UC-NRLF 
 
 1M 3M1 
 
GIFT F 
 < elix Flt 
 
COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS. , 
 
 VOL. CCCVIII, 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD BY ELIZABETH WETHEEELL. 
 
 IS ONE VOLUME. 
 
Set W 
 
 THE 
 
 WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ELIZABETH WETHEEELL 
 
 AUTHOR S EDITION. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 B E II N H A K D TAUCHNITZ 
 
 1854. 
 
Here at the portal thou dost stand, 
 
 And with thy little hand 
 Thou openest the mysterious gate, 
 Into the future s undiscovered land 
 I see its valves expand, 
 As at the touch of FATE ! 
 Into those realms of Love and Hate." 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 F 
 

 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 135-f 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Breaking the News. 
 
 "MAMMA, what was thatlheard 
 papa saying to you this morning 
 about his lawsuit?" 
 
 "I 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 a while 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 amuse 
 ment there. The prospect without 
 gave little promise of it. Eain 
 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 carriages plashed 
 through the mud; gaiety had for 
 saken the side-walks, and equi 
 pages were few, and the people 
 that were out were plainly there 
 only because they could not help 
 it. ButyetEllen, having seriously 
 set herself to study everything 
 that passed, presently became 
 engaged in her occupation; and 
 her thoughts travelling dreamily 
 from one thing to another, she 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 sat for a long time with her little 
 face pressed against the window- 
 frame, perfectly regardless of 
 all but the moving world without. 
 Day light gradually faded away, 
 and the street wore a more and 
 more gloomy aspect. The rain 
 poured, and now only an occa 
 sional carriage or footstep dis 
 turbed 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 in 
 terest for her. At length, in the 
 distance, light after light began 
 to appear; presently Ellen could 
 see the dim figure of the lamp 
 lighter 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 greatcoat, and 
 lantern, and on the pavement 
 and iron railings. The veriest 
 moth could not have followed 
 the light with more perseverance 
 than did Ellen s eyes, till the 
 lamplighter gradually disappear 
 ed from view, and the last lamp 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 she could see was lit; and not till 
 then did it occur to her that there 
 was such a place as indoors. 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 Liverpool 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. " That 
 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 these chairs are standing 
 one would think we had had a 
 sewing-circle here there, go 
 back to your places that looks 
 a little better; now, these cur 
 tains must come down, and I may 
 as well shut the shutters, too 
 and now this tablecloth must be 
 content to hang straight, and 
 Mamma s box and the books 
 must lie in their places , and not 
 all helter-skelter. iNow, 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 com 
 pressed, 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 pillow. 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 havn t disturbed you, Mam 
 ma, have I?" said Ellen. 
 
 Without replying, Mrs. Mont 
 gomery raised herself 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 
 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. Mont 
 gomery 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. Mont 
 gomery, sadly. 
 
 "Are you sorry, Mamma? 
 does it trouble you?" 
 
 "You know, my dear, that I 
 am not apt to concern myself 
 overmuch about the gain or the 
 loss of money. I believe my 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 heavenly Father will give me in her lap , gave way to a violent 
 
 rrrl->r.4. , m^^A -C -~ T L _.> * 1? 4.1. ~J. __ -_J 
 
 what is good for me. 
 
 " Then , Mamma , why are you 
 troubled?" 
 
 burst of grief, that seemed for a 
 feAv moments as if it would rend 
 soul and body in twain. For her 
 
 "Because, my child, I cannot passions were by nature very 
 carry out this principle in other strong , and by education very 
 
 matters , and leave quietly my all 
 in His hands." 
 
 "What is the matter, dear mo 
 ther? 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 
 
 imperfectly controlled; 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 calm 
 ness 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 
 
 of all our plans. Your father says violent in its expression than 
 he is too poor now to stay here I Ellen s own. 
 any longer; and he has agreed to 
 go soon on some government or 
 military business to Europe." 
 "Well, Mamma, that is bad; 
 
 Alas! she had too good reason. 
 She knew that the chance of her 
 ever returning to shield the little 
 creature who was nearest her 
 
 but he has been away a great I heart from the future evils and 
 deal before, and I am sure we snares of life was very, very 
 were always very happy." small. She had at first absolutely 
 
 i Tin4- TTll/^-n 1~ ^ J-Ki^,!- ,,, vi , t ,, ,v , I 4. n ~\^ n ~,^ T711 .~ , "U .~ "U 
 
 Ellen, he thinks now, 
 
 refused to leave Ellen, when her 
 
 and the doctor thinks, too, that it I husband proposed it; declaring 
 is very important for my health; that she would rather stay with 
 that I should go with him." her and die than take the chance 
 
 "Does he, Mamma? and do of recovery at such a cost. But 
 you mean to go?" her physician assured her she 
 
 "I am afraid I must, my dear could not live long without a 
 child." j change of climate; Captain Mont- 
 
 "Not and leave me, mother? "jgomery urged that it was better 
 
 The imploring look of mingled i to submit to a temporary separa- 
 astonishment, terror, and sorrow Ition, than to cling obstinately to 
 with which Ellen uttered these | her child for a few months , and 
 words, took from her mother all jthen leave her for ever; said 
 power of replying. It was not he must himself go speedily to 
 necessary; her little daughter ! France , and that now was her 
 understood only too well the j best opportunity; assuring her, 
 silent answer of her eye. With a hoAvever, that his circumstances 
 
 wild cry she flung her arms round 
 her mother, and hiding her face 
 
 would not permit him to take 
 Ellen with them, but that she 
 1* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 would be secure of Chappy home 
 with his sister during her mo 
 ther s absence; and to the pres 
 sure of argument Captain Mont 
 gomery added the weight of 
 authority insisting on her com 
 pliance. Conscience also asked 
 Mrs. Montgomery whether she 
 had a right to neglect any chance 
 of life that was offered her; and 
 
 upon us; though we must sor 
 row , 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. Re 
 member, dear Ellen, God sends 
 no trouble upon his children but 
 
 no trouble upon nis cnnureu uui 
 
 at last she yielded to the com-|- n i ove . an d though we cannot 
 bined influence of motives no onej see j 10Wj he will no doubt make 
 of which would have had power all ^ wor k f or our good." 
 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 
 
 " "I know it, dear mother," sob 
 
 bed 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 mo 
 ment she could not speak. 
 
 given her the courage to open|~~< T my daughter," she said, 
 the matter to her little daughter. after a p ause _ "try to compose 
 She had foreseen and endeavour- rse fc I am a f ra id you will 
 ed to prepare herself tor Ellen BJ^ k me worse Ellen, if you 
 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 im 
 mediately regain her composure. 
 But Ellen s deep sobs at length 
 fairly alarmed her; she saw the 
 
 , /* 1 - A 1- J.1_ ~*_ <-*!- ,*-("< 
 
 cannot; lam, indeed." 
 
 Ellen had plenty of faults, 
 biit, amidst them all, love to her 
 mother was the strongest feeling 
 her heart knew. It had power 
 enough now to move her as no 
 thing 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; 
 
 tairly alarmed ner; sne saw uic ceased sobbing; wrpeu ner eyes, 
 necessity, for both their sakes, | arose from her crouchingposture, 
 of putting a stop to this state j an( j seating herself on a sofa 
 of violent excitement; self-corn- ^ v h er mo ther, and laying her 
 mand was restored at once. head on her bosom, she listened 
 
 "Ellen! Ellen! listen to me," quietly to, all the soothing words 
 she said. My child , this is not and ch eermg consi derations with 
 right. Remember, my darling! which Mrs Montgomery endea- 
 who it is that brings this sorrow [voured to lead her to take a 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 5 
 
 more hopeful view of the subject, j would take another), she filled 
 All she could urge, however, had i up the little teapot from the 
 but very partial success, though | boiling kettle, and proceeded to 
 the conversation was prolonged make a cup of tea. She knew, 
 far into the evening. Ellen said j and was very careful to put in, 
 little, and did not weep any I just the quantity of milk and 
 
 more; but in secret her heart 
 refused consolation. 
 Long before this the servant 
 
 sugar that her mother liked ; and 
 then she used to carry the tea 
 and toast on a little tray to her 
 
 had brought in the tea-things. mother s side, and very often 
 Nobody regarded it at the time, held it there for her while she 
 but the little kettle hissing away ate. All this Ellen did with the 
 on the fire now by chance attract- zeal that love gives , and though 
 ed Ellen s attention, and she sud- the same thing was to be gone 
 
 denly recollected her mother had 
 had no tea. Toinake_her mother s 
 
 over every night of the year, she 
 was never wearied. It was a real 
 
 tea was Ellen s regular business, pleasure; she had the greatest 
 She treated it as a very grave j satisfaction in seeing that the 
 affair , and loved it as one of the j little her mother could eat was 
 pleasantest in the course of the prepared for her in the nicest 
 
 clay. She used in the first place 
 to make sure that the kettle really 
 boiled ; then she carefully poured 
 some water into the teapot 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 teapot, 
 which was just big enough to 
 
 possible manner; she knew her 
 hands made it taste better; her 
 mother often said so. 
 
 But this evening other thoughts 
 had driven this important busi 
 ness quite out of poor Ellen s 
 mind. Now, however, when her 
 eyes fell upon the little kettle, 
 she recollected her mother had 
 
 hold two cups of tea; and having I not had her tea, and must want it 
 poured a very little boiling water very much ; and silently slipping 
 to it, she used to set it by the off the sofa, she set about getting 
 side of the fire while she made j it as usual. There was no doubt 
 half a slice of toast. How careful this time whether the kettle boiled 
 Ellen was about that toast ! The or no ; it had been hissing for an 
 bread must not be cut too thick, | hour and more , calling as loud 
 nor too thin; the fire must, ifjas 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 
 
 this was clone to her satisfaction ! soon her pleasant tea makings 
 (and if the first piece failed , she | would be over and the desolate 
 
 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 
 
 j.1^; ._ ,1 j.. i . _j.r_.r j.: 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 feeling of separation began to Both remained silent and quiet 
 come upon her before the time, awhile after this, till the clock 
 These thoughts were too much ! struck ten. "You hao 1 better go 
 for poor Ellen-, the thick tears to bed, my daughter," said Mrs. 
 
 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 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 "I will, Mamma." 
 
 "Do you think you can read 
 me a little before you go ? " 
 
 the sickness of heart quite over-) "Yes, indeed, Mamma;" and 
 came her; she could not go on. ! Ellen brought the book. "Where 
 Toast and fork and all dropped j shall I read?" 
 from her hand into the ashes; " The twenty-third Psalm." 
 and rushing to her mother s side, Ellen began it, and went 
 who was now lying down again, through it steadily and slowly, 
 and throwing herself upon her, though her voice quivered a little, 
 she burst into another fit of sor- " The Lord is my shepherd, I 
 row not so violent as the 
 former, but with a touch of hope 
 lessness in it which went yetmore 
 to her mother s heart. Passion in 
 the first said, "I cannot;" despair 
 now seemed to say, "I must." 
 
 But Mrs. Montgomery was too 
 exhaused to either share or soothe 
 Ellen s agitation. She lay in suf 
 fering silence; till after some time 
 she said, faintly "Ellen, my I with me; thy rod and thy staff 
 love, I cannot bear this much they comfort me. 
 longer." "Thou preparest a table be- 
 
 Ellen was immediately brought fore me in the presence of mine 
 to herself by these words. She enemies ; thou anointest my head 
 
 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 paths of 
 righteousness for his name s sake. 
 
 "Though I walk through the 
 valley of the shadow of death, I 
 will fear no evil: for thou art 
 
 arose, sorry and ashamed that 
 she should have given occasion 
 
 with oil ; my cup runneth over. 
 Surely goodness and mercy 
 
 for them, and tenderly kissing j shall follow me all the days of 
 her mother, assured her, most my life, and I will dwell in the 
 sincerely and resolutely, that she house of the Lord for ever. " 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 cup of tea, but no toast could be | tears had passed away; then she 
 eaten that night. [paw that her mother was asleep. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Those first sweet words had fallen 1 
 like balm upon the sore heart d 
 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. 
 Gives sorrow to the winds. 
 
 SORROW and excitement made 
 Ellen s eyelids heavy, and she 
 slept late on the following morn 
 ing. 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 
 
 A moment was 
 
 enough to bring it all back; and 
 she threw herself again on her 
 
 quire and find out the reason, "ij 
 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 011 
 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 11 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 
 
 pillow, yielding helplessly to the upon. Ellen had been accustomed 
 grief she had twice been obliged! to amuse herself a good deal at 
 to control the evening before. | this window, though nothing was 
 Yet love was stronger than grief i to be seen from it but an ugly 
 still, and she was careful to allow j city prospect of back walls of 
 no sound to escape her that could houses, with the yards belonging 
 reach the ears of her mother, to them, and a bit of narrow 
 who slept in the next room. Her street. But she had watched the 
 resolve was firm to grieve her no | people that showed themselves 
 more with useless expressions of j at the windows, and the children 
 sorrow to keep it to herself as \ that played in the yards , and the 
 
 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 star 
 tled her, and she remembered 
 she must not be too late down 
 stairs, or her mother might in- 
 
 women that went to the pumps, 
 till she had become pretty well 
 acquainted with the neighbour 
 hood; and though they were for 
 the most part dingy, dirty, and 
 disagreeable 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 
 
C- 
 8 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD- 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 till she almost forgot that there ; mend all my faults , and give her 
 was such a thing as a city in the ! so much pleasure! But oh! if 
 world. Little white clouds were | she only needn t go away! oh, 
 chasing across it, driven by the Mamma!" Tears of mingled sweet 
 fresh wind that was blowing away and bitter were poured out fast, 
 Ellen s hair from her face, and but the bitter had the largest 
 cooling her hot cheeks. That share. 
 
 wind could not have been long in ! The breakfast -table was still 
 coming from the place of woods j standing, and her father gone, 
 and flowers, it was so sweet still, j when Ellen went down stairs. 
 Ellen looked till, she didn t know | Mrs. Montgomery welcomed her 
 why, she felt calmed and soothed! with her usual quiet smile, and 
 as if somebody was saying to held out her hand. Ellen tried 
 her softly, "Cheer up, my child,! to smile in answer, but she was 
 cheer up ; things are hot so bad j glad to hide her face in her mo- 
 as they might be: things will ither s bosom; and the long close 
 be better." Her attention was | embrace was too close and too 
 attracted at length by voices j long; it told of sorrow as well 
 below; she looked down, and | as love; and tears fell from the 
 saw there, in one of the yards, a eyes of each, that the other did 
 poor deformed child, whom she | not see. 
 
 had often noticed before, andi "Need I go to school to-day, 
 always with sorrowful interest. Mamma?" whispered Ellen. 
 Besides his bodily infirmity, he "No; I spoke to your father 
 had a further claim on her sym- about that; you shall not go any 
 pathy, in having lost his mother more; we will be together now 
 within a few months. Ellen s i while we can." 
 heart was easily touched this Ellen wanted to ask how long 
 morning; she felt for him very j that would be, but could not 
 much. "Poor, poor little fellow! " i make up her mind to it. 
 she thought; "he s a great dealj "Sit down, daughter, and take 
 worse off than I am. His mother ! some breakfast." 
 is dead ; mine is only going away I " Have you done , Mamma ? " 
 for a few months not for ever " No I waited for you." 
 
 oh, what a difference ! and then 
 the joy of coming back again!" 
 
 poor Ellen was weeping al 
 ready at the thought "and I 
 will do, oh, how much! while she 
 is gone I ll do more than she 
 
 Thank you, dear Mamma" 
 with another embrace "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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 much heart to eat; although Mrs. I he will, if you will only put your 
 Montgomery with her own hands ; trust in Him , Ellen." 
 laid on Ellen s plate half of the Ellen struggled hard to get 
 little bird that had been broiled back her composure, and after a 
 for her own breakfast. The half few minutes succeeded, 
 was too much for each of them. "Mamma, will you tell me what 
 "What made you so late this you mean exactly by my putting 
 morning, daughter?" my trust in Him?" " 
 
 I got up late, in the first 
 place , Mamma ; and then 1 was a 
 long time at the window." 
 
 "At the window? Were you 
 examining into your neighbours 
 affairs, as usual?" said Mrs. Mont- 
 
 " Don t you trust me, Ellen?" 
 
 "Certainly, Mamma." 
 
 "How do you trust me? in 
 what?" 
 
 "Why, Mamma, in the first 
 place, I trust every word you 
 
 gomery , surprised that it should say entirely I know nothing 
 have been so. ! could be truer; if you were to 
 
 " Oh , no Mamma , I didn t look : tell me black is white , Mamma , I 
 
 that pleased you so much?" ! is right, perfectly. And I always 
 
 "I don t know, Mamma; it feel safe when you are near me, 
 
 looked so lovely and peaceful because I know you ll take care 
 that pure blue spread over of me. And I am glad to think I 
 my head, and the little white belong to you, and you have the 
 clouds flying across it I loved management of me entirely, and 
 to look at it; it seemed to do me ^needn t manage myself, because 
 good." jl know I can t; and if I could, 
 
 "Could you look at it, Ellen, I d rather you would, Mamma." 
 without thinking of Him who "My daughter, it is just so 
 made it?" it is just so that I wish you 
 
 "No, Mamma," said Ellen, \ to trust in God. He is truer, 
 ceasing her breakfast, and now i wiser, stronger, kinder by far 
 speaking with difficulty; "I did; than I am, even if I could be al- 
 think of Him ; perhaps that was ways with you ; and what will you 
 the reason." I do when I am away from you? 
 
 "And what did you think of And what would you do, my 
 Him , daughter? " j child , if I were to be parted from 
 
 "I hoped, Mamma I felt ! you for ever?" 
 .1 thought he would take care ! "Oh, Mamma!" said Ellen, 
 of me," said Ellen, bursting into bursting into tears, and clasping 
 tears, and throwing her arms her arms round her mother again 
 again round her mother. " Oh , dear Mamma , don t talk 
 
 "He will, my dear daughter, ; about it ! " 
 
10 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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. Theyreinained 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, 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. Dr. Green found 
 his patient decidedly worse than 
 he had reason to expect; and his 
 sagacious eye hadnotpassedback 
 and forth many times between 
 the mother and daughter before 
 
 "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 
 s:et 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 circum 
 stances perhaps longer, per 
 haps 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 ought to 
 be this morning; I m afraid you 
 havn t taken proper care of her; 
 she looks to me as if she had 
 
 he saw how it was. He made no j been too much excited. I ve a 
 remark upon it, however, but i notion she has been secretly 
 continued for some moments a taking half a bottle of wine , or 
 pleasant chatty conversation \ reading some furious kind of a 
 
 which he had begun with Mrs. 
 Montgomery. He then called 
 Ellen to him; he had rather taken 
 a fancy to her. 
 
 "Well, Miss Ellen," he said, 
 
 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 
 
 rubbing one of her hands in his, j care that she is not it isn t 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 11 
 
 good for her. You mustn t let a world which she had a secret 
 her talk much , or laugh much, or misgiving she was fast leaving, 
 cry at all, on any account; she I As forEllen, the doctor s warning 
 mustn t be worried in the least had served to strengthen the 
 
 will you remember? Now, you 
 know what I shall expect of you; 
 
 resolve she had already made, 
 that she would not distress her 
 
 you must be very careful; if that mother with the sight of her 
 piece of toast of yours should! sorrow; and she kept it, as far 
 chance to getburned, one of these I as she could. She did not let her 
 
 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 under 
 
 stand? Good-bye." 
 Green took his leave. 
 
 And Dr. 
 
 ; Poor woman!" said the doc- 
 
 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, thafc tried 
 her mother sorely. But when 
 she was alone , and knew no one 
 could see, sorrow had its way; 
 and then there were sometimes 
 
 tor to himself, as he went down iagoniesof grief that would almost 
 stairs (he was a humane man) have broken Mrs. Montgomery s 
 "I wonder if she ll live till she i resolution, had she known them, 
 gets to the other side! That s This, however, could not last, 
 a nice little girl, too. Poor child! Ellen was a child, and of most 
 
 1 *1 J I U "L. A. 1 1 J_* *J_ J. 
 
 poor child! 
 
 buoyant and elastic spirit natu- 
 
 Both mother and daughter rally; it was not for one sorrow, 
 silently acknowledged the justice however great, to utterly crush 
 of the doctor s advice, and deter- j her. It would have taken years 
 mined to follow it. By common ! to do that. Moreover, she enter- 
 consent, as it seemed, each for tained not the slightest hope of 
 several days avoided bringing the j being able by any means to alter 
 subject of sorrow to the other s j her father s will. She regarded 
 mind; though no doubt it was i the dreaded evil as an inevitable 
 constantly present to both. It J thing. But though she was at 
 was not spoken of ; indeed, little first overwhelmed with sorrow, 
 of any kind was spoken of , but land for some days evidently 
 that never. Mrs. Montgomery was : pined under it sadly, hope at 
 doubtless employed, during this ! length would come back to her 
 interval, in preparing for what;littl heart; and no sooner in 
 she believed was before her ;J again, hope began to smooth the 
 endeavouring to resign herself .roughest, and soften the hardest, 
 and her child to Him in whose J and touch the dark spots with 
 hands they were, and strugglingj light, in Ellen s future. The 
 to withdraw her affections from j thoughts which had just passed 
 
12 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 through her head that first morn- 1 Mrs. Montgomery s frame, but 
 ing, as she stood at her window, j Ellen did not see it. Mrs. Mont- 
 no w came back again. Thoughts gomery was silent. Ellen presently 
 of wonderful improvement to! introduced another subject, 
 be made during her mother s! "Mamma, whatkind of aperson 
 absence; of unheard-of efforts to is my aunt?" 
 learn and amend, which should! "I do not know I have never 
 all be crowned with success ; seen her." 
 
 and, above all, thoughts of that j "How has that happened, 
 "coming home," when all these: Mamma?" 
 
 attainments and accomplish- 1 "Your aunt has always lived 
 ments should be displayed to in a remote country town, and 
 her mother s delighted eyes, and I have been very much confined 
 her exertions receive their long- ! to two or three cities , and your 
 desired reward; they made father s long and repeated ab- 
 Ellen s heart beat, and her sences made travelling impossible 
 eyes swim, and even brought alto me." 
 
 smile once more upon her lips. Ellen thought, but she didn t 
 Mrs. Montgomery was rejoiced say it, that it was very odd her 
 to see the change; she felt that father should not sometimes, 
 as much time had already been when he was in the country, have 
 given to sorrow as they could; gone to see his relations, and 
 afford to lose, and she had not taken her mother with him. 
 known exactly how to proceed.) "What is my aunt s name, 
 Ellen s amended looks and spirits j Mamma?" 
 greatly relieved her. "I think you must have heard 
 
 "What are you thinking about, that already, Ellen Fortune 
 Ellen?" said she, one morning, j Emerson." 
 
