John should be gone ; they urged it with 
 every possible argument. Ellen said little, but he 
 knew she did not wish it ; and finally compounded 
 the matter by arranging that she should stay at the 
 parsonage through the summer, and spend the 
 winter at Ventnor, sharing all Ellen Chauncey's 
 advantages of every kind. Ellen was all the more 
 pleased with this arrangement that Mr. George 
 Marshman would be at home. The church John 
 had been serving were become exceedingly attached 
 to him, and would by no means hear of giving him 
 up ; and Mr. George had engaged, if possible, to 
 supply his place while he should be away. Ellen 
 Chauncey was in ecstasies. And it was further 
 promised that the summer should not pass without 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 337 
 
 as many visits on both sides as could well be 
 brought about. 
 
 Ellen had the comfort, at the last, of hearing 
 John say that she had behaved unexceptionably 
 well where he knew it was difficult for her to be- 
 have well at all. That was a comfort, from him, 
 whose notions of unexceptional behavior, she knew, 
 were remarkably high. But the parting, after all, 
 was a dreadfully hard matter ; though softened as 
 much as it could be at the time, and rendered very 
 sweet to Ellen's memory, by the tenderness, gentle- 
 ness, and kindness, with which her brother without 
 checking soothed her grief. He was to go early in 
 the morning ; and he made Ellen take leave of him 
 the night before ; but he was in no hurry to send 
 her away ; and when at length he told her it was 
 very late, and she rose up to go, he went with her 
 to the very door of her room and there bade her 
 good-night. 
 
 How the next days passed Ellen hardly knew ; 
 they were unspeakably long. 
 
 Not a week after, one morning Nancy Vawse 
 came into the kitchen, and asked in her blunt 
 fashion, 
 
 "Is Ellen Montgomery at home ?" 
 
 " I believe Miss Ellen is in the parlor," said 
 Margery, dryly. 
 
 " I want to speak to her." 
 
 Margery silently went across the hall to the sit- 
 ting-room. 
 
 " Miss Ellen, dear," she said, softly, " here is 
 that Nancy girl wanting to speak with you, — will 
 you please to see her ? " 
 
 Ellen eagerly desired Margery to let her in, by 
 22 
 
33 J THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 no means displeased to have some interruption ta 
 the sorrowful thoughts she could not banish. She 
 received Nancy very kindly. 
 
 " Well, I declare, Ellen ! " said that young lady, 
 whose wandering eye was upon everything but Ellen 
 herself, — " ain't you as fine as a fiddle ? I guess 
 you never touch your fingers to a file nowadays, — 
 do you ? " 
 
 " A file ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " You ha'n't forgot what it means, I s'pose," said 
 Nancy, somewhat scornfully, — " 'cause if you think 
 I'm a going to swallow that, you're mistaken. I've 
 seen you file off tables down yonder a few times, 
 ha'n't I ? " 
 
 "Oh, I remember now," said Ellen, smiling; — ■ 
 " it is so long since I heard the word that I didn't 
 know what you meant. Margery calls it a dishcloth, 
 or a floorcloth, or something else." 
 
 " Well, you don't touch one nowadays, do you ? " 
 
 "No," said Ellen. "I have other things to 
 do." 
 
 "Well, I guess you have. You've got enough of 
 books now, for once, ha'n't you ? What a lot ! — I 
 say, Ellen, have you got to read all these ? *,'• 
 
 " I hope so, in time," said Ellen, smiling. " Why 
 haven't you been to see me before ? " 
 
 " Oh — I don't know ! " — said Nancy, whose rov- 
 ing eye looked a little as if she felt herself out of 
 her sphere. " I didn't know as you would care to 
 see me now." 
 
 " I am very sorry you should think so, Nancy ; 
 I would be as glad to see you as ever. I have not 
 forgotten all your old kindness to me when Aunt 
 Fortune was sick." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 339 
 
 "You've forgotten all that went before that, I 
 s'pose," said Nancy with a half laugh. " You beat 
 all ! Most folks remember and forget just t'other 
 way exactly. But besides, I didn't know but I 
 should catch myself in queer company." 
 
 " Well — I am all alone now," said Ellen, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "Yes, if you warn't I wouldn't be here, I can tell 
 you. What do you think I have come for to-day, 
 Ellen ? " 
 
 " For anything but to see me ? " 
 
 Nancy nodded very decisively. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " How can I possibly guess ? What have you 
 got tucked up in your apron there ? " 
 
 " Ah ! — that's the very thing," said Nancy. 
 " What have I got, sure enough ? " 
 
 "Well, I can't tell through your apron," said 
 Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " And /can't tell either; — that's more, ain't it ? 
 Now listen, and I'll tell you where I got it, and then 
 you may find out what it is, for I don't know. 
 Promise you won't tell anybody." 
 
 " I don't like to promise that, Nancy." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because it might be something I ought to tell 
 somebody about." 
 
 " But it ain't." 
 
 " If it isn't I won't tell. Can't you leave it so ? " 
 
 " But what a plague ! Here I have gone and 
 done all this just for you, and now you must go and 
 make a fuss. What hurt would it do you to prom- 
 ise ? — it's nobody's business but yours and mine, 
 
34-0 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and somebody else's that won't make any talk about 
 it, I promise you." 
 
 " I won't speak of it certainly, Nancy, unless I 
 think I ought ; can't you trust me ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't give two straws for anybody else's 
 say so," said Nancy ; — " but as you're as stiff as 
 the mischief I s'pose I'll have to let it go. I'll trust 
 you ! Now listen. It don't look like anything, does 
 it?" 
 
 "Why, no," said Ellen, laughing ; "you hold your 
 apron so loose that I cannot see anything." 
 
 " Well, now listen. You know I've been helping 
 down at your aunt's, — did you ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, I have, — these six weeks. You never see 
 anything go on quieter than they do, Ellen. I de- 
 clare it's fun. Miss Fortune never was so good in 
 her days. I don't mean she ain't as ugly as ever, 
 you know, but she has to keep it in. All I have to 
 do if I think anything is going wrong, I just let her 
 i think I am going to speak to him about it ; — only I 
 have to do it very cunning, for fear she would guess 
 what I am up to ; and the next thing I know it's 
 all straight. He is about the coolest shaver," said 
 Nancy, " I ever did see. The way he walks through 
 her notions once in a while — not very often, mind 
 you, but when he takes a fancy, — it's fun to see ! 
 Oh, I can get along there first-rate now. You'd 
 have a royal time, Ellen." 
 
 " Well, Nancy — your story ? " 
 
 " Don't you be in a hurry !^I am going to take 
 my time. Well, I've been there this six weeks ; do- 
 ing all sorts of things, you know ; taking your place^ 
 Ellen ; don't you wish you was back in it ? — Well, a 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 341 
 
 couple of weeks since, Mrs. Van took it into her 
 head she would have up the wagon and go to Thirl- 
 wall to get herself some things ; a queer start for 
 her ; but at any rate Van Brunt brought up the 
 wagon and in she got and off they went. Now 
 she meant, you must know, that I should be fast in 
 the cellar-kitchen all the while she was gone, and 
 she thought she had give me enough to keep me 
 busy there ; but I was up to her ! I was as spry 
 as a cricket, and flew round, and got things put 
 up ; and then I thought I'd have some fun. What 
 do you think I did ? — Mrs. Montgomery was quietly 
 sitting in the chimney-corner and I had the whole 
 house to myself. How Van Brunt looks out for 
 her, Ellen ; he won't let her be put out for anything 
 or anybody." 
 
 ** I am glad of it," said Ellen, her face flushing 
 and her eyes watering ; " it is just like him. I 
 love him for it." 
 
 " The other night she was mourning and lament- 
 ing at a great rate because she hadn't you to read 
 to her ; and what do you think he does but goes 
 and takes the book and sits down and reads to her 
 himself. You should have seen Mrs. V-n's face ! " 
 
 " What book ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " What book ? why, your book, — the Bible, — 
 there ain't any other book in the house, as I know. 
 What on earth are you crying for, Ellen? — He's 
 fetched over his mother's old Bible, and there it lays 
 on a shelf in the cupboard ; and he has it out every 
 once in a while. Maybe he's coming round, Ellen. 
 But do hold up your head and listen to me ! I 
 can't talk to you when you lie with your head in 
 the cushion like that. I ha'n't more than begun 
 my story yet." 
 
342 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " Well, go on," said Ellen. 
 
 " You see, I ain't in any hurry," said Nancy,— 
 " because as soon as I've finished I shall have to 
 be off ; and it's fun to talk to you. What do you 
 think I did, when I had done up all my chores ? — • 
 where do you think I found this, eh ? you'd never 
 guess." 
 
 " What is it ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " No matter what it is ; — I don't know — where 
 do you think I found it ? " 
 
 '' How can I teli ? I don't know." 
 
 " You'll be angry with me when I tell you." 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 " If it was anybody else," said Nancy, — " I'd 
 ha' seen 'em shot afore I'd ha' done it, or told of it 
 either ; but you ain't like anybody else. Look 
 here ! " said she, tapping her apron gently with one 
 finger and slowly marking off each word, — " this — ■ 
 came out of — your — aunt's — box — in — the closet 
 — upstairs — in — her room." 
 
 " Nancy ! " 
 
 " Ay, Nancy ! there it is. Now you look ! 
 'Twon't alter it, Ellen ; that's where it was, if you 
 look till tea-time." 
 
 " But how came you there ? " 
 
 " 'Cause I wanted to amuse myself, I tell you. 
 Partly to please myself, and partly because Mrs. 
 Van would be so mad if she knew it." 
 
 " Oh, Nancy ! " 
 
 " Well — I don't say it was right, — but anyhow I 
 did it ! You ha'n't heard what I found yet." 
 
 " You had better put it right back again, Nancy, 
 the first time you have a chance." 
 
 " Put it back again ! — I'll give it to you, and then 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 343 
 
 you may put it back again, if you have a mind. J 
 should like to see you ! Why, you don't knov 
 what I found." 
 
 "Well, what did you find ? " 
 
 " The box was chuck full of all sorts of things, 
 and I had a mind to see what was in it, so I pulled 
 'em out one after the other till I got to the bottom. 
 At the very bottom was some letters and papers, 
 and there, — staring right in my face, — the first 
 thing I see was, ' Miss Ellen Montgomery.' " 
 
 " Oh, Nancy ! " screamed Ellen, — " a letter for 
 ine ? " 
 
 " Hush ! — and sit down, will you ? — yes, a whole 
 package of letters for you. Well, thought I, Mrs. 
 Van has no right to that anyhow, and she ain't a go- 
 ing to take the care of it any more ; so I just took 
 it up and put it in the bosom of my frock while I 
 looked to see if there was any more for you, but 
 there warn't. There it is ! " 
 
 And she tossed the package into Ellen's lap. 
 Ellen's head swam. 
 
 " Well, good-bye ! " said Nancy, rising ; — " I 
 may go now, I suppose, and no thanks to me." 
 
 " Yes, I do — T do thank you very much, Nancy," 
 cried Ellen, starting up and taking her by the hand, 
 —".I do thank you, — though it wasn't right ; — but 
 oh, how could she ! how could she ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Nancy ; " to ask that of Mrs. 
 Van ! she could do anything. Why she did it, ain't 
 so easy to tell." 
 
 Ellen, bewildered, scarcely knew, only felt, that 
 Nancy had gone. The outer cover of her package, 
 the seal of which was broken, contained f hree 
 letters ; two addressed to Ellen, in her father's 
 
344 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 hand, the third to another person. The seals oi 
 these had not been broken. The first that Ellen 
 opened she saw was all in the same hand with the 
 direction ; she threw it down and eagerly tried the 
 other. And yes ! there was indeed the beloved 
 character of which she never thought to have seen 
 another specimen. Ellen's heart swelled with 
 many feelings ; thankfulness, tenderness, joy, and 
 sorrow, past and present ; — that letter was not 
 thrown down, but grasped, while tears fell much 
 too fast for eyes to do their work. It was long 
 before she could get far in the letter. But when 
 she had fairly begun it she went on swiftly, and 
 almost breathlessly, to the end. 
 
 " My dear, dear little Ellen, 
 
 " I am scarcely able — but I must write to you 
 once more. Once more, daughter, for it is not per- 
 mitted me to see your face again in this world. I 
 look to see it, my dear child, where it will be fairer 
 than ever here it seemed, even to me. I shall die 
 in this hope and expectation. Ellen, remember it. 
 Your last letters have greatly encouraged and 
 rejoiced me. I am comforted, and can leave you 
 quietly ih that hand that has led me and I believe 
 is leading you. God bless you, my child ! 
 
 " Ellen, I have a mother living, and she wishes 
 to receive you as her own when I am gone. It is 
 best you should know at once why I never spoke 
 to you of her. After your Aunt Bessy married and 
 went to New York, it displeased and grieved my 
 mother greatly that I too, who had always been 
 her favorite child, should leave her for an American 
 home. And when I persisted, in spite of all thai 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 345 
 
 entreaties and authority could urge, she said she 
 forgave me for destroying all her prospects of hap- 
 piness, but that after I should be married and gone 
 she should consider me as lost to her entirely, and 
 so I must consider myself. She never wrote to me, 
 and I never wrote to her after I reached America. 
 She was dead to me. I do not say that I did not 
 deserve it. 
 
 " But I have written to her lately and she has 
 written to me. She permits me to die in the joy 
 of being entirely forgiven, and in the further joy 
 of knowing that the only source of care I had left 
 is done away. She will take you to her heart, to- 
 the place I once filled, and I believe fill yet. She 
 longs to have you, and to have you as entirely her 
 own, in all respects ; and to this, in consideration 
 of the wandering life your father leads, and will- 
 lead, — I am willing and he is willing to agree. It 
 is arranged so. The old happy home of my child- 
 hood will be yours, my Ellen. It joys me to think 
 of it. Your father will write to your aunt and to 
 you on the subject, and furnish you with funds. It 
 is our desire that you should take advantage of the 
 vely first opportunity of proper persons going to 
 Scotland who will be willing to take charge of you. 
 Your dear friends, Mr. and Miss Humphreys, will, 
 I dare say, help you in this. 
 
 " To them I could say much, if I had strength. 
 But words are little. If blessings and prayers from, 
 a full heart are worth anything, they are the richer. 
 My love and gratitude to them cannot " 
 
 The writer had failed here ; and what there was 
 of the letter had evidently been written at different 
 
340 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 times. Captain Montgomery's was to the same pur- 
 pose. He directed Ellen to embrace the first oppor- 
 tunity of suitable guardians, to cross the Atlantic 
 and repair to No. — George Street, Edinburgh ; said 
 that Miss Fortune would give her the money she 
 would need, which he had written to her to do, and 
 that the accompanying letter Ellen was to carry with 
 her and deliver to Mrs. Lindsay, her grandmother. 
 
 Ellen felt as if her head would split. She took 
 up that letter, gazed at the strange name and direc- 
 tion which had taken such new and startling interest 
 for her, wondered over the thought of what she 
 was ordered to do with it, marveled what sort of 
 fingers they were which would open it, or whether 
 it would ever be opened ; — and finally, in a perfect 
 maze, unable to read, think, or even weep, she 
 carried her package of letters into her own room, 
 the room that had been Alice's, laid herself on the 
 bed, and them beside her : and fell into a deep 
 sleep. 
 
 She woke up towards evening with the pressure 
 of a mountain weight upon her mind. Her thoughts 
 and feelings were a maze still ; and not Mr. Hum- 
 phreys himself could be more grave and abstracted 
 than poor Ellen was that night. So many points 
 were to be settled, — so many questions answered 
 to herself, — it was a good while before Ellen could 
 disentangle them, and know what she did think 
 and feel, and what she would do. 
 
 She very soon found out her own mind upon one 
 subject, — she would be exceeding sorry to be 
 obliged to obey the directions in the letters. But 
 must she obey them ? 
 
 " I have promised Alice," thought Ellen ; — " I 
 
TBE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 347 
 
 have promised Mr. Humphreys — I can't be adopted 
 twice. And this Mrs. Lindsay, — my grandmother ! 
 — she cannot be nice or she wouldn't have treated 
 my mother so. She cannot be a nice person ; — 
 hard, — she must be hard ; — I never want to see 
 her. My mother ! — But then my mother loved 
 her, and was very glad to have me go to her. Oh ! 
 — oh ! how could she ! — how could they do so ! — 
 when they didn't know how it might be with me, 
 and what dear friends they might make me leave ! 
 Oh, it was cruel ! — But then they did not know, 
 that is the very thing — they thought I would have 
 nobody but Aunt Fortune, and so it's no wonder. — 
 Oh, what shall I do ! What ought I to do ? These 
 people in Scotland must have given me up by this 
 time ; it's — let me see — it's just about three years 
 now, — a little less, — since these letters were written. 
 I am older now, and circumstances are changed ; I 
 have a home and a father and a brother ; may I 
 not judge for myself ? — But my mother and my 
 father have ordered me, — what shall I do ! If John 
 were only here — but perhaps he would make me go, 
 — he might think it right. And to leave him, — and 
 maybe never see him again ! — and Mr. Humphreys ! 
 and how lonely he would be without me, — I cannot ! 
 I will not ! Oh, what shall I do ! What shall I 
 do!" 
 
 Ellen's meditations gradually plunged her in de- 
 spair ; for she could not look at the event of being 
 obliged to go, and she could not get rid of the 
 feeling that perhaps it might come to that. She 
 wept bitterly ; it didn't mend the matter. She 
 thought painfully, fearfully, long ; and was no 
 nearer an end. She could not endure to submit 
 
348 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the matter to .Mr. Humphreys ; she feared his 
 decision • and she feared also that he would give 
 her the money Miss Fortune had failed to supply 
 for the journey; how much it might be Ellen had 
 no idea. She could not dismiss the subject as 
 decided by circumstances, for conscience pricked her 
 with the fifth commandment. She was miserable. 
 It happily occurred to her at last to take counsel 
 with Mrs. Vawse ; this might be done, she knew, 
 without betraying Nancy ; Mrs. Vawse was much 
 too honorable to press her as to how she came by 
 the letters, and her word could easily be obtained 
 not to speak of the affairs to any one. As for 
 Miss Fortune's conduct, it must be made known ; 
 there was no help for that. So it was settled ; and 
 Ellen's breast was a little lightened of its load of 
 care for that time ; she had leisure to think of 
 some other things. 
 
 Why had Miss Fortune kept back the letters ? 
 Ellen guessed pretty well, but she did not know 
 quite all. The package, with its accompanying 
 dispatch to Miss Fortune, had arrived shortly after 
 Ellen first heard the news of her mother's death, 
 when she was refuged with Alice at the parsonage. 
 At the time of its being sent Captain Montgomery's 
 movements were extremely uncertain ; and in 
 obedience to the earnest request of his wife he 
 directed that without waiting for his own return 
 Ellen should immediately set out for Scotland. 
 Part of the money for her expenses he sent ; the 
 rest he desired his sister to furnish, promising to 
 make all straight when he should come home. But 
 it happened that he was already this lady's debtor 
 in a small amount, which Miss Fortune had serious 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 349 
 
 doubts of ever being repaid ; she instantly de- 
 termined, that if she had once been a fool in lend- 
 ing him money, she would not a second time in 
 adding to the sum ; if he wanted to send his daughter 
 on a wild-goose chase after great relations, he might 
 come home himself and see to it ; it was none of 
 her business. Quietly taking the remittance to 
 refund his own owing, she of course threw the 
 letters into her box, as the delivery of them would 
 expose the whole transaction. There they lay till 
 Nancy found them. 
 
 Early next morning after breakfast Ellen came 
 into the kitchen, and begged Margery to ask 
 Thomas to bring the Brownie to the door. Sur- 
 prised at the energy in her tone and manner, 
 Margery gave the message and added that Miss 
 Ellen seemed to have picked up wonderfully ; she 
 hadn't heard her speak so brisk since Mr. John 
 went away. 
 
 The Brownie was soon at the door, but not so 
 soon as Ellen, who had dressed in feverish haste. 
 The Brownie was not alone ; there was old John 
 saddled and bridled, and Thomas Grimes in wait- 
 ing. 
 
 " It's not necessary for you to take that trouble, 
 Thomas," said Ellen ; — " I don't mind going alone 
 at all." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen, — (Thomas 
 touched his hat) — but Mr. John left particular 
 orders that I was to go with Miss Ellen whenever 
 it pleased her to ride ; never failing." 
 
 "Did he?" said Ellen; — "but is it convenient 
 for you now, Thomas ? I want to go as far as 
 Mrs. Vawse's." 
 
350 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " It's always convenient, Miss Ellen, — always ; 
 Miss Ellen need not think of that at all, I am 
 always ready." 
 
 Ellen mounted upon the Brownie, sighing for the 
 want of the hand that used to lift her to the saddle ; 
 and spurred by this recollection set off at a round 
 pace. 
 
 Soon she was at Mrs. Vawse's ; and soon, find- 
 ing her alone, Ellen had spread out all her diffi- 
 culties before her and given her the letters to read. 
 Mrs. Vawse readily promised to speak on the sub- 
 ject to no one without E'Jen's leave ; her suspicions 
 fell upon Mr. Van Brunt, not her grand-daughter. 
 She heard all the story, and read the letters before 
 making any remark. 
 
 " Now, dear Mrs. Vawse," said Ellen, anxiously, 
 when the last one was folded up and laid on the 
 table, — " what do you think ? " 
 
 " I think, my child, you must go," said the old 
 lady, steadily. 
 
 Ellen looked keenly, as if to find some other 
 answer in her face ; her own changing more and 
 more for a minute, till she sunk it in her hands. 
 
 " Cela vous donne beaucoup de chagrin, — je le 
 vois bien," said the old lady tenderly. (Their con- 
 versations were always in Mrs. Vawse's tongue.) 
 
 " But," said Ellen presently, lifting her head 
 again (there were no tears) — " I cannot go without 
 money." 
 
 " That can be obtained withe v. any difficulty." 
 
 " From whom ? I cannot ask Aunt Fortune for 
 it, Mrs. Vawse ; I could not do it ! " 
 
 " There is no difficulty about the money. Shovl 
 your letters to Mr. Humphreys." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WO KID. 351 
 
 " Oh, I cannot ! " said Ellen, covering her face 
 again. 
 
 " Will you let me do it ? I will speak to him if 
 you will permit me." 
 
 " But what use ? He ought not to give me the 
 money, Mrs. Vawse ? It would not be right ; and 
 to show him the letters would be like asking him 
 for it. Oh, I can't bear to do that ! " 
 
 " He would give it you, Ellen, with the greatest 
 pleasure." 
 
 • " Oh, no, Mrs. Vawse," said Ellen, bursting into 
 tears, — " he would never be pleased to send me 
 away from him ! I know — I know — he would miss 
 me. Oh, what shall I do ! " 
 
 " Not that, my dear Ellen," said the old lady, 
 coming to her and gently stroking her head with 
 both hands. You must do what is right ; and you 
 know it cannot be but that will be the best and 
 happiest for you in the end." 
 
 " Oh, I wish — I wish," exclaimed Ellen, from the 
 bottom of her heart, — " those letters had never 
 been found ! " 
 
 " Nay, Ellen, that is not right." 
 
 " But I promised Alice, Mrs. Vawse ; ought I go 
 away and leave him ? Oh, Mrs. Vawse, it is very 
 hard ! Ought I ? " 
 
 " Your father and your mother have said it, my 
 child." 
 
 " But they never would have said it if they had 
 known ! " 
 
 " But they did not know, Ellen ; and here it is." 
 
 Ellen wept violently, regardless of the caresses 
 and soothing words which her old friend lavished 
 upon her. 
 
352 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " There is one thing ! " said she at last, raising 
 her head, — " I don't know of anybody going to 
 Scotland, and I am not likely to ; and if I only do 
 not before autumn, — that is not a good time to go, 
 and then comes winter." 
 
 " My dear Ellen ! " said Mrs. Vawse, sorrowfully, 
 " I must drive you from your last hope. Don't 
 you know that Mrs. Gillespie is going abroad with 
 all her family ? — next month, I think." 
 
 Ellen grew pale for a minute, and sat holding 
 bitter counsel with her own heart. Mrs. Vawse 
 hardly knew what to say next. 
 
 " You need not feel uneasy about your journey- 
 ing expenses," she remarked after a pause ; — " you 
 can easily repay them, if you wish, when you reach 
 your friends in Scotland." 
 
 Ellen did not hear her. She looked up with an 
 odd expression of determination in her face, de- 
 termination taking its stand upon difficulties. 
 
 " I sha'n't stay there, Mrs. Vawse, if I go ! — I 
 shall go, I suppose, if I must ; but do you think 
 anything will keep me there ? Never ! " 
 
 " You will stay for the same reason that you go 
 for, Ellen ; to do your duty." 
 
 " Yes, till I am old enough to choose for my- 
 self, Mrs. Vawse, and then I shall come back; if 
 they will let me." 
 
 " Whom do you mean by ' they ' ? " 
 
 " Mr. Humphreys and Mr. John." 
 
 " My dear Ellen," said the old lady, kindly, " be 
 satisfied with doing your duty now ; leave the 
 future. While you follow Him, God will be your 
 friend; is not that enough? and all things shall 
 work for your good. You do not know what you 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 353 
 
 will wish when the time comes you speak of. You 
 do not know what new friends you may find to 
 love." 
 
 Ellen had in her own heart the warrant for what 
 she had said and what she saw by her smile Mrs. 
 Vawse doubted ; but she disdained to assert what 
 she could bring nothing to prove. She took a sor- 
 rowful leave of her old friend and returned home. 
 
 After dinner, \ len Mr. Humphreys was about 
 going back to his s dy, Ellen timidly stopped him 
 and gave him her letters, and asked him to look at 
 them some time when he had leisure. She told 
 him also where they were found and how long they 
 had lain there, and that Mrs. Vawse had said she 
 ought to show them to him. 
 
 She guessed he would read them at once, — and 
 she waited with a beating heart. In a little while 
 she heard his step coming back along the hall. 
 He came and sat down by her on the sofa and 
 took her hand. 
 