 Ellen was sewing; and while: "Emerson! I thought she was 
 busy at her work her mother had I papa s sister?" 
 
 fturrk f\i* -fVivon fimoa riVkcovvnrl a " Sir* oVo ia " 
 
 two or three times observed a 
 slight smile pass over her face. 
 
 she is." 
 Then how comes her name 
 
 Ellen looked up, still smiling, not to be Montgomery?" 
 and answered, "Oh, Mamma, I "She is only his half-sister 
 was thinking of different things the daughter of his mother, not 
 things that I mean to do while : the daughter of his father." 
 
 you are gone. 
 
 "And what are these things?" 
 inquired her mother. 
 
 Oh, Mamma, it Avouldn t do 
 
 I am very sorry for that," said 
 Ellen, gravely. 
 
 "Why, my daughter?" 
 
 "I am afraid she will not be so 
 
 to tell you beforehand ; I want to likely to love me." 
 surprise you with them when you ! "You mustn t think so, my 
 come back." child. Her loving or not loving 
 
 A slight shudder passed over; you will depend solely and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 13 
 
 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 
 
 behaviour. 
 Oh, Mamma, 
 
 I can t help 
 
 wishing dear Aunt Bessy was 
 alive , and I was going to her." 
 
 Many a time the same wish 
 had passed through Mrs. Mont 
 gomery s mind. But she kept 
 down her rising heart, and went 
 on calmly 
 
 "You must not expect, my 
 child, to find anybody as indul 
 gent 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; but 
 then it will be your own fault if 
 
 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 try." 
 
 "Well, I 11 try, Mamma." 
 
 "And don t be discouraged. 
 Perhaps you maybe 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. Mont 
 gomery, Avith a smile. 
 
 "I 11 try, dear Mamma." 
 
 "You will succeed if you try, 
 dear , never fear if you apply 
 yourself in your trying to the 
 only unfailing source of wisdom 
 and strength to Him without 
 whom you can do nothing." 
 
 There was silence for a little. 
 
 "What sort of a place is it 
 where my aunt lives?" asked 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Your father says it is a very 
 pleasant place; he says the 
 
 she does not love you, in time, country is beautiful, and very 
 
 truly and tenderly. See that you 
 render her all the respect and 
 
 healthy, and full of charming 
 walks and rides. You have never 
 
 obedience you could render me; lived in the country; I think you 
 that is your bounden duty; shej will enjoy it very much." 
 
 will stand in my place while she 
 has the care of you remember 
 that, Ellen; and remember, too, 
 that she will deserve more grati- 
 
 ; Then it is not a town?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 " No ; it is not far from the town 
 of Thirlwall , but your aunt lives 
 
 tude at your hands for showing in the open country. Your father 
 you kindness than I do , because says she is a capital housekeeper, 
 she cannot have the same feeling and that you will learn more, and 
 
 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 
 
 be in all respects a great deal 
 happier and better off, than you 
 would be in a boarding-school 
 here or anywhere." 
 
14 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 I am away, and cannot hear you, 
 there will be nobody to supply 
 
 Ellen s heart secretly ques 
 tioned the truth of this last 
 assertion very much. my place. Perhaps it will be "so, 
 
 "Is there any school near?"! indeed; but then, my daughter, 
 she asked. let it make you seek that Friend 
 
 "Your father say-s there was who is never far away nor out of 
 an excellent one in Thirlwall | hearing. Draw nigh to God, and 
 when he was there." [he will draw nigh to you. You 
 
 "Mamma," saidEllen, "I think! know he has said of his children 
 the greatest pleasure I shall have ! Before they call, I will answer ; 
 while you are gone will be writing j and while they are yet speakin 
 to you. I have been thinking I will hear. " 
 
 of it a good deal. I mean to 
 tell you everything absolutely 
 everything , Mamma. You know 
 there will be nobody 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 
 
 "But, Mamma," said Ellen, her 
 eyes filling instantly, "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 
 
 daughter; it will make quite as j finding you that better Friend 
 
 much the pleasure of my life, 
 Ellen, as of yours." 
 
 But then, mother," saidEllen, 
 
 O J IJAJ.C**U *_F V>Ul>l^.L Jt; J.JLV<XlVt 
 
 I should be quite willing and glad 
 to go for ever." 
 There was silence, only broken 
 
 brushing away the tears from her: by Ellen s sobs. Mrs. Mont- 
 eyes, "it will be so long before jgomery s voice had trembled, 
 my letters can get to you ! The [ and her face was now covered 
 things I want you to know right j with her hands; but she was not 
 away, you won t know, perhaps, | weeping; she was seeking abetter 
 in a month." j relief where it had long been her 
 
 "That s no matter, daughter ; i habit to seek and find it. Both 
 they will be just as good when! soon resumed their usual com- 
 they do get to me. Never think iposure, and the employments 
 of that; write every day , and all; which had been broken off; but 
 manner of things that concern neither chose to renew the con- 
 y OU just as particularly as if versation. Dinner, sleeping, and 
 you were speaking to me." company prevented their having 
 
 " And you 11 write to me , too, another opportunity during the 
 
 you 
 Mamma?" 
 
 "Indeed I will 
 
 rest of the day. 
 
 when I can. But when the evening came, 
 But, Ellen, you say that when j they were again left to them- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 15 
 
 selves. Captain Montgomery was I sake, and I am glad for mine ; and 
 away, which indeed was the case I am glad, too, because we have 
 
 most of the time; friends had 
 taken their departure; the cur 
 tains were down, the lamp lit, 
 the little room looked cozy and 
 
 comfortable ; 
 brought the 
 
 the servant 
 tea-things, 
 
 had 
 and 
 
 withdrawn, and the mother and 
 daughter were happily alone. 
 Mrs. Montgomery knew that such 
 occasions were numbered, and 
 fast draAving 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 be 
 spoken, 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 beloved duty. Tears 
 would fall as she looked, and 
 were not wiped away; but when 
 Ellen, having finished 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. Mont 
 gomery arose with her usual kind 
 smile , to show her gratitude by 
 honouring, 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 
 
 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, any 
 thing 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 per 
 haps 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 inkstand, and 
 some paper and wafers? Because, 
 Mamma, you know I shall be 
 among strangers at first, and I 
 shan t like asking them for these 
 things as often as 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, 
 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 
 
16 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 me? You know I can t go alone, ! and patient under this affliction. 
 Mamma." |I should scarcely have been able 
 
 "No, my daughter. I ll not; to endure it if you had not exerted 
 send you alone. But your father j self-control. You have behaved 
 says it is impossible for Mm to \ beautifully." 
 take the journey at present, and 
 
 it is yet more impossible for me. 
 
 This was almost too much for 
 poorEllen. It required her utmost 
 
 There is no help for it, daughter, I stretcll O f self -control to keep 
 but we must intrust you to the | w i t hi n any bounds of composure: 
 care of some friend going thati and f or some moments her flushed 
 way; but He that holds the ; cheek quivering lip, and heaving 
 winds and waters in the hollow | bosom, told what a tumult 
 of his hand, can take care of you ner mother s words had raised, 
 without any of our help, and it is | Mrs. Montgomery saw she had 
 to his keeping above all that I gone too far, and, willing to 
 shall commit you. give both Ellen and he rself time 
 
 Ellen made no remark, and to recover, she laid her head on 
 seemed much less surprised and the pi i low agaillj and closed her 
 
 eyes. Many thoughts coming 
 thick upon one another presently 
 filled her mind , and half an hour 
 
 troubled than her mother had 
 expected. In truth, the greater 
 evil swallowed up the less. Part 
 ing 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. 
 
 "Doyouknowyet 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 
 
 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," saidMrs.Montgoinery, 
 " did you ever fancy what kind of 
 a Bible you would like to have ? " 
 
 / A Bible! Mamma," saidEllen, 
 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 her mother; "and 
 hitherto you have been able to 
 use mine; but I will not leave 
 you now without one. I .will find 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 17 
 
 ways and means, 5 said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery, 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 is 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, and some 
 other things that I will not leave 
 you without, and nobody can do 
 
 it but myself, 
 possibly can." 
 
 I shall go, if 1 
 
 equinoctial storms would have 
 their way, as usual, and Ellen 
 thought they were longer than 
 
 ever this year, 
 stormy days 
 
 But after many 
 had tried her 
 
 patience, there was at length 
 a sudden change, both without 
 
 and 
 had 
 
 within doors. The clouds 
 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. Mont 
 gomery was not deceived, neither 
 was the doctor. The shopping 
 project was kept a profound 
 secret from him, and from every 
 body except Ellen. 
 
 Ellen watched now for a 
 favourable 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 
 
 What other things, Mamma?" 
 askedEllen, very much interested 
 in the subject. 
 
 "I don t think it will do to tell 
 you to-night," said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery, smiling. "I foresee that 
 
 you and I would be kept awake I window, as usual, to find the 
 too late if we were to enter upon j air and sky promising all that 
 it just now. We will leave it till j could be desired. It was one of 
 to-morrow. Now read to 
 love , and then to bed." 
 
 one morning, on opening 
 
 her 
 
 Ellen obeyed; and went to sleep 
 with brighter visions dancing 
 before her eyes than had been 
 the case for some time, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The worth of a Finger-Ring. 
 
 ELLEN had to wait some time 
 
 me, | those beautiful days in the end 
 of September, that sometimes 
 
 for the desired fine day. 
 
 The Wide , Wide World. 
 
 The 
 
 herald October before it arrives 
 cloudless , brilliant, and brea 
 thing balm. " This will do," said 
 Ellen to herself, in great satis 
 faction "I think this will do 
 I hope Mamma will think so." 
 
 Hastily dressing herself, and 
 a good deal excited already, she 
 ran down stairs, and, after the 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 excel 
 lent appetite ; but she said not a 
 word of the intended expedition 
 till her father should be gone. 
 She contented herself with 
 strengthening her hopes, by 
 making constant fresh inspections 
 of the weather and her mother s 
 countenance alternately; and her 
 eyes returning from the window 
 on one of these excursions, 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, 
 uncommon thing for him, 
 
 an 
 and 
 
 pored over it most perseveringly, 
 while Ellen was in a perfect 
 fidget of impatience. Her mother, 
 seeing the state she was in, and 
 taking pity on her, sent her up 
 stairs to do some little matters 
 of business in her own room. 
 These Ellen despatched 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." 
 
 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. Montgomery, 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 different 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 that made Ellen feel 
 how deep was the interest her 
 mother had in the things she read 
 
 "Mamma," said Ellen, after of, and how pure and strong the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 19 
 
 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 beauti 
 ful passage in the seventh of 
 Revelation: 
 
 "And one of the elders answer 
 ed, 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 to 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. Lift 
 ing then her eyes to her mother s 
 face , she saw again the same sin 
 gular sweet smile. Ellen felt that 
 she could not read another word ; 
 
 to her great relief the door open 
 ed, and Dr. Green came in. His 
 appearance changed the whole 
 course of her thoughts. All that 
 was grave or painful fled quickly 
 away; Ellen s head was imme 
 diately full again of what had fill 
 ed it before she began to read. 
 
 As soon as the doctor had re 
 tired, and was fairly out of hear 
 ing, "Now, Mamma, shall we 
 go?" said Ellen. "You needn t 
 stir, Mamma ; I 11 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, ar 
 ranged her hair, and did all that 
 she could towards 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 glad 
 you re going out again," said 
 Ellen, putting her arms round 
 her; "I do believe it will do you 
 good. Now, mamma, I 11 go and 
 get ready; I 11 be very quick 
 about it; you shan 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 
 2* 
 
20 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 steps thejr had to take to their 
 first stopping-place. 
 
 It was a jeweller s store. Ellen 
 had never been in one before in 
 her life , and her first feeling on 
 entering was of dazzled wonder 
 ment at the glittering splendours 
 around; this was presently for 
 gotten in curiosity to know what 
 her mother could possibly want 
 there. She soon discovered that 
 she had come to sell, and not to 
 buy. Mrs. Montgomery drew a 
 ring from her finger, and , after a 
 little chaffering, parted with it to 
 the owner of the store for eighty 
 dollars, being about three-quar 
 ters of its real value. The money 
 was counted out, and she left the 
 store. 
 
 " Mamma," saidEllen , in a low 
 voice, "wasn t that grandmam 
 ma 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. 
 
 "Youneednotbe sorry, daugh 
 ter. 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 
 something; 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. Mont 
 gomery; "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 ne 
 cessary to fit Ellen comfortably 
 for the time they should be ab 
 sent; and in answer he had given 
 her a sum barely sufficient for 
 her mere clothing. Mrs. Mont 
 gomery 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 
 mined upon. Now that she was 
 about to leave her little daughter, 
 and it might be for ever, 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 al* 
 ways of the simplest and cheapest 
 kind ; her mother resolved that in 
 the midst of the bitterness of this 
 time she would give her one plea 
 sure , if she could it might be 
 the last. 
 
 They stopped next at a book 
 store. "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 ia 
 tempting confusion near the door , 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 21 
 
 immediately fastened Ellen s eyes 
 and attention. She opened one, 
 and was already deep in the in 
 terest 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 pre 
 sently displayed. Ellen s wits 
 were ready to forsake her. Such 
 beautiful Bibles she had never 
 seen; she pored in ecstasy over 
 their varieties of type and bind 
 ing, and was very evidently in 
 love with them all. 
 
 "Now, Ellen," said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery, "look and choose-, take 
 your time, and see which you like 
 best." 
 It was not likely that Ellen s 
 
 " " 1J - a short one. 
 
 this, took a 
 
 "time" would be 
 Her mother seein: 
 
 chair at a little distance , to await 
 patiently her decision ; and while 
 Ellen s eyes were riveted on the 
 Bibles, her own, very naturally, 
 were fixed upon her. In the ex 
 citement and eagerness of the 
 moment, Ellen had thrown off her 
 little bonnet, and with flushed 
 cheek and sparkling eye, and a 
 brow grave with unusual care, as 
 though a nation s fate were de 
 ciding, 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 
 
 hej; Ellen had forgotten utterly; , _ ^ a 
 
 she was deep in what was to her from coming to any conclusion. 
 
 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. Mont 
 gomery gazed with rising emo 
 tions of pleasure and pain that 
 struggled for the mastery; but 
 pain at last got the better, and 
 rose very high. " How can 1 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 bit 
 terest 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 for 
 gotten there ever was such a thing 
 as sorrow in the world; and she, 
 at the other, was bowed beneath 
 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 remem 
 bered the words Ellen had been 
 reading to her but that very morn 
 ing, 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; and 
 after a little while she was able to 
 return to her seat. She felt that 
 she had been shaken by a tempest, 
 but she was calmer now than be 
 fore. 
 
 Ellen was just as she had left 
 her, and apparently just as far 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery was resolved to | " Well, my dear, take it that 
 iof i*ar. foi.^ Q v, Q ^ -.TTO^CT T^^^+UT , i s ? if y OU w ^j 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." 
 
 "Iknowwhatyou think, though, 
 Mamma, and I daresay you are 
 right, top ; 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 mat 
 ter by putting aside all that were 
 decidedly too large or too small, 
 or of too fine print. There re 
 mained three of moderate size, 
 and sufficiently large type, but 
 different binding. "Either of 
 
 volumes, gilt, and clasped, andithese, I think, will answeryour 
 very perfect in all respects, but purpose nicely," said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery. 
 
 "Then, Mamma, if you please, 
 I will have the red one. I like that 
 
 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, lay 
 ing it on her mother s lap, and 
 opening it, "what do you think 
 of that? isn t that splendid." 
 
 "A most beautiful page, in 
 deed; is this your choice, Mien?" 
 
 " Well, Mamma , I don t know ; 
 what do you think?" 
 
 "I think it is rather incon 
 veniently 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 pur 
 pose to hold it." 
 
 "Well, that wouldn t do at 
 all," said Ellen, laughing. "I be 
 lieve you are right, Mamma; I 
 wonderldidn tthmkof it. Imight 
 have known that myself." 
 
 She took it back; and there fol 
 lowed another careful examina 
 tion of the whole stock ; and then 
 Ellen came to her mother with a 
 beautiful miniature edition, in two 
 
 of exceeding small print. 
 
 "I think I 11 have this, Mam 
 ma," said she, "isn t it a beauty? 
 I could put it in my pocket, you 
 know, and carry it any where, with 
 the greatest ease." 
 
 "It would have one great ob 
 jection to me," said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery, "inasmuch as I cannot 
 
 possibly see to read it," 
 
 "Cannot you, Mamma? 
 can read it perfectly." 
 
 But I 
 
 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. 
 
 "Shan t I carry it, Mamma?" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "No, you would find it in the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 23 
 
 way; we have several things to 
 do yet." 
 
 "Have we, Mamma? I thought 
 we only came to get a Bible." 
 
 had ever seen the inside of such 
 a store, and the articles displayed 
 on every side completely be 
 witched her. From one thing to 
 
 "That is enough for one day, another she went, admiring and 
 I confess. I am a little afraid your! wondering ; in her wildest dreams 
 head will be turned, but I must I she had never imagined such 
 run the risk of it. I dare not lose | beautiful things. The place was 
 the opportunity of this fine wea 
 ther; I may not have such another. 
 I wish to have the comfort of 
 thinking , when I am away, that I 
 
 fairyland. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery meanwhile 
 attended to business. Having 
 chosen a neat little japanned 
 
 have left you with everything ne- dressing-box, perfectlyplain, but 
 cessary to the keeping up of good well supplied with everything a 
 habits everything that will child could want in that line , she 
 make them pleasant and easy. 1 1 called Ellen from the delightful 
 wish you to be always neat, and journey of discovery she was ma- 
 tidy, and industrious; depending king round the store, and asked 
 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 tear 
 fully, and pressed her mother s 
 
 hand. 
 
 I dp not expect to be disap- 
 Mrs. 
 
 her what she thought of it. "I 
 think it s a little beauty," said 
 Ellen; "but I never saw such a 
 place for beautiful things." 
 
 " You think it will do, then?" 
 said her mother. 
 
 "Forme, Mamma! You don t 
 mean to give it to me? Oh, mo 
 ther, how good you are! But I 
 know what is the best way to 
 thank you, and I 11 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 
 
 pointed, love," returned 
 Montgomery. 
 
 They now entered a large fancy 1 the b ox for your pens and paper 
 store. I yet." 
 
 "What are we to get here,; "Well, Mamma, I ll try and 
 Mamma?" said Ellen. jbear it," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 "A box to put your pens and; "But do get me the plainest little 
 
 iperin," said her mother, smi- thing in the world, for you re gi- 
 
 Saper 
 ng 
 
 Oh, to be sure," said Ellen; 
 
 ving me too much." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery asked to look 
 at writing-desks , and was shown 
 
 "I had almost forgotten that" 
 
 She quite forgot it a minute! to another part of the store for the 
 after. It was the first time she | purpose. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD* 
 
 " 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 ma 
 terials," 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 happiness. Words 
 failed her, and tears came instead. 
 
 From among a great many 
 desks of all descriptions, Mrs. 
 Montgomery with some difficulty 
 succeeded in choosing one to her 
 mind. It was of mahogany, not 
 very large, but thoroughly well 
 made and finished, and very con 
 venient and perfect in its internal 
 arrangements. Ellen was speech 
 less ; occasional looks at her mo 
 ther, and deep sighs, were- all she 
 had now to offer. The desk was 
 quite empty. 
 
 "Ellen," said her mother, "do 
 you remember the furniture of 
 Miss Allen s desk, that you were 
 so pleased with a while ago?" 
 
 "Perfectly, Mamma; Iknowall 
 that was in it." 
 
 " Well , then , you must prompt 
 me if I forget any thing. Your desk 
 shall be furnished with every thing 
 really useful. Merely showy mat 
 ters we can dispense with. Now, 
 let us see here is a great empty 
 place that I think wants some pa 
 per 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 nice 
 ly," 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, per 
 haps there will be at some future 
 time, "replied her mother. "Ihope 
 I shall not always be your only 
 correspondent. Now,whatnext?" 
 
 "Envelopes, Mamma?" 
 
 "To be sure; I had forgotten 
 them. Envelopes of both sizes to 
 match." 
 
 "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 envelopes." 
 
 A sufficient stock of envelopes 
 was laid in. 
 
 "Mamma," said Ellen, "what 
 do you think of a little note- 
 paper?" 
 
 "Who are the notes to be 
 written to, Ellen?" said Mrs. 
 Montgomery smiling. 
 
 "You needn t smile, Mamma; 
 you know, as you said, if I don 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- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 paper will keep quite safely in this 
 nice little place provided 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 sup 
 pose so," said Ellen, smiling; 
 "Miss Allen s had." 
 
 " Well, now we have got 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 every - 
 thing. It should be one of those 
 
 "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-pow 
 der," said the shopman, "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. Mont 
 gomery. 
 
 "/That is the place for the box 
 of lights, Mamma." 
 
 "What sort of lights?" 
 
 "For sealing letters, Mamma, 
 youknow. They are not like your 
 
 that shut tight. I don t see the wax taper at all; they are little 
 right kind here." wax matches , that burn just long 
 
 The shopman brought one. enough to seal one or two letters ; 
 
 "There, Mamma do you Miss Allen showed me how she 
 see?" said Ellen. "It shuts with j used them. Hers were in a nice 
 a spring, and nothing can possibly little box, just like the inkstand 
 come out. Do you see, mamma. | on the outside; and there was a 
 You can turn it topsy-turvy." | place to light the matches , and a 
 
 "I see you are quite right, i place to set them in while they are 
 daughter; it seems I should get; burning. There, Mamma, that s 
 on very ill without you to advise I it ," said Ellen , as the shopman 
 me. Fill the inkstand, if you brought forth the article which 
 please." she was describing, "that s it 
 
 " Mamma, what shall I do when exactly; and that will just fit. 
 my ink is gone? that inkstand | Now, Mamma, for the wax." 
 
 will hold but a little, you know." 
 "Your aunt will supply you, 
 of course, my dear, when you are 
 out." 
 
 You want to seal your letter 
 before you have written it," said 
 Mrs. Montgomery "we have 
 not got the pens yet." 
 
26 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 " That s true, Mamma let us other part of the store. When she 
 
 have the pens. And some quills, 
 too, Mamma?" 
 
 returned , Ellen had made up an 
 assortment of the oddest colours 
 
 : Do you know how to make a she could find, 
 pen, Ellen?" "1 won t have any red, Mamma, 
 
 "No, Mamma, not yet; but Iritis so common," she said. 
 
 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; 
 
 "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." 
 
 but I think you are rather too | "And who do you intend shall 
 young to learn. However, we will have the benefit of the other co- 
 try. Now, here are steel points j lours?" inquired her mother, 
 enough to last you a great while "I declare, Mamma," saidEllen, 
 and as many quills as it is need- ! laughing , "I never thought of 
 ful you should, cut up for one! that; I am afraid they will have 
 year at least; we haven t a pen- 1 to go to you. You must not mind, 
 handle yet." | Mamma, if you get green, and 
 
 "Here, Mamma," said Ellen, blue, and yellow seals once in a 
 holding out a plain ivory one, while." 
 
 " don t you like this? I think it is j "I dare say I shall submit my- 
 prettier than these that are all j self to it with a good grace," said 
 cut and fussed, or those other Mrs. Montgomery. "But come, 
 gay ones either." 
 
 "I think so, too, Ellen; the 
 
 plainer the prettier, 
 comes next?" 
 
 Now, what 
 
 " The knife , Mamma , to make 
 the pens," said Ellen, smiling. 
 
 "True, the knife. Let us see 
 some of your best penknives. 
 Now, Ellen, choose. That one 
 
 my dear, have we got all that we 
 want? This desk has been very 
 
 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 
 
 won t do, my dear; it should have , you?" 
 
 two blades a large as well as a " Not yet, Mamma," said Ellen, 
 
 small one. You know you want i smiling again; "that is another 
 
 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 colours." Seeing it was 
 likely to be a work of time, Mrs. 
 Montgomery walked away to an- 
 
 of the things I have got to learn." 
 "Then 1 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 27 
 
 sorts; and then went on further I Mamma?" said Ellen again, after 
 
 to furnish the desk with an ivory 
 leaf -cutter, a paper -folder, a 
 pounce -box, a ruler, and a neat 
 
 a while. 
 
 I wished and intended to have 
 gone to St. Clair and Fleury s, to 
 
 little silver pencil ; also some ! get you some merino and other 
 
 drawing -pencils, India -rubber, 
 and sheets of drawing-paper. 
 She took a sad pleasure in add- 
 
 things , but we have been detain 
 ed so long already, that I think 
 I had better cro home. I feel 
 
 ing everything she could think of I somewhat tired." 
 that might be for Ellen s future " I arn very sorry, dear Mamma," 
 use or advantage; but as with} said Ellen; "lam afraid I kept 
 her own hands she placed in the you too long about that desk." 
 desk one thing after another, the "You did not keep me, daugh- 
 thought crossed her mind, how ter, any longer than I chose to 
 
 1 be kept. But I think I will go 
 home now, and take the chance 
 of another fine day for the 
 
 merino. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Bitter-sweet of Life. 
 
 -WHEN dinner was over, and the 
 
 Ellen would make drawings with 
 those very pencils , on those very 
 sheets of paper, wliich 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; table cleared away, the mother 
 "I particularly wish to have them ! and daughter were left, as they 
 at home as early in the day as| alwa ys loved to be, alone. It 
 possible." I was ^ a ^ e * n the afternoon, and al- 
 
 The man promised. Mrs. Mont- ! ad y somewhat dark, for clouds 
 gomery paid the bill, and she and I 1 "" 1 fathered over the beautiful 
 Ellen left the store. | l^T?* t . he . morn ] n ?, and the . J 
 
 They walked a little way in 
 si ence. wag }yj n g on th e so f a a ^ u < 
 
 I cannot thank you, Mamma, | see mmgly at ease ; and Ellen 
 said^llen. | sitting on a little bench before 
 
 "It is not necessary, my dear the fi re very much at her ease 
 child," said Mrs. Montgomery, indee d, without any seeming 
 returning the pressure of her a bout it. She smiled as she met 
 hand; "I know all that you her mo ther s eyes, 
 would sav." n v/M 1 i 1 Q-.r Q r^ori, 
 
 , 
 waj j 
 
 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, 
 
 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 
 
28 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 much pleasure, Ellen, as it has 
 you." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Mamma, I will take the great 
 est possible care of my new trea 
 sures." 
 
 "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 without them. So 
 you see you have not establish 
 ed 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." 
 
 "Well, I have left you no ex 
 cuse, Ellen. You know fully what 
 I wish you to do and to be ; and 
 when 1 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 petti 
 
 coat, I hope the sight of your 
 workbox will make you blush." 
 
 "Workbox, Mamma!" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, I forgot you ve 
 not seen that." 
 
 "No Mamma what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Why, my dear, that was one 
 of the things you most wanted, 
 but I thought it best not to over 
 whelm you quite this morning; 
 so while you were on an explo 
 ring 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 drawn by the same hand, 
 she was placed again in her mo 
 ther s arms and upon her bosom. 
 And in that tried 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 stir- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 29 
 
 ring her heart; a few were of her 
 new possessions and bright pro 
 jects more of her mother. She 
 was thinking how very, very pre 
 cious was the heart she could 
 feel beating where her cheek lay 
 
 she thought it was greater 
 happiness to lie there than any 
 thing 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 thatmean, 
 He that loveth father or mother 
 more than me , is not worthy of 
 
 me? " 
 
 "It means just what it says. 
 If you love anybody or anything 
 better than Jesus Christ, you can 
 not be one of his children." 
 
 "But then, Mamma," said El 
 len, 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 
 
 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 want 
 ing." 
 
 "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 raising her head, and 
 looking her mother full in the 
 face , as if willing to apply the 
 severest test to this hard doc 
 trine, and speaking with an in 
 describable expression, "do you 
 love him better than you do me?" 
 
 She knew her mother loved 
 the Saviour; but she thought it 
 
 hearts of his people to take scarcely possible that herself 
 away the heart of stone, and give could have but the second place 
 them a heart of flesh." in her heart; she ventured a bold 
 
 "But is mine a heart of stone, j question, to prove whether her 
 then, Mamma, because I cannot | mother s practice would not con- 
 help loving you best?" I tradict her theory. 
 
 t "Not to me, dear Ellen," re-J But Mrs. Montgomery answer- 
 plied Mrs. Montgomery, pressing ed steadily, "I do, my daughter;" 
 closer the little form that lay inland, with a gush of tears, Ellen 
 her arms; "I have never found i sank her head again upon her 
 it so. But yet I know that the j bosom. She had no more to say; 
 Lord Jesus is far, far more | her mouth was stopped for ever 
 
30 
 
 THE- WIDE , WIDE WORLD. 
 
 as to the light of the matter, 
 though she still thought it an im 
 possible duty in her own parti 
 cular case. 
 
 "I do, indeed, my daughter," 
 repeatedMrs.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. Montgomery answer 
 ed, " 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 
 
 "What is that, Mamma?" said 
 Ellen, starting up. 
 
 " Somebody at the door. Open 
 it quickly, love." 
 
 Ellen did so , and found a man 
 standing there, with his 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 
 alight?" 
 
 There was no need, for a ser 
 vant just then entered, bringing 
 the wished -for candles, and the 
 not -wished -for tea. Ellen was 
 
 instantly, and soon lay as before, ! capering about in the most fan- 
 quiet and still, on her mother s I tastic style, but suddenly stopped 
 bosom, with her eyes fixed on | short at sight of the tea things, 
 the fire; and Mrs. Montgomery! and looked very grave. "Well, 
 did not know that when she now Mamma, I ll tell you what I ll 
 and then pressed a kiss upon the do," she said, after a pause of 
 forehead that lay so near her consideration; "I ll make the 
 lips, it every time brought the I tea the first thing, before I untie 
 water to Ellen s eyes, and a throb i a single knot; won t that be best, 
 to her heart. But after some half Mamma? Because I know if I 
 or three-quarters of an hour had once begin to look, I shan t want 
 passed away, a sudden knock at; to stop. Don t you think that is 
 the door found both mother and wise, Mamma?" 
 daughter asleep ; it had to be re- But alas ! the fire had got very 
 peated once or twice before the low; there was no making the 
 knocker could gain attention. jtea quickly; and the toast was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 31 
 
 a work of time. And when all 
 was over at length, it was then 
 too late for Ellen to begin to 
 
 while every number, I do think ; 
 
 and needles, oh, the needles! 
 what a parcel of them! and, 
 
 undo packages. She struggled j Mamma, what a lovely scissors! 
 with impatience a minute or two, Did you choose it, Mamma, or 
 
 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 even- 
 
 JU/J.V4 J \J L4. V^AJ.WWOV- A U j J-TJ.C*.! 
 
 did it belong to the box? 
 
 "I chose it." 
 
 "I might have guessed it, 
 Mamma , it s just like you. And 
 
 ing s disappointment. It was | here s a thimble fits me ex- 
 cloudy and stormy; going out actly! and an emery -bag! how 
 was not to be thought of, and it! pretty! and a bodkin! this is 
 was very unlikely that anybody! a great deal nicer than yours, 
 would come in. Ellen joy fully I Mamma yours is decidedly the 
 allotted the whole morning to worse for wear; and what s 
 the examination and trial of her! this? oh, to make eyelet-holes 
 new possessions; and as soonasiwith, I know. And oh, Mamma! 
 breakfast was over and the room here is almost everything, I think 
 clear, she set about it. She first j here are tapes, and buttons, 
 went through the desk and every- and hooks and eyes, and darning- 
 thing in it, making a running [cotton, and silk- winders, and 
 commentary on the excellence, I pins, and all sorts of things, 
 fitness, and beauty of all it con- What s this for, Mamma?" 
 tained; then the dressing-box "That s a scissors to cut but- 
 
 received a share, but a much 
 
 ton -holes with. Try it on that 
 
 smaller share, of attention; and piece of paper that lies by you, 
 lastly, with fingers trembling with i and you will see how it works." 
 eagerness, she untied, the pack- "Oh, I see!" said Ellen; "how 
 
 very nice that is! Well, I shall 
 
 thread that was wound round the 
 workb ox and slowly took off cover 
 after cover; she almost screamed 
 
 take great pains now to make my 
 button-holes ve 
 
 itton-holes very handsomely." 
 
 when the last was removed. The One survey of her riches could 
 box was of satinwood, beautifully by no means satisfy Ellen. For 
 finished, and lined with crimson ! some time she pleased herself 
 silk; and Mrs. Montgomery had j with going over and over the 
 taken good care it should want contents of the box, finding each 
 nothing that Ellen might need ! time something new to like. At 
 to keep her clothes in perfect j length she closed it, and keeping 
 order. ! it still in her lap, sat awhile look- 
 
 " Oh, Mamma, how beautiful! ing thoughtfully into the fire; 
 Oh , Mamma , how good you are ! till , turning towards her mother, 
 Mamma, I promise you I ll never she met her gaze, fixed mourn- 
 be~a slattern. Here is more cot- fully, almost tearfully, on her- 
 ton than I can use up in a great; self. The box was instantly 
 
32 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 to 
 gether for good to them that love 
 God." 
 
 "Then it will be all good for 
 you , Mamma but Avhat will it 
 be for me?" And Ellen sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 "It will be all well, my pre 
 cious child, I doubt not. 1 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. He does not afflict will 
 ingly. Perhaps he sees, Ellen, 
 that you never would seek him 
 while you had me to cling to." 
 
 Ellen clung to her at that mo 
 ment 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," ansAvered 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, 
 
 jthat my little Ellen - my pre 
 cious 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 
 obliged 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 underwent as thorough an 
 examination as the boxes had 
 received. Ellen went over every 
 part of it with the same great 
 care and satisfaction but mix 
 ed with a different feeling. The 
 words that caught her eye as she 
 turned over the leaves seemed to 
 echo what her mother had been 
 saying to her. It began to grow 
 dear already. After a little she 
 rose and brought it to the sofa. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with it, 
 Ellen?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Mamma; it is per 
 fectly beautiful, outside and in 
 side. Now, Mamma, will you 
 please to write my name in this 
 precious book my name, and 
 anything else you please, mo 
 ther? I ll bring you my new pen 
 to write it with, and I ve got ink 
 here shall I?" 
 
 She brought it; and Mrs. Mont 
 gomery wrote Ellen s name and 
 the date of the gift. The pen 
 
5 
 
 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 un 
 consciously; and, as if bowed 
 by an unseen force, Mrs. Mont 
 gomery s head sank upon the 
 open page, and her whole soul 
 went up with her petition: 
 
 "Let these words be my me 
 morial that I have trusted in thee. 
 And oh! when these miserable 
 lips are silent for ever, remember 
 the word unto thy servant, upon 
 which thou hast caused me to 
 hope; and be unto my little one 
 all thou hast been to me ! Unto 
 thee lift I up mine eyes, thou 
 that dwellest in the heavens ! " 
 
 She raised her face from the 
 book, closed it, and gave it si 
 lently to Ellen. Ellen had noticed 
 her action, but had no suspicion 
 of the cause; she supposed that 
 one of her mother s frequentfeel- 
 ings of weakness or sickness had 
 made her lean her head upon the 
 Bible , and she thought no more 
 about it. 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. 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A peep into the Wide World. 
 
 THE next day would not do 
 for the intended shopping, nor 
 the next. The third day was 
 fine, though cool and windy. 
 
 "Do you think you can ven 
 ture out to-day, 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 sup 
 pose, if we waft 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 wanted before 
 they are ready, if we do not 
 bestir ourselves. And Miss Kice 
 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 ? " 
 
 "No, he s too busy; and be 
 sides^ he doesn t know about 
 shopping for me." 
 
 "Well, what will you do, 
 Mamma? Is there nobody else 
 you could ask to get the things 
 for you? Mrs. Foster would do 
 t, Mamma." 
 
34 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLU. 
 
 "I know she would, and I "But see, Mamma," pursued 
 should ask her without any dif-| Ellen, eagerly, "I 11 tell you how 
 ficulty , but she is confined to I 11 manage , and I know I can 
 her room with a cold. I see no- manage very well. You tell me 
 thing for it but to be patient and exactly what colour of merino 
 let things take their course lypu want, and give me a little 
 though, if a favourable oppor-! piece to show me how fine it 
 tunity should offer , you would j should be , and tell me what price 
 have to go, clathes or no clothes; 1 you wish to give, and then I 11 
 it would not do to lose the chance go to the store and ask them to 
 
 of a good escort." 
 
 And Mrs. Montgomery s face 
 showed that this possibility of 
 Ellen s going unprovided gave 
 her some uneasiness. Ellen ob 
 served it. 
 
 "Never mind me, dearest mo 
 ther; don t be in the least wor 
 ried 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 pre 
 sently resumed her anxious look 
 out of the window. 
 
 "Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, 
 suddenly starting up, "a bright 
 thought has just come into my 
 head! I ll do it for you, Mamma!" 
 
 "Do what?" 
 
 "I 11 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 mo 
 ther, "I don t doubt you would, 
 if goodwill only were wanting; 
 but a great deal of skill and ex 
 perience is necessary for a shop 
 per, and what would you do with 
 out either?" 
 
 show me different pieces, you 
 know, and if I see any I think you 
 would like , I 11 ask them to give 
 me a little bit of it to show you ; 
 and then I 11 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, Mam 
 ma, I should like it dearly, if I 
 could help you so. Will you let 
 me try, Mamma?" 
 
 "I don t like, my child, to ven 
 ture you alone on such an errand, 
 among crowds of people ; I should 
 be uneas 
 
 "Dear 
 
 y about y 
 Mamma, 
 
 ou. 
 
 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 should come 
 to me while I am in the store? 
 You needn t be the least uneasy 
 ab out 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. 
 
 say, Mamma?" 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD* 
 
 What do you 
 
 35 
 
 where her mother generally made 
 her purchases ; and it did not oc 
 cur to her that it might not be the 
 
 daughter, but I am in difficulty best for her purpose on this oc- 
 on either "hand. I will let you go casion. But her steps slackened 
 
 a I don t know what to say, my 
 
 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 El 
 len; and away she scampered 
 upstairs to get ready. With eager 
 haste she dressed herself; then 
 with great care and particularity 
 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 ac 
 cordingly. But at the verybot- 
 fom of Ellen s heart there was a 
 little secret doubtfulness respect 
 ing 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 dress 
 ing, 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 going 
 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 , 
 iu the city, and the one she knew 
 
 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 
 indeed, though they were ex 
 ceedingly low and easy. Pleasure 
 was not certainly the uppermost 
 feeling in her mind now; yet she 
 never thought of turning back. 
 She knew that if she could suc 
 ceed in the object of her mission, 
 her mother would be relieved 
 from some anxiety; that was 
 enough; she was bent on accom 
 plishing 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 build 
 ing, the merino counter was 
 situated, and she could see no 
 one to speak to. She stood irre 
 solute 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 pro 
 mise her an opportunity, 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 
 
36 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the floor. Clerks frequently 
 passed her, crossing the store in 
 all directions, but they were al 
 ways bustling along m 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 convulsed, and almost con 
 founded 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 pro 
 spect that she would be able to 
 gain the ear or the eye of a single 
 person. Once she determined to 
 accost a man she saw advancing 
 towards her from a distance, and 
 actually made up to him for the 
 purpose, but with a hurried 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 un 
 dertaking, 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 some 
 thing, 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 ? " he 
 said. 
 
 But Ellen had been so long 
 preparing sentences, trying to 
 utter them, and failing in the at 
 tempt, that now, when an op 
 portunity to speak and be heard 
 was given her, the power of 
 speech seemed to be gone. 
 
 " D o 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 
 atmerinoes, 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 ap 
 pearance from among a little 
 group of clerks, with whom he 
 had been indulging 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 dissatisfied air, led the 
 way out of the entrance-hall into 
 another and much larger apart 
 ment. 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 
 himself behind it, and leaning 
 over it and fixing his eyes care 
 lessly upon her, asked what she 
 wanted to look at. His tone and 
 manner struck Ellen, most un- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 37 
 
 pleasantly, and made her again 
 wish herself out of the store. He 
 was a tall, lank young man, with | 
 a quantity of fair hair combed j 
 down on each side of his face, a| 
 slovenly exterior, and the most 
 disagreeable 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- 
 humoured; andEllen felt, though 
 she couldn t have told why, that 
 she need not expect either kind 
 ness or politeness from him. 
 
 "What dp you want to see, 
 little one?" inquired this gentle- 1 
 man, 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 descrip 
 tions 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 look-! 
 ing," said Ellen. "Won t you 
 please to show me some?" 
 
 He tossed down several pieces 
 upon the counter, and tumbled 
 them about before her. 
 
 "There," said he, "is that; 
 anything like what you want? 
 There s a pink one and there s 
 a blue one and there s a green j 
 one. Is that the kind?" 
 
 " This is the kind," said Ellen ; 
 "but this isn t the colour I 
 want." 
 
 " What colour do you want? " 
 
 "Something dar,k, 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 herself, then? 
 What colour does she like?" 
 
 "Dark blue, or dark brown, 
 or a nice gray would do," said 
 Ellen , " if it is fine enough." 
 
 " Dark blue , or darkbrown, 
 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, discon 
 tentedly, pulling down another 
 piece, "how 11 that do? That s 
 dark enough." 
 
 It was a fine and beautiful 
 piece, very different from those 
 he had showed her at first. Even 
 Ellen could see that, and fum 
 bling for her little pattern of me 
 rino, 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 goingtoberewarded 
 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 deal prettier 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 than that dark one, and not so] "What s the matter, Saun- 
 dear; and I know your mother I ders?" said one of his brother 
 
 clerks, passing him. 
 
 "Why, I ve been here this half 
 
 will like it better. 
 