 " What is your wish in this matter, my child ? " 
 he said, gravely and cheerfully. . 
 
 Ellen's look answered that. 
 
 " I will do whatever you say I must, sir," she 
 said, faintly. 
 
 •' I dare not ask myself what /would wish, Ellen ; 
 the matter is taken out of our hands. You must 
 do your parents' will, my child. I will try to hope 
 that you will gain more than I lose. As the Lord 
 pleases ! If I am bereaved of my children I am 
 bereaved." 
 
 " Mrs. Gillespie," he said, after a pause, Ct & 
 about going to England ; — I know not how soon. 
 It will be best for vou to see her at once and make 
 2% 
 
354 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 all arrangements that may be necessary. I will go 
 with you to-morrow to Ventnor, if the day be a 
 good one." 
 
 There was something Ellen longed to say, but it 
 was impossible to get it out ; she could not utter a 
 word. She had pressed her hands upon her face 
 to try to keep herself quiet ; but Mr. Humphreys 
 could see the deep crimson flushing to the very 
 roots of her hair. He drew her close within his 
 arms for a moment, kissed her forehead, YWenfelt 
 it was sadly, and went away. It was well she did 
 not hear him sigh as he went back along the hall ; 
 it was well she did not see the face of more settled 
 gravity with which he sat down to his writing ; she 
 had enough of her own. 
 
 They went to Ventnor. Mrs. Gillespie with great 
 pleasure undertook the charge of her and promised 
 to deliver her safely to her friends in Scotland. It 
 was arranged that she should go back to Thirlwall 
 to make her adieus ; and that in a week or two a 
 carriage should be sent to bring her to Ventnor, 
 where her preparations for the journey should be 
 made, and whence the whole party would set off. 
 
 " So you are going to be a Scotchwoman after 
 all, Ellen," said Miss Sophia. 
 
 " I had a great deal rather be an American, Miss 
 Sophia." 
 
 " Why, Hutchinson will tell you," said the young 
 lady, " that it is infinitely more desirable to be a 
 Scotchwoman than that." 
 
 Ellen's face, however, looked so little inclined to 
 be merry that she took up the subject in another 
 tone. 
 
 " Seriously, do you know," said she, " I have 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 355 
 
 been thinking it is a very happy thing for you. I 
 don't know what would become of you alone in 
 that great parsonage house. You would mope 
 yourself to death in a little while ; especially now 
 that Mr. John is gone." 
 
 " He will be back," said Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, but what if he is ? he can't stay at Thirl- 
 wall, child. He can't live thirty miles from his 
 church, you know. Did you think he would ? They 
 think all the world of him already. I expect they'll 
 barely put up with Mr. George while he is gone ; 
 — they will want Mr. John all to themselves when 
 he comes back, you may rely on that. What are 
 you thinking of, child ? " 
 
 For Ellen's eyes were sparkling with two or three 
 thoughts which Miss Sophia could not read. 
 
 " I should like to know what you are smiling at," 
 she said, with some curiosity. But the smile was 
 almost immediately quenched in tears. 
 
 Notwithstanding Miss Sophia's discouraging talk, 
 Ellen privately agreed with Ellen Chauncey that 
 the Brownie should be sent to her to keep and use 
 as her own, //// his mistress should come back ; both 
 children being entirely of opinion that the arrange- 
 ment was a most unexceptionable one. 
 
 It was not forgotten that the lapse of three years 
 since the date of the letters left some uncertainty 
 as to the present state of affairs among Ellen's 
 friends in Scotland ; but this doubt was not thought 
 sufficient to justify her letting pass so excellent an 
 opportunity of making the journey. Especially as 
 Captain Montgomery's letter spoke of an uncle, to 
 whom, equally with her grandmother, Ellen was to 
 be consigned. In case circumstances would permit 
 
356 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 it, Mrs. Gillespie engaged to keep Ellen with her, 
 and bring her home to America when she herself 
 should return. 
 
 And in little more than a month they were gone , 
 adieus and preparations and all were over. Ellen's 
 parting with Mrs. Vawse was very tender and very 
 sad ; — with Mr. Van Brunt, extremely and grate- 
 fully affectionate, on both sides ; — with her aunt, 
 constrained and brief ; — with Margery, very sorrow- 
 ful indeed. But Ellen's longest and most lingering 
 adieu was to Captain Parry, the old gray cat. For 
 one whole evening she sat with him in her arms ; 
 and over poor pussy were shed the tears that fell 
 for many better loved and better deserving per- 
 sonages, as well as those, not a few, that were wept 
 for him. Since Alice's death Parry had transferred 
 his entire confidence and esteem to Ellen ; whether 
 from feeling a want, or because love and tender- 
 ness had taught her the touch and the tone that 
 were fitted to win his regard. Only John shared it. 
 Ellen was his chief favorite and almost constant 
 companion. And bitterer tears Ellen shed at no 
 time than that evening before she went away, over 
 the old cat. She could not distress kitty with her 
 distress, nor weary him with the calls upon his 
 sympathy, though indeed it is true that he sundry 
 times poked his nose up wonderingly and caress- 
 ingly in her face. She had no remonstrance or 
 interruption to fear ; and taking pussy as the em- 
 blem and representative of the whole household, 
 Ellen wept them all over him ; with a tenderness 
 and a bitterness that were somehow intensified by 
 the sight of the gray coat, and white paws, and 
 kindly face, of her unconscious old brute friend. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 357 
 
 The old people at Carra-carra were taken leave 
 of; the Brownie too, with great difficulty. And 
 Nancy. 
 
 '* I'm real sorry you are going, Ellen," said she ; 
 ■ — " you're the only soul in town I care about. I 
 wish I'd thrown them letters in the fire after all ! 
 Who'd ha' thought it ! " 
 
 Ellen could not help in her heart echoing the 
 wish. 
 
 " I'm real sorry, Ellen," she repeated. " Ain't 
 there something I can do for you when you are 
 gone ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear Nancy," said Ellen, weeping, — 
 "if you would only take care of your dear grand- 
 mother. She is left alone now. If you would only 
 take care of her, and read your Bible, and be good, 
 Nancy, — oh, Nancy, Nancy ! do, do ! " 
 
 They kissed each other, and Nancy went away 
 fairly crying. 
 
 Mrs. Marshman's own woman, a steady, excel- 
 lent person, had come in the carriage for Ellen. 
 And the next morning early, after breakfast, when 
 everything , else was ready, she went into Mr. 
 Humphreys' study to bid the last dreaded good- 
 bye. She thought her obedience was costing her 
 dear. 
 
 It was nearly a silent parting. He held her a 
 long time in his arms; and there Ellen bitterly 
 thought her place ought to be. " What have I to 
 do to seek new relations ? " she said to herself. 
 But she was speechless ; till gently relaxing his 
 hold he tenderly smoothed back her disordered hair, 
 and kissing her, said a very few grave words of 
 blessing and counsel. Ellen gathered all her 
 
358 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 strength together then, for she had something that 
 must be spoken. 
 
 " Sir," said she, falling on her knees before him 
 and looking up in his face, — " this don't alter — you 
 do not take back what you said, do you ? " 
 
 " What is that I said, my child ? " 
 
 " That," said Ellen, hiding her face in her hands 
 on his knee, and scarce able to speak with great 
 effort, — " that which you said when I first came — 
 that which you said — about " 
 
 " About what, my dear child ? " 
 
 " My going away don't change anything, does it, 
 sir ? Mayn't I come back, if ever I can ? " 
 
 He raised her up and drew her close to his 
 bosom again. 
 
 " My dear little daughter," said he, " you can- 
 not be so glad to come back as my arms and my 
 heart will be to receive you. I scarce dare hope to 
 see that day, but all in this house is yours, dear 
 Ellen, as well when in Scotland as here. I take 
 back nothing, my daughter. Nothing is changed." 
 
 A word or two more of affection and blessing, 
 which Ellen was utterly unable to answer in any 
 way, — and she went to the carriage ; with one drop 
 of cordial in her heart, that she fed upon a long 
 while. " He called me his daughter ? — he never 
 said that before since Alice died ! Oh, so I will 
 be as long as I live, if I find fifty new relations. 
 But what good will a daughter three thousand miles 
 off do him ! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XtVII. 
 
 Speed. Item. She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that;— it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her 
 
 Shakspeark. 
 
 The voyage was peaceful and prosperous ; in 
 due time the whole party found themselves safe in 
 London. Ever since they set out Ellen had been 
 constantly gaining on Mrs. Gillespie's good-will j 
 the Major hardly saw her but he had something to 
 say about that ■ • best-bred child in the world." 
 " Best-hearted too, I think," said the Major ; and 
 even Mrs. Gillespie owned that there was some- 
 thing more than good-breeding in Ellen's politeness. 
 She had good trial of it ; Mrs. Gillespie was much 
 longer ailing than any of the party ; and when 
 Ellen got well, it was her great pleasure to devote 
 herself to the service of the only member of the 
 Marshman family now within her reach. She 
 could never do too much. She watched by her, 
 read to her, was quick to see and perform all the 
 little offices of attention and kindness where a 
 servant's hand is not so acceptable ; and withal 
 never was in the way nor put herself forward. Mrs. 
 Gillespie's own daughter was much less helpful. 
 Both she and William, however, had long since 
 forgotten the old grudge, and treated Ellen as well 
 as they did anybody ; rather better. Major Gil- 
 lespie was attentive and kind as possible to the 
 gentle, well-behaved little body that was always at 
 his wife's pillow ; and even Lester, the maid, told 
 one of her friends " she was such a sweet little lady 
 that it was a pleasure and gratification to do any* 
 
360 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 thing for her." Lester acted this out ; and in het 
 kindly disposition Ellen found very substantial 
 comfort and benefit throughout the voyage. 
 
 Mrs. Gillespie told her husband she should be 
 rejoiced if it turned out that they might keep Ellen 
 with them and carry her back to America ; she 
 only wished it were not for Mr. Humphreys but 
 herself. As their destination was not now Scot- 
 land, but Paris, it was proposed to write to Ellen's 
 friends to ascertain whether any change had oc- 
 curred, or whether they still wished to receive her. 
 This, however, was rendered unnecessary. Thty 
 were scarcely established in their hotel, when a 
 gentleman from Edinburgh, an intimate friend UE 
 the Ventnor family, and whom Ellen herself had 
 more than once met there, came to see them. Mi . 
 Gillespie bethought herself to make inquiries \i 
 him. 
 
 " Do you happen to know a family of Lindsays, 
 in George Street, Mr. Dundas ? " 
 
 " Lindsays ? yes, perfectly well. Do you know 
 them?" 
 
 " No ; but I am very much interested in one of 
 the family. Is the old lady living ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; — not very old, either — not above 
 sixty, or sixty-five ; and as hale and alert as at 
 forty. A very fine old lady." 
 
 " A large family ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; Mr. Lindsay is a widower this some 
 years, with no children ; and there is a widowed 
 daughter lately come home, — Lady Keith ; — that's 
 all." 
 
 " Mr. Lindsay — that is, the son ? " 
 
 " Yes. You would like them. They are excel« 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 361 
 
 lent people — excellent family — wealthy — beautiful 
 country-seat on the south bank of the Forth some 
 miles out of Edinburgh ; I was down there two 
 weeks ago ; — entertain most handsomely and agree- 
 ably, two things that do not always go together. 
 You meet a pleasanter circle nowhere than at 
 Lindsay's." 
 
 " And that is the whole family ? " said Mrs. 
 Gillespie. 
 
 " That is all. There were two daughters married 
 who went to America some dozen years ago. 
 Mrs. Lindsay took it very hard I believe, but she 
 bore up, and bears up now, as if misfortune had 
 never crossed her path ; though the death of Mr. 
 Lindsay's wife and son was another great blow. I 
 don't believe there is a gray hair in her head at 
 this moment. There is some peculiarity about 
 them, perhaps, — some pride too ; — but that is an 
 amiable weakness," he added, laughing, as he rose 
 to go ; — " Mrs. Gillespie, I am sure, will not find 
 fault with them for it." 
 
 " That's an insinuation, Mr. Dundas ; but, look 
 here, what I am bringing to Mrs. Lindsay in the 
 shape of a grand -daughter." 
 
 " What, my old acquaintance, Miss Ellen ! is it 
 possible ! — My dear madam, if you had such a 
 treasure for sale, they would pour half their fortune 
 into your lap to purchase it, and the other half at 
 her feet." 
 
 " I would not take it, Mr. Dundas." 
 
 " It would be no mean price, I assure you, in 
 itself, however it might be comparatively. I give 
 Miss Ellen joy." 
 
 Miss Ellen took none of his giving. 
 
362 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Ah, Ellen, my dear," said Mrs. Gillespie, when 
 he was gone, — " we shall never have you back in 
 America again. I give up all hopes of it. Why 
 do you look so solemn, my love ? You are a strange 
 child ; most girls would be delighted at such a pros- 
 pect opening before them." 
 
 " You forget what I leave, Mrs. Gillespie. * 
 
 " So will you, my love, in a few days ; though I 
 love you for remembering so well those that have 
 been kind to you. But you don't realize yet what 
 is before you.'' 
 
 " Why, you'll have a good time, Ellen," said 
 Marianna ; — " I wonder you are not out of your 
 wits with joy. / should be." 
 
 " You may as well make over the Brownie to me, 
 Ellen," said William; — " I expect you'll never want 
 him again." 
 
 " I cannot, you know, William ; I lent him to 
 Ellen Chauncey." 
 
 " Lent him ! — that's a good one. For how long ? " 
 
 Ellen smiled, though sighing inwardly to see how 
 very much narrowed was her prospect of ever mount- 
 ing him again. She did not care to explain herself 
 to those around her. Still, at the very bottom of 
 her heart lay two thoughts, in which her hope ref- 
 uged itseL. One was a peculiar assurance that 
 whatever her brother pleased, nothing could hinder 
 him from accomplishing ; the oth r, a like confi- 
 dence that it would not please him to leave his little 
 sister unlooked-after. But all began to grow misty, 
 and it seemed now as if Scotland must henceforth 
 be the limit of her horizon. 
 
 Leaving their children at a relation's house, Ma- 
 jor and Mrs. Gillespie accompanied her to the north 
 
THE WIPE, WIDE WORLD. 363 
 
 They traveled post, and arriving in the evening at 
 Edinburgh, put up at a hotel in Princes Street. It 
 was agreed that Ellen should not seek her new home 
 till the morrow ; she should eat one more supper 
 and breakfast with her old friends, and have a 
 night's rest first. She was very glad of it. The 
 Major and Mrs. Gillespie were enchanted with the 
 noble view :om their parlor windows ; while they 
 were eagerly conversing together, Ellen sat alone 
 at the other window, looking out upon the curious 
 Old Town. There was all the fascination of novelty 
 and beauty about Lhat singular, picturesque mass 
 of buildings, in its sober coloring, growing more 
 sober as the twilight fell ; and just before outlines 
 were lost in the dusk, lights began feebly to twinkle 
 here and there, and grew brighter as the night came 
 on, till their brilliant multitude were all that could 
 be seen where the curious jumble of chimneys and 
 house-tops and crooked ways had shown a little 
 before. Ellen sat watching this lighting up of the 
 Old Town, feeling strangely that she was in the 
 midst of new scenes indeed, entering upon a new 
 stage of life ; and having some difficulty to per- 
 suade herself that she was really Ellen Montgomery. 
 The scene of extreme beauty before her seemed 
 rather to increase the confusion and sadness of her 
 mind. Happily, joyfully, Ellen remembered, as she 
 sat gazing over the darkening city, and its brighten- 
 ing lights, that there was One near her who could 
 not change ; that Scotland was no remove from 
 Him ; that His providence as well as His heaven 
 was over her there ; that there, not less than in 
 America, she was His child. She rejoiced, as she 
 sat in her dusky window, over His words of assur- 
 
364 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ance, " I am the Good Shepherd, and kn<rw My 
 sheep, and am known of Mine ; " and she looked 
 up into the clear sky (that at least was homelike), 
 in tearful thankfulness, and with earnest prayer 
 that she might be kept from evil. Ellen guessed 
 she might have special need to offer that prayer. 
 And as again her eye wandered over the singular 
 bright spectacle that kept reminding her she was a 
 stranger in a strange place, her heart joyfully leaned 
 upon another loved sentence, — " This God is our 
 God for ever and ever ; He will be our guide even 
 unto death." 
 
 She was called from her window to supper. 
 
 " Why, how well you look," said Mrs. Gillespie ; 
 " I expected you would have been half tired to 
 death. Doesn't she look well ? " 
 
 " As if she were neither tired, hungry, nor sleepy," 
 said Major Gillespie, kindly ; — " and yet she must 
 be all three." 
 
 Ellen was all three. But she had the rest of a 
 quiet mind. 
 
 In the same quiet mind, a little fluttered and anx- 
 ious now, she set out in the post-chaise the next 
 morning with her kind friend to No. — George Street. 
 It was their intention, after leaving her, to go 
 straight on to England. They were in a hurry to 
 be there ; and Mrs. Gillespie judged that the pres- 
 ence of a stranger at the meeting between Ellen 
 and her relations would be desired by none of the 
 parties. But when they reached the house they 
 found the family were not at home ; they were in 
 the country — at their place on the Forth. The di- 
 rection was obtained, and the horses' heads turned 
 that way. After a drive of some length, through 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 305 
 
 what kind of a country Ellen could hardly have told, 
 they arrived at the place. 
 
 It was beautifully situated ; and through well-kept 
 grounds they drove up to a large, rather old-fash- 
 ioned, substantial-looking house. " The ladies 
 were at home ; " and that ascertained, Ellen took 
 a kind leave of Mrs. Gillespie, shook hands with 
 the Major at the door, and was left alone, for the 
 second time in her life, to make her acquaintance 
 with new and untried friends. She stood for one 
 second looking after the retreating carriage, — one 
 swift thought went to her adopted father and brother 
 far away, — one to her Friend in heaven, — and Ellen 
 quietly turned to the servant and asked for Mrs. 
 Lindsay. 
 
 She was shown into a large room where nobody 
 was, and sat down with a beating heart while the 
 servant went upstairs ; looking with a strange feel- 
 ing upon what was to be her future home. The 
 house was handsome, comfortably, luxuriously fur- 
 nished, but without any attempt at display. Things 
 rather old-fashioned than otherwise ; plain, even 
 homely, in some instances ; yet evidently there was 
 no sparing of money in any line of use or comfort ; 
 nor were reading and writing, painting and music, 
 strangers there. Unconsciously acting upon her 
 brother's principle of judging of people from their 
 works, Ellen, from what she saw gathered around 
 her, formed a favorable opinion of her relations ; 
 without thinking of it, for indeed she was thinking 
 of something else. 
 
 A lady presently entered, and said that Mrs. 
 Lindsay was not very well. Seeing Ellen's very 
 hesitating look, she added, " Shall I carry her any 
 message for you ? " 
 
3O6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 This lady was well-looking and well-dressed \ 
 but somehow there was nothing in her face or man- 
 ner that encouraged Ellen to an explanation ; she 
 could make none. She silently gave her her father's 
 letter, with which the lady left the room. 
 
 In a minute or two she returned and said her 
 mother would see Ellen upstairs, and asked her to 
 come with her. This, then, must be Lady Keith ! 
 — but no sign of recognition ? Ellen wondered, as 
 her trembling feet carried her upstairs and to the 
 door of the room where the lady motioned her to 
 enter ; she did not follow herself. 
 
 A large, pleasant dressing-room ; but Ellen saw 
 nothing but the dignified figure and searching glance 
 of a lady in black, standing in the middle of the 
 floor. At the look which instantly followed her 
 entering, however, Ellen sprang forward, and was 
 received in arms that folded her as fondly and as 
 closely as ever those of her own mother had done. 
 Without releasing her from their clasp, Mrs. Lind- 
 say presently sat down ; and placing Ellen on her 
 lap, and for a long time without speaking a word, 
 she overwhelmed her with caresses, — caresses often 
 interrupted with passionate bursts of tears. Ellen 
 herself cried heartily for company, though Mrs. Lind- 
 say little guessed why. Along with the joy and 
 tenderness arising from the finding a relation that 
 so much loved and valued her, and along with the 
 sympathy that entered into Mrs. Lindsay's thoughts, 
 there mixed other feelings. She began to know, as 
 if by instinct, what kind of a person her grand- 
 mother was. The clasp of the arms that were about 
 her said as plainly as possible, " I will never let 
 you go ! " Ellen felt it ; she did not know in hef 
 
THE WIDE* WIDE WORLD. 367 
 
 confusion whether she was most glad or most sorry ; 
 and this uncertainty mightily helped the flow of her 
 tears. 
 
 When this scene had lasted some time Mrs. 
 Lindsay began with the utmost tenderness to take 
 off Ellen's gloves, her cape (her bonnet had been 
 hastily thrown off long before), and smoothing back 
 her hair, and taking the fair little face in both her 
 hands, she looked at it and pressed it to her own, 
 as indeed something most dearly prized and valued. 
 Then saying, " I must lie down ; come in here, 
 love," — she led her into the next room, locked the 
 door, made Ellen stretch herself on the bed ; and 
 placing herself beside her, drew her close to her 
 bosom again, murmuring, " My own child — my pre- 
 cious child — my Ellen — my own darling — why did 
 you stay away so long from me ? — tell me." 
 
 It was necessary to tell ; and this could not be 
 done without revealing Miss Fortune's disgraceful 
 conduct. Ellen was sorry for that ; she knew her 
 mother's American match had been unpopular 
 with her friends ; and now what notions this must 
 give them of one at least of the near connections 
 to whom it had introduced her. She winced under 
 what might be her grandmother's thoughts. Mrs. 
 Lindsay heard her in absolute silence, and made 
 no comment ; and at the end again kissed her lips 
 and cheeks, embracing her, Ellen felt, as a recov- 
 ered treasure that would not be parted with. She 
 was not satisfied till she had drawn Ellen's head 
 fairly to rest on her breast, and then her caressing 
 hand often touched her cheek, or smoothed back 
 her hair, softly now and then asking slight ques- 
 tions about her voyage and journey ; till exhausted 
 
368 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 from excitement more than fatigue Ellen fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Her grandmother was beside her when she 
 awoke, and busied herself with evident delight in 
 helping her to get off her traveling clothes and put 
 on others ; and then she took her downstairs and 
 presented her to her aunt. 
 
 Lady Keith had not been at home, nor in Scot- 
 land, at the time the letters passed between Mrs. 
 Montgomery and her mother ; and the result of 
 that correspondence respecting Ellen had been 
 known to no one except Mrs. Lindsay and her son. 
 They had long given her up ; the rather as they 
 had seen in the papers the name of Captain Mont- 
 gomery among those lost in the ill-fated " Due 
 d'Orleans." Lady Keith therefore had no suspicion 
 who Ellen might be. She received her affection- 
 ately, but Ellen did not get rid of her first impres- 
 sion. 
 
 Her uncle she did not see until late in the day, 
 when he came home. The evening was ^extremely 
 fair, and having obtained permission, Ellen wan- 
 dered out into the shrubbery ; glad to be alone, and 
 glad for a moment to exchange new faces for old ; 
 the flowers were old friends to her, and never hap! 
 looked more friendly than then. New and old 
 both were there. Ellen went on softly from flower- 
 bed to flower-bed, soothed and rested, stopping 
 here to smell one, or there to gaze at some old 
 favorite or new beauty, thinking curious thoughts 
 of the past and the future, and through it all taking 
 a quiet lesson from the flowers ; — when a servant 
 came after her with a request from Mrs. Lindsay 
 that she would return to the house. Ellen hurried 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 369 
 
 in ; she guessed for what, and was sure as soon as 
 she opened the door and saw the figure of a gentle- 
 man sitting before Mrs. Lindsay. Ellen remem- 
 bered well she was sent to her uncle as well as her 
 grandmother, and she came forward with a beating 
 heart to Mrs. Lindsay's outstretched hand, which 
 presented her to this other ruler of her destiny. 
 He was very different from Lady Keith, — her anx- 
 ious glance saw that at once, — more like his mother. 
 A man not far from fifty years old ; fine looking 
 and stately like her. Ellen was not left long in 
 supsense ; his look instantly softened as his mother's 
 had done : he drew her to his arms with great 
 affection, and evidently with very great pleasure ; 
 then held her off for a moment while he looked at 
 her changing color and downcast eye, and folded 
 her close in his arms again, from which he seemed 
 hardly willing to let her go, whispering as he kissed 
 her, " You are my own child now, — you are my 
 little daughter, — do you know that, Ellen ? I am 
 your father henceforth ; — you belong to me entirely 
 and I belong to you ; my own little daughter ! " 
 
 " I wonder how many times one may be adopted," 
 thought Ellen that evening ; — " but to be sure, my 
 father and my mother have quite given me up here 
 —that makes a difference ; they had a right to 
 give me away if they pleased. I suppose I do 
 belong to my uncle and grandmother in good ear- 
 nest, and I cannot help myself. Well ! but Mr. 
 Humphreys seems a great deal more like my 
 father than my Uncle Lindsay. I cannot help that 
 — but how they would be vexed if they knew it ! " 
 
 That was profoundly true ! 
 
 Ellen was in a few days the dear pet and darling 
 24 
 
37 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD* 
 
 of the whole household, without exception^ and 
 almost without limit. At first, for a day or two, 
 there was a little lurking doubt, a little anxiety, a 
 constant watch, on the part of all her friends, 
 whether they were not going to find something in 
 their newly-acquired treasure to disappoint them J 
 whether it could be that there was nothing behind 
 to belie the first promise. Less keen observers, 
 however, could not have failed to see very soon 
 that there was no disappointment to be looked for ; 
 Ellen was just what she seemed, without the 
 shadow of a cloak in anything. Doubts vanished ; 
 and Ellen had not been three days in the house 
 when she was taken home to two hearts at least in 
 unbounded love and tenderness. When Mr. Lind- 
 say was present he was not satisfied without having 
 Ellen in his arms or close beside him ; and if not 
 there she was at the side of her grandmother. 
 