 Ellen s cheeks were tingling 
 
 and her heart throbbing , but she j hour showing cloths to a child 
 couldn t bear to give up. that doesn t know merino from a 
 
 "Would you be so good as to i sheep s back," said he, laughing. 
 
 show me some gray?" 
 
 He slowly and ill-humouredly 
 complied, and took down an ex 
 cellent piece of dark gray, which 
 Ellen fell in love with at once; 
 but she was again disappointed; 
 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 11 let 
 you have it for ten, if you 11 
 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 sail you want." 
 
 "Could you," said Ellen, ti 
 midly, " 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 some 
 where else; and if you cannot 
 decide upon anything, I must go 
 and attend to those that can. I 
 can t wait here all day." 
 
 And, some other customers co 
 ming up at the moment , he was 
 as good as his word, and left 
 Ellen, to attend to them. 
 
 Ellen stood a moment stock 
 still, just where he had left her, 
 struggling with her feelings of 
 mortification; she could not en 
 dure 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 quiet 
 ly 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, 
 towards 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 circum 
 stances. 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 forbid 
 den her to weep before strangers, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD* 
 
 39 
 
 gave way at one touch of sym- "I wanted a little bit of this 
 pathy, and she poured out tears gray merino, Sir, to show to 
 much faster than words, as she! Mamma. I couldn t buy it, you 
 
 i; 
 
 related her story, so that it was 
 some little time before the old 
 gentleman could get a clear no 
 tion of her case. He waited very 
 
 atiently till she had finished; 
 
 ut 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 
 aren t you at your post, Sir?" 
 as Mr. Saunders came up, with an 
 altered countenance, "here s 
 a young lady you ve left stand 
 ing unattended to , I don t know 
 how long; are these your man 
 ners?" 
 
 "The young lady did not wish 
 anything,! believe, Sir," returned 
 Mr. Saunders , softly. 
 
 You know better , you scoun- 
 
 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? " pur 
 sued 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? "in quired he. 
 "Fourteen shillings," replied 
 Mr. Saunders. 
 
 "He said it was two dollars!" 
 exclaimed Ellen. 
 
 "I beg pardon," said the crest 
 fallen Mr. Saunders "the young 
 lady mistook me; I was speaking 
 of another piece when I said two 
 dollars." 
 
 "He said this was two dollars, 
 and the gray fourteen shillings," 
 drel!" retorted the old gentle- said Ellen, 
 man, who was in a great pas- "Is the gray fourteen shil- 
 sion; "I saw the whole matter | lings?" inquired the old gentle- 
 with my own eyes. You are a|man. 
 
 disgrace to the store, Sir, andi "I think not, Sir," answered 
 deserve to be sent out of it, Mr. Saunders "I believe not, 
 which you are like enough to I Sir I think it s only twelve 
 be." I 11 inquire , if you please , Sir." 
 
 "I really thought, Sir," said "No, no," said the old gentle- 
 Mr. Saunders, smoothly for he man , " I know it was only twelve 
 knew the old gentleman , and I know your tricks , Sir. Cut 
 knew very well he was a person a piece ott the blue. Now, my 
 that must not be offended "Ijdear, are there any more pieces 
 really thought I was not aware, of which you would like to take 
 Sir, that the young lady had any patterns, to show your mother?" 
 occasion for my services." "No, Sir," said the overjoyed 
 
 "Well, show your wares , Sir, Ellen; "I am sure she will like 
 and hold your tongue. Now, my one of these." 
 dear, what did you want?" "Now, shall we go, then?" 
 
40 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "If you please, Sir," said Ellen, ! They went gaily along El- 
 
 "I should like to have my bitofjlen s heart about five times as 
 
 merino thatl brought from home; light as the one with which she 
 
 Mamma wanted me to bring it I had travelled that very road a 
 
 back again." little while before. Her old friend 
 
 "Where is it?" was in a very cheerful mood, too, 
 
 That gentleman threw it on for he assured Ellen, laughingly, 
 
 the floor." - 1 * 1 -* :i -* - 
 
 that it was of no manner of use 
 
 "Do you hear, Sir?" said the for her to be in a hurry, for he 
 old gentleman; "find it directly."! could not possibly set off and 
 
 Mr. Saunders found and de 
 livered it, after stooping in search 
 of it till he was very red in the 
 
 skip to Green s Hotel, as she 
 seemed inclined to do. They got 
 there at last. Ellen showed the 
 
 face; and he was left, wishing old gentleman into the parlour, 
 heartily that he had some safe ! and ran up stairs in great haste 
 means of revenge, and obliged to (to her mother. But in a few 
 come to the conclusion that none minutes she came down again, 
 was within his reach, and that he | with a very April face , for smiles 
 must stomach his! indignity in the were playing in every feature, 
 best manner he could. But Ellen while the tears were yet wet upon 
 and her protector went forth her cheeks, 
 most joyously together from the 
 
 store. 
 
 ; Do you live far from here?" 
 
 " Mamma hopes you 11 take the 
 trouble, Sir, to come up stairs," 
 she said, seizing his hand; "she 
 wants to thank you herself, Sir." 
 "It is not necessary," said the 
 , old gentleman "it is notneces- 
 
 in Southing-street." | sary at all; " but he followed his 
 
 "I ll go with you," said he ; little conductor, nevertheless, to 
 "and when your mother has! the door of her mother s room, 
 decided which merino she will | into which she ushered him with 
 
 asked the old gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, no, Sir," said Ellen, ^^ 
 very; it s only at Green s Hotel, 
 
 not 
 
 have, we 11 come right back and 
 get it. I do not want to trust you 
 again to the mercy of that saucy 
 
 thank you, Sir!" said 
 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery was looking 
 very ill he saw that at a glance. 
 She rose from her sofa, and ex 
 tending her hand, thanked him, 
 
 clerk." 
 
 "Oh, 
 
 Ellen; "that is "just what I was | with glistening eyes, for his kind- 
 afraid of. But 1 shall be giving I ness to her child, 
 you a great deal of trouble, Sir," "I don t deserve any thanks, 
 she added, in another tone. Ma am," said the old gentleman; 
 
 "No, you won t," said the old "I suppose my little friend has 
 gentleman; "I can t be troubled, told you what made us ac- 
 so you needn t say , any thing Iquainted?" 
 about that." " She gave me a very short ac- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 41 
 
 count of it," said Mrs. Mont 
 gomery. 
 
 "She was very disagreeably 
 tried," said the old gentleman. 
 
 than I can tell you how grateful 
 I am for your kind interference." 
 " Say nothing about that, 
 Ma am 5 the less the better. I am 
 
 I presume you do not need to an old man, and not good for 
 be told, Ma am, that her be- j much now, except to please young 
 haviour was such as would have people. I think myself best off 
 become any years. I assure you, ! when I have the best chance to 
 Ma am, if I had had no kindness | do that. So if you will be so good 
 in my composition to feel for the j as to choose that merino , and let 
 child, my honour as a gentleman Miss Ellen and me go and des- 
 would have made me interfere patch our business , you will be 
 for the lady." conferring, and not receiving, a 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but favour. And any other errand 
 
 ust her 
 see her 
 
 . , . 
 
 looked through glistening eyes! that you please to intrust her 
 again on Ellen. "I am very glad with, I 11 undertake to 
 
 to hear it," she replied. "I was 
 very far from thinking, when I 
 permitted her to go on this er- 
 
 safe through." 
 
 His look and manner obliged 
 Mrs. Montgomery to take him at 
 
 rand , that I was exposing her to ! his word. A very short examina- 
 anything more serious than theltion of Ellen s patterns ended in 
 annoyance a timid child would! favour of the gray merino 5 and 
 feel at having to transact business! Ellen was commissioned, not 
 with strangers." j only to get and pay for this , but 
 
 "I suppose not," said the old 
 gentleman ; " but it isn t a sort of 
 
 also to choose a dark dress of 
 the same stuff, and enough of a 
 
 thing that should be often done, certain article called nankeen for 
 There are all sorts of people in] a coat; Mrs. Montgomery truly 
 this world , and a little one alone opining that the old gentleman s 
 in a crowd is in danger of being care would do more than see her 
 trampled upon." scathless that it would have 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery s heart an- ! some regard to the justness and 
 swered this with an involuntary prudence of her purchases, 
 pang. He saw the shade that! In great glee Ellen set forth 
 passed over her face, as she said, again with her new old friend, 
 sadly Her hand was fast in his, and her 
 
 "I know it, Sir; and it was with ! tongue ran very freely, for her 
 strong unwillingness that I al- heart was completely open to 
 lowed Ellen this morning to do | him. He seemed as pleased to* 
 as she had proposed ; but in truth j listen as she was to talk; and by 
 I was but making a choice be- j little and little Ellen told him all 
 tween difficulties. I am very her history the troubles that 
 sorry I chose as I did. If you are had come upon her in conse- 
 a father, Sir, you know better jquence of her mother s illness, 
 
42 
 
 and her intended 
 prospects. 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 journey and 
 
 That was a happy day to Ellen. 
 
 hood, or quilted bonnet. It was 
 of dark blue silk, well made and 
 pretty. He saw with great satis- 
 
 They returned to St. Clair and j faction that it fitted Ellen well, 
 Fleury s bought the gray me- 1 and would protect her ears nice- 
 rino and the nankeen, and a dark ly; and having paid for it, and 
 brown merino for a dress. (ordered it home, he and Ellen 
 
 "Do you want only one of | sallied forth into the street again, 
 these?" asked the old gentleman. ! But he wouldn t let her thank him. 
 
 "Mamma said only one," said 
 Ellen; "that will last me all the 
 winter." 
 
 It is just the very thing I want 
 ed, Sir," said Ellen; "Mamma 
 was speaking about it the other 
 
 "Well," said he, "I think two j day, and she did not see how I 
 
 will do better. Let us have an- j was ever to get one , 1 
 other of the same piece, Mr. Shop- did not feel at all abl 
 
 man. 
 
 "But I am afraid Mamma won t 
 like it, Sir," said Ellen, gently. 
 
 because she 
 e to go out, 
 
 and I could not get one myself; 
 I know she 11 like it very much." 
 Would you rather have some- 
 
 "Pooh, pooh," said he, "your thing for yourself or your mother, 
 mother has nothing to do with Ellen, if you could choose, and 
 this; this is my affair." He paid have but one?" 
 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 it s precious cold up 
 there in Thirlwall; your paste 
 board 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 
 
 "Oh, for Mamma, Sir," said 
 Ellen "a great deal! " 
 
 "Come inhere," 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 
 
 think you and I could make out|of Green s Hotel, where he com- 
 to choose one that your mother jmitted both to her care. 
 
 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 turn 
 ing over a great many different 
 articles chose her a nice warm 
 
 "Won t you come in, Sir?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "No," said he, "I can t this time 
 I must go home to dinner." 
 
 "And shan t I see you anymore, 
 Sir?" said Ellen, a shade coming 
 over her face, which a minute be 
 fore had been quite joyous. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 43 
 
 "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 sitting quietly 
 together, andEllen had not finish 
 ed 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 beau 
 tiful woodcocks 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 delivered 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 re- j 
 gard for her little daughter, and 
 not feel that he is taking a liber 
 ty? The birds are for Miss Ellen." 
 
 " Oh , Mamma ! " exclaimed 
 
 Ellen, jumping with delight, " did 
 you ever see such a dear old gen 
 tleman? Now I know what he 
 meant yesterday, when he asked 
 me if I would rather have some 
 thing for myself 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. Montgomery; "this is 
 just the season for woodcock, and 
 these are in beautiful condition." 
 
 "Do youlike woodcocks, Mam 
 ma?" " 
 
 "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 in 
 structed accordingly, 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 indus 
 trious." 
 
 "Well, Mamma, I am as willing 
 as can be," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 / 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 apt enough to rise in 
 Ellen s mind upon occasions, 
 were, for the present, kept effec 
 tually in check. She could not 
 forget that her days with her mo 
 ther would very soon be at an 
 end, for a long time at least; and 
 this consciousness, always pre 
 sent to her mind, forbade even 
 the wish to do anything that 
 might grieve or disturb her. Love 
 and tenderness 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 mo 
 ther and daughter enjoyed this 
 interval the more keenly because 
 they knew that sorrow was at 
 hand. 
 
 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 
 somefine larks; next was a superb 
 grouse; then woodcock again. 
 Curiosity strove with astonish 
 ment 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 gentle 
 man 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 dishonourable." 
 
 "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 disclose 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 kind 
 ness." 
 
 "Yes, it wouldn t be doing as I 
 would be done by. to be sure ; but 
 would it be dishonourable, Mam- 
 ima?" 
 
 "Very. It is very dishonourable 
 to try to find out that about other 
 people which does not concern 
 you, and which they wish to keep 
 from you. Kemember that, my 
 dear daughter." 
 
 "I will , Mamma. I 11 never do 
 it, I promise you." 
 
 "Even in talking with people, 
 if you discern in them any unwill 
 ingness to speak upon a subject, 
 avoid it immediately, provided, 
 of course, that some higher in 
 terest do not oblige you to go on. 
 That is true politeness , and true 
 [kindness, which are nearly the 
 same; arid not to do so, I assure 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 45 
 
 you, Ellen, proves one wanting! Sir; but I will always love you 
 
 is h 
 
 in true honour. 
 
 "Well, Mamma, I don t care 
 what his name is at least I won t 
 try to find out; but it does wo 
 me that I cannot thank him. Iwis 
 he knew how much I feel obliged 
 to him." 
 
 "Very well ; write and tell him 
 so." 
 
 "Mamma!" said Ellen, open 
 ing 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 11 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 youremember 
 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 fol 
 lowing note for her mother s in 
 spection: 
 
 "Ellen Montgomery does not 
 knowhowto thank the old gentle 
 man 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 your kindness is 
 the best of all. I can t tell you 
 how much I am obliged to you, 
 
 for all you have done for me. 
 
 "ELLEN MONTGOMERY." 
 
 This note Mrs. Montgomery ap 
 proved; and Ellen having, with 
 great care and great satisfaction, 
 enclosed it in an envelope, suc 
 ceeded in sealing it according to 
 rule, and very well. Mrs. Mont 
 gomery laughed when she saw 
 the direction, but let it go. With 
 out 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. 
 
 Night and Morning. 
 
 OCTOBER was now far advanced. 
 One evening the evening of the 
 last Sunday in the month Mrs. 
 Montgomery was lying in the 
 parlour alone. Ellen had gone to 
 bed sometime 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 Mont 
 gomery 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 
 most quietly and sweetly it had 
 passed. They had read together, 
 prayed together, talked together 
 a great deal; and the evening 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 had been spent in singing hymns 5 
 "but Mrs. Montgomery s strength 
 failed here, andEllen 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 consola 
 tion, by themere force of associa 
 tion needed not the recommen 
 dation 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 sighing shall be no 
 more, and the tears shall be 
 wiped from all eyes for ever. 
 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. Montgomery, 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 here 
 tofore , and I do not doubt it will 
 be the same with this last and 
 worst one. Letus glorify him in the 
 fires, my daughter ; and if earthly 
 joys be stripped from us, and if 
 we be torn 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 em 
 brace ! This one , for particular 
 reasons, was often and long re 
 membered. A few minutes they 
 remained thus in each other s 
 arms, cheek pressed against 
 cheek, without speaking; but 
 then Mrs. Montgomery remem 
 bered that Ellen s bed-time was 
 already past, and dismissed her. 
 
 For a while after, Mrs. Mont- 
 
 f ornery remained j ust where Ellen 
 ad 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 tick 
 ing of the clock sounded with 
 that sad distinctness which seem," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 47 
 
 edtosay " Time is going on | "lam very glad of it, indeed," 
 time is going on and you are said he; "it s quite a load off my 
 going with it do what you will, mind. Now we 11 be gone directly, 
 you can t help that." It was just j and high time it is I ll take 
 upon the stroke of ten, and Mrs. passage in the England the first 
 Montgomery was still wrapped in i thing to-morrow. And this is the 
 her deep musings , when a sharp, \ best possible chance for Ellen 
 brisk footstep in the distance [everything we could have desired, 
 aroused her, rapidly approach-! I began to feel very uneasy about 
 ing; and she knew very well it it was getting so late; but I 
 whose it was, and that it would jam quite relieved now." 
 pause at the door, before she! "Who is it?" said Mrs. Mont- 
 heard the quick run up the steps, | gomery, forcing herself to speak, 
 succeeded by her husband s tread! "Why, it s Mrs. Dunscombe," 
 upon the staircase. And yet she said the captain, flourishing his 
 saw him open the door with a poker by way of illustration; 
 kind of startled feeling, which! "you know her, don t you? 
 his appearance now invariably Captain Dunscombe s wife 
 caused her ; the thought always j she s going right through Thirl- 
 darted through her head , " Per- 1 wall, and will take charge of 
 haps he brings news of Ellen s j Ellen as far as that, and there 
 going." Something, it would have! my sister will meet her with a 
 been impossible to say what, in | waggon and take her straight 
 his appearance or manner, con- j home. Couldn t be anything 
 firmed this fear on the present better. I write to let For- 
 occasion. Her heart felt sick, I tune know when to expect her. 
 and she waited in silence to hear j Mrs. Dunscombe is a lady of the 
 what he would say. He seemed j first family and fashion in the 
 very well pleased sat down be- highest degree respectable ; she 
 fore the fire ^ rubbing his hands, I is going on to Fort Jameson, with 
 partly with cold and partly with i her daughter and a servant, and 
 satisfaction ; and his first words j her husband is to follow her in a 
 were ."Well! we have got a fine few days. I happened to hear 
 opportunity for her at last." of it to-day, and I immediately 
 
 How little he was capable of j seized the opportunity to ask if 
 understanding the pang this an- j she would not take Ellen with 
 nouncement gave his poor wife !| her as far as Thirl wall, andDuns- 
 But she only closed her eyes and; combe was only too glad to oblige 
 kept perfectly quiet, and he neverM me. I m a very good friend of 
 
 suspected it. 
 
 iff He unbuttoned his coat, and 
 
 taking the poker in his hand, 
 
 his , and he knows it. 
 "How soon does she go?" 
 "Why, that s the only part of 
 
 began to mend the fire, talking the business I am afraid you 
 the while. won t like i but there is n.o help 
 
48 
 
 for it; and, after all , it is 
 deal better so than if you had 
 time to wear yourselves out with 
 mourning; 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-mor 
 row 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 wearyourself out if youhad 
 time enough, and you haven t any 
 strength to spare." 
 
 It was some while before 
 Mrs. Montgomery could recover 
 composure and firmness enough 
 to go on with what she had to do, 
 though, knowing the necessity, 
 she strove hardforit. For several 
 minutes she remained quite silent 
 and quiet, endeavouring to collect 
 her scattered forces; then sitting 
 upright and drawing her shawl 
 around her, she exclaimed 
 
 "I must waken Ellen imme 
 diately ! " 
 
 "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 
 
 THE WIDE, "WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a great ! telling her until to- 
 
 i _ 3 _O!> ~:ji\/r TVT 
 
 -morrow morn 
 ing?" 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 un 
 decided and unsatisfied. 
 
 "I 11 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." 
 
 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." 
 
 "Butyou ll not disturb Ell en?" 
 said he , in a tone that required a 
 promise. 
 
 "Not if I can help it." 
 
 Twice Mrs. Montgomery stop- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 49 
 
 ped before she reached the door hearing, and touch, must all have 
 of Ellen s room, for her heart done ^enceforth for ever. Keenly 
 failed her. But she must go on, as Mrs. Montgomery felt this, she 
 and the necessary preparations went on busily with her work all 
 for the morrow must be made the while, and when the last thing 
 she knew it; and repeating this was safely packed, shut the trunk 
 to herself , she gently turned the and locked it, without allowing 
 handle of the door, and pushed herself to stop and think, and 
 it open, and guarding the light even drew the straps. And then, 
 with her hand from Ellen s eyes, having finished all her task, she 
 she set it whereitwould not shine went to the bedside ; she had not 
 upon her. Having done this, she looked that way before. 
 
 set herself, without once glancing 
 at her little daughter, to put all 
 things in order for her early 
 departure on the following morn 
 ing. But it was a bitter piece of 
 work for her. She first laid out 
 all that Ellen would need to wear; 
 
 Ellen was lying in the deep, 
 sweet sleep of childhood ; 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; 
 
 the dark merino, the new nankeen j for once, when Mrs. Montgomery 
 
 coat, the white bonnet, the clean 
 frill that her own hands had done 
 up, the little gloves and shoes, 
 
 stooped to kiss her, light as the 
 touch of that kiss had been upon 
 her lips, it seemed to awaken a 
 
 and all the etceteras, with the j train of sorrowful recollections in 
 thoughtfulness and the careful- j the little sleeper s mind. A shade 
 ness of love ; but it went through : passed over her face , and with 
 and through her heart that it was | gentle but sad accent the word 
 the very last time a mother s "Mamma!" burst from the parted 
 fingers would ever be busy in lips. Only a moment and the 
 arranging or preparing Ellen s shade passed away, and the 
 attire; the very last time she j expression of peace settled 
 would ever see or touch even; again upon her brow; but 
 the little inanimate things that, Mrs. Montgomery dared not try 
 belonged to her; and painful as | the experiment a second time, 
 the task was, she was loth to have. Long she stood looking upon her, 
 it come to an end. It was with a as if she knew she was looking 
 kind of lingering unwillingness her last; then she knelt by the 
 to quit her hold of them, that one bedside, and hid her face in the 
 thing after another was stowed coverings but no tears came ; 
 carefully and neatly away in the the struggle in her mind, and her 
 trunk. She felt it was love s last anxious fear of the morning s 
 act; words might indeed a few, trial, made weeping impossible, 
 times yet come over the ocean on Her husband at length came to 
 a sheet of paper; but sight, and seek her, and it was well he did; 
 The Wide, Wide World. 4 
 
50 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 she would have remained there 
 on her knees all night. He feared 
 something of the kind, and came 
 to prevent it. 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 sud 
 denly told the truth , kept her in 
 an agony. In restless wake- 
 fulness she tossed and turned 
 uneasily upon her bed , watching 
 for the dawn, and dreading 
 unspeakably to see it. The cap 
 tain, in happy^ unconsciousness 
 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 watching 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 
 husband 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 over well pleased 
 at the interruption. 
 
 "It is time to wake Ellen." 
 "No, it isn t," said he, relap 
 
 sing; "it isn t time yet this great 
 while." 
 
 " Oh yes, it is," said Mrs.Mont- 
 gomery; "I am sure it is; I see 
 ;he beginning of dawn in the east." 
 
 "Nonsense! it s no such thing; 
 t 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." 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 11 take care it is done 
 in proper time." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery sighed heavi 
 ly, and again arranged herself to 
 watch the eastern horizon, or 
 rather with her face in that direc 
 tion; for she could see nothing. 
 But, more quietly now, she lay 
 gazing into the darkness, which 
 it was in vain to try to pene 
 trate; 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 Mont 
 gomery, 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD- 
 
 51 
 
 said, unable to control herself. 
 "Never mind brushing your hair 
 till afterwards. She will have no 
 time for 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 your 
 self you re getting as nervous 
 as possible. I m going imme 
 diately." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery fairly groan 
 ed 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 long in finishing ; 
 and then taking the lamp , he at 
 last went. He had in truth 
 delayed on purpose , wishing the 
 final leave-taking to be as brief 
 as possible 5 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 expres 
 sion of calmness andpeace spread 
 over her whole face and person. 
 It touched even him; and he was 
 nol 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, however; the increasing 
 light warned him he must not 
 tarry; but it was with a hesitating 
 and almost faltering 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 astonishment at first with 
 which she regarded her father, 
 but very soon indeed that changed 
 into one of blank despair. He saw 
 that she understood perfectly 
 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 her stockings 
 and shoes. 
 
 " That s right now you 11 be 
 ready directly. You are going 
 with Mrs. Dunscombe I have 
 engaged her to take charge of 
 you all the way quite to Thirl- 
 wall; 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. 
 
 4* 
 
52 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "How did she bear it?" asked 
 Mrs. Montgomery, when he re 
 
 turned. 
 
 Like a little hero. 
 
 She didn t 
 1 
 
 say a word, or shed a tear, 
 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, 
 admirably, 
 
 She behaved 
 
 Mrs.Montgomery sighed deeply. 
 She understood far better than 
 her husband what Ellen s feelings 
 were, and could interpret much 
 more truly than he the signs of 
 them; the conclusion she drew 
 from Ellen s silent and tearless 
 reception of the news differed 
 widely from his. She now waited 
 anxiously and almo st fearfully for 
 her appearance, 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 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 j know that the whole of bitterness 
 always did: it was in vain: all j death had for her mother she was 
 was in a whirl in her heart and j tasting then. But it was true, 
 head, and after a minute she rose Death had no more power to give 
 again, clasping her little hands \ her pain after this parting should 
 
 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 down -stairs. 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 imme 
 diately her father opening the 
 do or to come out. Without waiting 
 any longer, Ellen opened her own, 
 and brushed past him into the 
 room he had quitted. Mrs. Mont- 
 
 jomerywas 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 expres 
 sion , 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 53 
 
 be over. His after- work the 
 parting between soul and body 
 would be welcome, rather; yes, 
 very welcome. Mrs. Montgomery 
 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 company 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 dis 
 cipline ; and in proportion violent 
 was the tempest excited by this 
 first real trial. JPerhaps, too, her 
 sorrow was sharpened by a sense 
 ofwrong, and a feeling of indigna 
 tion at her father s cruelty in not 
 waking her earlier. 
 
 Not many minutes had passed 
 in this sad embrace , and no word 
 had yet been spoken, no sound 
 uttered, except Ellen s first in 
 articulate 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 
 
 been the matter, only her voice 
 fell a little towards the last. 
 
 "God bless my darling child! 
 and make her his own and 
 bring her to that home where 
 parting cannot be ! " 
 
 Ellen s eyes had been dry until 
 now, but when she heard the 
 sweet sound of her mother s 
 voice , it opened all the fountains 
 of tenderness within her. She 
 burst into uncontrollable weep 
 ing; 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 any 
 thing that was said to her. He 
 was very unwilling to use harsh 
 ness; and after a little, though 
 she had paid no attention to his 
 entreaties or commands, yet, sen 
 sible 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 car 
 
 riage 
 
 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 
 
 paper of candies and sugar-plur 
 in her lap. She knew nothing b 
 
 that she had lost her mother. 
 
 ms 
 ut 
 
 from her mother, she burst forth not know that he put a large 
 with, "Mamma! speak!" 
 
 A momenj; 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 
 
 "It will not be so lon( 
 the captain, in a kind oJ 
 
 said 
 apolo 
 
 gizing way; "she will soon get 
 
54 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 over it, and you will uot 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?" 
 
 "Without a bonnet! no," 
 said the captain. "How is this? 
 hasn t she a bonnet? I beg 1 a 
 thousand pardons, Ma am I ll 
 bring it on the instant." 
 
 After a little delay, the bonnet 
 was found , but the captain over 
 looked the gloves in his hurry. - 
 
 "I am very sorry you have 
 b sen 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 travelling companion. 
 
 thing and now I ll go and en 
 gage berths in the England. " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "Strangers walk as friends." 
 THE long drive to the boat was 
 only a sorrowful blank to Ellen s 
 recollection. She did not see the 
 
 riment to Margaret Dunscombe 
 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 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 Mont 
 gomery , 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 quick the traces of them as 
 well as she could, she got out of 
 
 But Ellen s off that s one good the carriage without a word, 
 
 aided byMrs.Dunscombe s hand. 
 The party were presently joined 
 by a fine -looking man, whom 
 Ellen recognised as Captain 
 Dunscombe. 
 
 "Dunscombe, do put these girls 
 on board, willyou ? and then come 
 back to me; I want jto speak to 
 
 frowns that passed between her you. Timmins, you may go along 
 companions on her account. She and look after them." 
 
 companions 
 
 did not know that her white 
 
 bonnet was such a matter of mer- 
 
 Captain Dunscombe obeyed. 
 When they reached the deck, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 55 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 the guards of the boat, not far ail that wide-spread city; but it 
 
 from the gangway, to watch the 
 busy scene that at another time 
 would have had a great deal of 
 interest and amusement for her. 
 
 was there, somewhere and 
 every minute was making it far 
 ther and farther off. It s a bitter 
 
 thing, that sailing away from all 
 
 And interest it had now; but it one loves; and poor Ellen felt it 
 was with a very, very grave little so. She stood leaning both her 
 face that she looked on the arms upon the rail, the tears 
 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 ; 
 
 1/AHJ.Vy \J \ji\^ JJACtV^O lJ\J J-^lJ AL M \J O^VyJU. ^ 
 
 so for the present she occupied 
 herself with what was passing 
 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 
 Avife 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 
 
 running down her cheeks, and 
 blinding her so that she could 
 not see the place towards 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 summons, and fol 
 lowed Timmins into the cabin. It 
 was full of groups of ladies , chil 
 dren, and nurses bustling and 
 noisy enough. Ellen wished she 
 might have stayed outside; she 
 wanted to be by herself; but, as 
 the next best thing, she mounted 
 upon the bench, which ran all 
 
 the wharf and the people upon! round the saloon, and kneeling 
 it were sailing away from them | on the cushion by one of the win- 
 backwards; but she presently j dows , placed herself with the 
 forgot to think of them at all. j edge of her bonnet just touching 
 She was gone ! she felt the the glass , so that nobody could 
 bitterness of the whole truth; -jsee a bit of her face, while she 
 the blue water already lay be- ! could look out nearly as well as 
 tweeu her and the shore , where j from the deck. Presently her ear 
 she so much longed to be. In that i caught, as she thought, the voice 
 confused mass of buildings at I of Mrs. Dunscombe, saying in 
 which she was gazing , but which j rather an undertone , but laugh- 
 
56 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ing, 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 colour 
 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 Duns- 
 combe 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 sun-bonnet 
 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 
 lightning of passion shot through 
 every vein. And it was not pas 
 sion only : there was hurt feeling 
 and wounded pride ; and the sor 
 row of which her heart was full 
 enough before, now wakened 
 afresh. The child was beside her 
 self. One wild wish for a hiding- 
 place was the most pressing 
 thought to be where her tears 
 could burst and her heart could 
 break unseen. She slid off her 
 bench and rushed through the 
 crowd to the red curtain that put 
 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. No 
 body 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,andnowthepent-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 possible. It was the 
 very bitterness 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 number 
 less 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 mo 
 ment, it was only to break out 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 57 
 
 afresh. And then she was glad to 
 sit still and rest herself. 
 
 Presently she heard the voice 
 of the chambermaid upstairs , at 
 a distance at first, and coming 
 nearer and nearer. "Breakfast 
 ready, ladies! Ladies, break 
 fast 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 rest 
 less 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 quick and 
 as quietly as she could. She 
 found almost nobody left in the 
 saloon and, breathing more 
 freely, she possessed herself of 
 her despised 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 ex 
 cept 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 interrupted 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 pass 
 through her mind, when she first 
 went up, how very fair every 
 thing 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 part 
 ing 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 
 
58 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 little face had a deep sadness ofjtenance. It won her confidence 
 expression it was sorrowful to | immediately. All the floodgates 
 see. She was perfectly calm |of Ellen s heart were at once 
 her violent excitement had air opened. She could not speak, 
 left her her lip quivered a very j but rising, and clasping the hand 
 little, sometimes, but that was all; that was held out to her in both 
 and one or two tears rolled slow- ! her own, she bent down her head 
 ly down the side of her face. Her | upon it, and burst into one of 
 
 eyes were fixed upon the dancing 
 water, but it was very plain her 
 thoughts were not, nor on any 
 thing else before her; and there 
 was a forlorn look of hopeless 
 sorrow on her lip, and cheek, 
 and brow, enough to move any 
 body whose heart was not very 
 hard. She was noticed , and with 
 a feeling of compassion, by seve 
 ral people ; but they all thought 
 it was none of their business 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 j 
 in front of her, and, bend: 
 
 ust 
 ing 
 face towards hers, 
 
 down his 
 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 cheek flushed with surprise 
 as she looked up. But there was 
 110 mistaking the look of kind 
 ness in the eyes that met hers, 
 nor the gentleness and grave 
 truthfulness of the whole coun- 
 
 those uncontrollable agonies of 
 weeping, such as the news of her 
 mother s intended departure had 
 occasioned the first sorrowful 
 evening. He gently, and as soon 
 as he could, drew her to a re 
 
 tired 
 they 
 
 part 
 were 
 
 of the deck, where 
 comparatively free 
 
 from other people s eyes and 
 ears; then, taking her in his 
 arms, he endeavoured 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 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," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 59 
 
 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 for 
 ever." 
 
 "Ellen, do you know who it 
 is that sends sickness 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 willing 
 ly he has said so; why does 
 he ever make us suffer? do you 
 know?" 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "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 per 
 
 haps it is a dear mother, or a 
 dear daughter or else he hin 
 ders 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 children, Ellen?" 
 
 "NOj 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 1 did not love him 
 best; and, oh! Sir," said Ellen, 
 weeping, "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 for 
 getting him; and he loved you, 
 Ellen; and so he has taken your 
 
60 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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, 
 that you may love him? " 
 
 "No, Sir," said Ellen; "not 
 often." 
 
 " You pray to him, don t you ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sir; but not so." 
 
 "But you ought to pray to him 
 so. We are all blind by nature, 
 Ellen ; we are all hard-heart 
 ed; 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 who seek him. Do you re 
 member what the blind man said 
 when Jesus asked him what he 
 should do for him? he an 
 swered, Lord, that I may re 
 ceive 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?" 
 
 A smile was almost struggling 
 through Ellen s tears as she lift 
 ed 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 small 
 est thing, she has always been 
 watchfully 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 61 
 
 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 find 
 ing her ready and willing to feel 
 with you, and for you, and to 
 help you if she could? 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." 
 
 the love and gratitude of your 
 whole heart, haven t you?" 
 
 "Indeed I have, Sir;" and El 
 len 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 continued to love 
 you as she does?" 
 
 "No, Sir," said Ellen "I do 
 not think she would." 
 
 "Have you ever 1 made any fit 
 return to Grod for his goodness 
 to you?" 
 
 "No, Sir," said Ellen, in a low 
 
 tone. 
 "And 
 
 has bee 
 
 you every 
 thing you 
 
 "And you can recollect a great 
 many words and looks of kind 
 ness and love many and many 
 endeavours to teach you and lead 
 
 you in the right way all show- - " Ana . ^ 1 t . ne f e * as T bee ? n 
 ing the strongest desire for your cna . n ge m fas kindness. Just look 
 happiness in this world and in 
 the next?" 
 
 "Oh yes, Sir," said Ellen, 
 tearfully; and then added, "Do I 
 you know my mother Sir? ! Eaye . ^ ^ whoT j 
 
 "No said he, smiling, "not; Yo u love your mother, because 
 at all; but my own mother has ; she is so areful to ovide f 
 been m many things like this to a ii your wants . but P who gave 
 me, and I judged yours might her the materials to work with? - 
 have been such to you. Have I S he has only been, as it were, 
 described her right?" | the hand b / which he lie( j 
 
 Yes indeed, Sir," said El-| YO u. And who gave you such a 
 len "exactly." j mother? - There are many mo- 
 
 "And in return for all this,!thers not like her; who put 
 you have given this dear mother into her heart the truth and love 
 
 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 
 good and pleasant 
 
62 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 forgotten him 
 in the very gifts of this 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 , yet for 
 our sakes he became poor, that 
 we through his poverty might be 
 rich. He took your burden of 
 sin upon himself, 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 re 
 turn?" 
 
 Ellen had nothing to say 5 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 fold you 
 in his arms , as he has 
 
 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 
 loves 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." 
 
 "I know, my child, that sinful 
 heart of yours is in the way, but 
 the Lord Jesus can change it, 
 and will, if you will give it to him. 
 He is looking upon you now, El 
 len, with more kindness and love 
 promised than any earthly father or mother 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 63 
 
 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 pas 
 sion and bitterness of her tears 
 was gone. Her heart was com 
 pletely 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 
 awayup 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 
 
 "Ellen, could you join in heart 
 with my words?" 
 
 "I did, Sir I couldn t help 
 it all but the last." 
 
 "All but the last?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 "But, Ellen, if you say the 
 first part of my prayer with 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 al 
 ways; 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 
 
 now and say to him in your;i n earne st, is there nothing you 
 heart, Lord, look upon me I ha 
 
 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, 
 dear Saviour! " 
 These words were spoken very 
 
 have to do besides praying? 1 
 
 Ellen looked at him without 
 making any answer. 
 
 "When a person is in earnest, 
 how does he show it? " 
 
 "JBy doing everything he pos 
 sibly can to get what he wants." 
 
 " Quite right," said her friend, 
 smiling; "and has God bidden 
 us do nothing besides pray for a 
 
 low, that only Ellen could catch! new heart?" 
 them. Her bowed head sank! "Oh yes, Sir, he has told us 
 lower and lower till he ceased to do a great many things." 
 .speaking. He added no more for j "And will he be likely to grant 
 some time, waited till she had ! that prayer, Ellen, if he sees that 
 resumed her usual attitude and you do not care about displeasing 
 appearance , and then said | him in those great many things ? 
 
64 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Oh, matchless kindness! and he shows 
 This matchless kindness to his foes. 
 
 Admit him for the human breast 
 Ne er entertain d so kind a guest; 
 I 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, and conquer sin. 
 Here now to thee I all resign 
 My body, so.ul, and all are thine." 
 
 The last two lines Ellen longed 
 
 will he judge that you are sin 
 cere in wishing for a new heart? " 
 "Oh no, Sir!" 
 
 "Then, if you are resolved to j 
 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 I 
 you are sure the help will come ; 
 
 and from this good day you will! to say, but could not: the two 
 seek to know and to do the will j preceding were the very speech 
 of God, trusting in his dear Son of her heart, 
 to perfect that which concerneth Not more than fifteen minutes 
 you. My little child," said the j 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 
 
 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 mo 
 ments business downstairs to at 
 tend 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 sitting 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 
 
 41 Behold the Saviour at thy door; 
 
 He gently knocks, 
 
 fore , 
 Has waited long, 
 
 has knock d be- 
 waiting still, 
 
 God bless you, and help you, 
 my dear Ellen ! " said he , gently 
 
 Oh , lovely attitude ! - he stands passing his hand over her head ; 
 
 With open heart and outstretched hands; "DUt QO not Cry any more 
 
 You treat no other friend so ill. 
 
 agan. 
 
 "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 vio 
 lently. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 65 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Leaves us in the Street. 
 
 THE going over the boat held 
 
 them a long time, for Ellen s new Ellen would have been quite 
 friend took kind pains to explain satisfied though the gentleman 
 to her whatever he thought he had done no more than merely 
 
 "No, indeed, ^ Sir, I don t, 1 
 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 shan t be a trouble 
 to you, Sir." 
 
 " Come this way," said he, " and 
 we 11 see if we cannot find a nice 
 place to sit down, where no one 
 Avill trouble us." 
 
 Such a place was found. And 
 
 could make interesting; he was 
 amused to find how far she 
 pushed her inquiries 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 
 
 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 him- 
 
 through the whole "would you self, weariness and faintness 
 like to go to your friends?" 
 
 "I haven t any friends on board, 
 Sir," said Ellen, with a swelling | violently excited that day. A 
 
 stole over her. She had had 
 nothing to eat, and had been 
 
 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 tmfriends? I hope 
 you don t think, Ellen, that 
 
 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 
 
 strangers cannot be friends too? "j re sting-place than it had chosen, 
 The WMe- Wide World. 
 
66 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 And there she slept till the 
 dinner-bell rang. Timmins was 
 sent out to look for her, but Tim 
 mins did not choose to meddle 
 with the grave protector Ellen 
 seemed to have gained; and Mrs. 
 Dunscombe declared herself re 
 joiced 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 ap 
 pearance of everything in the 
 mild hazy sunlight. Another 
 gentleman, however, joining 
 them , and entering into conver 
 sation, Ellen silently quitted her 
 friend s hand, and went and sat 
 down at the side of the boat. 
 After taking a few turns more, 
 and while still engaged in talk 
 ing, 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 having 
 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 
 here." 
 
 "Have you?" said he; "which 
 are they?" 
 
 "One of them is the one you 
 showed me this morning , Sir." 
 
 "And what is your mind now 
 about the question I asked you 
 this morning?" 
 
 Ellen cast down her eyes from 
 his inquiring glance, and answer 
 ed, in a low voice, "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, turning 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 plea 
 sure. 
 
 "I have put this mark," said 
 tie, showing her a particular 
 one, "in a few places of this 
 book, for you; wherever you 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 67 
 
 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 kindness 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 forgetting 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." 
 
 "Then take some for to-mor 
 row, Sir please do,"saidEllen, 
 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 wautthemto-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 blowingpretty 
 fresh, andyou ve beenbonnetless 
 all day what s the reason?" 
 
 Ellen looked down, and co 
 loured a good deal. 
 
 "What s the matter?" saidhe, 
 laughing: " has any mischief be 
 fallen your bonnet? " 
 
 " No , Sir ," said Ellen , in a low 
 tone, her colour mounting higher 
 and higher " it was laughed at, 
 this morning." 
 
 "Laughed at! who laughed 
 at it?" 
 
 "Mrs. Dunscombe, and her 
 daughter , and her maid." 
 
 "Did they? I don t see much 
 reason in that, I confess. 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 
 bareheaded all day? Didn t your 
 mother wish you to wear that 
 bonnet?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 "Then that ought to be enough 
 for you. Will you be ashamed of 
 5* 
 
68 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD- 
 
 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 honour 
 ing her as she deserves?" 
 
 "No, Sir," said Ellen, looking 
 up into his face; "but I never 
 thought of that before I am 
 sorry." 
 
 i " 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, 
 trying 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 disposed to 
 wards 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 
 goodwill 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, my dear Ellen, you 
 have something to do, if you 
 were in earnest in the resolve you 
 made this morning. 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 splendour, and 
 now was just kissing the moun 
 tain-tops of the western horizon. 
 Slowly and with great majesty 
 he sank behind the distant blue 
 line, till only a glittering edge ap 
 peared and then that was gone. 
 There were no clouds hanging 
 lover his setting, to be gilded and 
 -purpled by the parting rays , but 
 & region of glory long remained, 
 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 suri dis 
 appeared, Ellen turned her face, 
 bright again, towards her com 
 panion. He was intently gazing 
 towards the hills that had so 
 drawn Ellen s attention a while 
 ago , and thinking still more in 
 tently, it was plain; so, though 
 her mouth had been open to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 69 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 and the sober gray of twilight 
 
 "I have been thinking, Sir, of j was gently stealing over all the 
 what you said to me." bright colours of sky, and river, 
 
 "Well?" said he, smiling, in and hill; no wand then a twinkling 
 answer. j light began to appear along the 
 
 "I can t like Mrs. Dunscombe j shores. 
 
 and MissDunscombe as well as if | "Yon are very tired," said 
 they hadn t done so to me , but I \ Ellen s friend to her "I see you 
 will try to behave as if nothing! are. A little more patience, my 
 had been the matter, and be as ; child we shall be at our jour- 
 kind and polite to them as if they !nev s end before a very great 
 
 had been kind and polite to me. 
 