 There was nothing, however, in the character of 
 this fondness, great as it was, that would have in- 
 clined any child to presume upon it. Ellen was 
 least of all likely to try ; but if her will, by any 
 chance, had run counter to theirs, she would have 
 found it impossible to maintain her ground. She 
 understood this from the first with her grandmother ; 
 and in one or two trifles since had been more and 
 more confirmed in the feeling that they would do 
 with her and make of her precisely what they 
 pleased, without the smallest regard to her fancy. 
 If it jumped with theirs, very well ; if not, it must 
 yield. In one matter Ellen had been roused to 
 plead very hard, and even with tears, to have her 
 wish, which she verily thought she ought to have 
 had. Mrs. Lindsay smiled and kissed her, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 371 
 
 went on with the utmost coolness in what she was 
 doing, which she carried through, without in 
 the least regarding Ellen's distress or showing the 
 slightest discomposure ; and the same thing was 
 repeated every day, till Ellen got used to it. Her 
 uncle she had never seen tried ; but she knew it 
 would be the same with him. When Mr. Lindsay 
 clasped her to his bosom Ellen felt it was as his own ; 
 his eye always seemed to repeat, " My own little 
 daughter ; " and in his whole manner love was 
 mingled with as much authority. Perhaps Ellen 
 did not like them much the worse for this, as she 
 had no sort of disposition to displease them in any- 
 thing ; but it gave rise to sundry thoughts, how- 
 ever, which she kept to herself ; thoughts that went 
 both to the future and the past. 
 
 Lady Keith, it may be, had less heart to give 
 than her mother and brother, but pride took up the 
 matter instead ; and according to her measure 
 Ellen held with her the same place she held with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay ; being the great delight and 
 darling of all three ; and with all three, seemingly, 
 the great object in life. 
 
 A few days after her arrival, a week or more, she 
 underwent one evening a kind of catechising from 
 her aunt, as to her former manner of life ; — where 
 she had been and with whom since her mother left 
 her ; what she had been doing ; whether she had 
 been to school, and how her time was spent at 
 home, etc., etc. No comments whatever were 
 made on her answers, but a something in her aunt's 
 face and manner induced Ellen to make her replies 
 as brief and to give her as little information in them 
 as she could. She did not feel inclined to enlarge 
 
372 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 upon anything, or to go at all further than th<? 
 questions obliged her ; and Lady Keith endea 
 without having more than a very general notion of 
 Ellen's way of life for three or four years past. 
 
 This conversation was repeated to her grand- 
 mother and uncle. 
 
 " To think," said the latter, the next morning at 
 breakfast, — "to think that the backwoods of 
 America should have turned us out such a little 
 specimen of " 
 
 '* Of what, uncle ? " said Ellen, laughing 
 
 " Ah, I shall not tell you that," said he. 
 
 "But it is extraordinary," said Lady Keith, — 
 " how after living among a parcel of thick-headed 
 and thicker tongued Yankees she should come out 
 and speak pure English in a clear voice ; — it is an 
 enigma to me." 
 
 " Take care, Catherine," said Mr. Lindsay, laugh- 
 ing, — " you are touching Ellen's nationality ; — look 
 here," said he, drawing his fingers down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " She must learn to have no nationality but 
 yours," said Lady Keith, somewhat shortly. 
 
 Ellen's lips were open, but she spoke not. 
 
 " It is well you have come out from the Americans, 
 you see, Ellen," pursued Mr. Lindsay; — "your 
 aunt does not like them." 
 
 " But why, sir ? " 
 
 " Why," said he, gravely, — " don't you know that 
 they are a parcel of rebels who have broken loose 
 from all loyalty and fealty, that no good Briton has 
 any business to like ? " 
 
 " You are not in earnest, uncle ? " 
 
 " You are, I see," said he, looking amused 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 373 
 
 K Are you one of tho°~ that make a saint of George 
 Washington ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, — " I fhink he was a great deal 
 better than some saints. But I don't think the 
 Americans were rebels." 
 
 " You are a little rebel yourself. Do you mean 
 to say you think the Americans were right?" 
 
 " Do you mean to say you think they were wrong, 
 uncle ? " 
 
 " I assure you," said he, " if I had been in the 
 English army I should have fought them with all my 
 heart." 
 
 " And if I had been in the American army I 
 would have fought you with all my heart, Uncle 
 Lindsay." 
 
 " Come, come," said he, laughing, — " you right I 
 you don't look as if you would do battle with a 
 good-sized mosquito." 
 
 " Ah, but I mean, if I had been a man," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " You had better put in that qualification. After 
 all, I am inclined to think it may be as well for you 
 on the whole that we did not meet. I don't know 
 but we might have had a pretty stiff encounter, 
 though." 
 
 " A good cause is stronger than a bad one,, 
 uncle." 
 
 " But, Ellen, — these Americans forfeited entirely 
 the character of good friends to England and good 
 subjects to King George." 
 
 " Yes, but it was King George's fault, uncle ; he 
 and the English forfeited their characters first." 
 
 " I declare," said Mr. Lindsay, laughing, " if 
 your sword had been as stout as your tongue, I 
 
374 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 don't know how I might have come off in that same 
 encounter." 
 
 " I hope Ellen will get rid of these strange notions 
 about the Americans," said Lady Keith, discon- 
 tentedly. 
 
 81 1 hope not, Aunt Keith," said Ellen. 
 
 " Where did you get them ? " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 "What, sir?" 
 
 " These notions." 
 
 " In reading, sir ; reading different books ; — and 
 talking." 
 
 " Reading ! — So you did read in the backwoods ? " 
 
 " Sir ! " said Ellen, with a look of surprise. 
 
 " What have you read on this subject ? " 
 
 " Two lives of Washington, and some in the An- 
 nual Register, and part of Graham's United States ; 
 and one or two other little things." 
 
 " But those gave you only one side, Ellen ; you 
 should read the English account of the matter." 
 
 " So I did, sir ; the Annual Register gave me 
 both sides ; the bills and messages were enough." 
 
 " What Annual Register ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir : — it is English ; — written by 
 Burke, I believe." 
 
 " Upon my word ! And what else have you 
 read ? " 
 
 " I think that's all, about America," said Ellen. 
 
 " No, but about other things ? " 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, sir," said Ellen, smiling; — • 
 "a great many books; — I can't tell them all." 
 
 " Did you spend all your time over your books ? " 
 
 " A good deal, sir, lately; — not so much be 
 fore." 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 37^ 
 
 " I couldn't, sir. I had a great many other things 
 to do." 
 
 " What else had you to do ? " 
 
 " Different things," said Ellen, hesitating from 
 the remembrance of her aunt's manner the night 
 before. 
 
 " Come, come ! answer me." 
 
 11 1 had to sweep and dust," said Ellen, coloring, 
 — " and set tables, — and wash and wipe dishes, — 
 and churn, — and spin, — and " 
 
 Ellen heard Lady Keith's look in her, " Could 
 you have conceived it ? " 
 
 " What shall we do with her ? " said Mrs. Lind- 
 say ; — " send her to school or keep her at home ? " 
 
 " Have you never been to school, Ellen ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; except for a very little while, more 
 than three years ago." 
 
 "Would you like it?" 
 
 " I would a great deal rather study at home, sir, 
 — if you will let me." 
 
 " What do you know now ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can't tell, sir," said Ellen ;— " I don't 
 know anything very well, — unless " 
 
 " Unless what ? " said her uncle, laughing ; — 
 "come ! now for your accomplishments." 
 
 " I had rather not say what I was going to, uncle ; 
 please, don't ask me." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he ; — " I sha'n't let you off. 
 Unless what?" 
 
 " I was going to say, unless riding," said Ellen, 
 coloring. 
 
 " Riding ! — And pray how did you learn to ride ? 
 Catch a horse by the mane and mount him by the 
 fence and canter off bare-backed ? was that it ? eh ? " 
 
370 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Not exactly, sir," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 " Well, but about your other accomplishments. 
 You do not know anything of French, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, sir." 
 
 " Where did you get that ? " 
 
 "An old Swiss lady in the mountains taught 
 me." 
 
 " Country riding, and Swiss French," muttered 
 her uncle. " Did she teach you to speak it ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay and his mother exchanged glances, 
 which Ellen interpreted, " Worse and worse." 
 
 " One thing at least can be mended," observed 
 Mr. Lindsay. " She shall go to De Courcy's rid- 
 ing school as soon as we get to Edinburgh." 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, I don't think that will be neces- 
 sary." 
 
 " Who taught you to ride, Ellen ? " asked Lady 
 Keith. 
 
 " My brother." 
 
 " Humph ! — I fancy a few lessons will do you no 
 harm," she remarked. 
 
 Ellen colored and was silent. 
 
 " You know nothing of music, of course ? " 
 
 " I cannot play, uncle." 
 
 " Can you sing?" 
 
 " I can sing hymns." 
 
 " Sing hymns ? That's the only fault I find with 
 you, Ellen, — you are too sober. I should like to 
 see you a little more gay, — like other children." 
 
 " But, uncle, I am not unhappy because I am 
 sober." 
 
 " But I am," said he. " I do not know precisely 
 what I shall do with you ; I must do something I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 377 
 
 u Can you sing nothing but hymns ? " said Lady 
 Keith. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Ellen, with some humor 
 twinkling about her eyes and mouth, — " I can sing 
 1 Hail Columbia ! '" 
 
 " Absurd ! " said Lady Keith. 
 
 " Why, Ellen," said her uncle, laughing, — " I did 
 not know you could be so stubborn ; I thought 
 you were made up of gentleness and mildness. 
 Let me have a good look at you, — there's not much 
 stubbornness in those eyes," he said, fondly. 
 
 " I hope you will never salute my ears with your 
 American ditty," said Lady Keith. 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Mr. Lindsay, " she shall sing 
 what she pleases, and the more the better." 
 
 " She has a very sweet voice," said her grand- 
 mother. 
 
 " Yes, in speaking, I know ; I have not heard it 
 tried otherwise ; and very nice English it turns out. 
 Where did you get your English, Ellen ? " 
 
 " From my brother," said Ellen, with a smile of 
 pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay's brow rather clouded. 
 
 " Whom do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " The brother of the lady that was so kind to me." 
 Ellen disliked to speak the loved names in the 
 hearing of ears to which she knew they would be 
 unlovely. 
 
 " How was she so kind to you ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! — in everything — I cannot tell you ; — 
 she was my friend when I had only one beside j 
 she did everything for me." 
 
 " And who was the other friend ? your aunt ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
378 THE WIDE, WIDE WO RID. 
 
 " This brother ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; that was before I knew him/* 
 
 " Who, then ? " 
 
 " His name was Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 "Van Brunt ! — Humph ! — And what was he ? " 
 
 " He was a farmer, sir." 
 
 " A Dutch farmer, eh ? how came you to have 
 anything to do with him I " 
 
 " He managed my aunt's farm, and was a great 
 deal in the house." 
 
 " He was ! And what makes you call this other 
 your brother ? " 
 
 " His sister called me her sister — and that makes 
 me his." 
 
 '• It is very absurd," said Lady Keith, " when 
 they are nothing at all to her, and ought not to 
 be." 
 
 " It seems, then, you did not find a friend in 
 your aunt, Ellen ? — eh ? " 
 
 " I don't think she loved me much," said Ellen 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " I am very glad we are clear of obligation on her 
 score," said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " Obligation ! — and so you had nothing else to 
 depend on, Ellen, but this man — this Van some- 
 thing — this Dutchman ? what did he do for you? " 
 
 " A great deal, sir ; " — Ellen would have said 
 more, but a feeling in her throat stopped her. 
 
 " Now just hear that, will you ? " said Lady 
 Keith. " Just think of her in that farm-house, with 
 that sweeping and dusting woman and a Dutch 
 farmer, for these three years ! " 
 
 "No," said Ellen, — "not all the time ; this last 
 year I have been " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 379 
 
 "Where, Ellen?" 
 
 " At the other house, sir." 
 
 " What house is that ? " 
 
 " Where that lady and gentleman lived that were 
 my best friends." 
 
 "Well, it's all very well," said Lady Keith,— 
 " but it is past now ; it is all over ; you need not 
 think of them any more. We will find you better 
 friends than any of these Dutch Brunters or 
 Grunters." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Keith!" said Ellen, — "if you knew 
 " But she burst into tears. 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Lindsay, taking her in 
 his arms, — " I will not have that. Hush, my 
 daughter. What is the matter, Ellen ? " 
 
 But Ellen had with some difficulty contained her- 
 self two or three times before in the course of the 
 conversation, and she wept now rather violently. 
 
 " What is the matter, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Because," sobbed Ellen, thoroughly roused, — 
 " I love them dearly ! and I ought to love them 
 with all my heart. I cannot forget them, and never 
 shall ; and I can never have better friends — never ! 
 — it's impossible — oh, it's impossible." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay said nothing at first except to soothe 
 her ; but when she had wept herself into quiet- 
 ness upon his breast, he whispered, 
 
 " It is right to love these people if they were 
 kind to you, but, as your aunt says, that is past. 
 It is not necessary to go back to it. Forget that 
 you were American, Ellen, — you belong to me; 
 your name is not Montgomery any more, — it is 
 Lindsay; — and I will not have you call me 'uncle' 
 —I am your father ; — you are my own little daugh* 
 
380 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ter, and must do precisely what I tell you. Do 
 you understand me ? " 
 
 He would have a " yes " from her, and then 
 added, " Go and get yourself ready, and I will take 
 you with me to Edinburgh." 
 
 Ellen's tears had been like to burst forth again 
 at his words ; with great effort she controlled her- 
 self and obeyed him. 
 
 " I shall do precisely what he tells me, of course," 
 she said to herself, as she went to get ready ; — " but 
 there are some things he cannot command ; nor I 
 neither ; — I am glad of that ! Forget indeed ! " 
 
 She could not help loving her uncle ; for the lips 
 that kissed her were very kind as well as very per- 
 emptory ; and if the hand that pressed her cheek 
 was, as she felt it was, the hand of power, its touch 
 was also exceeding fond. And as she was no 
 more inclined to dispute his will than he to permit 
 it, the harmony between them was perfect and un- 
 broken. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Bear a lily in thy hand ; 
 
 Gates of brass cannot withstand 
 
 One touch of that magic wand. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay had some reason that morning to 
 wish that Ellen would look merrier ; it was a very 
 sober little face he saw by his side as the carriage 
 rolled smoothly on with them towards Edinburgh ; 
 almost pale in its sadness. He lavished the ten- 
 derest kindness upon her, and without going back 
 by so much as a hint to the subjects of the morn- 
 ing, he exerted himself to direct her attention to 
 the various objects of note and interest they were 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 381 
 
 passing. The day was fine, and the country, also 
 the carriage and the horses ; Ellen was dearly fond 
 of driving ; and long before they reached the city 
 Mr. Lindsay had the satisfaction of seeing her 
 smile break again, her eye brighten, and her happy 
 attention fixing on the things he pointed out to 
 her, and many others that she found for herself on 
 the way, — his horses first of all. Mr. Lindsay 
 might relax his efforts and look on with secret 
 triumph ; Ellen was in the full train of delighted 
 observation. 
 
 " You are easily pleased, Ellen," he said, in an- 
 swer to one of her simple remarks of admiration. 
 
 " I have a great deal to please me," said Ellen, 
 
 " What would you like to see in Edinburgh ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir ; anything you please." 
 
 " Then I will show you a little of the city in the 
 first place." 
 
 They drove through the streets of Edinburgh, 
 both the Old and the New Town, in various direc- 
 tions ; Mr. Lindsay extremely pleased to see that 
 Ellen was so, and much amused at the curiosity 
 shown in her questions, which, however, were by 
 no means as free and frequent as they might have 
 been had John Humphreys filled her uncle's 
 place. 
 
 " What large building is that over there ? " said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "That?— that is Holyrood House." 
 
 " Holyrood ! — I have heard of that before ; — 
 isn't that where Queen Mary's rooms are ? where 
 Rizzio was killed ? " 
 
 " Yes ; would you like to see them ? " 
 
 " Oh, very much ! " 
 
382 fJStJS W 'IDE, WIDE h uk ED. 
 
 " Drive to the Abbey. — So you have read Scot- 
 tish history as well as American, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Not very much, sir ; only the Tales of a Grand* 
 father yet But what made me say that, — I have 
 read an account of Holyrood House somewhere. 
 Uncle " 
 
 " Ellen ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; — I forgot ; — it seems 
 strange to me," said Ellen, looking distressed. 
 
 " It must not seem strange to you, my daughter ; 
 what were you going to say ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir, — oh, I was going to ask if 
 the silver cross is here now, to be seen ? " 
 
 " What silver cross ? " 
 
 " That one from which the Abbey was named, 
 sir, — the silver rood that was given, they pretended, 
 to — I forget now what king " 
 
 "David First, the founder of the Abbey? No, 
 it is not here, Ellen ; David the Second lost it to 
 the English. But why do you say pretended, Ellen ? 
 It was a very real affair ; kept in England for a 
 long time with great veneration." 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; I know the cross was real ; — I 
 mean, it was pretended that an angel gave it to 
 King David when he was hunting here." 
 
 " Well, how can you tell but that was so ? King 
 David was made a saint, you know." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Ellen, laughing, " I know better 
 than that ; I know it was only a monkish trick." 
 
 " Monkish trick ! which do you mean ? the giving 
 of the cross, or the making the king a saint ? " 
 
 " Both, sir," said Ellen, still smiling. 
 
 " At that rate," said Mr. Lindsay, much amused, 
 " if you are such a skeptic, you will take no com- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 383 
 
 fort in anything at the Abbey ; — you will not be- 
 lieve anything is genuine." 
 
 " I will believe what you tell me, sir." 
 
 " Will you ? I must be careful what I say to 
 you then, or I may run the risk of losing my own 
 credit." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay spoke this half jestingly, half in 
 earnest. They went over the palace. 
 
 " Is this very old, sir ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Not very ; it has been burnt and demolished 
 and rebuilt till nothing is left of the old Abbey of 
 King David but the ruins of the chapel, which 
 you shall see presently. The oldest part of the 
 House is that we are going to see now, built by 
 James Fifth, Mary's father, where her rooms are." 
 
 At these rooms Ellen looked with intense in- 
 terest. She pored over the old furniture, the 
 needlework of which she was told was at least in 
 part the work of the beautiful Queen's own fin- 
 gers ; gazed at the stains in the floor of the bed- 
 chamber, said to be those of Rizzio's blood ; med- 
 itated over the trap-door in the passage, by which 
 the conspirators had come up ; and finally sat down 
 in the room and tried to realize the scene which 
 had once been acted there. She tried to imagine 
 the poor Queen and her attendant and her favorite 
 Rizzio sitting there at supper, and how that door, — 
 that very door, — had opened, and Ruthven's ghastly 
 figure, pale and weak from illness, presented it- 
 self, and then others ; the alarm of the moment ; 
 how Rizzio knew they were come for him and 
 fled to the Queen for protection ; how she was 
 withheld from giving it, and the unhappy man 
 pulled away from her and stabbed with a great many 
 
384 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wounds before her face ; and there, there ! — na 
 doubt,— his blood fell ! " • 
 
 " You are tired ; this doesn't please you much," 
 said Mr. Lindsay, noticing her grave look. 
 
 " Oh, it pleases me very much ! " said Ellen, 
 starting up ; — " I do not wonder she swore ven- 
 geance." 
 
 " Who ? " said Mr. Lindsay, laughing. 
 
 " Queen Mary, sir." 
 
 " Were you thinking of her all this while ? I 
 am glad of it. I spoke to you once without get- 
 ting a word. I was afraid this was not amusing 
 enough to detain your thoughts." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it was," said Ellen ; — " I have been 
 trying to think about all that. I like to look at old 
 things very much." 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to see the Regalia." 
 
 " The what, sir ? " 
 
 " The Royal things — the old diadem and scepter, 
 etc., of the Scottish kings. Well, come," said he, 
 as he read the answer in Ellen's face, — " we will 
 go ; but first let us see the old chapel." 
 
 With this Ellen was wonderfully pleased. This 
 was much older still than Queen Mary's rooms. 
 Ellen admired the wild melancholy look of the 
 gothic pillars and arches springing from the green 
 turf, the large carved window empty of glass, the 
 broken walls ; — and looking up to the blue sky, 
 she tried to imagine the time when the gothic roof 
 closed overhead, and music sounded through the 
 arches, and trains of stoled monks paced among 
 them, where now the very pavement was not. 
 Strange it seemed, and hard, to go back and re- 
 alize it ; but in the midst of this, the familiar face 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 385 
 
 of the sky set Ellen's thoughts off upon a new 
 track, and suddenly they were at home, — on the 
 lawn before the parsonage. The monks and the 
 Abbey were forgotten ; she silently gave her hand 
 to her uncle and walked with him to the carriage. 
 
 Arrived at the Crown Room, Ellen fell into an- 
 other fit of grave attention ; but Mr. Lindsay, 
 taught better, did not this time mistake rapt inter- 
 est for absence of mind. He answered questions 
 and gave her several pieces of information, and let 
 her take her own time to gaze and meditate. 
 
 " This beautiful sword," said he, "was a present 
 from Pope Julius Second to James Fourth." 
 
 " I don't know anything about the Popes," said 
 Ellen. " James Fourth ?— I forget what kind of a 
 king he was." 
 
 " He was a very good king ;— he was the one 
 that died at Flodden." 
 
 " Oh, and wore an iron girdle because he had 
 fought against his father, — poor man ! " 
 
 " Why ' poor man,' Ellen ? he was a very royal 
 prince ; why do you say ' poor man ' ? " 
 
 V Because he didn't know any better, sir." 
 
 " Didn't know any better than what ? " 
 
 " Than to think an iron girdle would do him any 
 good." 
 
 " But why wouldn't it do him any good ? " 
 
 " Because, you know, sir, that is not the way we 
 can have our sins forgiven." 
 
 " What is the way ? " 
 
 Ellen looked at him to see if he was in jest or 
 earnest. Her look staggered him a little, but he 
 repeated his question. She cast her eyes down 
 and answer*** 
 
386 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Jesus Christ said, 'I am the way, the truth, 
 and the life ; no man cometh unto the Father but 
 by Me.' " 
 
 Mr. Lindsay said no more. 
 
 " I wish that was the Bruce's crown," said Ellen 
 after a while. "-I should like to see anything that 
 belonged to him." 
 
 " I'll take you to the field of Bannockburn some 
 day ; that belonged to him with a vengeance. It 
 lies over yonder." 
 
 " Bannockburn ! will you ? and Stirling Castle ! 
 —Oh, how I should like that ! " 
 
 " Stirling Castle," said Mr. Lindsay, smiling at 
 Ellen's clasped hands of delight, — " what do you 
 know of Stirling Castle ? " 
 
 " From the history, you know, sir ; and the Lord 
 of the Isles ; — 
 
 " ' Old Stirling's towers arose in light — ' " 
 
 "Go on," said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " ' And twined in links of silver bright 
 Her winding river lay.' " 
 
 " That's this same river Forth, Ellen. Do you 
 know any more ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 " Go on and tell me all you can remember." 
 
 " All; that would be a great deal, sir." 
 
 " Go on till I tell you to stop." 
 
 Ellen gave him a good part of the battle, with 
 the introduction to it. 
 
 " You have a good memory, Ellen," he said, look- 
 ing pleased. 
 
 " Because I like it, sir ; that makes it easy to 
 remember. I like the Scots people." 
 
trIE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 387 
 
 " Do you ? " said Mr. Lindsay, much gratified ; — 
 " I did not know ybu liked anything on this side of 
 the water. Why do you like them ? " 
 
 " Because they never would be conquered by the 
 English." 
 
 " So," said Mr. Lindsay, half amused and half 
 disappointed, — " the long and the short of it is, you 
 like them because they fought the enemies you 
 were so eager to have a blow at." 
 
 '* Oh, no, sir," said Ellen, laughing, " I do not 
 mean that at all ; the French were England's 
 enemies too, and helped us besides, but I like the 
 Scots a great deal better than the French. I like 
 them because they would be free." 
 
 " You have an extraordinary taste for freedom S 
 And pray, are all the American children as strong 
 republicans as yourself ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir ; I hope so." 
 
 " Pretty well, upon my word ! — Then I suppose 
 even the Bruce cannot rival your favorite Washing- 
 ton in your esteem ? " 
 
 Ellen smiled. 
 
 " Eh ? " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " I like Washington better, sir, of course ; but I 
 like Bruce very much." 
 
 " Why do you prefer Washington ? " 
 
 " I should have to think to tell you that, sir." 
 
 " Very well, think, and answer me." 
 
 " One reason, I suppose, is because he was an 
 American," said Ellen. 
 
 " That is not reason enough for so reasonable a 
 person as you are, Ellen ; you must try again, or 
 give up your preference." 
 
 " I like Bruce, very much indeed," said Ellen, 
 
388 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 musingly, — " but he did what he did for himself, — 
 Washington didn't." 
 
 " Humph ! — I am not quite sure as to either of 
 your positions," said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " And besides," said Ellen, " Bruce did one or 
 two wrong things. Washington always did right." 
 
 " He did, eh ? What do you think of the murdei 
 of Andre ? " 
 
 " I think it was right," said Ellen, firmly. 
 
 " Your reasons, my little reasoner ? " 
 
 " If it had not been right, Washington would not 
 have done it." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! — So at that rate you may reconcile 
 yourself to anything that chances to be done by a 
 favorite." 
 
 " No, sir," said Ellen, a little confused, but 
 standing her ground, — " but when a person always 
 does right, if he happen to do something that I 
 don't know enough to understand, I have good 
 reason to think it is right, even though I cannot 
 understand it." 
 
 " Very well ! but apply the same rule of judg- 
 ment to the Bruce, can't you ? " 
 
 " Nothing could make me think the murder of 
 the Red Comyn right, sir. Bruce didn't think so 
 himself." 
 
 " But remember, there is a great difference in the 
 times ; those were rude and uncivilized compared 
 to these ; you must make allowance for that." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I do ; but I like the civilized times best." 
 