 "And how about the sugar 
 plums?" 
 
 " The sugar-plums ! 
 
 11_ 1 1* //IT* 
 
 while. 
 
 "I am almost sorry," said Ellen, 
 
 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 
 
 " though I am tired. We don t go 
 Oh," said [in the steamboat to-morrow, do 
 
 we, Sir?" 
 
 "No in the stage." 
 "Shall you be in the 
 
 Sir?" 
 "No, my child. But I am glad 
 
 that you and I have spent this 
 
 overcome a wrong feeling. You i day together." 
 mustn t _ rest ^ till you get rid of! "Oh, Sir," said Ellen, "I don t 
 every bit of ill-will that ;you feel know what I should have done 
 for this and any other unkindness if it hadn t been for you." 
 you may suffer. You cannot do it j There was silence again , and 
 yourself, but you know who can the gentleman almost thought his 
 help you. I hope you have asked ; little charge had fallen asleep, 
 Him, Ellen?" she sat so still. But she suddenly 
 
 "I have, Sir, indeed." spoke again, and in a tone of 
 
 "Keep asking Him, and he will voice that showed sleep was far 
 do everything for you." away. 
 
 A silence of some length fol- "I wish I knew where Mamma 
 lowed. Ellen began to feel very i is now." 
 
 much the fatigue of this exciting ! "I do not doubt, my child, 
 day, and sat quietly by her from what you told me , that it is 
 friend s side leaning against him. j well with her, wherever she is. 
 The wind had changed about Let that thought comfort, you 
 sundown, and now blew light [ whenever you remember her." 
 
70 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 11 make it 
 now? she 11 want me oh ! what 
 shall I do ! " and , overcome com 
 pletely 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 endeavoured, as soon 
 as he might, to 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 en 
 deavours 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 ascend 
 ing the stairs, which, upon nearer 
 approach , proved by the voice to 
 be Timmins. 
 
 "Is this Miss Montgomery?" 
 said she -"I can t see, I am sure, 
 it s so dark. Is that y*u, Miss 
 Montgomery?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, "it is I; do 
 you want me?" 
 
 "If you please, Miss, Mrs. Duns- 
 combe wants you to come right 
 down; we re almost in, she says, 
 Miss." 
 
 "I ll come directly, Miss Tim 
 mins," 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 protec- 
 tionEllen seemed to have gained. 
 
 "I must go ," said Ellen , stand 
 ing up and extending 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 Ellen 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 
 
 foodnight! you will feel better, 
 trust, when you have had some 
 rest and refreshment." 
 
 He took care of her down the 
 stairs, and saw her 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 bag 
 gage "theEagle, orFoster s?" 
 
 "The Eagle," said Mrs. Duns- 
 combe. 
 
 " Come this way, then, Ma am," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 71 
 
 said another man, the driver of 
 theEagle carriage; "now,Ma am, 
 step in, if you please." 
 Mrs.Dunscombe puther daugh 
 
 ter in. 
 "But it s 
 
 full!" said she to 
 
 the driver-, "there isn t room for 
 
 another one!" 
 "Oh yes, Ma am, 
 
 there 
 
 said the driver, holding the door 
 
 veller. 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, 
 
 open "there s plenty of room for I gicdu jLaiiv,j w *m^, j^..^*^, 
 you, Ma am just get in, Ma am, | and let her do as she pleased, 
 if you please we ll be there in; keeping all her wonderment to 
 
 herself. 
 
 less than two minutes." 
 
 "Timmins, you 11 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. Duns- 
 combe , getting in ; " Timmins, 
 you know the way." 
 
 And off went the coach with its 
 load; but, tired as she was , Ellen 
 did not wish herself in it. 
 
 Picking a passage-way out of 
 the crowd , she and Timmins 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 
 
 " Take care. Miss Ellen ! " cried 
 Timmins , giving her arm a great 
 pull; "I declare I just saved you 
 out of that gutter! Poor child! 
 you are dreadfully 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.Dunscombe will want to ride 
 one of these days herself, and 
 can t." 
 
 "Oh, don t say so, Miss Tim- 
 mius," said Ellen; "I don t wish 
 so, indeed." 
 
 "Well, I should think you 
 would," said Timmins; "I should 
 think you d be fit to poison her; 
 / should, I know, if I was in 
 
 your place." 
 Oh, 
 
 said Ellen, "that 
 
 wouldn t be right that would 
 
 enough in the place she had left, ! be very wrong. 
 
 to feel at home there: but here "Wrong!" said Timmins; "why 
 
 she came to no street or crossing! would it be wrong? she hasn t 
 
 that she had ever seen before; [behaved good to you." 
 
 nothing looked familiar; all re-| "Yes," said Ellen; "but don t 
 
 minded her that she was a tra-|you know the Bible says, if we do 
 
72 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 not forgive people what thev do 
 to us, we shall not be forgiven 
 ourselves." 
 
 "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 
 parlour. 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 her 
 self 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, be 
 tween them, fully made up her 
 share of fretting. At length a ser 
 vant brought the welcome news 
 that their room was ready, and 
 the three marched up stairs. It 
 made Ellen s very heart glad, 
 when they had got there , to find 
 a good -sized, cheerful -looking 
 bedroom, comfortably furnished, 
 
 combe set about arranging her 
 self for the tea-table. 
 
 "Well!" >s he 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 11 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 sup 
 pose men always are. Look 
 
 , here, Margaret Ican tgodown 
 
 with a bright fire burning, large to tea with a train of children at 
 curtains let down to the floor, my heels. I shall leave you and 
 and a nice warm carpet upon it. Ellen up here, and I ll send up 
 Taking off her bonnet , and only j your tea to you." 
 
 that, she sat down on a low 
 cushion by the corner of the 
 fireplace, and leaning her head 
 against the jamb , fell fast asleep 
 almost immediately. Mrs. Duns- 
 
 "Oh no, Mamma!" said Mar 
 garet, eagerly "I want to go 
 down with you. Look here, Mam 
 ma! she s asleep, and you needn t 
 wake her up that s, excuse 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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." 
 
 "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 , y^ou see, 
 I shall have to stay up stairs." 
 
 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 employed 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. Pre 
 sently came a knock at the door 
 " The tea for the young lady," 
 on a waiter. Miss Timmins si 
 lently 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 break 
 fast! 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 or money. 
 So just you sleep on , darling, till 
 I see what I can do for you." 
 
 In great indignation, down 
 stairs went Miss Timmins ; 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, 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 up 
 stairs that I want some supper for 
 she s a sweet child, and she s 
 under the care of some proud 
 folks here in the tea-room that 
 think it s too much trouble to 
 look at her; 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 some 
 thing 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 to 
 wards 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 
 
74 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 11 
 give you the whole bill of fare. 
 There s a very fine beefsteak, fri 
 casseed chickens, stewed oysters, 
 sliced ham, cheese, preserved 
 quinces, with the usual comple 
 ment of bread and toast, and 
 muffins, and dough -nuts, and 
 new -year -cake, and plenty of 
 butter likewise salt and pepper 
 
 likewise 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?" 
 
 "I guess I ll have some of the 
 chickens and oysters," said Tim 
 mins ; " that will be the nicest for 
 her and a muffin or two." 
 
 "Now, James, do you hear?" 
 said the chambermaid; "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 exe 
 cute impossibilities for you, Miss 
 Johns , but Mrs. Ousters 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 gra 
 tified. 
 
 "He always does what I want 
 him to," said the good-humoured 
 chambermaid, "but he generally 
 makes a fuss about it first. He 11 
 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 hard 
 ships ; 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 women pro 
 ceeded together to Mrs. Duns- 
 combe s room. Ellen had moved 
 so far as to put herself on the 
 floor with her head on the cushion 
 for a pillow, but she was as sound 
 asleep as ever. 
 
 "Just see now!" said Timmins 
 "there she lies on the floor 
 enough to give her her death of 
 cold; poor child! she s tired to 
 death and Mrs. Dunscombe 
 made her walk up from the steam 
 boat 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," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 75 
 
 "And I 11 tell you what, I 11 go yourself on that low chair, and 
 and get you some nice hot tea," j I 11 fix you off." 
 
 said the chambermaid, who was 
 quite touched by the sight of El 
 len s little pale face. 
 
 Ellen thanked her, and did as 
 she was told. Timmins brought 
 another chair to her side, and 
 
 "Thank you," said Timmins placed the tray with her supper 
 
 you re a darling. This is as | upon it , and prepared her muffin 
 
 cold as a stone." I and tea; and having fairly seen 
 
 While the chambermaid went Ellen begin to eat, she next took 
 forth on her kind errand, Tim- j off her shoes, and seating herself 
 mins stooped down by the little on a carpet before her, she made 
 sleeper s side. "Miss Ellen! "i her lap the resting-place for 
 she said " Miss Ellen ! wake ! Ellen s feet, chafing them in her 
 up, dear wake up, and get some ; hands, and heating them at the 
 supper come! you ll feel a fire; saying there was nothing 
 great deal better for it you like rubbing and roasting to get 
 shall sleep as much as you like rid of the leg-ache. By the help 
 afterwards." of the supper, the fire, and Tim- 
 
 Slowly Ellen raised herself, mins, Ellen mended rapidly, 
 and opened her eyes. "Where With tears in her eyes, jshe 
 am I?" she asked looking be- thanked the latter for her kind- 
 wildered. ness. 
 
 "Here, dear," said Timmins "Now just don t say one word 
 "wake upandeat something j about that," said Timmins "I 
 it will do you good." never was famous for kindness, 
 
 With a sigh poor Ellen arose as I know; but people must be 
 and came to the fire. ; kind sometimes in their lives - 
 
 "You re tired to death, ain t unless they happen to be made 
 you," said Timmins. j of stone, which I believe some 
 
 "Not quite," said Ellen. "I people are. You feel better, don t 
 shouldn t mind that, if my legs : you?" 
 
 would not ache so and my| "A great deal," said Ellen, 
 head, too." "Oh, if I only could go to bed 
 
 "Now I m sorry!" said Tim- [now!" 
 
 m i ns "but your head will be! "And you shall, "said Timmins. 
 
 better for eating, I know. See "I know about your bed, and 
 here I Ve got you some nice I 11 go right away and have it 
 chicken, and oysters, and I 11 brought in." And away she went, 
 make this muffin hot for you by While she was gone , Ellen 
 the fire and here comes your drew from her pocket her little 
 .tea. Miss Johns, I m your ser- hymn-book, to refresh herself 
 vant, and I 11 be your bridesmaid with looking at it. How quickly 
 with the greatest pleasure in life, and freshly it brought back to 
 Now, Miss Ellen, dear, just put, her mind the friend who had 
 
76 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 given it, and his conversations ! heartily worried, and out of 
 
 with her, and the resolve she had patience. 
 
 made! and again Ellen s whole! It was just five o clock when 
 
 heart offered the prayer she had they reached her stopping-place. 
 
 repeated many times that day Ellenknewof no particular house 
 
 to go to, so Mrs. Dunscombe set 
 her down at the door of the prin 
 cipal inn of the town, called the 
 "Star," ofThirlwall. 
 
 The driver smacked his whip, 
 
 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 j and away went the stage again, 
 Miss Johns and a little cot-bed- ; and she was left , standing alone, 
 stead came in with her. The! beside her trunk, before the 
 latter was put at the foot of Mrs. ! piazza of the inn , watching Tim- 
 Dunscombe s bed, and speedily mins, who was looking back at 
 made up by the chambermaid, ! her, out of the stage window, 
 while Timmins undressed Ellen; nodding and waving good-bye. 
 
 and very soon all the sorrows and 
 vexations of the day were for 
 gotten in a sound, refreshing 
 sleep; but not till she had re 
 moved her little hymn-book from 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The little Queen in the Arm-Chair. 
 
 ELLEX had been whirled along 
 over the roads for so many hours 
 
 the pocket of her frock to a safe! the rattle of the stage-coach 
 station under her pillow; it was had filled her ears for so long 
 with her hand upon it that Ellen j that now, suddenly still and 
 went to sleep, and it was in her j quiet, she felt half-stunned. She 
 hand still when she was waked stood with a kind of dreamy feel- 
 the next morning. ing, looking after the departing 
 
 The next day was spent in a stage-coach. In it there were 
 wearisome stage coach, over a three people whose faces she 
 rough, jolting road. Ellen s com- [knew, and she could not count a 
 panions did nothing to make her i fourth within many a mile. One 
 way pleasant , but she sweetened ! of those was a friend , too , as the 
 theirs with her sugar -plums, fluttering handkerchief of poor 
 Somewhat mollified, perhaps, j Miss Timmins gave token still. 
 
 Yet Ellen 
 
 not wish herself 
 
 after that, Miss Margaret con 
 descended to enter into conver 
 sation with her, and Ellen under 
 went a thorough cross-examina 
 tion as to all her own and her 
 
 parents affairs, past, present, i body lumbering up and down 
 and future; and likewise as to every now and then, reminding 
 all that could be known of her! her of sundry uncomfortable 
 yesterday s friend, till she was I jolts 5 till the horses making a 
 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 77 
 
 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 
 behind; but then the feeling of 
 
 at Ellen, and then she saw he 
 was going to take himself and his 
 broom into the house. So in de 
 spair she ran up the two or three 
 low steps of the piazza and pre- 
 
 He 
 
 strangeness and loneliness came sented herself before him. 
 over her, and her heart sank. She stopped short, 
 cast a look up and down the I "Will you please to tell me, 
 street. The afternoon was lovely; j Sir," said poor Ellen, "if Miss 
 the slant beams of the setting Emerson is here?" 
 sun came back from gilded win 
 dows, and the houses and chim 
 ney-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. 
 
 "Miss Emerson?" said he 
 " what Miss Emerson?" 
 
 "I don t know, Sir Miss 
 Emerson that lives not far from 
 Thirlwall." 
 
 Eyeing Ellen from head to foot, 
 the man then trailed his broom 
 
 There was no sign of her having ! . L1 """ ff" "*"" m "*" 
 
 been expected? nobody was| to the house Ellen followed 
 waiting to meet her. What was 
 
 " Mr. Forbes ! " said he "Mr. 
 
 Forbes! do you know anything 
 
 to be done next? Ellen had not 
 the slightest idea. 
 
 Her heart growing fainter and 
 fainter, she turned again to the 
 
 of Miss Emerson? 
 
 "What Miss Emerson?" said 
 
 inn. A tall awkward young another man , with a big red face 
 countryman, with a cap set on| an( i a big round body, sho wing- 
 one side of his head, was busying! himself in a doorway which he 
 himself with sweeping of the nearly filled. 
 
 floor of the piazza , but in a very 
 leisurely manner; and between 
 every two strokes of his broom 
 
 "Miss Emerson that lives a 
 little way out of town." 
 
 "Miss Fortune Emerson? 
 
 he was casting long looks at El- 1 yes, I know her. What of her?" 
 len, evidently wondering who she "Has she been here to-day?" 
 was, and what she could want "Here? what, in town? No 
 there. Ellen saw it, and hoped j not as I Ve seen or heard. Why, 
 he would ask her in words, f or I who wants her?" 
 she could not answer his looks of " This little girl." 
 curiosity but she was disap- And the man with the broom 
 pointed. As he reached the end stepping back, disclosed Ellen to 
 of the piazza, and gave his broom j the view of the red-faced land- 
 two or three knocks against the lord. He advanced a step or two 
 edge of the boards to clear it of towards her. 
 dust, he indulged himself with j " What do you want with Miss 
 one good, long, finishing look ; Fortune, little one?" said he. 
 
78 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I expected she would meet me I you think she 11 be glad to see 
 here, Sir," said Ellen. [her?" 
 
 ; Where have you come from?" Mr. Forbes put this question 
 
 "From New York." 
 " The stage set her down just 
 now ," put in the other man. 
 "And you thought Miss For- 
 
 with rather a curious look at his 
 wife. She didn t answer him. She 
 
 only looked at Ellen, 
 
 grave, and gave a queer 
 
 looked 
 little 
 
 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 
 
 " Sir," 
 
 do you?" 
 
 No Sir," said Ellen, 
 she s my aunt." 
 "She s your what?" 
 
 "but 
 
 "My aunt, Sir my father s 
 
 sister." 
 "Your 
 
 father s sister ! You 
 
 tune would meet you, didyou?"|nod of her head, which meant, 
 " Yes , Sir; she was to meet me Ellen could not make out what. 
 
 "Now, what s to be done?" 
 continuedMr. Forbes. "MissFor- 
 tune 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 be 
 sides , the tire is come off that 
 waggon-wheel. I couldn t pos 
 sibly use it. And then it s a great 
 question in my mind what Miss 
 Fortune would say to me. I 
 should get paid, Is pose?" 
 
 "Yes, y^ou d get paid," said 
 his wife, with another little shake 
 of her head; but whether it would 
 be the kind of pay you d like , I 
 don t know." 
 
 "Well, what s to be done, 
 wife? Keep the child overnight 
 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 han 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 any 
 where I daresay he s at Mr. 
 Miller s , or maybe at Mr. " 
 
 ben t the daughter of Morgan 
 Montgomery, be you?" 
 
 "Yes, lam," said Ellen, half- 
 smiling. 
 
 "And you are come to make a 
 visit to Miss Fortune, eh?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen, smiling no 
 longer. 
 
 "And Miss Fortune han t come 
 up to meet you! that s 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 hus 
 band 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 79 
 
 mersley s, the blacksmith and up. But the question had touched 
 ask him to stop here before he; the sore spot. Her head sank 
 goes home. Now, hurry! and on her hands, and "Oh, Mamma!" 
 don t run over him, and then; was uttered with a bitterness that 
 come back and tell me he ain t in even Mrs. Forbes could feel. 
 
 town." 
 Mrs. Forbes herself followed 
 
 "Now, what made me ask you 
 that !" cried she. "Don t cry 
 Sam to the door, and cast an ex- don t, love; poor little dear! 
 ploring look in every direction, you re as pale as a sheet; you re 
 "I don t see no signs of him tired, I know ain t you? Now, 
 up nor down," said she, returning j cheer up, do I can t bear to 
 to Ellen; "but I m pretty sure he j see you cry. You Ve come a 
 ain t gone home. Come in here great way to-day, han t you?" 
 come in here, dear, and make Ellen nodded her head, but 
 
 yourself comfortable ; it 11 be a 
 
 could give no answer. 
 
 while yet, maybe, afore Mr. Van! "I know what will do you 
 Brunt comes, but he 11 be along good," saidMrs. Forbes, present- 
 by-and-by ; come in here and ly, getting up from the crouching 
 rest yourself." i posture she had taken to comfort 
 
 She opened a door, and Ellen j Ellen; "you want something to 
 
 followed her into a large kitchen, 
 where a fire was burning, that 
 
 eat that s the matter. I 11 
 warrant you re half-starved; no 
 
 showed wood must be plenty in wonder you feel bad. Poor little 
 those regions. Mrs. Forbesjthing! you shall have something 
 placed a low chair for her on the good directly." 
 hearth , but herself remained | And away she bustled to get it. 
 standing by the side of the fire, Left alone, Ellen s tears flowed 
 looking earnestly, and with a a few minutes very fast. She felt 
 good deal of interest, upon the forlorn; and she was, besides, as 
 
 - Mrs. Forbes opined, both tired 
 and faint. But she did not wish 
 
 little stranger. Ellen drew her 
 white bonnet from her head, and 
 sitting down with 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?" ** 
 Mrs. Forbes. 
 
 said 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am yes, 
 
 to be found weeping; she checked 
 her tears, and was sitting again 
 quietly before the fire when the 
 landlady returned. 
 
 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 
 
 I believe so," said Ellen, faintly. j setting a chair, called Ellen to 
 
 "Han t you got no mother?" come and partake of it. 
 asked Mrs. Forbes, suddenly, "Come, dear here is some- 
 after a pause. thing that will do you good. I 
 "Oh, yes!" said Ellen, looking thought there was a piece of pie 
 
80 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 in the buttery, and so there was, I know she was to have met me ; 
 but Mr. Forbes must have got ! papa said he would write." 
 hold of it, for it ain t there now; i "Oh, well! maybe something 
 and there ain t a bit of cake in the hindered her from coming. It s 
 house for you; but I thought (no matter; you 11 get home just 
 maybe you would like this as well ~ 
 
 as anything. Come ! " 
 
 Ellen thanked her, but said she 
 did not want anything. 
 
 "Oh yes, you do," said Mrs. 
 
 Forbes; 
 pale 
 
 I know better. You re 
 as I don t know what. 
 
 Come! this 11 put roses in your of curiosity, the good landlady 
 
 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 rnilk 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 answered the last question, 
 warned the landlady she was get 
 ting upon dangerous ground. 
 
 "Does your aunt expect you 
 to-night?" 
 
 "I believe so, Ma am - I don t 
 
 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 
 
 dared not ask what she wanted to 
 know, for fear of again exciting 
 the sorrow of her little comrja- 
 nion. She contented herself with 
 looking 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 
 whirring, rickety voice, for all 
 the world like a hoarse grass 
 hopper. Ellen at first wondered 
 where it came from, and was 
 looking at the clumsy machine, 
 that reached nearly fromthe 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 direc 
 tion. 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 certainly good-humoured 
 expression, His dress was as 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 81 
 
 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. 
 
 "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 , han t you? " 
 
 "Yes I ve got the ox-cart," 
 said the person addressed, 
 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 
 
 -TTTl j ) j * TIT 171 "L, * 
 
 What s wanting, 
 I can t stop." 
 
 Mrs. Forbes? 
 
 great bale of goods , and he were 
 considering whether his cart 
 would hold her or not. 
 
 "Well," said he at length, "I 
 don t knowbut she can ; but there 
 ain t nothing on arth for her to 
 sit down upon." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ; I 11 fix that," 
 said Mrs. 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? 
 and I 11 see to the rest." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt moved off with 
 out another word, to do what was 
 desired of him apparently quite 
 confounded at having apassenger 
 instead of his more wonted load 
 of bags and barrels. And his face 
 still continued to wear the singu 
 lar doubtful expression it had 
 put on at first hearing the news. 
 
 oisted 
 Forbes 
 
 "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?" 
 
 " The nicest load ever you car 
 ried , Mr. Van Brunt. Here s a 
 little lady come to stay with Miss 
 Fortune. She s a daughter of 
 Captain Montgomery, Miss For 
 tune 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 pulling off his cap 
 with one hand , while he scratch 
 ed his head with the other, he 
 cxaminedEllen from head to foot, 
 much as if she had been some ny things back again; will you 
 
 The Wide , Wide World. 
 
 Ellen s trunk was 
 in, however; ancf Mrs" 
 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 arrange 
 ments. 
 
 That won t do yet," said she ; 
 "her feet willbe cold on that bare 
 floor, and t ain t over clean nei 
 ther. Here, Sally! run up and 
 fetch me thatpiece of carpetyou 11 
 find lying at the top of the back 
 stairs. Now, hurry! Now, Mr. Van 
 Brunt, I depend upon you to get 
 
82 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 see and bring em the first time 
 you come in town?" 
 
 "I ll see about it. But what if I 
 can t gethold 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 5 and 
 then she 11 be fixed. Now, my 
 darling, you 11 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 
 
 The doubtful look came back 
 to Mrs. Forbes s 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 contrast this new 
 way of travelling was to the noisy 
 stage and swift steamer. Ellen 
 did not know at first whether to 
 like or dislike it ; but she came to 
 the conclusion that it was very 
 funny, and a remarkably amusing 
 way of getting along. There was 
 one disadvantage about it, cer 
 tainly their rate of travel was 
 very slow. Ellen wondered her 
 charioteer did not make his ani 
 mals go faster ; but she soon for 
 got their lazy progress in the in 
 terest 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 
 
 herself up over the side of the town, and they entered upon the 
 cart to shake hands with her, and open country. The sun had al- 
 bid her good-bye, telling her ready gone down when they left 
 again she would ride like a queen. | the inn, and the glow of his set- 
 Ellen answered only, " Good-bye, j ting had faded a good deal by the 
 Ma am;" but it was said with a time they got quite out of the 
 look of so much sweetness, and town; but light enough Avas left 
 eyes swimming half in sadness still to delight Ellen with the 
 
 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." 
 
 pleasant look of the country. It 
 was a lovely evening, and quiet 
 as summer; not a breath stirring. 
 The leaves were all off the trees; 
 the hills were brown; but the 
 soft, warm light that still lingered 
 upon them, forbade any look of 
 harshness or dreariness. These 
 I hills lay towards the west, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 83 
 
 at Thirlwall were not more than 
 two miles distant, but sloping off 
 more to the Avest as the range ex 
 tended in a southerly direction. 
 Between, the ground was beauti 
 fully broken. Eich fields and 
 meadows lay on all sides , some 
 times 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 
 
 roadside. All 
 pleasant look. 
 
 had a cheerful, 
 The houses were 
 
 see dim outlines. She began 
 again to think of their slow tra 
 velling, 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. Ap 
 parently, however, he, too, now 
 thought it might be as well to 
 make a little haste , for he thun 
 dered out some orders to his 
 oxen, accompanied with two or 
 three strokes of his heavy lash, 
 which , though not cruel by any 
 means, went to Ellen s heart. 
 
 "Them lazy critters won t go 
 fast anyhow," said he to Ellen; 
 "they will take their own time ; it 
 ain t no use to cut them." 
 
 "Oh, no! pray don t, if you 
 please ! " said Ellen , in a voice of 
 the thoughts that rose in her j earnest entreaty, 
 mind. But slowly the oxenj " T ain t fair, neither," conti- 
 brought her abreast of the hou-nued Mr. Van Brunt, lashing his 
 ses, one after another, and slowly ! great whip from side to side with- 
 f hey passed on beyond, and there j out touching anything. "I have 
 was no sign of getting home yet. seen critters that would take any 
 Their way was through pleasant! quantity of whipping to make 
 lanes towards the south, but con- j them go, but them ere ain t of 
 stantly approaching the hills, [that kind; they 11 work as long 
 About half a mile from Thirlwall, as they can stand, poor fellows ! " 
 they crossed a little river, not| There was a little silence, du- 
 more than thirty yards broad, ! ring which Ellen eyed her rough 
 and after that the twilight deepen- ! charioteer, not knowing exactly 
 ed fast. The shades gathered on j what to make of him. 
 iield and hill; everything grewj "I guess this is the first time 
 brown, and then dusky; and then you ever rid in an ox-cart, ain t 
 Ellen was obliged to content her- it?" 
 
 self with what was very near, for! "Yes," said Ellen; "I never 
 further than that she could only | saw one before." 
 
 6* 
 
 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 
 
84 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 "Han t you never seen an ox 
 cart! Well how do you like it?" 
 
 "I like it very much indeed. 
 Have we much further to go be 
 fore we get to Aunt Fortune s 
 house?" 
 
 "Aunt Fortune s house? a 
 pretty g^ood bit yet. You see that 
 mountain over there?" point 
 ing 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 fur 
 ther south-, "Miss Fortune s 
 house is just this side of that 5 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 per 
 haps 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 For 
 tune 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." 
 
 Ellen was somewhat astounded, 
 and so utterly unable to echo the 
 wish , that she said nothing. She 
 did not knoAv it, but Mr. Van 
 Brunt had made, for him, most 
 extraordinary efforts at sociabili 
 
 ty. Having quite exhausted him 
 self, he now mounted into the 
 cart and sat silent , only now and 
 then uttering energetic "Gees!" 
 and "Haws!" which greatly ex 
 cited 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 slow 
 ly, 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 vieAv, 
 and darkness veiled the whole 
 country. Ellen could amuse her 
 self no longer with lo oking 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 carried 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 teaching 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 85 
 
 faster and faster the tears drop 
 ped and then she thought of 
 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 
 fulness of Ellen s heart could not 
 be poured out in one asking. 
 Greatly comforted at last, at ha 
 ving 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 Chris 
 tian 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 
 drowsiness, succeeded. 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 5 
 "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 no 
 thing but misty shadows, and 
 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, after 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 up hill 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-chair 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?" 
 
86 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 "No," said Ellen; "I can t see its snow-white tablecloth and 
 anything." shining furniture, looked very 
 
 "Well, come here," said he, comfortable indeed. But the only 
 "and I ll show you. Here person there was an old woman, 
 you re running against the fence sitting by the side of the fire, 
 this way." ^ith her back towards Ellen. 
 
 And he opened a little wicket, She seemed to be knitting, but 
 which Ellen managed to stumble did not move nor look round, 
 through. Ellen had come a step or two 
 
 "Now," said he, "go straight into the room, and there she 
 up to that door yonder, and open stood, unable to speak or to go 
 it, and you ll see where to go. any further. "Can that be Aunt 
 Don t knock, but just pull the Fortune?" she thought; "she 
 latch and go in." can t be as old as that!" 
 
 And he went off to his oxen. : In another minute a door open- 
 Ellen at first saw no door, and ed at her right, just behind the 
 did not even know where to look old woman s back , and a second 
 for it; by degrees, as her head figure appeared at the top of a 
 became clearer, the large dark flight of stairs which led down 
 shadow of the house stood before , from the kitchen. She came in, 
 her, and a little glimmering line shutting the door behind her with 
 of a path seemed to lead onward her foot; and indeed both hands 
 from where she stood. With un- were full, one holding a lamp 
 steady steps, Ellen pursued it and a knife, and the other a plate 
 till her foot struck against the of butter. The sight of Ellen 
 stone before the door. Her trem- i stopped her short, 
 bling fingers found the latch - "What is this? and what do 
 lifted it and she entered. All you leave the door open for, 
 ~* n si-ir +V.QTO. >m+ t t>io rif/ht child?" she said. 
 
 was dark there; but at the right 
 a window showed light glimmer 
 ing within. Ellen made towards 
 it, and, groping, came to an 
 other door-latch. This was big 
 and clumsy; however, she ma 
 naged 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 ceil 
 ing were yellow in the light of 
 the flame. No candles were need 
 ed, and none were there. The 
 supper-table was set, and, with 
 
 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?" 
 
 "1 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 Mont 
 gomery?" said Miss Fortune, 
 
THE WIDE, V/IBE WORLD. 
 
 87 
 
 apparently forced to the con 
 clusion that it must be. 
 
 "Tea, Ma am," said Ellen. 
 
 Miss Fortune went to the table, 
 and put the butter and the lamp 
 in thtfr places. 
 
 l>id you say your father wrote 
 to tell rne of your corning?" 
 
 "Iff! said he would, Ma am," 
 said Kllen. 
 
 "He didn t. Never sent me a 
 
 " I p at Forbes s." 
 "What have you got there?" 
 " A trunk. Where is it to go ? " 
 "A trunk! It must go up 
 stairs; but how it is ever to 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 
 
 line. Just like him! I never yet never do. "With your shoes!" 
 knew Morgan Montgomery do a said Miss Fortune, in a tone of 
 thing when he promised he indignant housewifery. 
 
 WOUld." "Well, without rrr 
 
 Ellen s face flushed, and her 
 heart swelled. She stood motion- 
 lefts. 
 
 Wcll, ( without my shoes, 
 then," said Mr. Van Brunt, with 
 a half-giggle , as Ellen heard the 
 shoes kicked off. " Now, Ma am, 
 
 r* ^ 
 
 How did you get down here out of my way! give me a road." 
 to-night?" Miss Fortune seized the lamp, 
 
 "I came in Mr. Van Brunt s and, opening another door, 
 ox-cart," said Ellen. ushered Mr. Van Brunt and the 
 
 "Mr. Van Brunt s ox -cart! trunk out of the kitchen, and 
 Then he s got home, has he?":up Ellen saw not whither. In 
 And hearing at this instant a a minute or two they returned, 
 noise outside, Miss Fortune and he of the ox-cart went out. 
 swept to the door, saying, as "Supper s just ready, Mr. Van 
 -he opened it, "Sit down, child, Brunt, said the mistress of the 
 and take off your things." house. 
 
 The first command, at least, 
 Kllen obeyed gladly; she did not 
 feel enough at home to comply 
 with the second. She only took 
 off her bonnet. 
 
 Well, Mr. Van Brunt," said 
 
 "Can t stay, Ma am it s so 
 late; must hurry home." And he 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 "What made you so late?" 
 asked Miss Fortune of Ellen, 
 f don t know Ma am I be- 
 
 MI SH Fortune, at the door, "have liove Mr. Van Brunt said the 
 
 you brought, rne a barrel of flour?" blacksmith had kept him." 
 
 Wins Fortune," said the Miss Fortune bustled a 
 
 voice of Ellen s charioteer, "I ve few minutes in silence, s 
 
 about a 
 setting 
 
 brought you something better some things on the taole an 
 
 4.u, A! x " /ii *i 
 
 than that. 
 
 said Miss Fortune, something 
 shortly. 
 
 filling the teapot. 
 
 "Where did you find her?" "Come," she said to Ellen, 
 
 "take off your coat and corne to 
 ; the table. You must be hungry 
 
88 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 El 
 len Jdid not like to meet, though 
 otherwise her face was calm and 
 pleasant. 
 
 "Who is that?" inquired the 
 old lady presently of Miss For 
 tune , in a half whisper. 
 
 "That s Morgan s daughter," 
 was the answer. 
 
 "Morgan s daughter! Has Mor 
 gan a daughter?" 
 
 " Why, yes, mother ; don t you 
 remember I told you a month ago 
 lie was going to send her here?" 
 
 The old lady turned again, 
 with a half shake of her head, 
 towardsEllen. "Morgan s daugh 
 ter," she repeated to herself, 
 softly; "she s a pretty little girl 
 very pretty. Will you come 
 round here and give me a kiss, 
 dear?" 
 
 Ellen submitted. The old lady 
 folded her in her arms , and kiss 
 ed her affectionately. 
 
 "That s your grandmother, 
 Ellen," said Miss Fortune, as 
 Ellen went back to her seat. 
 
 Ellen had no words to answer. 
 Her aunt saw her weary down- 
 look, and soon after supper pro 
 posed to take her upstairs. Ellen 
 gladly followed her. Miss For 
 
 tune showed her to her room, 
 and first asking if she wanted 
 anything, left her to herself. 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 didn t kiss 
 me! she didn t say she was glad 
 to see me!" thought poor Ellen. 
 But weariness this time was too 
 much for sorrow and disappoint 
 ment. It was but a few minutes, 
 and Ellen s brow was calm again, 
 and her eyelids still, and, with 
 the tears wet upon her cheeks, 
 she was fast asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mud and what came of it. 
 THE morning sun was shining 
 full and strong in Ellen s eyes 
 when she awoke. Bewildered at 
 the strangeness of everything 
 around her, she raised herself 
 on her elbow, and took a long 
 look at her new home. It could 
 not help appearing cheerful. The 
 bright beams of sunlight, stream 
 ing in through the windows, 
 lighted on the wall and the old 
 wainscoting; 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 which, morn- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 89 
 
 ing by morning, the sun looked I elbow, looking around her with 
 in that was another blessing, a rather discontented face, when 
 
 some door being opened down 
 stairs, a great noise of hissing 
 and sputtering came to her ears, 
 and presently after there stole to 
 
 But the floor was without a sign 
 of a carpet, and the bare boards 
 looked to Ellen very comfortless. 
 The hard-finished walls Avere not 
 
 very smooth, nor particularly I her nostrils a steaming odour of 
 white. The doors and wood- something very savoury from the 
 work, though very neat, and kitchen. It said as plainly as any 
 even carved with some attempt! dressing-bell that she had better 
 at ornament, had never known! get up. Soup she jumped, and 
 the touch of paint, and had | set about the business of dress- 
 grown in the course of years to ing with great alacrity. Where 
 be of a light-brown colour. The j was the distress of last night? 
 room was very bare of furniture. | Gone with the darkness. She 
 too. A dressing- table, pier-table, I had slept well; the bracing at- 
 or what-not, stood between the mosphere had restored strength 
 windows , but it was only a half- 1 and spirits ; and the bright morn- 
 circular top of pine -board set! ing light made it impossible to 
 upon three very long bare-look- be dull or downhearted, in spite 
 ing legs altogether of a most of the new cause she thought she 
 awkward and unhappy appear- had found. She went on quick 
 ance, Ellen thought, and quite! with the business of the toilet, 
 too high for her to use with any But when it came to the washing, 
 comfort. No glass hung over it, she suddenly discovered that 
 nor anywhere else. On the north there were no conveniences for it 
 side of the room was a fireplace ; in her room no sign of pitcher 
 against the opposite wall stood or basin, or stand to hold them. 
 Ellen s trunk and two chairs; Ellen was slightly dismayed; but 
 that was all, except the cot-bed presently recollected her arrival 
 she was lying on , and which had had not been looked for so soon, 
 its place opposite the windows, and probably the preparations 
 The coverlid of that came in for for it had not been completed, 
 a share of her displeasure, being So she finished dressing, and 
 of home-made white and blue then set out to find her way to 
 worsted, mixed with cotton, ex-! the kitchen. On opening the 
 ceeding thick and heavy. (door, there was a little landing- 
 
 "I wonder what sort of a place from which the stairs de- 
 blanket is under it," said Ellen, scended just in front of her and 
 "if I can ever get it off to see! at the left hand another door, 
 Pretty good; but the sheets are which she supposed must lead to 
 cotton, and so is the pillow- her aunt s room. At the foot of 
 case!" jthe stairs Ellen found herself in 
 
 She was still leaning on her a large square room or hall, for 
 
90 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 one of its doors on the east open-: morning V s i ie answered, with- 
 ed to the outer air, and was injout looldngup. 
 fact the front door of the house. Ellen replied she felt a great 
 Another Ellen tried on the south deal better 
 side; it would not open. A third,! "Slept warm, did you?" said 
 to^^A^r"* admitted er Miss Fortune, as she set the pan 
 e kltch en. back on the fire. And Ellen could 
 
 The noise of hissing and sput- jj? , ? ,, answ er " Quite warm, 
 tering now became quite violent iMaam >." when the hissing and 
 and the smell of the cooking to s P utteri g began again, as loud 
 Ellen s fancy, rather too strong i as u e T ver - 
 
 to be pleasant. Before a good a,* m \ lst wait >" thought Ellen, 
 fire stood Miss Fortune, holding! 1S ls over, before I say 
 
 the end of a very long iron handle i wna ti want to. I can t scream 
 by which she was kept in commu- j OU 3 to ask for a basin and towel." 
 nication with a flat vessel sitting a * ew minutes the pan was 
 
 on the fire, in which Ellen soon^ emoved from the fire > and Miss 
 discovered all this noisy and rtune went on to take out the 
 
 : brown slices of nicely- fried pork 
 
 , nn r\ Q TT*O-K r*r\ 4-1^. <-.. -! _ j i i 
 
 on the fire, in which Ellen soon^ emoved from the fire, and Miss 
 discovered all this noisy and I * ortun e went on to take out the 
 odorous cooking was going on brown slices of nicely-fried pork 
 A tall tin coffee-pot stood on some ! ? nd arran g e them in a deep dish, 
 coals in the corner of the fireplace ij. eav . m ga small quantity of clear 
 and another little iron vessel in ifat m the P an - En en, who was 
 front also claimed a share of Miss i g reatl J interested, and observing 
 Fortune s attention, for she every ever ^ ste P most attentively, set- 
 now and then leaned forward to ? . , m J 161 wn mind that cer- 
 give a stir to whatever was in it |tamlythis would be thrown away, 
 making each time quite a spas- ! em g P* for nothing but the pigs, 
 modic effort to do so, without ! Ut Fortune didn t think so, 
 
 quitting her hold of the end of the 
 long handle. Ellen drew near, 
 and looked on with great curio 
 sity, and not a little appetite; 
 but Miss Fortune was far too busy 
 
 _ * v*j.j. u IJAJ.JIXJLIV DV 
 
 tor 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 covei 
 
 to give her more than a passing S? e ^ ^ -.-.- 
 
 glance. At length the hissing | tu11 , of holes > and shaking this 
 pan was brought to the hearth gently over the pan, a fine white 
 
 shower of flour fell upon the 
 
 j. -. UlOU^Ilu u\^ IIAJ^ (iv -i i in 
 
 for some new arrangement of its 
 contents, and Ellen seized the 
 moment of peace and quiet to say, 
 " Good morning, Aunt Fortune." 
 
 MissFortune was crouching by 
 the pan, turning her slices of 
 pork. "How do you do this 
 
 cream. The pan was then re 
 placed 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 
 carefully pouring this over the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 91 
 
 fried slices in the dish, that Ellen 
 suddenly recollected that break 
 fast 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 11 
 have to go down to the spout." 
 
 "The spout, Ma am," said Ellen, 
 "what s that?" 
 
 "You 11 know it when you see 
 it, I guess," answered 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 11 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 another door, whence 
 she presently returned with a 
 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 clown a 
 steep flight of steps , and found 
 herself in a lower kitchen, in 
 tended 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 fireplace 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 pouring from the end of a 
 pipe or trough raised about afoot 
 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 disappeared. 
 
 "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 would 
 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 near tumbling headlong, 
 and so taking more of a cold bath 
 than she wished for. So she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 
 contented herself with the drops 
 her hands could bring to her 
 face a scanty supply; "but those 
 drops were deliciously cold and 
 fresh. And afterwards she pleased 
 herself with holding her hands in 
 the running water till they were 
 red with the cold. On the whole, 
 Ellen enjoyed her washing very 
 much. The morning air came 
 playing about her 5 its cool 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 had ever seen. And 
 that sparkling, trickling water 
 was certainly 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 gazing 
 and wondering, drinking in the 
 fresh air, hope and spirits rising 
 every minute, when she suddenly 
 recollected breakfast! She hur 
 ried in. As she expected, her 
 aunt was at the table; but, to 
 her surprise, 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 spout?" 
 asked Miss Fortune. 
 
 "Yes, Ma am." 
 
 "Well, how do you like it?" 
 
 "Oh, I like it very much 
 indeed," said Ellen. "I think 
 it is beautiful." 
 
 Miss Fortune s face rather sof 
 tened 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 country coffee; nor any 
 thing so excellent as the brown 
 bread and butter, both as sweet 
 as bread and butter could be; 
 neither was any cookery ever so 
 entirely satisfactory as Miss For 
 tune 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 com 
 fort and convenience, 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 mattered nothing; she 
 was now looking on the bright 
 side of things , and all this only 
 made her breakfast taste the 
 sweeter. 
 
 Ellen rose from the table when 
 she had finished, and stood a few 
 minutes thoughtfully by the fire. 
 
 "Aunt Fortune," she said at 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 93 
 
 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 11 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 suppose," thought she, "I shall 
 go to school at the end of that." 
 