 " What do you think of this fellow over here, — 
 what's his name? — whose monument I was show- 
 ing you, — Nelson ! " 
 
 " I used to like him very much, sir." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 38a 
 
 u And you do not now ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I do ; I cannot help liking him." 
 
 " That is to say, you would if you could ? " 
 
 " I don't think, sir, I ought to like a man merely 
 for being great, unless he was good. Washington 
 was great and good both." 
 
 " Well, what is the matter with Nelson ? " said 
 Mr. Lindsay, with an expression of intense amuse- 
 ment ; — " I ' used to think,' as you say, that he 
 was a very noble fellow." 
 
 " So he was, sir ; but he wasn't a good man." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Why, you know, sir, he left his wife ; and Lady 
 Hamilton persuaded him to do one or two other 
 very dishonorable things ; it was a great pity ! " 
 
 " So you will not like any great man that is not 
 good as well. W T hat is your definition of a good 
 man, Ellen ? " 
 
 "One who always does right, because it is right, 
 no matter whether it is convenient or not," said 
 Ellen, after a little hesitation. 
 
 " Upon my word, you draw the line close. But 
 opinions often differ as to what is right ; how shall 
 we know ? " 
 
 " From the Bible, sir," said Ellen, quickly, with 
 a look that half amused and half abashed him. 
 
 " And you, Ellen, — are you yourself good after 
 this nice fashion ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; but I wish to be." 
 
 " I do believe that. But, after all, Ellen, you 
 might like Nelson ; those were the only spots in 
 the sun." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but can a man be a truly great man 
 who is not master of himself ? " 
 
39° 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOPT-D* 
 
 " That is an excellent remark."' 
 
 " It is not mine, sir," said Ellen, blushing ; " it 
 was told me ; I did not find out all that about 
 Nelson myself ; I did not see it all the first time I 
 read his life ; I thought he was perfect." 
 
 " I know who / think is," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 kissing her. 
 
 They drove now to his house in George Street. 
 Mr. Lindsay had some business to attend to, and 
 would leave her there for an hour or two. And 
 that their fast might not be too long unbroken, 
 Mrs. Allen the housekeeper was directed to furnish 
 them with some biscuits in the library, whither Mr. 
 Lindsay led Ellen. 
 
 She liked the looks of it very much. Plenty of 
 books ; old-looking, comfortable furniture ; pleasant 
 light ; all manner of etceteras around which rejoiced 
 Ellen's heart. Mr. Lindsay noticed her pleased 
 glance passing from one thing to another. He 
 placed her in a deep easy-chair, took off her bonnet 
 and threw it on the sofa, and kissing her fondly 
 asked her if she felt at home. " Not yet," Ellen 
 said ; but her look also said ii; would not take long 
 to make her do so. She sat enjoying her rest, and 
 munching her biscuits with great appetite and satis- 
 faction, when Mr. Lindsay poured her out a glass 
 of sweet wine. 
 
 That glass of wine looked to Ellen like an enemy 
 marching up to attack her. Because Alice and 
 John did not drink it, she had always, at first with- 
 out other reason, done the same ; and she was 
 determined not to forsake their example now. She 
 took no notice of the glass of wine, though she had 
 ceased to see anything else in the room, and went 
 
THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 391 
 
 on, seemingly as before, eating her biscuits, though 
 she no longer knew how they tasted. 
 
 " Why don't you drink your wine, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I do not wish any, sir." 
 
 " Don't you like it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir ; I have never drunk any." 
 
 " No ! Taste it and see." 
 
 " I would rather not, sir, if you please. I don't 
 care for it." 
 
 " Taste it, Ellen ! " 
 
 This command was not to be disobeyed. The 
 blood rushed to Ellen's temples as she just touched 
 the glass to her lips, and set it down again. 
 
 " Well ? " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " What, sir ? " 
 
 " How do you like it ? " 
 
 " I like it very well, sir, but I would rather not 
 drink it." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 Ellen colored again at this exceedingly difficult 
 question, and answered as well as she could, that 
 she had never been accustomed to it, and would 
 rather not. 
 
 " It is of no sort of consequence what you have 
 been accustomed to," said Mr. Lindsay. " You 
 are to drink it all, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen dared not disobey. When biscuits and 
 wine were disposed of, Mr. Lindsay drew her close 
 to his side and encircling her fondly with his arms, 
 said, 
 
 " I shall leave you now for an hour or two, and 
 you must amuse yourself as you can. The book- 
 cases are open — perhaps you can find something 
 there ; or there are prints in those portfolios ; ol 
 
39 2 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 you can go over the house and make yourself ac 
 quainted with your new home. If you want any- 
 thing ask Mrs. Allen. Does it look pleasant to you ? " 
 
 " Very," Ellen said. 
 
 " You are at home here, daughter ; go where you 
 will and do what you will. I shall not leave you 
 long. But before I go — Ellen— let me hear you 
 call me father." 
 
 Ellen obeyed, trembling, for it seemed to her 
 that it was to set her hand and seal to the deed of 
 gift her father and mother had made. But there 
 was no retreat ; it was spoken ; and Mr. Lindsay, 
 folding her close in his arms, kissed her again and 
 again. 
 
 " Never let me hear you call me anything else, 
 Ellen. You are mine own now — my own child — 
 my own little daughter. You shall do just what 
 pleases me in everything, and let by-gones be by- 
 gones. And now lie down there and rest, daughter, 
 you are trembling from head to foot ; — rest and 
 amuse yourself in any way you like till I return." 
 
 He left the room. 
 
 " I have done it now ! " thought Ellen, as she 
 sat in the corner of the sofa where Mr. Lindsay 
 had tenderly placed her ; — " I have called him my 
 father — I am bound to obey him after this. I 
 wonder what in the world they will make me do 
 next. If he chooses to make me drink wine every 
 day, I must do it ! — I cannot help myself. That 
 is only a little matter. But what if they were to 
 want me to do something wrong ? — they might ; — ■ 
 John never did — I could not have disobeyed him, 
 possibly ! — but I could them, if it was necessary, — 
 and if it is necessary, I will ! — I should have a 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 393 
 
 dreadful time — I wonder if I could go through with 
 it. Oh, yes, I could, if it was right, — and besides 
 I would rather bear anything in the world from 
 them than have John displeased with me ; — a great 
 deal rather ! But perhaps after all they will not 
 want anything wrong of me. I wonder if this is 
 really to be my home always, and if I shall never get 
 home again ? — John will not leave me here ! — but I 
 don't see how in the world he can help it, for my 
 father and my mother, and I myself — I know what 
 he would tell me if he was here, and I'll try to do it. 
 God will take care of me if I follow Him ; it is none 
 of my business." 
 
 Simply and heartily commending her interests 
 to His keeping, Ellen tried to lay aside the care of 
 herself. She went on musing ; how very different 
 and how much greater her enjoyment would have 
 been that day if John had been with her. Mr. 
 Linsday, to be sure, had answered her questions 
 with abundant kindness and sufficient ability ; but 
 his answers did not, as those of her brother often 
 did, skillfully draw her on from one thing to another, 
 till a train of thought was opened which at the 
 setting out she never dreamed of ; and along with 
 the joy of acquiring new knowledge she had the 
 pleasure of discovering new fields of it to be ex- 
 plored, and the delight of the felt exercise and en- 
 largement of her own powers, which were sure to 
 be actively called into play. Mr. Lindsay told her 
 what she asked, and there left her. Ellen found 
 herself growing melancholy over the comparison she 
 was drawing ; and wisely went to the bookcases to 
 divert her thoughts. Finding presently a history 
 of Scotland, she took it down, resolving to refresh 
 
394 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her memory on a subject which had gained such 
 new and strange interest for her. Before long, 
 however, fatigue and the wine she had drunk 
 effectually got the better of studious thoughts ; she 
 stretched herself on the sofa and fell fast asleep. 
 
 There Mr. Lindsay found her a couple of hours 
 afterwards under the guard of the housekeeper. 
 
 "I came in, sir," she said, whispering, — "it's 
 mair than an hour back, and she's been sleep- 
 ing just like a babby ever syne ; she hasna stirred a 
 finger. Oh, Mr. Lindsay, it's a bonny bairn, and 
 a gude. What a blessing to the house ! " 
 
 " You're about right there, I believe, Maggie ; 
 but how have you learned it so fast ? " 
 
 " I canna be mista'en, Mr. George, — I ken it as 
 weel as if we had had a year auld acquentance ; I 
 ken it by thae sweet mouth and een, and by the 
 look she gied me when you tauld her, sir, I had 
 been in the house near as lang's yoursel'. An' 
 look at her eenow. There's heaven's peace within, 
 I'm a'maist assured." 
 
 The kiss that wakened Ellen found her in the 
 midst of a dream. She thought that John was a 
 king of Scotland, and standing before her in regal 
 attire. She offered him, she thought, a glass of 
 wine, but raising the sword of state, silver scabbard 
 and all, he with a tremendous swing of it dashed 
 the glass out of her hands ; and then, as she stood 
 abashed, he bent forward with one of his old grave 
 kind looks to kiss her. As the kiss touched her 
 lips Ellen opened her eyes, to find her brother 
 transformed into Mr. Lindsay, and the empty glass 
 standing safe and sound upon the table. 
 
 " You must have had a pleasant nap," said Mr. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 395 
 
 Lindsay, " you wake up smiling. Come — make 
 haste — I have left a friend in the carriage. — Bring 
 your book along if you want it." 
 
 The presence of the stranger, who was going 
 down to spend a day or two at " The Braes," pre- 
 vented Ellen from having any talking to do. Com- 
 fortably placed in the corner of the front seat of 
 the barouche, leaning on the elbow of the carriage, 
 she was left to her own musings. She could hardly 
 realize the change in her circumstances. The 
 carriage rolling fast and smoothly on — the two 
 gentlemen opposite to her, one her father ! — the 
 strange, varied, beautiful scenes they were flitting 
 by, — the long shadows made by the descending 
 sun, — the cool evening air,— Ellen, leaning back in 
 the wide easy seat, felt as if she were in a dream. 
 It was singularly pleasant ; she could not help but 
 enjoy it all very much ; and yet it seemed to her 
 as if she were caught in a net from which she had 
 no power to get free ; and she longed to clasp that 
 hand that could, she thought, draw her whence and 
 whither it pleased. " But Mr. Lindsay opposite ? 
 — I have called him my father — I have given my- 
 self to him," she thought ; — " but I gave myself to 
 somebody else first ; — I can't undo that — and I 
 never will ! " Again she tried to be quiet and 
 resign the care of herself to better wisdom and 
 greater strength than her own. " This may all be 
 arranged, easily, in some way I could never dream 
 of," she said to herself ; " I have no business to 
 be uneasy. Two months ago, and I was quietly at 
 home and seemed to be fixed there forever ; and 
 now, and without anything extraordinary happening, 
 here I am, — just as fixed. Yes, and before that, at 
 
396 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Aunt Fortune's, — it didn't seem possible that I could 
 ever get away from being her child ; and yet how 
 easily all that was managed. And just so, in some 
 way that I cannot imagine, things may open so as to 
 let me out smoothly from this." She resolved to be 
 patient, and take thankfully what she at present 
 had to enjoy ; and in this mood of mind, the drive 
 home was beautiful ; and the evening was happily 
 absorbed in the history of Scotland. 
 
 It was a grave question in the family that same 
 evening whether Ellen should be sent to school. 
 Lady Keith was decidedly in favor of it ; her mother 
 seemed doubtful ; Mr. Lindsay, who had a vision 
 of the little figure lying asleep on his library sofa, 
 thought the room had never looked so cheerful be- 
 fore, and had near made up his mind that she 
 should be its constant adornment the coming winter. 
 Lady Keith urged the school plan. 
 
 " Not a boarding-school," said Mrs. Lindsay ; — ■ 
 " I will not hear of that." 
 
 " No, but a day-school ; it would do her a vast 
 deal of good I am certain ; her notions want shak- 
 ing up very much. And I never saw a child of 
 her age so much a child." 
 
 " I assure you / never saw one so much a 
 woman. She has asked me to-day, I suppose," 
 said he, smiling, " a hundred questions or less ; 
 and I assure you there was not one foolish or vain 
 one among them ; not one that was not sensible, 
 and most of them singularly so." 
 
 " She was greatly pleased with her day," said 
 Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " I never saw such a baby face in my life," said 
 Lady Keith, — " in a child of her years." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 397 
 
 " It is a face of uncommon intelligence ! " said 
 her brother. 
 
 " It is both," said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " I was struck with it the other day," said Lady 
 Keith — " the day she slept so long upon the sofa 
 upstairs after she was dressed ; she had been cry- 
 ing about something, and her eyelashes were wet 
 still, and she had that curious grave innocent look 
 you only see in infants ; you might have thought 
 she was fourteen months instead of fourteen years 
 old ; fourteen and a half, she says she is." 
 
 " Crying?" said Mr. Lindsay ;— " what was the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Mrs. Lindsay, " but that she 
 had been obliged to submit to me in something 
 that did not please her." 
 
 " Did she give you any cause of displeasure ? " 
 
 " No, — though I can see she has strong passions. 
 But she is the first child I ever saw that I think I 
 could not get angry with." 
 
 " Mother's heart half misgave her, I believe," 
 said Lady Keith, laughing ; — " she sat there look- 
 ing at her for an hour." 
 
 " She seems to me perfectly gentle and sub- 
 missive," said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " Yes, but don't trust too much to appearances," 
 said his sister. " If she is not a true Lindsay after 
 all I am mistaken. Did you see her color once or 
 twice this morning when something was said that 
 did not please her ? " 
 
 " You can judge nothing from that," said Mr. 
 Lindsay, — " she colors at everything. You should 
 have seen her to-day when I told her I would take 
 her to Bannockburn." 
 
398 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Ah, she has got the right side of you, brother; 
 you will be able to discern no faults in her pres- 
 ently." 
 
 " She has used no arts for it, sister ; she is a 
 straightforward little hussy, and that is one thing I 
 like about her ; though I was as near as possible 
 being provoked with her once or twice to-day. 
 There is only one thing I wish was altered, — she has 
 her head filled with strange notions — absurd for a 
 child of her age — I don't know what I shall do to 
 get rid of them." 
 
 After some conversation it was decided that 
 school would be the best thing for this end, and 
 half decided that Ellen should go. 
 
 But this half decision Mr. Lindsay found it very 
 difficult to keep to, and circumstances soon 
 destroyed it entirely. Company was constantly 
 coming and going at " The Braes," and much of it 
 of a kind that Ellen exceedingly liked to see and 
 hear ; intelligent, cultivated, well-informed people, 
 whose conversation was highly agreeable and always 
 useful to her. Ellen had nothing to do with the 
 talking, so she made good use of her ears. 
 
 One evening Mr. Lindsay, a M. Villars, and M. 
 Muller, a Swiss gentleman and a noted man of 
 science, very much at home in Mr. Lindsay's 
 house, were carrying on, in French, a conversation 
 in which the two foreigners took part against their 
 host. M. Villars began with talking about Lafay- 
 ette ; from him they went to the American Revolu- 
 tion, and Washington, and from them to other 
 patriots and other republics, ancient and mod- 
 ern; — MM. Villars and Muller talking the side 
 of freedom and pressing Mr. Lindsay hard with 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 399 
 
 argument, authority, example, and historical testi- 
 mony. Ellen, as usual, was fast by his side, and 
 delighted to see that he could by no means make 
 good his ground. The ladies at the other end of 
 the room would several times have drawn her 
 away, but happily for her, and also as usual, Mr. 
 Lindsay's arm was around her shoulders, and she 
 was left in quiet to listen. The conversation was 
 very lively, and on a subject very interesting to her ; 
 for America had been always a darling theme; 
 Scottish struggles for freedom were fresh in her 
 mind ; her attention had long ago been called to 
 Switzerland and its history by Alice and Mrs. 
 Vawse, and French history had formed a good part 
 of her last winter's reading. She listened with the 
 most eager delight, too much engrossed to notice 
 the good-humored glances that were every now and 
 then given her by one of the speakers. Not Mr. 
 Lindsay ; — though his hand was upon her shoulder 
 or playing with, the light curls that fell over her 
 temples, he did not see that her face was flushed 
 with interest, or notice the quick smile and sparkle 
 of the eye that followed every turn in the con- 
 versation that favored her wishes or foiled his ; 
 — it was M. Muller. They came to the Swiss, 
 and their famous struggle for freedom against 
 Austrian oppression. M. Muller wished to speak 
 of the noted battle in which that freedom was 
 made sure, but for the moment its name had es- 
 caped him. 
 
 " Par ma foi," said M. Villars, — " il m'a entiere- 
 ment passe ! " 
 
 Mr. Lindsay could not or would not help him 
 out. But M. Muller suddenly turned to Ellen, in 
 
400 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 whose face he thought he saw a look of intelligence, 
 and begged of her the missing name. 
 
 " Est-ce Morgarten, monsieur ? " said Ellen, 
 blushing. 
 
 " Morgarten ? c'est c,a ! " said he, with a polite, 
 pleased bow of thanks. Mr. Lindsay was little 
 less astonished than the Duke of Argyle when his 
 gardener claimed to be the owner of a Latin work 
 ©n mathematics. 
 
 The conversation presently took a new turn with 
 M. Villars ; and M. MuKer withdrawing from it, 
 addressed himself to Ellen. He was a pleasant- 
 looking elderly gentleman , she had never seen him 
 before that evening. 
 
 " You know French well then ? " said he, speak- 
 ing to her in that tongue. 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said Ellen, modestly. 
 
 u And you have heard of the Swiss moun- 
 taineers?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; a great deal." 
 
 He opened his watch and showed her in the back 
 of it an exquisite little painting, asking her if she 
 knew what it was. 
 
 " It is an Alpine chalet, is it not, sir ? " 
 
 He was pleased, and went on, always in French, 
 to tell Ellen that Switzerland was his country ; and 
 drawing a little aside from the other talkers, ae 
 entered into a long and to her most delightful con- 
 versation. In the pleasantest manner he gave her 
 a vast deal of very entertaining detail about the 
 country and the manners and habits of the people 
 of the Alps, especially in the Tyrol, where he had 
 often traveled. It would have been hard to tell 
 whether the child had most pleasure in receiving. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE &QR-L*. 401 
 
 or the man of deep study and science most pleasure 
 in giving, all manner of information. He saw, he 
 said, that she was very fond of the heroes of free- 
 dom, and asked if she had ever heard of Andrew 
 Hofer, the Tyrolese peasant, who led on his 
 brethren in their noble endeavors to rid themselves 
 of French and Bavarian oppression. Ellen had 
 never heard of him. 
 
 " You know William Tell ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," Ellen said, — she knew him. 
 
 " And Bonaparte ? " 
 
 " Yes, very well." 
 
 He went on then to give her in a very interest- 
 ing way the history of Hofer ; — how when Napoleon 
 made over his country to the rule of the King of 
 Bavaria, who oppressed them, they rose in mass ; 
 overcame army after army that were sent against 
 them in their mountain fastnesses, and freed them- 
 selves from the hated Bavarian government; how 
 years after Napoleon was at last too strong for 
 them ; Hofer and his companions defeated, hunted 
 like wild beasts, shot down like them ; how Hofer 
 was at last betrayed by a friend, taken, and exe- 
 cuted, being only seen to weep at parting with his 
 family. The beautiful story was well told, and the 
 speaker was animated by the eager deep attention 
 and sympathy of his auditor, whose changing 
 color, smiles, and even tears, showed how well she 
 entered into the feelings of the patriots in their 
 struggle, triumph, and downfall ; till as he finished 
 she was left full of pity for them and hatred of 
 Napoleon. They talked of the Alps again. M. 
 Muller put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a 
 little painting in mosaic to show her, which he said 
 26 
 
4 C2 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had been given him that day. It was a beautiful 
 piece of pietra-dura work — Mont Blanc. He as- 
 sured her the mountain often looked exactly so. 
 Ellen admired it very much. It was meant to be 
 set for a brooch or some such thing, he said, and 
 he asked if she would keep it and sometimes wear 
 it, " to remember the Swiss, and to do him a 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Moi, monsieur ? " said Ellen, coloring high 
 with surprise and pleasure, — " je suis bien obligee 
 — mais, monsieur, je ne saurais vous remercier ! " 
 
 He would count himself well paid, he said with 
 a single touch of her lips. 
 
 " Tenez, monsieur ! " said Ellen, blushing, but 
 smiling, and tendering back the mosaic. 
 
 He laughed and bowed and begged her pardon, 
 and said she must keep it to assure him she had 
 forgiven him ; and then he asked by what name he 
 might remember her. 
 
 " Monsieur, je m'appelle Ellen M " 
 
 She stopped short, in utter and blank uncertainty 
 what to call herself ; Montgomery she dared not ; 
 Lindsay stuck in her throat. 
 
 "Have you forgotten it?" said M. Muller, 
 amused at her look, " or is it a secret ? " 
 
 " Tell M. Muller your name, Ellen," said Mr. 
 Lindsay, turning round from a group where he was 
 standing at a little distance. The tone was stern 
 and displeased. Ellen felt it keenly, and with dif- 
 ficulty and some hesitation still, murmured, 
 
 " Ellen Lindsay." . 
 
 " Lindsay ? Are you the daughter of my friend 
 Mr. Lindsay ? " 
 
 Again Ellen hesitated, in great doubt how to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 403 
 
 answer, but finally, not without starting tears, said, 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 " Your memory is bad to-night," said Mr. Lind- 
 say, in her ear, — " you had better go where you can 
 refresh it." 
 
 Ellen took this as a hint to leave the room, which 
 she did immediately, not a little hurt at the dis- 
 pleasure she did not think she had deserved ; she 
 loved Mr. Lindsay the best of all her relations, 
 and really loved him. She went to bed and to 
 sleep again that night with wet eyelashes. 
 
 Meanwhile M. Muller was gratifying Mr. 
 Lindsay in a high degree by the praises he be- 
 stowed upon his daughter, — her intelligence, her 
 manners, her modesty, and her French. He asked 
 if she was to be in Edinburgh that winter, and 
 whether she would be at school ; and Mr. Lindsay 
 declaring himself undecided on the latter point, M. 
 Muller said he should be pleased, if she had leisure, 
 to have her come to his rooms two or three times a 
 week to read with him. This offer, from a person 
 of M. Muller's standing and studious habits, Mr. 
 Lindsay justly took as both a great compliment 
 and a great promise of advantage to Ellen. He at 
 once and with much pleasure accepted it. So the 
 question of school was settled. 
 
 Ellen resolved the next morning to lose no time 
 in making up her difference with Mr. Lindsay, and 
 schooled herself to use a form of words that she 
 thought would please him. Pride said indeed, 
 " Do no such thing ; don't go to making acknowledg- 
 ments when you have not been in the wrong ; you 
 are not bound to humble yourself before unjust 
 displeasure." Pride pleaded powerfully. But 
 
404 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 neither Ellen's heart nor her conscience would per- 
 mit her to take this advice. " He loves me very 
 much," she thought, — " and perhaps he did not 
 understand me last night ; and besides, I owe him 
 — yes, I do ! — a child's obedience now. I ought 
 not to leave him displeased with me a moment 
 longer than I can help. And besides, I couldn't 
 be happy so. God gives grace to the humble — I 
 will humble myself." 
 
 To have a chance for executi \> this determina- 
 tion she went downstairs a good deal earlier than 
 usual ; she knew Mr. Lindsay was generally there 
 before the rest of the family, and she hoped to see 
 him alone. It was too soon even for him, however ; 
 the rooms were empty ; so Ellen took her book 
 from the table, and being perfectly at peace with 
 herself, sat down in the window and was presently 
 lost in the interest of what she was reading. She 
 did not know of Mr. Lindsay's approach till a 
 little imperative tap on her shoulder startled her. 
 
 ** What were you thinking of last night ? What 
 made you answer M. Muller in the way you 
 did ? " 
 
 Ellen started up, but to utter her prepared speech 
 was no longer possible. 
 
 " I did not know what to say," she said, looking 
 down. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " said he, angrily. 
 " Didn't you know what I wished you to say ? " 
 
 " Yes — but — do not speak to me in that way ! " 
 exclaimed Ellen, covering her face with her hands. 
 Pride struggled to keep back the tears that wanted 
 to flow. 
 
 " I shall choose my own method of speaking. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 405 
 
 Why did you not say what you knew I wished you 
 to say ? " 
 
 " I was afraid — I didn't know — but he would 
 think what wasn't true." 
 
 " That is precisely what I wish him and all the 
 world to think ; I will have no difference made, 
 Ellen, either by them or you. Now lift up your 
 head and listen to me," said he, taking both her 
 hands, — " I lay my commands upon you, whenever 
 the like questions may be asked again, that you 
 answer simply according to what I have told you, 
 without any explanation or addition. It is true, 
 and if people draw conclusions that are not true, it 
 is what I wish. Do you understand me 
 
 Ellen bowed. 
 
 " Will you obey me ? " 
 
 She answered again in the same mute way. 
 
 He ceased to hold her at arm's length, and 
 sitting down in her chair drew her close to him, 
 saying more kindly, 
 
 " You must not displease me, Ellen." 
 
 " I had no thought of displeasing you, sir," said 
 Ellen, bursting into tears, — " and I was very sorry 
 for it last night. I did not mean to disobey you— 
 I only hesitated " 
 
 " Hesitate no more. My commands may serve 
 to remove the cause of it. You are my daughter, 
 Ellen, and I am your father. Poor child ! " said 
 he, for Ellen was violently agitated, — " I don't 
 believe I shall have much difficulty with you." 
 
 "If you will on" ■* not speak and look at me so," 
 said Ellen, " it m&^es me very unhappy ■" 
 
 " Hush ! " said he, kissing her ; — " do not give 
 me occasion." 
 
406 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I did not give you occasion, sir ? " 
 
 "Why, Ellen ! " said Mr. Lindsay, half displeased 
 again, — " I shall begin to think your Aunt Keith is 
 right, that you are a true Lindsay. But so am I, 
 — and I will have only obedience from you — without 
 either answering or argumenting." 
 
 " You shall," murmured Ellen. " But do not be 
 displeased with me, father." 
 
 Ellen had schooled herself to say that word ; 
 she knew it would greatly please him ; and she was 
 not mistaken ; though it was spoken so low that 
 his ears could but just catch it. Displeasure was 
 entirely overcome. He pressed her to his heart, 
 kissing her with great tenderness, and would not 
 let her go from his arms till he had seen her smile 
 again ; and during all the day he was not willing 
 to have her out of his sight. 
 
 It would have been easy that morning for Ellen 
 to have made a breach between them that would 
 not readily have been healed. One word of humility 
 had prevented it all, and fastened her more firmly 
 than ever in Mr. Lindsay's affection. She met 
 with nothing from him but tokens of great and 
 tender fondness ; and Lady Keith told her mother 
 apart that there would be no doing anything with 
 George ! she saw he was getting bewitched with 
 that child. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 407 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 My heart is sair, I dare nae tell, 
 My heart is sair for somebody : 
 I could wake a winter night 
 For the sake of somebody. 
 Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
 Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
 I wad do — what wad I not ? 
 For the sake of somebody. 
 
 (Kr> Song. 
 
 In a few weeks they moved to Edinburgh, where 
 arrangements were speedily made for giving Ellen 
 every means of improvement that masters and 
 mistresses, books and instruments, could afford. 
 
 The house in George Street was large and 
 pleasant. To Ellen's great joy, a pretty little room 
 opening from the first landing-place of the private 
 staircase was assigned for her special use as a 
 study and work-room ; and fitted up nicely for her 
 with a small book-case, a practicing piano, and 
 various etceteras. Here her beloved desk took its 
 place on a table in the middle of the floor, where 
 Ellen thought she would make many a new draw- 
 ing when she was by herself. Her work-box was 
 accommodated with a smaller stand near the 
 window. A glass door at one end of the room 
 opened upon a small iron balcony ; this door and 
 balcony Ellen esteemed a very particular treasure. 
 With marvelous satisfaction she arranged and 
 arranged her little sanctum till she had all things 
 to her mind, and it only wanted, she thought, a 
 glass of flowers. " I will have that too some of 
 these days," she said to herself ; and resolved to 
 deserve her pretty room by being very busy there. 
 
4 o8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 It was hers alone, open indeed to her friends when 
 they chose to keep her company ; but lessons were 
 taken elsewhere ; in the library, or the music-room, 
 or more frequently her grandmother's dressing- 
 room. Wherever, or whatever, Mrs. Lindsay or 
 Lady Keith was always present. 
 
 Ellen was the plaything, pride, and delight of 
 the whole family. Not so much, however, Lady 
 Keith's plaything as her pride ; while pride had a 
 less share in the affection of the other two, or 
 rather perhaps was more overtopped by it. Ellen 
 felt, however, that all their hearts were set upon 
 her, felt it gratefully, and determined she would 
 give them all the pleasure she possibly could. 
 Her love for other friends, friends that they knew 
 nothing of, American friends, was, she knew, the 
 sore point with them ; she resolved not to speak of 
 those friends, nor allude to them, especially in any 
 way that should show how much of her heart was 
 out of Scotland. But this wise resolution was 
 very hard for poor Ellen to keep. She was un- 
 accustomed to concealments ; and in ways that she 
 could neither foresee nor prevent, the unwelcome 
 truth would come up, and the sore was not healed. 
 
 One day Ellen had a headache, and was sent to 
 lie down. Alone, and quietly stretched on her bed, 
 very naturally, Ellen's thoughts went back to the last 
 time she had had a headache, at home, as she always 
 called it to herself. She recalled with a straitened 
 heart the gentle and tender manner of John's care 
 for her ; how nicely he had placed her on the sofa ; 
 how he sat by her side, bathing her temples, or 
 laying his cool hand on her forehead, and once, she 
 remembered, his lips. " I wonder," thought Ellen, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 409 
 
 " what I ever did to make him love me so much, as 
 I know he does ? " She remembered how, when 
 she was able to listen, he still sat beside her, 
 talking such sweet words of kindness and comfort 
 and amusement, that she almost loved to be sick 
 to have such tending, and looked up at him as at 
 an angel. She felt it all over again. Unfortu- 
 nately, after she had fallen asleep, Mrs. Lindsay 
 came in to see how she was, and two tears, the 
 last pair of them, were slowly making their way 
 down her cheeks. Her grandmother saw them, 
 and did not rest till she knew the cause. Ellen 
 was extremely sorry to tell, she did her best to get 
 off from it, but she did not know how to evade 
 questions ; and those that were put to her indeed 
 admitted of no evasion. 
 
 A few days later, just after they came to Edin- 
 burgh, it was remarked one morning at breakfast 
 that Ellen was very straight and carried herself 
 well. 
 
 " It is no thanks to me," said Ellen, smiling, — 
 "they never would let me hold myself ill." 
 
 " Who is ' they ' ? " said Lady Keith. 
 
 " My brother and sister." 
 
 " I wish, George," said Lady Keith, discontent- 
 edly, " that you would lay your commands upon. 
 Ellen to use that form of expression no more. My 
 ears are absolutely sick of it." 
 
 " You do not hear it very often, Aunt Keith," 
 Ellen could not help saying. 
 
 " Quite often enough ; and I know it is upon, 
 your lips a thousand times when you do not speak 
 it." 
 
 " And if Ellen does, we do not," said Mrs* 
 
4io 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Lindsay, " wish to claim kindred with all the 
 world." 
 
 " How came you to take up such an absurd 
 habit ? " said Lady Keith. " It isn't like you." 
 
 "They took it up first," said Ellen ; — " I was too 
 glad " 
 
 " Yes, I dare say they had their reasons for 
 taking it up," said her aunt; — "they had acted 
 from interested motives, I have no doubt ; people 
 always do." 
 
 " You are very much mistaken, Aunt Keith," 
 said Ellen, with uncontrollable feeling ; — " you do 
 not in the least know what you are talking about." 
 
 Instantly, Mr. Lindsay's fingers tapped her lips. 
 Ellen colored painfully, but after a minute's hesi- 
 tation, she said : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Aunt Keith, I should not 
 have said that." 
 
 " Very well ! " said Mr. Lindsay. " But under- 
 stand, Ellen, however you may have taken it up, — 
 this habit, — you will lay it down for the future. 
 Let us hear no more of brothers and sisters. I 
 cannot, as your grandmother says, fraternize with 
 all the world, especially with unknown relations." 
 
 " I am very glad you have made that regulation," 
 said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " I cannot conceive how Ellen has got such a way 
 of it," said Lady Keith. 
 
 " It is very natural," said Ellen, with some 
 huskiness of voice, " that I should say so, because I 
 feel so." 
 
 " You do not mean to say," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 " that this Mr. and Miss Somebody — these people 
 — I don't know their names " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 41 1 
 
 " There is only one now, sir." 
 
 "This person you call your brother — do you 
 mean to say you have the same regard for him as 
 if he had been born so ? " 
 
 " No," said Ellen, cheek and eye suddenly firing, 
 " but a thousand times more ! " 
 
 She was exceedingly sorry the next minute after 
 she had said this ; for she knew it had given both 
 pain and displeasure in a great degree. No 
 answer was made. Ellen dared not look at any- 
 body, and needed not ; she wished the silence 
 might be broken ; but nothing was heard except a 
 low "" whew ! " from Mr. Lindsay, till he rose up 
 and left the room, ^llen was sure he was very 
 much displeased. Even the ladies were too much 
 offended to speak on the subject ; and she was 
 merely bade to go to her room. She went there, 
 and sitting down on the floor, covered her face 
 with her hands. " What shall I do ? — what shall I 
 do ? " she said to herself. " I never shall govern 
 this tongue of mine. Oh, I wish I had not said 
 that ! they will never forget it. What can I do to 
 make them pleased with me again ? — Shall I go to 
 my father's study and beg him — but I can't ask him 
 to forgive me — I haven't done wrong — I can't 
 unsay what I said. I can do nothing, — I can only 
 go in the way of my duty and do the best I can, — 
 and maybe they will come round again. But, oh 
 dear ! " 
 
 A flood of tears followed this resolution. 
 
 Ellen kept it ; she tried to be blameless in all 
 her work and behavior, but she sorrowfully felt 
 that her friends did not forgive her. There was a 
 cool air of displeasure about all they said and did; 
 
4i2 THE WiDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the hand of fondness was not laid upon hei 
 shoulder, she was not wrapped in loving arms, as 
 she used to be a dozen times a day ; no kisses fell 
 on her brow or lips. Ellen felt it, more from Mr. 
 Lindsay than both the others ; — her spirits sunk ; 
 — she had been forbidden to speak of her absent 
 friends, but that was not the way to make her 
 forget them ; and there was scarce a minute in the 
 day when her brother was not present to her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Sunday came. Her first Sunday in Edinburgh. 
 All went to church in the morning ; in the after- 
 noon Ellen found that nobody was going ; her 
 grandmother was lying down. She asked per- 
 mission to go alone. 
 
 " Do you want to go because you think you must ? 
 •or for pleasure ? " said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " For pleasure ! " said Ellen's tongue, and her 
 •opening eyes at the same time. 
 
 " You may go." 
 
 With eager delight Ellen got ready, and was 
 hastening along the hall to the door, when she met 
 Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To church, sir." 
 
 " Alone ? What do you want to go for ? No, 
 no, I sha'n't let you. Come in here — I want you 
 with me ; — you have been once to-day, already, 
 haven't you ? You do not want to go again? " 
 
 " I do, indeed, sir, very much," said Ellen, as 
 she reluctantly followed him into the library, — "if 
 you have no objection. You know I have not 
 seen Edinburgh yet." 
 
 " Edinburgh ! that's true, so you haven't," said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 413 
 
 he, looking at her discomfited face. " Well, go, if 
 you want to go so much." 
 
 Ellen got as far as the hall door — no further ; she 
 rushed back to the library. 
 
 " I did not say right when I said that," she burst 
 forth ; — " that was not the reason I wanted to go. 
 I will stay, if you wish me, sir." 
 
 " I don't wish it," said he, in surprise ; — " I don't 
 know what you mean — I am willing you should go 
 if you like it. Away with you ! it is time." 
 
 Once more Ellen set out, but this time with a 
 heart full ; much too full to think of anything she 
 saw by the way. It was with a singular feeling of 
 pleasure that she entered the church alone. It 
 was a strange church to her, never seen but once be- 
 fore, and as she softly passed up the broad aisle she 
 saw nothing in the building or the people around 
 her that was not strange, — no familiar face, nor 
 familiar thing. But it was a church, and she was 
 alone, quite alone in the midst of that crowd ; ana 
 she went up to the empty pew and ensconced her- 
 self in the far corner of it, with a curious feeling of 
 quiet and of being at home. She was no sooner 
 seated, however, than leaning forward as much as 
 possible to screen herself from observation, bend- 
 ing her head upon her knees, she burst into an 
 agony of tears. It was a great relief to be able to 
 weep freely ; at home she was afraid of being seen 
 or heard or questioned ; now she was alone and 
 free, and she poured out her very heart in weeping 
 that she with difficulty kept from being loud weep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh, how could I say that ! how could I say that ! 
 Oh, what would John have thought of me if be 
 
414 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had heard it ! — Am I beginning already to lose my 
 truth ? am I going backward already ? Oh, what 
 shall I do ? what will become of me if I do not 
 watch over myself — there is no one to help me or 
 lead me right — not a single one — all to lead me 
 wrong ! what will become of me ? — But there is One 
 who has promised to keep those that follow Him — 
 He is sufficient, without any others — I have not kept 
 near enough to Him ; that is it ; — I have not re- 
 membered nor loved Him — ' If ye love Me, keep 
 My commandments,' — I have not ! I have not ! 
 Oh, but I will ! — I will ! and He will be with me, 
 and help me, and bless me, and all will go right 
 with me." 
 
 With bitter tears Ellen mingled as eager prayers, 
 for forgiveness and help to be faithful. She re- 
 solved that nothing, come what would, should tempt 
 her to swerve one iota from the straight line of 
 truth ; she resolved to be more careful of her 
 private hour; she thought she had scarcely had her 
 full hour a day lately ; she resolved to make the 
 Bible her only and her constant rule of life in 
 everything; — and she prayed, such prayers as a 
 heart thoroughly in earnest can JDray, for the seal 
 to these resolutions. Not one word of the sermon 
 did Ellen hear ; but she never passed a more profit- 
 able hour in church in her life. 
 
 All her tears were not from the spring of these 
 thoughts and feelings ; some were the pouring out 
 of the gathered sadness of the week ; some came 
 from recollections — oh, how tender and strong ! — 
 of lost and distant friends. Her mother— and 
 Alice — and Mr. Humphreys — and Margery — and 
 Mr. Van Brunt — and Mr. George Marshman ;— 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 415 
 
 and she longed, with longing that seemed as if it 
 would burst her heart, to see her brother. She 
 longed for the pleasant voice, the eye of thousand 
 expressions, into which she always looked as if she 
 had never seen it before, the calm look that told 
 he was satisfied with her, the touch of his hand, 
 which many a time had said a volume. Ellen 
 thought she would give anything in the world to 
 see him and hear him speak one word. As this 
 could not be, she resolved with the greatest care to 
 do what would please him ; that when she did see 
 him he might find her all he wished. 
 
 She had wept herself out ; she had refreshed and 
 strengthened herself by fleeing to the stronghold 
 of the prisoners of hope ; and when the last hymn 
 was given out she raised her head and took the 
 book to find it. To her great surprise she saw Mr. 
 Lindsay sitting at the other end of the pew, with 
 folded arms, like a man not thinking of what was 
 going on around him. Ellen was startled, but 
 ■obeying the instinct that told her what he would 
 like, she immediately moved down the pew and 
 stood beside him while the last hymn was singing ; 
 and if Ellen had joined in no other part of the serv- 
 ice that afternoon, she at least did in that with all 
 her heart. They walked home then without a word 
 on either side. Mr. Lindsay did not quit her hand 
 till he had drawn her into the library. There he 
 threw off her bonnet and wrappers, and taking her 
 in his arms, exclaimed : 
 
 " My poor little darling ! what was the matter 
 with you this afternoon ? " 
 
 There was so much of kindness again in his tone, 
 that, overjoyed, Ellen eagerly returned his caress, 
 
4 i 6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and assured him there was nothing the matter with 
 her now. 
 
 " Nothing the matter ! " said he, tenderly press- 
 ing her face against his own, — " nothing the mat- 
 ter ! with these pale cheeks and wet eyes ? nothing 
 now, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Only that I am so glad to hear you speak kindly 
 to me again, sir." 
 
 " Kindly ? I will never speak any way but kindly 
 to you, daughter ; — come ! I will not have any 
 more tears — you have shed enough for to-day, X am 
 sure ; lift up your face and I will kiss them eway. 
 What was the matter with you, my child ? " 
 
 But he had to wait a little while for an answer. 
 
 " What was it, Ellen ? " 
 
 "One thing," said Ellen, — " I was sorry for what 
 I had said to you, sir, just before I went out." 
 
 " What was that ? I do not remember anything 
 that deserved to be a cause of grief." 
 
 " I told you, sir, when I wanted you to let me go 
 to church, that I hadn't seen Edinburgh yet." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, that wasn't being quite true ; and I 
 was very sorry for it ! " 
 
 " Not true ? yes, it was ; what do you mean ? you 
 had not seen Edinburgh." 
 
 " No, sir, but I mean — that was true, but I said 
 it to make you believe what wasn't true." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 *' I meant you to think, sir, that that was the 
 reason why I wanted to go to church — to see the 
 city and the new sights — and it wasn't at alL" 
 
 " What was it, then ? " 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 417 
 
 " I always love to go, sir, — and, besides, I believe 
 I wanted to be alone." 
 
 " And you were not, after all," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 again pressing her cheek to his, — " for I followed 
 you there. But, Ellen, my child, you were troubled 
 without reason ; you had said nothing that was 
 false." 
 
 " Ah, sir, but I had made you believe what was 
 false." 
 
 " Upon my word," said Mr. Lindsay, " you are 
 a nice reasoner. And are you always true upon 
 this close scale ? " 
 
 " I wish I was, sir, but you see I am not. I am 
 sure I hate everything else ! " 
 
 " Well, I will not quarrel with you for being true," 
 said Mr. Lindsay ; — " I wish there was a little more 
 of it in the world. Was this the cause of all those 
 tears this afternoon ? " 
 
 " No, sir — not all." 
 
 " What beside, Ellen ? " 
 
 Ellen looked down, and was silent. 
 
 " Come — I must know." 
 
 " Must I tell you all, sir ? " 
 
 " You must, indeed," said he, smiling ; " I will 
 have the whole, daughter." 
 
 " I had been feeling sorry all the week because 
 you and grandmother and Aunt Keith were dis- 
 pleased with me." 
 
 Again Mr. Lindsay's silent caress in its tender- 
 ness seemed to say that she should never have the 
 same complaint to make again. 
 
 "Was that all, Ellen ? " as she hesitated. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 27 
 
41 8 THE WIDE, WIDE V/ORLD. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't ask me further ; please 
 do not ! — I shall displease you again." 
 
 " I will not be displeased." 
 
 " I was thinking of Mr. Humphreys," said Ellen 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " Who is that ? " 
 
 "You know, sir, — you say I must not call 
 him " 
 
 " What were you thinking of him ? " 
 
 " I was wishing very much I could see him 
 again." 
 
 " Well, you are a truth-teller," said Mr. Lindsay. 
 — " or bolder than I think you." 
 
 " You said you would not be displeased, sir." 
 
 " Neither will I, daughter ; but what shall I do 
 to make you forget these people ? " 
 
 " Nothing, sir ; I cannot forget them ; I shouldn't 
 deserve to have you love me a bit if I could. Lee 
 me love them, and do not be angry with me for 
 it ! " 
 
 " But I am not satisfied to have your body here 
 and your heart somewhere else." 
 
 " I must have a poor little kind of heart," saia 
 Ellen, smiling amidst her tears, " if it had room in 
 it for only one person." 
 
 " Ellen," said Mr. Lindsay, inquisitively, " did 
 you insinuate a falsehood there ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " 
 
 " There is honesty in those eyes," said he, " if 
 there is honesty anywhere in the world. I am 
 satisfied — that is, half satisfied. Now, lie there, my 
 little daughter, and rest," said he, laying her upon 
 the sofa ; " you look as if you needed it." 
 
 " I don't need anything now," said Ellen, as she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 419 
 
 laid her cheek upon the grateful pillow, " except 
 one thing — if grandmother would only forgive me 
 too." 
 
 " You must try not to offend your grandmother, 
 Ellen, for she does not very readily forgive ; but I 
 think we can arrange this matter. Go you to 
 sleep." 
 
 " I wonder," said Ellen, smiling as she closed 
 her eyes, " why everybody calls me ' little ; ' I don't 
 think I am very little. Everybody says ' little.' " 
 
 Mr. Lindsay thought he understood it when a 
 few minutes after he sat watching her as she really 
 had fallen asleep. The innocent brow, the perfect 
 sweet calm of the face, seemed to belong to much 
 younger years. Even Mr. Lindsay could not help 
 recollecting the housekeeper's comment, " Heaven's 
 peace within ; " scarcely Ellen's own mother ever 
 watched over her with more fond tenderness than 
 her adopted father did now. 
 
 For several days after this he would hardly 
 permit her to leave him. He made her bring her 
 books and study where he was ; he went out and 
 came in with her, and kept her by his side when- 
 ever they joined the rest of the family at meals or 
 in the evening. Whether Mr. Lindsay intended it 
 or not, this had soon the effect to abate the dis- 
 pleasure of his mother and sister. Ellen was al- 
 most taken out of their hands, and they thought it 
 expedient not to let him have the whole of her. 
 And though Ellen could better bear their cold looks 
 and words since she had Mr. Lindsay's favor again, 
 she was very glad when they smiled upon her too, 
 and went dancing about with quite a happy face. 
 
 She was now very busy. She had masters for 
 
42 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the piano and singing, and different branches of 
 knowledge ; she went to M. Muller regularly twice 
 a week ; and soon her riding-attendance began. 
 She had said no more on the subject, but went 
 quietly, hoping they would find out their mistake 
 before long. Lady Keith always accompanied her 
 
 One day Ellen had ridden near her usual time 
 when a young lady, with whom she attended a 
 German class, came up to where she was resting. 
 This lady was several years older than Ellen, but 
 had taken a fancy to her. 
 
 " How finely you got on yesterday," said she, — 
 " making us all ashamed. Ah, I guess M. Muller 
 helped you." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellen, smiling, " he did help me a 
 little ; he helped me with those troublesome pro- 
 nunciations." 
 
 " With nothing else, I suppose ? Ah, well, we 
 must submit to be stupid. How do you do to-day ? " 
 
 " I am very tired, Miss Gordon." 
 
 " Tired ? Oh, you're not used to it." 
 
 " No, it isn't that," said Ellen ; — " I am used to 
 it — that is the reason I am tired. I am accustomed 
 to ride up and down the country at any pace I like ; 
 and it is very tiresome to walk stupidly round and 
 round for an hour." 
 
 " But do you know how to manage a horse ? I 
 thought you were only just beginning to learn." 
 
 " Oh, no — I have been learning this great while ; 
 — only they don't think I know how, and they 
 have never seen me. Are you just come, Miss 
 Gordon ? " 
 
 " Yes, and they are bringing out Sophronisbe 
 for me — do you know Sophronisbe ? — look — that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 421 
 
 light gray — isn't she beautiful ? She's the loveliest 
 creature in the whole stud." 
 
 " Oh, I know ! " said Ellen ; " I saw you on her 
 the other day ; she went charmingly. How long 
 shall I be kept walking here, Miss Gordon ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know — I should think they would 
 find out — what does De Courcy say to you ? " 
 
 " Oh, he comes and looks at me and says, ' Tres 
 bien — tres bien,' and ' Allez comme ca,' and then 
 he walks off." 
 
 "Well, I declare that is too bad," said Miss 
 Gordon, laughing. " Look here— I've got a good 
 thought in my head — suppose you mount Sophron- 
 isbe in my place, without saying anything to any- 
 body, and let them see what you are up to. Can 
 you trust yourself ? — she's very spirited." 
 
 " I could trust myself," said Ellen : " but, thank 
 you, I think I had better not." 
 
 " Afraid ? " 
 
 " No, not at all ; but my aunt and father would 
 not like it." 
 
 " Nonsense ! how should they dislike it ? — - 
 there's no sort of danger, you know. Come ! — I 
 thought you sat wonderfully for a beginner. I am 
 surprised De Courcy hadn't better eyes. I guess 
 you have learned German before, Ellen ? — Come, 
 will you ? " 
 
 But Ellen declined, preferring her plodding walk 
 round the ring to any putting of herself forward. 
 Presently Mr. Lindsay came in. It was the first 
 time he had been there. His eyes soon singled 
 out Ellen. 
 
 " My daughter sits TreU-" he remarked to the 
 riding-master. 
 
422 THE IV IDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 * A merveille ! — Mademoiselle Lindsay does ride 
 remarquablement pour une beginner — qai ne fait 
 que cornmencer. Would it be possible that she 
 has had no lessons before ? " 
 
 " Why, yes — she has had lessons — of what sort 
 I don't know," said Mr. Lindsay, going up to Ellen. 
 " How do you like it, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I don't like it at all, sir." 
 
 " I thought you were so fond of riding." 
 
 " I don't call this riding, sir." 
 
 u Ha ! what do you call riding ? Here, M. De 
 Courcy — won't you have the goodness to put this 
 young lady on another horse and see if she knows 
 anything about handling him ? " 
 
 " With great pleasure ! " M. De Courcy would 
 do anything that was requested of him. Ellen was 
 taken out of the ring of walkers and mounted on a 
 fine animal, and set by herself to have her skill 
 tried in as many various ways as M. De Courcy's 
 ingenuity could point out. Never did she bear her- 
 self more erectly ; never were her hands and her 
 horse's mouth on nicer terms of acquaintanceship ; 
 never, even to please her master, had she so given 
 her whole soul to the single business of managing 
 her horse and herself perfectly well. She knew as 
 little as she cared that a number of persons besides 
 her friends were standing to look at her ; she 
 thought of only two people there, Mr. Lindsay and 
 her aunt ; and the riding-master, as his opinion 
 might affect theirs. 
 
 " C'est tres bien, — c'est tres bien," — he mut- 
 tered, — "c'est parfaitement — Monsieur, Mademoi- 
 selle votre fille has had good lessons — voila qui 
 est entierement comme il faut." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 423 
 
 " Assez bien," said Mr. Lindsay, smiling. "The 
 little gypsy ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said the riding-master, as she 
 paused before them, — "pourquoi, wherefore have 
 you stopped in your canter tanot — a little while 
 ago — et puis recommence ? " 
 
 " Monsieur, he led with the wrong foot." 
 
 " C'est 5a — justement ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Have you practiced leaping, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Try her, M. De Courcy. How high will you 
 go, Ellen ? " 
 
 " As high as you please, sir," said Ellen, lean- 
 ing over and patting her horse's neck to hide her 
 smile. 
 
 " How you look, child," said Mr. Lindsay, in a 
 pleased tone. " So this is what you call riding ? " 
 
 " It is a little more like it, sir." 
 
 Ellen was tried with standing and running leaps, 
 higher and higher, till Mr. Lindsay would have no 
 more of it ; and M. De Courcy assured him that 
 his daughter had been taught by a very accom- 
 plished rider, and there was little or nothing left 
 for him to do ; il n'y pouvoit plus ; — but he should 
 be very happy to have her come there to practice 
 and show an example to his pupils. 
 
 The very bright color in Ellen's face as she 
 heard this might have been mistaken for the flush 
 of gratified vanity : it was nothing less. Not one 
 word of this praise did she take to herself, nor 
 had she sought for herself ; — it was all for some- 
 body else ; and perhaps so Lady Keith understood 
 it, for she looked rather discomfited. But Mr. 
 Lindsay was exceedingly pleased ; and promised 
 
424 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen that as soon as the warm weather came she 
 should have a horse, and ride to her heart's con- 
 tent. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 She was his care, his hope, and his delight, 
 Most in his thought, and ever in his sight. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Ellen might now have been in some danger of 
 being spoiled, — not indeed with over-indulgence, 
 for that was not the temper of the family, — but 
 from finding herself a person of so much conse- 
 quence. She could not but feel that in the minds 
 of every one of her three friends she was the ob- 
 ject of greatest importance ; their thoughts and 
 care were principally occupied with her. Even 
 Lady Keith was perpetually watching, superintend- 
 ing, and admonishing ; though she every now and 
 then remarked, with a kind of surprise, that " really 
 she scarcely ever had to say anything to Ellen ; 
 she thought she must know things by instinct." 
 To Mr. Lindsay and his mother she was the idol 
 of life ; and except when by chance her will might 
 cross theirs, she had what she wished and did what 
 she pleased. 
 
 But Ellen happily had two safeguards which 
 effectually kept her from pride or presumption. 
 
 One was her love for her brother and longing 
 remembrance of him. There was no one to take 
 his place, not indeed in her affections, for that 
 would have been impossible, but in the daily 
 course of her life. She missed him in everything. 
 She had abundance of kindness and fondness shown 
 her, but the sympathy was wanting. She was talked 
 to, but not with. No one now knew always what 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 425 
 
 she was thinking of, nor if they did would patiently 
 draw out her thoughts, canvass them, set them 
 right or show them wrong. No one now could 
 tell what she was feeling, nor had the art sweetly, 
 in a way she scarce knew how, to do away with 
 sadness, or dullness, or perverseness, and leave 
 her spirits clear and bright as the noonday. With 
 all the petting and fondness she had from her 
 new friends, Ellen felt alone. She was petted and 
 fondled as a darling possession — a dear plaything 
 — a thing to be cared for, taught, governed, dis- 
 posed of, with the greatest affection and delight ; 
 but John's was a higher style of kindness, that en- 
 tered into all her innermost feelings and wants; 
 and his was a higher style of authority, too, that 
 reached where theirs could never attain ; an au- 
 thority Ellen always felt it utterly impossible to 
 dispute ; it was sure to be exerted on the side 01 
 what was right ; and she could better have borne 
 hard words from Mr. Lindsay than a glance of her 
 brother's eye. Ellen made no objection to the 
 imperativeness of her new guardians ; it seldom 
 was called up so as to trouble her, and she was 
 not of late particularly fond of having her own 
 way ; but she sometimes drew comparisons. 
 
 " I could not any sooner — I could not as soon — ■ 
 have disobeyed John ; — and yet he never would 
 have spoken to me as they do if I had." 
 
 " Some pride perhaps ? " she said, remembering 
 Mr. Dundas's words ; — " I should say a great deal 
 — John isn't proud ; — and yet — I don't know — he 
 isn't proud as they are ; 1 wish I knew what kinds 
 of pride are right and what wrong — he would tell 
 me if he was here." 
 
426 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What are you in a ' brown study ' about, Ellen ?* 
 said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " I was thinking, sir, about different kinds o£ 
 pride — I wish I knew the right from the wrong— 
 or is there any good kind ? " 
 
 • "All good, Ellen — all good," said Mr. lindsay; 
 — " provided you do not have too much of it." 
 
 " Would you like me to be proud, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes." said he, laughing and pinching her cheek, 
 " as proud as you like ; if you only don't let me 
 see any of it." 
 
 Not very satisfactory ; but that was the way with 
 the few questions of any magnitude Ellen ventured 
 to ask ; she was kissed and laughed at, called meta- 
 physical or philosophical, and dismissed v.ith no 
 light on the subject. She sighed for her brother. 
 The hours with M. Muller were the best substitute 
 she had; they were dearly prized by h;r, and, to 
 say tiuth, by him. He had no family, he lived 
 al' ne ; and the visits of his docile and intelligent 
 little pu- il became very pleasant breaks in the 
 monotony of his home life. Truly kind-hearted 
 and benevolent, and a true lover of knowledge, he 
 delighted to impart it. Ellen soon found she might 
 ask him as many questions as she pleased, that 
 were at all proper to the subject they were upon ; 
 and he, amused and interested, was equally able 
 and willing to answer her. Often when not partic- 
 ularly busy he allowed her hour to become two. 
 Excellent hours for Ellen. M. Muller had made 
 his proposition to Mr. Lindsay, oartly from grate- 
 ful regard for him, and partly to gratify the fancy 
 he had taken to Ellen on account of her simplicity, 
 intelligence, and good manners. This latter mo- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 427 
 
 tive did not disappoint him. He grew very much 
 attached to his little pUpil ; an attachment which 
 Ellen faithfully returned, both in kind, and by 
 every trifling service that it could fall in her way 
 to render him. Fine flowers and fruit, that it was 
 her special delight to carry to M. Muller ; little 
 jobs of copying, or setting in order some disorderly 
 matters in his rooms, where he soon would trust 
 her to do anything ; or a book from her father's 
 library ; and once or twice, when he was indisposed, 
 reading to him, as she did by the hour patiently, 
 matters that could neither interest nor concern her. 
 On the whole, and with good reason, the days when 
 they were to meet were hailed with as much pleas- 
 ure perhaps by M. Muller as by Ellen herself. 
 
 Her other safeguard was the precious hour alone 
 which she had promised John never to lose when 
 she could help it. The only time she could have 
 was the early morning before the rest of the family 
 were up. To this hour, and it was often more than 
 an hour, Ellen was faithful. Her little Bible was 
 extremely precious now ; Ellen had never gone to 
 it with a deeper sense of need ; and never did she 
 find more comfort in being able to disburden her 
 heart in prayer of its load of cares and wishes. 
 Never more than now had she felt the preciousness 
 of that Friend who draws closer to His children 
 the closer they draw to him ; she had never realized 
 more the joy of having Him to go to. It was her 
 special delight to pray for those loved ones she 
 could do nothing else for ; it was a joy to t'hink that 
 He who hears prayer is equally present with all 
 His people, and that though thousands of miles lie 
 between the petitioner and the petitioned-for, the 
 
428 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 breath of prayer may span the distance and poul 
 blessings on the far-off head. The burden of 
 thoughts and affections gathered during the twenty- 
 three hours was laid down in the twenty-fourth ; 
 and Ellen could meet her friends at the breakfast 
 table with a sunshiny face. Little they thought 
 where, her heart had been, or where it had got its 
 sunshine. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this, Ellen had too much 
 to remember and regret than to be otherwise than 
 sober, — soberer than her friends liked. They 
 noticed with sorrow that the sunshine wore off as 
 the day rolled on ; — that though ready to smile 
 upon occasion, her face always settled again into 
 a gravity they thought altogether unsuitable. Mrs. 
 Lindsay fancied she knew the cause, and resolved 
 to break it up. 
 
 From the first of Ellen's coming her grandmother 
 had taken the entire charge of her toilet. What- 
 ever Mrs. Lindsay's notions in general might be 
 as to the propriety of young girls learning to take 
 care of themselves, Ellen was much too precious a 
 plaything to be trusted to any other hands, even 
 her own. At eleven o'clock regularly every day she 
 went to her grandmother's dressing-room for a very 
 elaborate bathing and dressing ; though not a very 
 long one, for all Mrs. Lindsay's actions were ener- 
 getic. Now, without any hint as to the reason, she 
 was directed to come to her grandmother an hour 
 before the breakfast-time, to go through then the 
 course of cold-water, sponging, and hair-gloving, 
 that Mrs. Lindsay was accustomed to administer 
 at eleven. Ellen heard in silence, and obeyed, but 
 made up her hour by rising earlier than usual, so 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 429 
 
 as to have it before going to her grandmother. It 
 was a little difficult at first, but she soon got into 
 the habit of it, though the mornings were dark and 
 cold. After a while it chanced that this came to 
 Mrs. Lindsay's ears, and Ellen was told to come 
 to her as soon as she was out of bed in the morning. 
 
 " But, grandmother," said Ellen, — " I am up a 
 great while before you are ; I should find you 
 asleep ; don't I come soon enough ? " 
 
 " What do you get up so early for ? " 
 
 " You know, ma'am — I told you some time ago. 
 I want some time to myself." 
 
 " It is not good for you to be up so long before 
 breakfast, and in these cold mornings. Do not rise 
 in future till I send for you." 
 
 " But, grandmother, — that is the only time for 
 me — there isn't an hour after breakfast that I can 
 have regularly to myself ; and I cannot be happy 
 if I do not have some time." 
 
 " Let it be as I said," said Mrs. Lindsay, smiling. 
 
 " Couldn't you let me come to you at eleven 
 o'clock again, ma'am ? do, grandmother ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay touched her lips ; a way of silenc- 
 ing her that Ellen particularly disliked, and which 
 both Mr. Lindsay and his mother were accustomed 
 to use. 
 
 She thought a great deal on the subject, and 
 came soberly to the conclusion that it was her duty 
 to disobey. " I promised John," she said to her- 
 self, — " I will never break that promise ! I'll do 
 anything rather. And besides, if I had not, it is 
 just as much my duty — a duty that no one here 
 has a right to command me against. I will do what 
 I think right, come what may." 
 
43 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 She could not without its coming to the knowl- 
 edge of her grandmother. A week or two aftel 
 the former conversation Mrs. Lindsay made in- 
 quiries of Mason, her woman, who was obliged to 
 confess that Miss Ellen's light was always burning 
 when she went to call her. 
 
 " Ellen," said Mrs. Lindsay the same day, — 
 u have you obeyed me in what I told you the other 
 morning ? — about lying in bed till you are sent for ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " You are frank ! to venture to tell me so. Why 
 have you disobeyed me ? " 
 
 " Because, grandmother, I thought it was right." 
 
 " You think it is right to disobey, do you ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, if " 
 
 " If what ? " 
 
 " I mean, grandmother, there is One I must obey 
 even before you." 
 
 " If what? " repeated Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " Please do noc ask me, grandmother ; I don't 
 want to say that." 
 
 " Say it at once, Ellen ! " 
 
 " I think it is right to disobey if I am told to 
 do what is wrong," said Ellen in a low voice. 
 
 " Are you to be the judge of right and wrong ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Who, then ? " 
 
 " The Bible." 
 
 " I do not know what is the reason," said Mrs. 
 Lindsay, " that I cannot be very angry with you. 
 Ellen, I repeat the order I gave you the other day. 
 Promise me to obey it." 
 
 " I cannot, grandmother ; I must have that hour; 
 I cannot do without it." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 43 1 
 
 " So must I be obeyed, I assure you, Ellen. You 
 will sleep in my room henceforth." 
 
 Ellen heard her in despair ; she did not know 
 what to do. Appealing was not to be thought of. 
 There was, as she said, no time she could count 
 upon after breakfast. During the whole day 
 and evening she was either busy with her studies 
 or masters, or in the company of her grandmother 
 or Mr. Lindsay ; and if not there, liable to be called 
 to them at any moment. Her grandmother's expe- 
 dient for increasing her cheerfulness had marvelous 
 ill success. Ellen drooped under the sense of 
 wrong, as well as the loss of her greatest comfort. 
 For two days she felt and looked forlorn ; and 
 smiling now seemed to be a difficult matter. Mr. 
 Lindsay happened to be remarkably busy those 
 two days, so that he did not notice what was going 
 on. At the end of them, however, in the evening, 
 he called Ellen to him, and whisperingly asked 
 what was the matter. 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said Ellen, " only grandmother 
 will not let me do something I cannot be happy 
 without doing." 
 
 " Is it one of the things you want to do because 
 it is right, whether it is convenient or not ? " he 
 asked, smiling. Ellen could not smile. 
 
 " Oh, father," she whispered, putting her face 
 close to his, " if you would only get grandmother 
 to let me do it ! " 
 
 The words were spoken with a sob, and Mr. 
 Lindsay felt her warm tears upon his neck. He 
 had, however, far too much respect for his mother 
 to say anything against her proceedings while Ellen 
 was present ; he simply answered that she must do 
 
432 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 whatever her grandmother said. But when Ellen 
 had left the room, which she did immediately, he 
 took the matter up. Mrs. Lindsay explained, and 
 insisted that Ellen was spoiling herself for life and 
 the world by a set of dull religious notions that 
 were utterly unfit for a child ; that she would very 
 soon get over thinking about her habi£ of morning 
 prayer, and would then do much better. Mr. 
 Lindsay looked grave ; but with Ellen's tears yet 
 wet upon his cheek he could not dismiss the matter 
 so lightly, and persisted in desiring that his mother 
 should give up the point, which she utterly refused 
 to do. 
 
 Ellen meanwhile had fled to her own room. The 
 moonlight was quietly streaming in through the 
 casement ; it looked to her like an old friend. She 
 threw herself down on the floor, close by the glass, 
 and after some tears, which she could not help 
 shedding, she raised her head and looked thought- 
 fully out. It was very seldom now that she had a 
 chance of the kind ; she was rarely alone but when 
 she was busy. 
 
 " I wonder if that same moon is this minute 
 shining in at the glass door at home ? — no, to be 
 sure it can't this minute — what am I thinking of ? 
 — but it was there or will be there — let me see — 
 east — west — it was there some time this morning I 
 suppose ; looking right into our old sitting-room. 
 
 moon, I wish I was in your place for once, to 
 look in there too ! But it is all empty now — there's 
 nobody there — Mr. Humphreys would be in his 
 study — how lonely, how lonely he must be ! Oh, 
 
 1 wish I was back there with him ! — John isn't there 
 though — no matter — he will be, — and I could do 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 433 
 
 so much for Mr. Humphreys in the meanwhile. 
 He must miss me. I wonder where John is — - 
 nobody writes to me ; I should think some one 
 might. I wonder if I am ever to see them again. 
 Oh, he will come to see me surely before he goes 
 home ! — but then he will have to go away without 
 me again — I am fast now — fast enough — but oh ! 
 am I to be separated from them forever ? Well 1 
 I shall see them in heaven ! " 
 
 It was a " Well " of bitter acquiescence, and 
 washed down with bitter tears. 
 
 " Is it my bonny Miss Ellen ? " said the voice 
 of the housekeeper, coming softly in ; — " is it my 
 bairn sitting a' her lane i' the dark ? Why are ye 
 no wi' the rest o' the folk, Miss Ellen ? " 
 
 " I like to be alone, Mrs. Allen, and the moon 
 shines in here nicely." 
 
 " Greeting ! " exclaimed the old lady, drawing 
 nearer, — " I ken it by the sound o' your voice ; — 
 greeting eenow ! Are ye no weel, Miss Ellen ? 
 What vexes my bairn ? Oh, but your father would 
 be vexed an he kenned it ! " 
 
 " Never mind, Mrs. Allen," said Ellen : " I shall 
 get over it directly; don't say anything about 
 it." 
 
 " But I'm wae to see ye," said the kind old woman, 
 stooping down and stroking the head that again 
 Ellen had bowed on her knees ; " will ye no tell 
 me what vexes ye ? Ye suld be as blithe as a bird 
 the lang day." 
 
 " I can't, Mrs. Allen, while I am away from my 
 friends." 
 
 " Frinds ! and wha has mair frinds than yourser, 
 Miss Ellen, or better frinds ? — father and mither 
 28 
 
434 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and a' ; where wad ye find thae that will love you 
 mair ? " 
 
 " Ah, but I haven't my brother ! " sobbed Ellen. 
 
 "Your brither, Miss Ellen ? An' wha's he ? " 
 
 " He's everything, Mrs. Allen ! he's everything ! 
 I shall never be happy without him ! — never ! 
 never ! " 
 
 " Hush, dear Miss Ellen ! for the love of a' that's 
 gude ; — dinna talk that gate ! and dinna greet sae ! 
 your father wad be sair vexed to hear ye or to see 
 ye." 
 
 "I cannot help it," said Ellen ; — "it is true." 
 
 " It may be sae ; but, dear Miss Ellen, dinna let 
 it come to your father's ken ; ye're his very heart's 
 idol ; he disna merit aught but gude frae ye." 
 
 " I know it, Mrs. Allen," said Ellen, weeping, 
 " and so I do love him — better than anybody in the 
 world, except two. But oh ! I want my brother ! — 
 I don't know how to be happy or good either without 
 him. I want him all the while." 
 
 " Miss Ellen, I kenned and loved your dear 
 mither weel for mony a day — will ye mind if I 
 speak a word to her bairn ? " 
 
 "No, dear Mrs. Allen — I'll thank you; — did you 
 know my mother ? " 
 
 " Wha suld if I didna ? she was brought up in 
 my arms, and a dear lassie. Ye're no muckle like 
 her, Miss Ellen ; — ye're mair bonny than her ; and 
 no a'thegither sae frack ; — though she was douce 
 and kind too-" 
 
 " I wish " Ellen began, and stopped. 
 
 " My dear bairn, there is Ane abuve wha dis 
 poses a' things for us ; and He isna weel pleased 
 when His children fash themselves wi' His di? 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 435 
 
 pensations. He has ta'en and placed you here, for 
 your ain gude I trust, — I'm sure it's for the gude 
 of us a', — and if ye ha'ena a' things ye wad wish, 
 Miss Ellen, ye ha'e Him ; dinna forget that, my 
 ain bairn." 
 
 Ellen returned heartily and silently the embrace 
 of the old Scotchwoman, and when she left her, 
 set herself to follow her advice. She tried to 
 gather her scattered thoughts and smooth her 
 ruffled feelings, in using this quiet time to the 
 best advantage. At the end of half an hour she 
 felt like another creature ; and began to refresh her- 
 self with softly singing some of her old hymns. 
 
 The argument which was carried on in the parlor 
 sunk at length into silence without coming to any 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Where is Miss Ellen ? " Mrs. Lindsay asked 
 of a servant that came in. 
 
 " She is up in her room, ma'am, singing." 
 
 " Tell her I want her." 
 
 " No — stop," said Mr. Lindsay ; — " I'll go my- 
 self." 
 
 Her door was a little ajar, and he softly opened 
 it without disturbing her. Ellen was still sitting 
 on the floor before the window, looking out through 
 it, and in rather a low tone singing the last verse 
 of the hymn " Rock of Ages." 
 
 " While I draw this fleeting breath, — 
 When my eyelids close in death, — 
 When I rise to worlds unknown, 
 And behold Thee on Thy throne, — 
 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee ! " 
 
 Mr. Lindsay stood still at the door. Ellen paused 
 a minute, and then sung " Jerusalem, my happy 
 
436 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 home." Her utterance was so distinct that he 
 heard every word. He did not move till she had 
 finished, then he came softly in. 
 
 " Singing songs to the moon, Ellen ? " 
 
 Ellen started and got up from the floor. 
 
 " No, sir ; I was singing them to myself." 
 
 " Not entirely, for I heard the last one. Why 
 do you make yourself sober singing such sad 
 things ? " 
 
 " I don't, sir ; they are not sad to me ; they are 
 delightful. I love them dearly.''' 
 
 " How came you to love them ? it is not natural 
 for a child of your age. What do you love them 
 for, my little daughter ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, there are a great many reasons, — I 
 don't know how many." 
 
 " I will have patience, Ellen ; I want to hear 
 them all." 
 
 "I love them because I love to think of the 
 things the hymns are about, — I love the tunes, dearly 
 — and I like both the words and the tunes better, 
 I believe, because I have sung them so often with 
 friends." 
 
 " Humph ! 1 guessed as much. Isn't that the 
 strongest reason of the three ? " 
 
 " 1 don't know, sir ; I don't think it is." 
 
 " Is all your heart in America, Ellen, or have you 
 any left to bestow on us ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Not very much ! " 
 
 " I love you, father," said Ellen, laying her cheek 
 gently alongside of his. 
 
 " And your grandmother, Ellen ? " said Mr. Lind- 
 say, clasping his arms round her. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 437 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 But he well understood that the " yes * was 
 fainter. 
 
 " And your aunt ? — speak, Ellen." 
 
 " I don't love her as much as I wish I did," said 
 Ellen ; — " I love her a little, I suppose. Oh, why 
 do you ask me such a hard question, father ? " 
 
 " That is something you have nothing to do 
 with," said Mr. Lindsay, half laughing. " Sit down 
 here," he added, placing her on his knee, " and 
 sing to me again." 
 
 Ellen was heartened by the tone of his voice, and 
 pleased with the request. She immediately sang 
 with great spirit a little Methodist hymn she had 
 learned when a mere child. The wild air and simple 
 words singularly suited each other. 
 
 " O Caanan — bright Canaan — 
 
 I am bound for the land of Canaan. 
 
 Canaan ! it is my happy, happy home — 
 
 1 am bound for the land of Canaan." 
 
 " Does that sound sad, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, — I think it does, rather, Ellen. Does 
 it make you feel merry ? " 
 
 " Not merry, sir, — it isn't merry ; but I like it 
 very much." 
 
 " The tune or the words ? " 
 
 " Both, sir." 
 
 " What do you mean by the land of Canaan ? " 
 
 " Heaven, sir. " 
 
 " And do you like to think about that ? — at your 
 age ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly, sir ! Why not ? " 
 
 " Why do you \ " 
 
 n Because it is a bright and happy place,' ' said 
 
438 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen, gravely ; — " where there is no darkness, not 
 sorrow nor death, neither pain nor crying ; and my 
 mother is there, and my dear Alice, and my Saviour 
 is there ; and I hope I shall be there too." 
 
 " You are shedding tears now, Ellen." 
 
 " And if I am, sir, it is not because I am unhappy. 
 It doesn't make me unhappy to think of these things 
 — it makes me glad : and the more I think of them 
 the happier I am." 
 
 " You are a strange child. I am afraid your 
 grandmother is right, and that you are hurting your- 
 self with poring over serious matters that you are 
 too young for." 
 
 " She would not think so if she knew," said Ellen, 
 sighing. " I should not be happy at all without 
 that, and you would not love me half so well, nor 
 she either. Oh, father," she exclaimed, pressing 
 his hand in both her own and laying her face upon 
 it, " do not let me "be hindered in that ! forbid me 
 anything you please, but not that ! the better I learn 
 to please my best Friend the better I shall please 
 you." 
 
 " Whom do you mean by ' your best Friend ' ? " 
 
 " The Lord my Redeemer." 
 
 " Where did you get these notions ? " said Mr. 
 Lindsay, after a short pause. 
 
 " From my mother, first, sir." 
 
 " She had none of them when I knew her." 
 
 " She had afterwards, then, sir ; and oh ! " — Ellen 
 hesitated, — " I wish everybody had them too ! " 
 
 " My little daughter," said Mr. Lindsay, affection- 
 ately kissing the cheeks and eyes, which were moist 
 again, " I shall indulge you in this matter. But 
 you must keep your brow clear, or I shall revoke 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 439 
 
 my grant. And you belong to me now ; and there 
 are some things I want you to forget, and not re- 
 member, — you understand ? Now don't sing songs 
 to the moon any more to-night, my daughter." 
 
 " They think religion is a strange melancholy 
 thing," said Ellen to herself as she went to bed ; 
 — " I must not give them reason to think so — I must 
 let my rushlight burn bright — I must take care — I 
 never had more need ! " 
 
 And with an earnest prayer for help to do so, she 
 laid her head on the pillow. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay told his mother he had made up his 
 mind to let Ellen have her way for a while, and 
 begged that she might return to her old room and 
 hours again. Mrs. Lindsay would not hear of it. 
 Ellen had disobeyed her orders, she said ; — she 
 must take the consequences. 
 
 " She is a bold little hussy, to venture it," said 
 Mr. Lindsay, — " but I do not think there is any 
 naughtiness in her heart." 
 
 " No, not a bit. I could not be angry with her. 
 It is only those preposterous notions she has got 
 from somebody or other." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay said no more. Next morning he 
 asked Ellen privately what she did the first thing 
 after breakfast. Practice on the piano for an hour, 
 she said. 
 
 " Couldn't you do it at any other time ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I could practice in the afternoon, only 
 grandmother likes to have me with her." 
 
 " Let it be done then, Ellen, in future." 
 
 " And what shall I do with the hour after break 
 fast, sir ? " 
 
 " Whatever you please," said he, smiling. 
 
440 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Ellen thanked him in the way she knew he best 
 liked, and gratefully resolved he should have as 
 little cause as possible to complain of her. Very 
 little cause, indeed, did he or any one else have. 
 No fault could be found with her performance of 
 duty ; and her cheerfulness was constant and un- 
 varying. She remembered her brother's recipe 
 against loneliness and made use of it ; she remem- 
 bered Mrs. Allen's advice and followed it ; she 
 grasped the promises, " H: thatcomethto Me shall 
 never hunger," and " Seek and ye shall find," — ■ 
 precious words that never yet disappointed any 
 one ; and though tears might often fall that nobody 
 knew of, and she might not be so merry as her 
 friends would have liked to see her ; though her 
 cheerfulness was touched with sobriety, they could 
 not complain ; for her brow was always unruffled, 
 her voice clear, her smile ready. 
 
 After a while she was restored to her own sleep- 
 ing-room again, and permitted to take up her for- 
 mer habits. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 Other days come back on me 
 With recollected music- 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Though nothing con Id be smoother than the 
 general course of her life, Ellen's principles were 
 still now and then severely tried. 
 
 Of all in the house, next to Mr. Lindsay, she 
 liked the company of the old housekeeper best. 
 She was a simple-minded Christian, a most benevo- 
 lent and kind-hearted, and withal sensible and re- 
 spectable person ; devotedly attached to the family, 
 and very fond of Ellen in particular, Ellen loved, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 441 
 
 when she could, to get alone with her, and hear her 
 talk of her mother's young days ; and she loved 
 furthermore, and almost as much, to talk to Mrs. 
 Allen of her own. Ellen could to no one else lisp 
 a word on the subject ; and without dwelling di- 
 rectly on those that she loved, she delighted to 
 tell over to an interested listener the things she had 
 done, seen, and felt, with them. 
 
 " I wish that child was a little more like other 
 people," said Lady Keith one evening in the latter 
 end of the winter. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Lindsay, — " I don't re- 
 member at this moment any one that I think she 
 could resemble without losing more than she 
 gained." 
 
 " Oh, it's of no use to talk to you about Ellen, 
 brother ! You can take up things fast enough 
 when you find them out, but you never will see 
 with other people's eyes." 
 
 " What do your eyes see, Catherine ? " 
 
 " She is altogether too childish for her years ; 
 she is really a baby." 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Lindsay, smiling ; 
 " you should ask M. Muller about that. He was 
 holding forth to me for a quarter of an hour the 
 other day, and could not stint in her praises. She 
 will go on, he says, just as fast as he pleases to 
 take her." 
 
 " Oh, yes — in intelligence and so on, I know she 
 is not wanting ; that is not what I mean." 
 
 " She is perfectly lady-like always," said Mrs 
 Lindsay. 
 
 " Yes, I know that, — and perfectly child-like 
 too." 
 
442 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I like that," said Mr. Lindsay ; " I have no 
 fancy for your grown-up little girls." 
 
 " Well ! " said Lady Keith in despair, " you may 
 like it ; but I tell you she is too much of a child 
 nevertheless, — in other ways. She hasn't an idea 
 of a thousand things. It was only the other day 
 she was setting out to go, at mid-day, — through the 
 streets with a basket on her arm — some of that 
 fruit for M. Muller I believe." 
 
 " If she has any fault," said Mr. Lindsay, " it is 
 want of pride, — but I don't know — I can't say I 
 wish she had more of it." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course ! I suppose not. And it 
 doesn't take anything at all to make the tears come 
 in her eyes ; the other day I didn't know whether 
 to laugh or be vexed at the way she went on with 
 a kitten, for half an hour or more. I wish you had 
 seen her ! I am not sure she didn't cry over that. 
 Now I suppose the next thing, brother, you will go 
 and make her a present of one/' 
 
 " If you have no heavier charges to bring," said 
 Mr. Lindsay, smiling, " I'll take breath and think 
 about it." 
 
 " But she isn't like anybody else, — she don't 
 care for young companions, — she don't seem to 
 fancy any one out of the family unless it is old 
 Mrs. Allen, and she is absurd about her. You 
 know she is not very well lately, and Ellen goes to 
 see her I know every day, regularly ; and there are 
 the Gordons and Carpenters and Murrays and 
 Mclntoshes — she sees them continually, but I don't 
 think she takes a great deal of pleasure in their 
 company. The fact is, she is too sober." 
 
 " She has as sweet a smile as I ever saw," said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 443 
 
 Mr. Lindsay, — " and as hearty a laugh, when she 
 does laugh ; she is none of your gigglers." 
 
 " But when she does laugh," said Lady Keith, 
 " it is not when other people do. I think she is 
 generally grave when there is most merriment 
 around her." 
 
 " I love to hear her laugh," said Mrs. Lindsay ; 
 " it is in such a low sweet tone, and seems to come 
 so from the very spring of enjoyment. Yet I must 
 say I think Catherine is half right." 
 
 " With half an advocate," said Lady Keith, " I 
 shall not effect much." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay uttered a low whistle. At this 
 moment the door opened, and Ellen came gravely 
 in, with a book in her hand. 
 
 " Come here, Ellen," said Mr. Lindsay, holding 
 out his hand, — " here's your aunt says you don't 
 like anybody — how is it ? are you of an unsociable 
 disposition ? " 
 
 Ellen's smile would have been a sufficient apology 
 to him for a much graver fault. 
 
 " x\nybody out of the house, I meant," said Lady 
 Keith. 
 
 " Speak, Ellen, and clear yourself," said Mr. 
 Lindsay. 
 
 " I like some people," said Ellen, smiling ; — " I 
 don't think I like a great many people very much." 
 
 " But you don't like young people," said Lady 
 Keith, — " that is what I complain of ; and it's un- 
 natural. Now there's the other day, when you 
 went to ride with Miss Gordon and her brother, 
 and Miss MacPherson and her brother — I heard 
 you say you were not sorry to get home. Now 
 where will you find pleasanter young people ? " 
 
444 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Why don't you like them, Ellen ? " said Mr& 
 Lindsay. 
 
 '■ I do like them, ma'am, tolerably." 
 
 " What does ' tolerably ' mean ? " 
 
 " I should have liked my ride better the other 
 day," said Ellen, " if they had talked about sensible 
 things." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Lady Keith. " Society 
 cannot be made up of M. Mullers." 
 
 " What did they talk about, Ellen ? " said Mr. 
 Lindsay, who seemed amused. 
 
 " About partners in dancing, — at least the ladies 
 did, — and dresses, and different gentlemen, and 
 what this one said and the other one said, — it 
 wasn't very amusing to me." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay laughed. " And the gentlemen, 
 Ellen ; how did you like them ? " 
 
 11 1 didn't like them particularly, sir." 
 
 " What have you against them, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I don't wish to say anything against them, 
 Aunt Keith." 
 
 " Come, come, — speak out." 
 
 "I didn't like their talking, sir, any better than 
 the ladies' ; and besides that, I don't think they are 
 very polite." 
 
 " Why not ? " said Mr. Lindsay, highly amused. 
 
 " I don't think it was very polite," said Ellen, 
 " for them to sit still on their horses when I went 
 out, and let Brocklesby help me to mount. They 
 took me up at M. Midler's, you know, sir ; M. Muller 
 had been obliged to go out and leave me." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay thew a glance at his sister which 
 she rather resented. 
 
 " And pray what do you expect, Ellen ? " said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 445 
 
 she. " You are a mere child — do you think you 
 ought to be treated as a woman ? " 
 
 " I don't wish to be treated as anything but a 
 child, Aunt Keith." 
 
 But Ellen remembered well one day at home 
 when John had been before the door on horseback 
 and she had run out to give him a message, — his 
 instantly dismounting to hear it. " And I was 
 more a child then," she thought, — " and he wasn't 
 a stranger." 
 
 " Whom do you like, Ellen ? " inquired Mr. Lind- 
 say, who looked extremely satisfied with the result 
 of the examination. 
 
 " I like M. Muller, sir." 
 
 " Nobody else ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Allen." 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed Lady Keith. 
 
 " Have you come from her room just now ? 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What's your fancy for going there ? " 
 
 " I like to hear her talk, sir, and to read to her ; 
 it gives her a great deal of pleasure ; — and I like 
 to talk to her." 
 
 " What do you talk about ? " 
 
 " She talks to me about my mother " 
 
 "And you ? " 
 
 " I like to talk to her about old times," said 
 Ellen, changing color. 
 
 " Profitable conversation ! " said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " You will not go to her room any more, Ellen," 
 said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 In great dismay at what Mrs. Allen would think, 
 Ellen began a remonstrance. But only one word 
 was uttered ; Mr Lindsay's hand was upon her lips. 
 He next took the book she still held. 
 
446 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Is this what you have been reading to her ?" 
 
 Ellen bowed in answer. 
 
 " Who wrote all this ? " 
 
 Before she could speak he had turned to the 
 front leaf and read, " To my little sister." He 
 quietly put the book in his pocket ; and Ellen as 
 quietly left the room. 
 
 " I am glad you have said that,'*' said Lady Keith. 
 " You are quick enough when you see anything for 
 yourself, but you never will believe other people." 
 
 " There is nothing wrong here," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 — " only I will not have her going back to those 
 old recollections she is so fond of. I wish I could 
 make her drink Lethe ! " 
 
 " What is the book ? " said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " I hardiy know," said he, turning it over, — " ex- 
 cept it is from that person that seems to have 
 obtained such an ascendency over her — it is full of 
 his notes — it is a religious work." 
 
 " She reads a great deal too much of that sort of 
 thing," said Mrs. Lindsay. " I wish you would con- 
 trive to put a stop to it. You can do it better than 
 any one else ; she is very fond of you." 
 
 That was not a good argument. Mr. Lindsay 
 was silent ; his thoughts went back to the conver- 
 sation held that evening in Ellen's room, and to 
 certain other things ; and perhaps he was thinking 
 that if religion had much to do with making her 
 what she was, it was a tree that bore good fruits. 
 
 " I think," said Lady Keith, " that is one reason 
 why she takes so little to the young people she sees. 
 I have seen her sit perfectly grave when they were 
 all laughing and talking around her — it really looks 
 singular — I don't like it — I presume she would 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 447 
 
 have thought it wicked to laugh with them. And 
 the other night ; — I missed her from the younger 
 part of the company, where she should have been, 
 and there she was in the other room with M. Muller 
 and somebody else, — gravely listening to their con- 
 versation ! " 
 
 " I saw her," said Mr. Lindsay, smiling, — " and 
 she looked anything but dull or sober. I would 
 rather have her gravity, after all, Catherine, than 
 anybody else's merriment I know." 
 
 " I wish she had never been detained in America 
 after the time when she should have come to us," 
 said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 " I wish the woman had what she deserves that 
 kept back the letter ! " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" said his sister; — "and I have 
 been in continual fear of a visit from that very 
 person that you say gave Ellen the book." 
 
 " He isn't here ! " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " I don't know where he is ; — but he was on this 
 side of the water, at the time Ellen came on ; so 
 she told me." 
 
 " I wish he was in Egypt ! " 
 
 " I don't intend he shall see her if he comes," 
 said Lady Keith, " if I can possibly prevent it. I 
 gave Porterfield orders, if any one asked for her, 
 to tell me immediately, and not her upon any 
 account ; but nobody has come hitherto, and I am 
 in hopes none will." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay rose, and walked up and down the 
 room with folded arms in a very thoughtful style. 
 
 Ellen with some difficulty bore herself as usual 
 throughout the next day and evening, though con- 
 stantly on the rack to get possession of her book 
 
448 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 again. It was not spoken of nor hinted at. When 
 another morning came she could stand it no longer ; 
 she went soon after breakfast into Mr. Lindsay's 
 study, where he was writing. Ellen came behind 
 him and laying both her arms over his shoulders, 
 said in his ear, 
 
 " Will you let me have my book again, father ? " 
 
 A kiss was her only answer. Ellen waited. 
 
 " Go to the bookcase," said Mr. Lindsay, pres- 
 ently, " or to the bookstore, and choose out any- 
 thing you like, Ellen, instead." 
 
 " I wouldn't exchange it for all that is in them ! " 
 she answered with some warmth, and with the 
 husky feeling coming in her throat Mr. Lindsay 
 said nothing. 
 
 " At any rate," whispered Ellen, after a minute, 
 " you will not destroy it, or do anything to it ? — you 
 will take care of it and let me have it again, won't 
 you, sir ? " 
 
 " I will try to take care of you, my daughter." 
 
 Again Ellen paused ; and then came round in 
 front of him to plead to more purpose. 
 
 " I will do anything in the world for you, sir," she 
 said, earnestly, " if you will give me my book again." 
 
 " You must do anything in the world for me," 
 said he, smiling and pinching her cheeks, — " with- 
 out that." 
 
 " But it is mine ! " Ellen ventured to urge, 
 though trembling. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said Mr. Lindsay, his tone 
 changing, — " and you are mine, you must under- 
 stand." 
 
 Ellen stood silent, struggling between the alter- 
 nate surgings of passion and checks of prudence 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 449 
 
 and conscience. But at last the wave rolled too 
 high and broke. Clasping her hands to her face,, 
 she exclaimed, not indeed violently, but with suffi» 
 cient energy of expression, " Oh, it's not right ! — it's 
 not right ! " 
 
 " Go to your room and consider of that," said 
 Mr. Lindsay. " I do not wish to see you again to- 
 day, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen was wretched. Not from grief at her loss 
 merely ; that she could have borne ; that had not 
 even the greatest share in her distress ; she was at 
 war with herself. Her mind was in a perfect tur- 
 moil. She had been a passionate child in earlier 
 days ; under religion's happy reign that had long 
 ceased to be true of her ; it was only very rarely* 
 that she or those around her were led to remember 
 or suspect that it had once been the case. She 
 was surprised and half-frightened at herself now, to 
 find the strength of the old temper suddenly roused* 
 She was utterly and exceedingly out of humor with 
 Mr. Lindsay, and consequently with everybody and 
 everything else ; consequently, conscience would not 
 give her a moment's peace ; consequently, that day 
 was a long and bitter fight betwixt right and wrong* 
 Duties were neglected, because she could not give 
 her mind to them ; then they crowded upon her 
 notice at undue times ; all was miserable confusion* 
 In vain she would try to reason and school herself 
 into right feeling ; at one thought of her lost treas* 
 lire passion would come flooding up and drown all 
 her reasonings and endeavors. She grew absolutely 
 weary. 
 
 But the day passed and the night came, and she 
 went to bed without being able to make up hQV 
 29 
 
45 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 mind ; and she arose in the morning to renew the 
 battle. 
 
 " How long is this miserable condition to last ? " 
 she said to herself. " Till you can entirely give 
 up your feeling of resentment, and apologize to 
 Mr. Lindsay," said conscience. " Apologize ! — but 
 I haven't done wrong." " Yes, you have," said 
 conscience ; " you spoke improperly ; he is justly 
 displeased ; and you must make an apology before 
 there can be any peace." " But I said the truth — it 
 is not right — it is not right ! it is wrong ; and am / to 
 go and make an apology ? — I can't do it." " Yes, 
 for the wrong you have done," said conscience, — 
 " that is all your concern. And he has a right 
 to do what he pleases with you and yours, and he 
 may have his own reasons for what he has done ; 
 and he loves you very much, and you ought not to 
 let him remain displeased with you one moment 
 longer than you can help — he is in the place of a 
 father to you, and you owe him a child's duty." 
 
 But pride and passion still fought against reason 
 and conscience, and Ellen was miserable. The 
 dressing-bell rang. 
 
 " There ! I shall have to go down to breakfast 
 directly, and they will see how I look, — they will 
 see I am angry and ill-humored. Well, I ought to 
 be angry ! But what will they think then of my 
 religion ? — is my rushlight burning bright ? am I 
 honoring Christ now ? — is this the way to make His 
 name and His truth lovely in their eyes ? Oh, 
 shame ! shame ! — I have enough to humble myself 
 for. And all yesterday, at any rate, they know I 
 was angry." 
 
 Ellen threw herself upon her knees ; and when 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 4 $i 
 
 she rose up the spirit of pride was entirely broken, 
 and resentment had died with self-justification. 
 
 The breakfast-bell rang before she was quite 
 ready. She was afraid she could not see Mr. Lind- 
 say until he should be at the table. " But it shall 
 make no difference," she said to herself, — " they 
 know I have offended him — it is right they should 
 hear what I have to say." 
 
 They were all at the table. But it made no 
 difference. Ellen went straight to Mr. Lindsay, 
 and laying one hand timidly in his and the other 
 on his shoulder, she at once humbly and frankly 
 confessed that she had spoken as she ought not the 
 day before, and that she was very sorry she had 
 displeased him, and begged his forgiveness. It 
 was instantly granted. 
 
 " You are a good child, Ellen," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 as he fondly embraced her. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! — don't call me so — I am everything 
 in the world but that." 
 
 " Then all the rest of the world are good chil- 
 dren. Why didn't you come to me before ? " 
 
 " Because I couldn't, sir • — I felt wrong all day 
 yesterday." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay laughed and kissed her, and bade 
 her sit down and eat her breakfast. 
 
 It was about a month after this that he made 
 her a present of a beautiful little watch. Ellen's 
 first look was of great delight ; the second was one 
 of curious, doubtful expression, directed to his 
 face, half tendering the watch back to him as she. 
 saw that he understood her. 
 
 " Why," said he, smiling, " do you mean to say 
 you would rather have that than this ?" 
 
452 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " A great deal ! " 
 
 u No," said he, hanging the watch round her neck, 
 — -" you shall not have it ; but you may make your 
 mind easy, for I have it safe, and it shall come 
 back to you again some time or other." 
 
 With this promise Ellen was obliged to be satis- 
 fied. 
 
 The summer passed in the enjoyment of all that 
 wealth, of purse and of affection both, could bestow 
 upon their darling. Early in the season the family 
 returned to " The Braes." Ellen liked it there much 
 better than in the city ; there was more that remind- 
 ed her of old times. The sky and the land, though 
 different from those she best loved, were yet but 
 another expression of nature's face ; it was the same 
 face still ; and on many a sunbeam Ellen traveled 
 across the Atlantic* She was sorry to lose M, 
 Muller, but she could not have kept him in Edin- 
 burgh; he quitted Scotland about that time. 
 
 Other masters attended her in the country, or she 
 went to Edinburgh to attend them. Mr. Lindsay 
 liked that very well ; he was often there himself, 
 and after her lesson he loved to have her with him 
 in the library and at dinner and during the drive 
 home. Ellin liked it because it was so pleasant to 
 him : and besides, there was a variety about it, and 
 the drives were always her delight, and she chose 
 his company at any time rather than that of her 
 aunt and grandmother. So, many a happy day 
 that summer had she and Mr. Lindsay together ; 
 and many an odd pleasure in the course of them 
 did he find or make for her. Sometimes it was a 
 new book, sometimes a new sight, sometimes a new 
 
 * " Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee." — George Herbert. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 453 
 
 trinket. According to his promise, he had pur- 
 chased her a fine horse; and almost daily Ellen 
 was upon his back, and with Mr. Lindsay in the 
 course of the summer scoured the country far and 
 near. Every scene of any historic interest within 
 a good distance of " The Braes " was visited, and 
 some of them again and again. Pleasures of all 
 kinds were at Ellen's disposal ; and to her father 
 and grandmother she was truly the light of their 
 eyes. 
 
 And Ellen was happy; but it was not all these 
 things, nor even her affection for Mr. Lindsay, that 
 made her so. He saw her calm, sunshiny face and 
 busy, happy demeanor, and fancied, though he had 
 sometimes doubts about it, that she did not trouble 
 herself much with old recollections, or would in 
 time get over them. It was not so. Ellen never 
 forgot ; and sometimes when she seemed busiest 
 and happiest, it was the thought of an absent and 
 distant friend that was nerving her energies and 
 giving color to her cheek. Still, as at first, it was 
 in her hour alone that Ellen laid down care and 
 took up submission ; it was that calmed her brow 
 and brightened her smile. And though now and 
 then she shed bitter tears, and repeated her despair- 
 ing exclamation, " Well ! I will see him in heaven ! " 
 — in general she lived on hope, and kept at the 
 bottom of her heart some of her old feeling of con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Perhaps her brow grew somewhat meeker and 
 her smile less bright as the year rolled on. Months 
 flew by, and brought her no letters. Ellen mar- 
 veled and sorrowed in vain. One day mourning 
 over it to Mrs. Allen, the good housekeeper asked 
 
454 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 her if her friends knew her address ? Ellen at first 
 said "to be sure," but after a few minutes' reflec- 
 tion was obliged to confess that she was not certain 
 about it. It would have been just like Mr. Hum- 
 phreys to lose sight entirely of such a matter, and 
 very natural for her, in her grief and confusion of 
 mind and inexperience, to be equally forgetful. 
 She wrote immediately to Mr. Humphreys and sup- 
 plied the defect ; and hope brightened again. 
 Once before she had written, on the occasion of 
 the refunding her expenses. Mr. Lindsay and his 
 mother were very prompt to do this, though Ellen 
 could not tell what the exact amount might be ; 
 they took care to be on the safe side, and sent more 
 than enough. Ellen's mind had changed since she 
 came to Scotland ; she was sorry to have the money 
 go ; she understood the feeling with which it was 
 sent, and it hurt her. 
 
 Two or three months after the date of her last 
 letter, she received at length one from Mr. Hum- 
 phreys, a long, very kind, and very wise one. She 
 lived upon it for a good while. Mr. Lindsay's bills 
 were returned. Mr. Humphreys declined utterly 
 to accept of them, telling Ellen that he looked upon 
 her as his own child up to the time that her friends 
 took her out of his hands, and that he owed her 
 more than she owed him. Ellen gave the money, 
 she dared not give the whole message, to Mr. 
 Lindsay. The bills were instantly and haughtily 
 re-enclosed and sent back to America. 
 
 Still nothing was heard from Mr. John. Ellen 
 wondered, waited, wept ; sadly quieted herself into 
 submission, and as time went on, clung faster and 
 faster to her Bible and the refuge she found there. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 455 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 Hon. — Why didn't you show him up, blockhead ? 
 Butler. — Show him up, sir ? With all my heart, sir. 
 Up or down, all's one to me. 
 
 GOOD-NATORBD MAW. 
 
 One evening, it was New Year's eve, a large 
 party was expected at Mr. Lindsay's. Ellen was 
 not of an age to go abroad to parties, but at home 
 her father and grandmother never could bear to do 
 without her when they had company. Generally 
 Ellen liked it very much ; not called upon to take 
 any active part herself, she had leisure to observe 
 and enjoy in quiet; and often heard music, and 
 often by Mr. Lindsay's side listened to conversation, 
 in which she took great pleasure. To-night, how- 
 ever, it happened that Ellen's thoughts were run- 
 ning on other things ; and Mrs. Lindsay's woman, 
 who had come in to dress her, was not at all satis- 
 fied with her grave looks and the little concern she 
 seemed to take in what was going on. 
 
 " I wish, Miss Ellen, you'd please hold your head 
 up, and look somewhere — I don't know when I'll 
 get your hair done if you keep it down so." 
 
 " Oh, Mason, I think that'll do — it looks very 
 well — you needn't do anything more." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen, but you know 
 it's your grandmother that must be satisfied, and 
 she will have it just so ; there, — now — that's going to 
 look lovely ; — but indeed, Miss Ellen, she won't 
 be pleased if you carry such a soberish face down- 
 stairs, — and what will the master say ! Most young 
 ladies would be as bright as a bee at being going 
 
456 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to see so many people, and, indeed, it's what yo* 
 should." 
 
 " I had rather see one or two persons than one 
 or two hundred," said Ellen, speaking half to her- 
 self and half to Mrs. Mason. 
 
 "Well, for pity's sake, Miss Ellen, dear, if you 
 can, don't look as it was a funeral it was. There ! 
 'tain't much trouble to fix you, anyhow — if you'd 
 only care a little more about it, it would be a bless- 
 ing. Stop till I fix this lace. The master will call 
 you his white rose-bud to-night, sure enough." 
 
 " That's nothing new," said Ellen, half smiling. 
 
 Mason left her ; and feeling the want of something 
 to raise her spirits, Ellen sorrowfully went to her 
 Bible, and slowly turning it over, looked along its 
 pages to catch a sight of something cheering before 
 she went downstairs. 
 
 " This God is our God for ever and ever : He will 
 be our guide even unto death" 
 
 " Isn't that enough ? " thought Ellen, as hei 
 eyes filled in answer. " It ought to be — John 
 would say it was — oh ! where is he ? " 
 
 She went on turning over leaf after leaf. 
 
 " O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man that t?'usteth 
 in Thee!" 
 
 " That is true, surely," she thought. " And I do 
 trust in Him — I am blessed — I am happy, come 
 what may. He will let nothing come to those that 
 trust in Him but what is good for them — if He is 
 my God I have enough to make me happy — I ought 
 to be happy, I will be happy ! — I will trust Him, 
 and take what He gives me ; and try to leave, as 
 John used to tell me, my affairs in His hand." 
 
 For a minute tears flowed ; then they were wiped 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 457 
 
 away ; and the smile she gave Mr. Lindsay when 
 she met him in the hall was not less bright than 
 usual. 
 
 The company were gathered, but it was still 
 early in the evening, when a gentleman came who 
 declined to enter the drawing-room, and asked for 
 Miss Lindsay. 
 
 " Miss Lindsay is engaged.'* 
 
 " An' what for suld ye say sae, Mr. Porterfield ?" 
 cried the voice of the housekeeper, who was pass- 
 ing in the hall, — " when ye ken as weel as I do that 
 Miss Ellen " 
 
 The butler stopped her with saying something 
 about " my lady," and repeated his answer to the 
 gentleman. 
 
 The latter wrote a word or two on a card which 
 he drew from his pocket, and desired him to carry 
 it to Miss Ellen. He carried it to Lady Keith. 
 
 " What sort of a person, Porterfield? " said Lady 
 Keith, crumpling the paper in her fingers ; and 
 withdrawing a little from the company. 
 
 " Uncommon fine gentleman, my lady," Porter- 
 field answered in a low tone. 
 
 " A gentleman ? " said Lady Keith, inquiringly. 
 
 " Certain, my lady ! — and as up and down spoken 
 as if he was a prince of the blood ; he's somebody 
 that is not accustomed to be said ' no ' to, for 
 sure." 
 
 Lady Keith hesitated. Recollecting, however, 
 that she had just left Ellen safe in the music-room, 
 she made up her mind, and desired Porterfield to 
 show the stranger in. As he entered, unannounced, 
 her eyes unwillingly verified the butler's judgment ; 
 and to the inquiry whether he might see Miss 
 
458 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Lindsay she answered very politely, though with 
 regrets, that Miss Lindsay was engaged. 
 
 " May I be pardoned for asking," said the stran- 
 ger, with the slightest possible approach to a smile, 
 " whether that decision is imperative ? I leave 
 Scotland to-morrow — my reasons for wishing to 
 see Miss Lindsay this evening are urgent." 
 
 Lady Keith could hardly believe her ears, or 
 command her countenance to keep company with 
 her expressions of " sorrow that it was impossible 
 — Miss Lindsay could not have the pleasure that 
 evening." 
 
 " May I beg, then, to know at what hour I may 
 hope to see her to-morrow ? " 
 
 Hastily resolving that Ellen should on the mor- 
 row accept a long-given invitation, Lady Keith 
 answered that she would nut be in town — she would 
 leave Edinburgh at an early hour. 
 
 The stranger bowed and withdrew ; that was all 
 the by-standers saw. But Lady Keith, who had 
 winced under an eye that she could not help fancy- 
 ing read her too well, saw that in his parting look 
 which made her uneasy ; beckoning a servant who 
 stood near, she ordered him to wait upon that gen- 
 tleman to the door. 
 
 The man obeyed ; but the stranger did not take 
 his cloak, and made no motion to go. 
 
 " No, sir ! not that way," he said, sternly, as the 
 servant laid his hand on the lock ; — " show me to 
 Miss Lindsay ! " 
 
 " Miss Ellen ? " said the man, doubtfully, com- 
 ing back, and thinking from the gentleman's man- 
 ner that he must hive misunderstood Lady Keith; 
 — " where is Miss Ellen, Arthur? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 459 
 
 The person addressed threw his head back to- 
 wards the door he had just come from on the other 
 side of the hall. 
 
 " This way sir, if you please, — what name, sir ? " 
 
 " No name — stand back ! " said the stranger, as 
 he entered. 
 
 There were a number of people gathered round 
 a lady who was at the piano singing. Ellen was 
 there in the midst of them. The gentleman ad- 
 vanced quietly to the edge of the group and stood 
 there without being noticed , Ellen's eyes were 
 bent on the floor. The expression of her face 
 touched and pleased him greatly ; it was precisely 
 what he wished to see. Without having the least 
 shadow of sorrow upon it there was in all its lines 
 that singular mixture of gravity and sweetness 
 that is never seen but where religion and disci- 
 pline have done their work well ; the writing of the 
 wisdom that looks soberly, and the love that looks 
 kindly on all things. He was not sure at first 
 whether she were intently listening to the music, 
 or whether her mind was upon something far differ- 
 ent and far away ; he thought the latter. He was 
 right. Ellen at the moment had escaped from the 
 company and the noisy sounds of the performer at 
 her side ; and while her eye was curiously tracing 
 out the pattern of the carpet, her mind was resting 
 itself in one of the verses she had been reading 
 that same evening. Suddenly, and, as it seemed, 
 from no connection with anything in or out of her 
 thoughts, there came to her mind the image of 
 John as she had seen him that first evening she 
 ever saw him, at Carra-carra, when she looked up 
 from the boiling chocolate and espied him, — stand- 
 
460 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ing in an attitude of waiting near the door. Ellen 
 at first wondered how that thought should have 
 come into her head just then ; the next moment, 
 from a sudden impulse, she raised her eyes to search 
 for the cause, and saw John's smile. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe the change in 
 Ellen's face. Lightning makes as quick and as 
 brilliant an illumination, but lightning does not 
 stay. With a spring she reached him, and seizing 
 both his hands drew him out of the door near 
 which they were standing ; and as soon as they 
 were hidden from view threw herself into his arms 
 in an agony of joy. Before, however, either of them 
 could say a word, she had caught his hand again, 
 and led him back along the hall to the private 
 staircase ; she mounted it rapidly *to her room ; 
 and there she again threw herself into his arms, 
 exclaiming, " Oh, John ! — my dear John ! my dear 
 brother ! " 
 
 But neither smiles nor words would do for the 
 overcharged heart. The tide of joy ran too strong, 
 and too much swelled from the open sources of 
 love and memory, to keep any bounds. And it 
 kept none. Ellen sat down, and, bowing her head 
 on the arm of the sofa, wept with all the vehement 
 passion of her childhood, quivering from head to 
 foot with convulsive sobs. John might guess from 
 the outpouring now how much her heart had been 
 secretly gathering for months past. For a little 
 while he walked up and down the room ; but this 
 excessive agitation he was not willing should con- 
 tinue. He said nothing; sitting down beside Ellen 
 on the sofa, he quietly possessed himself of one of 
 her hands ; and when in her excitement the hand 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 46 J 
 
 struggled to get away again, it was not permitted. 
 Ellen understood that very well and immediately 
 checked herself. Better than words, the calm firm 
 grasp of his hand quieted her. Her sobbing stilled ; 
 she turned from the arm 'of the sofa, and leaning 
 her head upon him, took his hand in both hers 
 and pressed it to her lips as if she were half beside 
 herself. But that was not permitted to last either; 
 for his hand quickly imprisoned hers again. There 
 was silence still. Ellen could not look up yet, and 
 neither seemed very forward to speak ; she sat 
 gradually quieting down into fullness of happiness. 
 
 " I thought you never would come, John," at 
 length Ellen half whispered, half said. 
 
 " And I cannot stay now. I must leave you to 
 morrow, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen started up and looked up now. 
 
 " Leave me ? For how long ? Where are you 
 going ? " 
 
 "Home." 
 • "To America ! " — Ellen's heart died within her. 
 
 Was this the end of all her hopes ? did her con- 
 fidence end here ? She shed no tears now. He 
 could see that she grew absolutely still from in- 
 tense feeling. 
 
 " What's the matter, Ellie ? " said the low gentle 
 tones she so well remembered ; — " I am leaving 
 you but for a time. I must go home now, but if I 
 live you will see me again." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I was going with you ! " Ellen ex- 
 claimed, bursting into tears. 
 
 " My dear Ellie ! " — said her brother, in an al- 
 tered voice, drawing her again to his arms, — " yo» 
 cannot wish it more than I 1 " 
 
462 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " I never thought you would leave me here^ 
 John." 
 
 " Neither would I, if I could help it ; — neither 
 will I a minute longer than I can help ; but we 
 must both wait, my own Ellie. Do not cry so, for 
 my sake ! " 
 
 "Wait? — till when?" said Ellen, not a little 
 reassured. 
 
 " I have no power now to remove you from your 
 legal guardians, and you have no right to choose 
 for yourself." 
 
 " And when shall I ? " 
 
 " In a few years." 
 
 " A few years ! — But in the mean time, John, 
 what shall I do without you ? — If I could see you 
 once in a while — but there is no one* here — not a 
 single one — to help me to keep right ; no one talks 
 to me as you used to ; and I am all the while afraid 
 I shall go wrong in something ; — what shall I do ? " 
 
 "What the weak must always do, Ellie, — seek 
 for strength where it may be had." 
 
 " And so I do, John," said Ellen, weeping, — " but 
 I want you — oh, how much ! " 
 
 " Are you not happy here ? " 
 
 " Yes — I am happy — at least I thought I was half 
 an hour ago, — as happy as I can be. I have every- 
 thing to make me happy, except what would do it." 
 
 " We must both have recourse to our old remedy 
 against sorrow and loneliness — you have not for- 
 gotten the use of it, Ellie ? " 
 
 " No, John," said Ellen, meeting his eyes with a 
 tearful smile. 
 
 " They love you here, do they not ? " 
 
 " Very much — too much." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 463 
 
 " And you love them ? " 
 
 «5 Yes." 
 
 " That's a doubtful < yes.' " 
 
 " I do love my father — very much ; and my 
 grandmother too, though not so much. I cannot 
 help loving them, — they love me so. But they 
 are so unlike you ! " 
 
 " That is not much to the purpose, after all,'* 
 said John, smiling. " There are varieties of excel- 
 lence in the world." 
 
 " Oh, yes, but that isn't what I mean ; it isn't a 
 variety of excellence. They make me do every- 
 thing that they have a mind, — I don't mean," she 
 added, smiling, " that that is not like you, — but 
 you always had a reason ; they are different. My 
 father makes me drink wine every now and then, 
 — I don't like to do it, and he knows I do not, and 
 I think that is the reason I have to do it." 
 
 " That is not a matter of great importance, Ellie, 
 provided they do not make you do something 
 wrong." 
 
 " They could not do that, I hope ; and there is 
 another thing they cannot make me do." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " Stay here when you will take me away." 
 
 There was a few minutes' thoughtful pause on 
 both sides. 
 
 "You are grown, Ellie," said John, — "you are 
 not the child I left you." 
 
 " I don't know," said Ellen, smiling, — " it seems 
 to me I am just the same." 
 
 " Let me see — look at me ! " 
 
 She raised her face, and amidst smiles and tears 
 its look was not less clear and frank than his was 
 
464 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 penetrating. "Just the same," was the verdict o. 
 her brother's eyes a moment afterwards. Ellen's 
 smile grew bright as she read it there. 
 
 " Why have you never come or written before, 
 John ? " 
 
 "I did not know where you were. I have no 
 been in England for many months till quite lately, 
 and I could not get your address. I think my 
 father was without it for a long time, and when at 
 last he sent it to me, the letter miscarried — never 
 reached me — there were delays upon delays." 
 
 *' And when you did get it ? " 
 
 *' I preferred coming to writing." 
 
 ** And now you must go home so soon ! " 
 
 " I must, EUie. My business has lingered on a 
 great while, and it is quite time I should return. 
 I expect to sail next week — Mrs. Gillespie is going 
 with me — her husband stays behind till spring." 
 
 Ellen sighed. 
 
 " I made a friend of a friend of yours whom I 
 met in Switzerland last summer — M. Muller." 
 
 " M. Muller ! did you ? Oh, I'm very glad ! I 
 am very glad you know him — he is the best friend I 
 have got here, after my father. I don't know what 
 I should have done without him." 
 
 " I have heard him talk of you," said John, smiling. 
 
 " He has just come back ; he was to be here 
 this evening." 
 
 There was a pause again. 
 
 " It does not seem right to go home without 
 you, Ellie," said her brother, then. " I think you 
 belong to me more than to anybody." 
 
 " That is exactly what I think ! " said Ellen, with 
 one of her bright looks, and then bursting into 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 465 
 
 tears ; — " I am very glad you think so too ! I will 
 always do whatever you tell me — just as I used to 
 — no matter what anybody else says." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall try you in two or three things, 
 Ellie." 
 
 " Will you? in what? Oh, it would make me 
 so happy — so much happier — if I could be doing 
 something to please you. I wish I was at home 
 with you again ! " 
 
 " I will bring that about, Ellie, by and by, if you 
 make your words good." 
 
 " I shall be happy then," said Ellen, her old con- 
 fidence standing stronger than ever, — " because I 
 know you will if you say so. Though how you 
 will manage it I cannot conceive. My father and 
 grandmother and aunt cannot bear to hear me 
 speak of America , I believe they would be glad if 
 there wasn't such a place in the world. They 
 would not even let me think of it if they could help 
 it ; I never dare mention your name, or say a word 
 about old times. They are afraid of my loving 
 anybody, I believe. They want to have me all to 
 themselves." 
 
 " What will they say to you then, Ellie, if you 
 leave them to give yourself to me ? " 
 
 " I cannot help it," replied Ellen, — " they must 
 say what they please ; " — and with abundance of 
 energy, and not a few tears, she went on : — " I 
 love them, but I had given myself to you a great 
 while ago ; long before I was his daughter, you 
 called me your little sister — I can't undo that, John, 
 and I don't want to— it doesn't make a bit of dif- 
 ference that we were not born so ! " 
 
 John suddenly rose and began to walk up and 
 3° 
 
466 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 
 
 down the room. Ellen soon came to his side,, and 
 leaning upon his arm as she had been used to do 
 in past times, walked up and down with him, at 
 first silently. 
 
 "What is it you wanted me to do, John ? " she said, 
 gently, at length ; — " you said ' two or three things.' " 
 
 " One is that you keep up a regular and full 
 correspondence with me." 
 
 " I am very glad you will let me do that," said 
 Ellen, — " that is exactly what I should like, but " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " I am afraid they will not let me." 
 
 " I will arrange that." 
 
 " Very well," said Ellen, joyously, — " then it will 
 do. Oh, it would make me so happy ! And you 
 will write to me ? " 
 
 " Certainly J " 
 
 " And I will tell you everything about my- 
 self ; and you will tell me how I ought to do in all 
 sorts of things ? that will be next best to being 
 with you. And then you will keep me right." 
 
 " I won't promise you that, Ellie," said John, 
 smiling ; — " you must learn to keep yourself right.* 
 
 " I know you will, though, however you may 
 smile. What next ? " 
 
 " Read no novels." 
 
 " I never do, John. I knew you did not like it, 
 and I have taken good care to keep out of the way 
 of them. If I had told anybody why, though, they 
 would have made me read a dozen." 
 
 "Why, Ellie ! " said her brother, — "you must 
 need some care to keep a straight line where your 
 course lies now." 
 
 " Indeed I do, John," said Ellen, her eyes filling 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 467 
 
 with tears, — " oh, how I have felt that sometimes ! 
 And then how I wanted you ! " 
 
 Her hand was fondly taken in his, as many a time 
 it had been of old, and for a long time they paced 
 up and down ; the conversation running sometimes 
 in the strain that both loved and Ellen now never 
 heard ; sometimes on other matters ; such a con- 
 versation as those she had lived upon in former 
 days, and now drank in with a delight and eagerness 
 inexpressible. Mr. Lindsay would have been in 
 dismay to have seen her uplifted face, which, 
 though tears were many a time there, was sparkling 
 and glowing with life and joy in a manner he had 
 never known it. She almost forgot what the morrow 
 would bring, in the exquisite pleasure of the instant, 
 and hung upon every word and look of her brother 
 as if her life were there. 
 
 "And in a few weeks," said Ellen, at length, 
 "you will be in our dear old sitting-room again, 
 and riding on the Black Prince ! and I shall be 
 here ! — and it will be " 
 
 " It will be empty without you, Ellie ; — but we 
 have a Friend that is sufficient; let us love Him 
 and be patient." 
 
 " It is very hard to be patient," murmured Ellen. 
 "But, dear John, there was something else you 
 wanted me to do ? what is it ? you said * two or 
 three' things." 
 
 " I will leave that to another time. 
 
 " But why ? I will do it whatever it be — pray 
 tell me." 
 
 "No," said he, smiling, — "not now, — you shall 
 know by and by — the time is not yet. Have you 
 heard of your old friend, Mr. Van Brunt ? " 
 
468 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " No— what of him ? " 
 
 "He has come out before the world as a Chris* 
 tian man." 
 
 " Has he ? " 
 
 John took a letter from his pocket and opened it. 
 
 " You may see what my father says of him ; and 
 what he says of you too, Ellie ; — he has missed 
 you much." 
 
 " Oh, I was afraid he would," said Ellen, — " I 
 was sure he did ! " 
 
 She took the letter, but she could not see the 
 words. John told her she might keep it to read at 
 her leisure. 
 
 " And how are they all at Ventnor ? And how is 
 Mrs. Vawse ? and Margery ? " 
 
 " All well. Mrs. Vawse spends about half her 
 time at my father's." 
 
 " I am very glad of that ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Marshman wrote me to bring you back 
 with me if I could, and said she had a home for 
 you always at Ventnor." 
 
 ** How kind she is," said Ellen ; — " how many 
 friends I find everywhere. It seems to me, John, 
 that everybody almost loves me." 
 
 "That is a singular circumstance ! However, I 
 am no exception to the rule, Ellie." 
 
 " Oh, I know that," said Ellen, laughing. " And 
 Mr. George ? " 
 * " Mr. George is well." 
 
 " How much I love him ! " said Ellen. " How 
 much I would give to see him ! I wish you could 
 tell me about poor Captain and the Brownie, but I 
 don't suppose you have heard of them. Oh, when 
 I think of it all at home, how I want to be there I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 469 
 
 — Oh, John ! sometimes lately I have almost 
 thought I should only see you again in heaven." 
 
 " My dear Ellie ! I shall see you there, I trust ; 
 but if we live we shall spend our lives here together 
 first. And while we are parted we will keep as 
 near as possible by praying for and writing to each 
 other. And what God orders let us quietly sub- 
 mit to." 
 
 Ellen had much ado to command herself at the 
 tone of these words and John's manner, as he 
 clasped her in his arms and kissed her brow and 
 lips. She strove to keep back a show of feeling 
 that would distress and might displease him. But 
 the next moment her fluttering spirits were stilled 
 by hearing the few soft words of a prayer that he 
 breathed over her. It was a prayer for her and 
 for himself, and one of its petitions was that they 
 might be kept to see each other again. Ellen 
 wrote the words on her heart. 
 
 " Are you going ? " 
 
 He showed his watch. 
 
 " Well, I shall see you to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Shall you be here ? " 
 
 " Certainly — where else should I be ? What 
 time must you set out ? " 
 
 " I need not till afternoon, but How early 
 
 can I see you ? " 
 
 " As early as you please. Oh, spend all the 
 time with me you can, John ! " 
 
 So it was arranged. 
 
 "And now, Ellie, you must go downstairs and 
 present me to Mr. Lindsay." 
 
 " To my father ! " 
 
 For a moment Ellen's face was a compound of 
 
47 o THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 expressions. She instantly acquiesced, however, 
 and went down with her brother, her heart, it must 
 be confessed, going very pit-a-pat indeed. She took 
 him into the library, which was not this evening 
 thrown open to company, and sent a servant for 
 Mr. Lindsay. While waiting for his coming, Ellen 
 felt as if she had not the fair use of her senses. 
 Was that John Humphreys quietly walking up and 
 down the library ? — Mr. Lindsay's library ? — and 
 was she about to introduce her brother to the per- 
 son who had forbidden her to mention his name ? 
 There was something, however, in Mr. John's figure 
 and air, in his utter coolness, that insensibly re- 
 stored her spirits. Triumphant confidence in him 
 overcame the fear of Mr. Lindsay; and when he 
 appeared, Ellen with tolerable composure met him, 
 her hand upon John's arm, and said, " Father, this 
 is Mr. Humphreys," — my brother she dared not 
 add. 
 
 " I hope Mr. Lindsay will pardon my giving him 
 this trouble," said the latter ; — u we have one thing 
 in common which trouble should forbid our being 
 strangers to each other. I, at least, was unwilling 
 to leave Scotland without making myself known to 
 Mr. Lindsay." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay most devoutly wished the " thing 
 in common " had been anything else. He bowed, 
 and' was " happy to have the pleasure," but evi- 
 dently neither pleased nor happy. Ellen could see 
 that. 
 
 " May I take up five minutes of Mr. Lindsay's 
 time to explain, perhaps to apologize," said John, 
 slightly smiling, — " for what I have said ? " 
 
 A little ashamed, it might be, to have his feeling 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 471 
 
 suspected, Mr. Lindsay instantly granted the re< 
 quest, and politely invited his unwelcome guest to 
 be seated. Obeying a glance from her brother 
 which she understood, Ellen withdrew to the fur- 
 ther side of the room, where she could not hear 
 what they said. John took up the history of Ellen's 
 acquaintance with his family, and briefly gave it to 
 Mr. Lindsay, scarce touching upon the benefits 
 by them conferred on her, and skillfully dwelling 
 rather on Ellen herself and setting forth what she 
 had been to them. Mr. Lindsay could not be un- 
 conscious of what his visitor delicately omitted to 
 hint at, neither could he help making secretly to 
 himself some most unwilling admissions; and 
 though he might wish the speaker at the antipodes, 
 and doubtless did, yet the sketch was too happily 
 given, and his fondness for Ellen too great, for him. 
 not to be delightedly interested in what was said 
 of her. And however strong might have been his 
 desire to dismiss his guest in a very summary man- 
 ner, or to treat him with haughty reserve, the grace- 
 ful dignity of Mr. Humphrey's manners made either 
 expedient impossible. Mr. Lindsay felt con- 
 strained to meet him on his own ground — the 
 ground of high-bred frankness ; and grew secretly 
 still more afraid that his real feelings should be 
 discerned. 
 
 Ellen, from afar, where she could not hear the 
 words, watched the countenances with great anx- 
 iety and great admiration. She could see that 
 while her brother spoke with his usual perfect ease, 
 Mr. Lindsay was embarrassed. She half read the 
 truth. She saw the entire politeness where she 
 also saw the secret discomposure, and she felt that 
 
472 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the politeness was forced from him. As the con< 
 versation went on, however, she wonderingly saw 
 that the cloud on his brow lessened, — she saw him 
 .even smile ; and when at last they rose, and she 
 drew near, she almost thought her ears were play- 
 ing her false when she heard Mr. Lindsay beg her 
 brother to go in with him to the company and be 
 presented to Mrs. Lindsay. After a moment's hesi- 
 tation this invitation was accepted, and they went 
 together into the drawing-room. 
 
 Ellen felt as if she was in a dream. With a face 
 as grave as usual, but with an inward exultation 
 and rejoicing in her brother impossible to describe, 
 she saw him going about among the company, — 
 talking to her grandmother, — yes, and her grand- 
 mother did not look less pleasant than usual, — rec- 
 ognizing M. Muller, and in conversation with other 
 people whom he knew. With indescribable glee 
 Ellen saw that Mr. Lindsay managed most of the 
 time to be of the same group. Never more than 
 that night did she triumphantly think that Mr. John 
 could do anything. He finished the evening there. 
 Ellen took care not to seem too much occupied 
 with him ; but she contrived to be near when he 
 was talking with M. Muller, and to hang upon her 
 father's arm when he was in Mr. John's neighbor- 
 hood. And when the latter had taken leave, and 
 was in the hall, Ellen was there before he could be 
 gone. And there came Mr. Lindsay too behind 
 her! 
 
 11 You will come early to-morrow morning, John ? " 
 
 " Come to breakfast, Mr. Humphreys, will you ? n 
 said Mr. Lindsay, with sufficient cordiality. 
 
 But Mr. Humphreys declined this invitation, in 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 473 
 
 spite of the timid touch of Ellen's fingers upon his 
 arm, which begged for a different answer. 
 
 " I will be with you early, Ellie," he said, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " And oh ! John," said Ellen suddenly, " order a 
 horse and let us have one ride together ; let me 
 show you Edinburgh." 
 
 " By all means," said Mr. Lindsay, — " let us 
 show you Edinburgh ; but order no horses, Mr, 
 Humphreys, for mine are at your service." 
 
 Ellen's other hand was gratefully laid upon her 
 father's arm as this second proposal was made and 
 accepted. 
 
 " Let us show you Edinburgh," said Ellen to her- 
 self, as she and Mr. Lindsay slowly and gravely 
 went back through the hall. " So ! there is an end 
 of my fine morning ! — But, however, how foolish I 
 am ! John has his own ways of doing things — he 
 can make it pleasant in spite of everything." 
 
 She went to bed, not to sleep, indeed, for a long 
 time, but to cry for joy and all sorts of feelings at 
 once. 
 
 Good came out of Evil, as it often does, and as 
 Ellen's heart presaged it would when she arose the 
 next morning. The ride was preceded by half an 
 hour's chat between Mr. John, Mr. Lindsay, and 
 her grandmother ; in which the delight of the even- 
 ing before was renewed and confirmed. Ellen was 
 obliged to look down to hide the too bright satis- 
 faction she felt was shining in her face. She took 
 no part in the conversation, it was enough to hear. 
 She sat with charmed ears, seeing her brother over- 
 turning all her father's and grandmother's preju- 
 dices, and making his own way to their respect at 
 
474 W& WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 least, in spite of themselves. Her marveling still 
 almost kept even pace with her joy. " I knew he 
 would do what he pleased," she said to herself, — ■ 
 " I knew they could not help that ; but I did not 
 dream he would ever make them like him, — that I 
 never dreamed ! " 
 
 On the ride again, Ellen could not wish that her 
 father were not with them. She wished for noth- 
 ing; it was all a maze of pleasure, which there was 
 nothing to mar but the sense that she would by and 
 by wake up and find it was a dream. And no, not 
 that either. It was a solid good and blessing, 
 which, though it must come to an end, she should 
 never lose. For the present there was hardly 
 anything to be thought of but enjoyment. She 
 shrewdly guessed that Mr. Lindsay would have en- 
 joyed it too, but for herself ; there was a little con- 
 straint about him still, she could see. There was 
 none about Mr. John ; in the delight of his words 
 and looks and presence, Ellen half the time forgot 
 Mr. Lindsay entirely ; she had enough of them ; 
 she did not for one moment wish that Mr. Lindsay 
 had less. 
 
 At last the long beautiful ride came to an end ; 
 and ^he rest of the morning soon sped away, 
 though, as Ellen had expected, she was not permit- 
 ted to spend any part of it alone with her brother. 
 Mr. Lindsay asked him to dinner, but this was 
 declined. 
 
 Not till long after he was gone did Ellen read 
 Mr. Humphreys' letter. One bit of it may be 
 given. 
 
 " Mr. Var» Brunt has lately joined our little 
 church. This has given me great pleasure. He 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 475 
 
 had been a regular attendant for a long time be- 
 fore. He ascribes much to your instrumentality ; 
 but says his first thoughts (earnest ones) on the 
 subject of religion were on the occasion of a tear 
 that fell from Ellen's eye upon his hand one day 
 when she was talking to him about the matter. He 
 never got over the impression. In his own words, 
 ' it scared him ! ' That was a dear child ! I did 
 not know how dear till I had lost her. I did not 
 know how severely I should feel her absence ; nor 
 had I the least notion when she was with us of 
 many things respecting her that I have learnt since. 
 I half hoped we should yet have her back, but that 
 will not be. I shall b^ fi lau co see you, my son." 
 
 The correspondence with John was begun im- 
 mediately, and was the delight of Ellen's life. 
 Mrs. Lindsay and her daughter wished to put a 
 stop to it ; but Mr. Lindsay dryly said that Mr. 
 Humphreys had frankly spoken of it before him, 
 and as he had made no objection then he could not 
 now. 
 
 Ellen puzzled herself a little to think what could 
 be the third thing John wanted of her; but what- 
 ever it were, she was very sure she would do it ! 
 
 For the gratification of those who are never sat- 
 isfied, one word shall be added, to wit, that : 
 
 The seed so early sown in little Ellen's mind, and 
 so carefully tended by sundry hands, grew in course 
 of time to all the fair stature and comely perfection 
 it had bid fair to reach — storms and winds that had 
 visited it did but cause the root to take deeper 
 hold ; — and at the point of its young maturity it 
 happily fell again into those hands that had of all 
 been most successful in its culture. — In other 
 
47 6 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 words, to speak intelligibly, Ellen did in nowise 
 disappoint her brother's wishes, nor he hers. 
 Three or four more years of Scottish discipline 
 wrought her no ill ; they did but serve to temper 
 and beautify her Christian character ; and then, to 
 her unspeakable joy, she went back to spend her 
 life with the friends and guardians she best loved, 
 and to be to them, still more than she had been to 
 her Scottish relations, the " light of the eyes." 
 
 THE END.