 Returning quickly with her 
 white bonnet, Ellen opened the 
 heavy kitchen door by which she 
 had entered last night, and went 
 out. She found herself 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 further 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 a while. 
 It was a fair, pleasant day, and 
 the country scene she looked upon 
 was very pretty. Ellen thought 
 so. Before her, at a little dis- 
 tance, 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 unchop- 
 ped. 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 a pretty large piece of 
 ground ; and between the garden 
 and the house a green slope ran 
 down to the spout. That reminded 
 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 trough 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 ques 
 tion; 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 something 
 very pleasant in stopping the 
 supply of the spout, and seeing 
 the water trickling over where it 
 
94 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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. 
 ButpoorEllenhad 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 running 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 journey 
 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 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 on 
 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 exclaimed, 
 with slow emphasis; "what on 
 earthhaveyoubeenabout? 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 aty our 
 age , to keep out of the ditch." 
 
 "I didn t see any ditch," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said 
 Miss Fortune, who was energeti 
 cally twitching off Ellen s shoes 
 and stockings with her forefinger 
 and thumb "I suppose 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! Han t you 
 got never a pair of coloured 
 stockings, that you must go 
 poking into the mud with white 
 ones?" 
 
 "No, Ma am." 
 
 I "Do you mean to say you 
 toever wore any but white ones 
 at home?" 
 
 j "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 
 
o^ 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 9,j 
 
 with an old pair of gray socks, | level of the chip -yard, from 
 which she bade Ellen put on as j which a little bridge led to the 
 soon as her feet were dry. | great doorway of the second 
 
 "How many of those white floor. Passing down the range of 
 stockings have you?" \shesaid. outhouses, Ellen came to the 
 
 "Mamma bought me half a j little door her aunt had spoken 
 dozen pairs of new ones just! of. "But what in the world 
 before 1 came away, and 1 had as ! should I do if there should be 
 many as that of old ones besides." I cows inside there?" said she to 
 
 "Well, noAv go up to your herself. She peeped in the 
 trunk and bring em all down to; cow-house was perfectly empty; 
 me every pair of white stockings and cautiously, and with many a 
 you have got. There s a pair of fearful glance to the right and 
 old slippers you can put on till left, lest some terrible horned 
 your shoes are dry," she said, ! animal should present itself , El- 
 flinging them to her "they |len made her way across the cow- 
 aren t much too big for you." j house, and through the barn- 
 
 " They re not much too big for i yard, littered thick with straw 
 the socks they re a great deal; wet and dry, to the lower barn- 
 too big for me," thought Ellen, j floor. The door of this stood 
 But she said nothing. She gather- ! wide open. Ellen looked with 
 ed all her stockings together and wonder and pleasure when she 
 brought them down stairs, as her , got in. It was an immense room 
 aunt had bidden her. the sides showed nothing but 
 
 " Now you may run out to the hay up to the ceiling, except here 
 barn, to Mr. Van Brunt you 11 and there an enormous upright 
 find him there and tell him I post; the floor was perfectly 
 want him to bring me some white clean, only a few locks of hay 
 maple bark when he comes home ! and grains of wheat scattered 
 to dinner white maple bark, | upon it; and a pleasant sweet 
 
 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, 
 
 smell was there , Ellen could not 
 tell of what. But no Mr. Van 
 Brunt. She looked about for him, 
 she dragged her disagreeable 
 slippers back and forward over 
 the floor, in vain. 
 
 Hilloa! what s wanting? " at 
 
 but nobody came." (length cried a rough voice she 
 
 "Knock at a barn door ! " said remembered very well. But where 
 Miss Fortune. " You must go in was the speaker? On every side, 
 at the little cow-house door, at, to every corner, her eyes turned 
 the left, and go round. He s in | without finding him. She looked 
 the lower barn-floor." up at last. There was the round 
 
 The barn stood lower than the j face of Mr. Van Brunt peering 
 
96 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 down at her through a large 
 opening, or trap-door, in the up 
 per floor. 
 
 "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 111 opened on the lane,~and the 
 bring it. I wonder what s in the | smooth meadow and rich broken 
 wind now!" country beyond. It was a very 
 
 So Ellen wondered, as she fair and pleasant scene in the 
 
 soft sunlight of the last of Octo 
 
 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 window-sill, looking out on 
 the grass-plat that lay before the 
 door, and the little gate that 
 
 slowly went back to the house ; 
 and yet more, when her aunt set 
 her to tacking her stockings to 
 gether by two and two. 
 
 "What are you going to do 
 with them, Aunt Fortune?" she 
 at last ventured to say. 
 
 "You 11 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 ever looking white 
 anymore. 
 
 " 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 
 
 ber ; 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 sud 
 denly her heart sprang "I will 
 write to Mamma!" No sooner 
 said than done. The trunk was 
 quickly open, and hasty hands 
 pulled out one thing after an 
 other 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 11 
 shut my trunk and put it on that, 
 
 Fortune had already hung over But here are all these things to 
 
 :1 (* T*11 _ fVlj ___ . . J_IT5_ 1_ _ J J ^ 1_ J?_...i 75 
 
 the fire. Ellen felt sure this had 
 something to do with her stock 
 ings, but she could ask no 
 
 put back first. 
 
 They were eagerly stowed 
 away ; and then kneeling by the 
 
 questions; and as soon as dinnei side of the trunk, with loving 
 was over she went up to her room, hands Ellen opened her desk. A 
 It didn t look pleasant now. The sheet of paper was drawn from 
 brown wood -work and rough [her store, and properly placed 
 dingy walls had lost their gilding, before her; the pen dipped in the 
 The sunshine was out of it; and ink, and at first with a hurried, 
 what was more, the sunshine was then with a trembling hand, she 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 97 
 
 wrote, "My dear Mamma." But 
 Ellen s heart had been swelling 
 and swelling with every letter of 
 those three words, and scarcely 
 
 begin. I am sure my paper will 
 never hold it all. You will want 
 to know about my j ourney. The 
 first day was on the steamboat, 
 
 was the last "a" finished, when I you know. I should have had a 
 the pen was dashed down, and! dreadful time that day, Mamma, 
 flinging away from the desk, she! but for something I 11 tell you 
 threw herself on the floor in a! 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 
 
 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 feelin 
 
 that she was parted! As much (tell you how kind he was to me. 
 bitter sorrow as a little heart can i He kept me with him the whole 
 know was in poor Ellen s now. In | day. He took me all over the 
 her childish despair she wished! boat, and showed me all about 
 she could die, and almost thought I a great many things, and he 
 she should. After a time, how- j talked to me a great deal. Oh, 
 ever, though not a short time,! Mamma, how he talked to me! 
 she rose from the floor and went j He read in the Bible to me, and 
 to her writing again her heart j explained it, and he tried to make 
 a little eased by weeping, yet the! me be a Christian. And oh! 
 tears kept coming all the time, Mamma, when he was talking to 
 and she could not quite keep her! me, how I wanted to do as he 
 paper from being blotted. The j said! and I resolved I would. I 
 flrst sheet was spoiled before she I did, Mamma, and I have not 
 
 was aware ; she took another. 
 DEAREST MAMMA, 
 
 forgotten it. I will try indeed, 
 but I am afraid it will be very 
 hard, without you or him or any 
 
 "It makes me so glad and so ( body else to help me. You 
 sorry to write to you, that I don t \ couldn t have been kinder your- 
 knowwhatto do. 1 want to see I self, Mamma 5 he kissed me at 
 you so much, Mamma, that it ; night when I bid him good-bye, 
 seems to me sometimes as if my and I was very sorry indeed. I 
 heart would break. Oh, Mamma, I wish I could see him again, 
 if I could just kiss you once more, i Mamma, I will always love that 
 I would give anything in the ; gentleman , if I never see him 
 whole world. I can t be happy as ; again in the world. I wish there 
 long as you are away, andl am j was somebody here that I could 
 afraid I can t be good either ; but \ love , but there is not. You will 
 I will try oh ! I will try, Mam- ! want to know what sort of a per- 
 ma. I have so much to say to .son my aunt Fortune is. I think 
 you, that I don t know where to; she is very good-looking, or she 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 7 
 
98 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 would be if her nose was not man driving the oxen, and he 
 quite so sharp; but, Mamma, I was kind to me; but, Mamma, 
 can t tell you what sort of a feel- j what do you think? he eats at 
 ing I have about her ; it seems to the table ! I know what you would 
 me as if she was sharp all over. I tell me ; you would say I must 
 am sure her eyes are as sharp as not mind trifles. Well, I will 
 two needles. And she don t walk try not, Mamma. Oh! darling 
 like other people at least, ! mother, I can t think much of 
 sometimes. She makes queer \ anything but you. I think of 
 little jerks and starts and jumps, you the whole time. Who makes 
 and flies about like I don t know tea for you now? Are you better? 
 what. I am afraid it is not right ! Are you going to leave New York 
 for me to write so about her; but soon? It seems dreadfully long 
 may I not tell you, Mamma?: since I saw you. I am tired, dear 
 There s nobody else forme to Mamma, and cold; and it is get- 
 talk to. I can t like Aunt Fortune | ting dark. I must stop. I have 
 much yet, andl am sure she don t a good big room to myself; that 
 like me; but I will try to make is a good thing. I should not like 
 her. I have not forgotten what to sleep with Aunt Fortune. Good 
 you said to me about that! Oh! Anight, dear Mamma. I wish I 
 dear Mamma, I will try to mind i could sleep with you once more, 
 everything you ever said to me Oh ! when will that be again, 
 in your life. I am afraid you Mamma? Goodnight. Goodnight, 
 won t like what I have written Your affectionate "ELLEN." 
 about Aunt Fortune; but indeed 
 
 I have done nothing to displease The letter finished, was care- 
 her, and I will try not to. If you fully folded, enclosed, and di- 
 were only here, Mamma,! should rected; and then, with an odd 
 say it was the loveliest place I mixture of pleasure and sadness, 
 ever saw in my life. Perhaps, Ellen lit one of her little wax 
 after all, I shall feel better, and matches, as she called them, and 
 be quite happy by and by; but sealed it very nicely. She looked 
 oh! Mamma, how glad I shall be at it fondly a minute when all 
 when I get a letter from you! I was done, thinking of the dear 
 shall begin to look for it soon, fingers that would hold and open 
 andl think I shall go out of my it; her next movement was to 
 wits with joy; when it comes. I; sink her face in her hands, and 
 had the funniest ride down here pray most earnestly for a blessing 
 from Thirl wall that you can upon her mother, and help for 
 think; how do you guess I came? herself -- poor Ellen felt she 
 In a cart drawn by oxen ! They needed it. She was afraid of 
 went so slow, we were an age lingering lest tea should be 
 getting here; but I liked it very; ready, so, locking up her letter, 
 much. There was a good-natured \ she went clown stairs. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 99 
 
 The tea was ready. Miss For 
 tune 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 up stairs." 
 
 ; a great deal better." 
 " What have you been about? " 
 "I have been writing, Ma am." 
 "Writing what?" 
 "I have been writing to Mam- 
 
 flung over to her, saying, " There 
 1 don t care if you keep that 
 one." Then tucking up her 
 sleeves to the elbows, she fished 
 up pair 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 
 
 "I do, Ma am," said Ellen slate colour. 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 
 
 ma." 
 Perhaps Miss Fortune heard 
 the trembling of Ellen s voice, or 
 
 her sharp glance saw the lip 
 11-11 o 
 
 chairs round the fire , pretty well 
 hung with a display of slate- 
 coloured cotton legs. 
 "I don t like it at all," said 
 
 Trm ^_ 
 
 quiver and eyelid droop. Some 
 thing softened her. She spoke in 
 a different tone; asked Ellen if 
 her tea was good; took care she 
 had plenty of the bread and but 
 ter, and excellent cheese, which 
 was on the table; and, lastly, 
 cut her a large piece of the pump 
 kin-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 plea- 
 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Well, I do. How many pairs 
 of white stockings would you like 
 to drive into the mud, and let me 
 wash out every week?" 
 
 " You wash! " said Ellen, in sur 
 prise "I didn t think of your 
 doing it." 
 
 "Who do 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 11 
 find." 
 
 sure of finding out the mystery Ellen was convinced of that al- 
 
 of the brass kettle and the white ready. 
 
 maple 
 stood 
 
 bark, 
 in the 
 
 The kettle 
 chimney 
 
 corner. 
 
 Miss Fortune, seating herself be 
 fore it, threw in all Ellen s stock- 
 
 " Well , what are you thinking 
 of?" said Miss Fortune, pre 
 sently. 
 
 1 am thinking of my nice 
 
 mgs, except one pair, which she .white darning cotton, 
 
 7* 
 
 said El- 
 
100 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 len; "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 11 warrant I 11 fix it so that 
 you 11 have a use for it." 
 
 Ellen obeyed , but musing ra 
 ther uncomfortably what else 
 there was of hers that Miss For 
 tune could lay hands on. She 
 seemed in imagination to see all 
 her white things turning brown. 
 She resolved she would keep her 
 trunk well locked up ; but what if 
 her key 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 ma 
 king 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 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. 
 
 Running away with the brook. 
 
 CLOUDS and rain and cold winds 
 kept Ellen within doors for seve 
 ral days. This did not better 
 
 the state of matters between her 
 self and her aunt. Shut up with 
 her in the kitchen from morning 
 till night, with the only variety 
 of the old lady s company part 
 of the time, Ellen thought neither 
 of them improved upon acquain 
 tance. 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 , disap 
 pointed, unhappy, frequently 
 irritated, Ellen became at length 
 very^ ready to take offence , and 
 nowise disposed to pass it over, 
 or smooth it away. She seldom 
 showed this in words, it is true, 
 but it rankled in her mind. List 
 less and brooding, she sat, day 
 after day, comparing the present 
 with the past, wishing vain 
 wishes, indulging bootless re 
 grets, and looking upon her 
 aunt and grandmother 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 101 
 
 Miss Fortune was setting the! "Now, if you don t bring it 
 table for tea, and Ellen sitting back to-morrow, you won t get 
 before the fire, feeling weary of any more in a hurry," said Miss 
 everything, the kitchen door| Fortune, as she handed the 
 opened, and a girl somewhat! pitcher back to the girl, 
 larger and older than herself "I 11 mind it," said the latter, 
 came in. She had a pitcher in with a little nod of her head, 
 her hand, and marching straight which seemed to say there was 
 up to the tea-table, she said no danger of her forgetting. 
 
 "Who is that, Aunt For- 
 
 Will you let granny have a 
 little milk to-night, Miss For 
 tune? I can t find the cow. I 11 
 bring it back to-morrow." 
 
 "You han t lost her, Nancy?" 
 
 "Have, though," said the 
 other; "she s been away these 
 two days." 
 
 "Why didn t you go some 
 where nearer for milk?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t know I guess 
 your n is the sweetest," said the 
 
 tune? " 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 her aunt s opinions, 
 
 girl, with a look Ellen did notjaud she set this down as in part 
 
 at least coming from ill-humour. 
 
 understand. 
 
 Miss Fortune took the pitcher 
 and went into the pantry. While 
 
 The next morning was calm 
 and fine, and Ellen spent nearly 
 
 she was gone, the two children the whole of it out of doors. She 
 improved their time in looking! did not venture near the ditch, 
 very hard at each other. Ellen s but in every other direction she 
 gaze was modest enough, though explored the ground, and exa- 
 it showed a great deal of interest | mined what stood or grew upon 
 in the new object; but the broad, | it as; thoroughly as she dared, 
 searching stare of the other; Towards noon she was standing 
 seemed intended to take in all j by the little gate at the back of 
 there was of Ellen from her head | the house, unwilling to go in, 
 to her feet, and keep it, and find; but not knowing what more to 
 out what sort of a creature she! do, when Mr. Van Brunt came 
 was at once. Ellen almost shrank I from the lane with a load of 
 from the bold black eyes, but! wood. Ellen watched the oxen 
 they never wavered, till Miss ! toiling up the ascent, and 
 
 Fortune s voice broke the spell. 
 
 How s 
 Nancy?" 
 
 your grandmother, 
 
 "She s tolerable, Ma am, thank 
 
 you. 
 
 thought it looked like very hard 
 work; she was very sorry for 
 them. 
 
 "Isn t that a very heavy load? " 
 she asked of their driver, as he 
 
102 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 was throwing it down under the know it by that name; some folks 
 apple-tree. call it a swing." 
 
 "Heavy? Not a bit of it. It "A swing! oh, yes," said Ellen, 
 ain t nothing atall to em. They d "now I know. Oh, I like it very 
 take twice as much any day with much." 
 pleasure." " Would you like to have 
 
 "I shouldn t think so," said one?" 
 
 Ellen; "they don t look as if| " Ye ,f indeed I should, very 
 there was much pleasure about | mucn -" 
 
 it. What makes them lean over |. "Well, what 11 you give me, 
 so ae-ainst ea.r,h othpr wlip.n thev if I H fix you out?" 
 
 : I don t know," said Ellen, 
 
 so against each other when they 
 are coming up hill?" 
 
 " Oh, that s just a way they ve , ~ , ~ 
 
 got. They re so fond of each |?> e L Ver 7 much obliged to you, 
 other, I suppose. Perhaps they ve u 
 something particular to say, and 
 
 want to put their heads together 
 for the purpose." 
 "No," said Ellen, half laugh 
 
 : I have nothing to give; I 11 
 
 "Well, now, come I 11 make 
 
 a bargain with you: I 11 engage 
 to fix up a scup for you, if you 11 
 give me a kiss." 
 
 Poor Ellen was struck dumb. 
 
 ing, "it can t be that: they m , 
 wouldn t take the very hardest! ^good-natured Dutchman had 
 time for that; they would waitl ake j a ^cy to the llttle P ale ~ 
 till they got to the top of the hill : i *& sad-looking stranger, and 
 but therl they stand just as if if all ^ fe [ t ver ^ k ! ndl 7 disposed 
 they were asleep, only their eyes! * oward her ut she neithe ^ 
 are open. Poor things ! " k ? ew >\ at c ^ ie moment cared 
 
 v a good-natured smile upon his 
 
 c <>^tion. ro * nd f he came g eaj . to 
 
 He went on throwing the wood ! claim the kiss he no doubt 
 out of the cart, and Ellen stood thought himself sure of, Ellen 
 looking at him. I shot from him like an arrow from 
 
 " What 11 you give me if I 11 J a bow. She rushed to the house, 
 make you a scup one of these and bursting open the door, stood 
 days?" said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 "A scup ! " said Ellen. 
 
 "Yes a scup; how would astonished aunt. 
 
 with flushed face and sparkling 
 eyes in the presence of her 
 
 you like it?" 
 
 " I don t know what it is ," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "What in the world is the 
 matter? " exclaimed that lady. 
 "He wanted to kiss me!" said 
 
 A scup! maybe you don t Ellen, scarce knowing whom she 
 
THE WIDE , WIDE WORLD. 103 
 
 was talking to, and crimsoning! great Friend she knew she had 
 more and more. displeased , and prayed earnest- 
 
 "Who wanted to kiss you?" lytobe made a good child; she 
 
 LL mi. ~^ j. 1 " " " 
 
 "That man out there. 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 felt and owned she was not one 
 now. 
 
 "The man that drives the! It was long after mid -day 
 oxen." i when Ellen rose from her knees. 
 
 "What, Mr. Van Brunt?" And Her passion was all gone; she 
 Ellen never forgot the loud ha ! felt more gentle and pleasant 
 ha! which burst from Miss For- than she had done for days; but 
 
 tune s wide-open mouth. 
 
 " Well, why didn t you let him 
 
 at the bottom of her heart resent 
 ment was not all gone. She still 
 
 kiss you?" thought she had cause to be 
 
 The laugh, the look, the tone, angry, and she could not think 
 stung Ellen to the very quick. In of her aunt s look and tone with- 
 a fury of passion she dashed out a thrill of painful feeling. In 
 away out of the kitchen, and up a very different mood, however, 
 to her own room. And there, i from that in which she had flown 
 for a while, the storm of anger | up stairs two or three hours be- 
 drove over her with such vio-^fore, she now came softly down, 
 lence, that conscience had hard- land went out by the front door, 
 ly time to whisper. Sorrow came to avoid meeting her aunt. She 
 in again as passion faded, and had visited that morning a little 
 gentler but very bitter weeping : brook which ran through the 
 took the place of convulsive sobs meadow on the other side of the 
 of rage and mortification , and road. It had great charms for 
 then the whispers of conscience i her; and now, crossing the lane 
 began to be heard a little. "Oh, and creeping under the fence, 
 
 ** m- * 1 1 1 1 11 ^ "__ 1 * I 
 
 you! 
 
 can like Aunt Fortune it s of sudden turns, Ellen sat down 
 no use I never can like her; I j upon the grass , and watched the 
 hope I sha n t get to hate her! ! dark water whirling, brawling 
 and that isn t right. I am forget- over the stones , hurrying past 
 ting all that is good, and there s her, with ever the same soft, 
 nobody to put me in mind. Oh, pleasant sound and she was 
 Mamma! if I could lay my head never tired of it. She did not 
 in your lap for a minute ! " Then hear footsteps drawing near, and 
 came thoughts of her Bible and it was not till some one was close 
 hymn-book, and the friend who beside her, and a voice spoke 
 had given it; sorrowful thoughts almost in her ears, that she 
 they were; and at last, humbled raised her startled eyes and 
 and sad, poor Ellen sought that .saw the little girl who had come 
 
104 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the evening before for a pitcher j "Yes," said Ellen. "I m 
 
 of milk. 
 
 "What are you doing?" said 
 the latter. 
 
 | ready. Which way shall we go ? " 
 With the assurance from the 
 other that she would show her 
 
 "I m watching for fish," said plenty of ways, they set off 
 Ellen. down the lane Ellen with a 
 
 " Watching for fish !" said the 1 secret fear of being seen and 
 other, rather disdainfully. called back till they had gone 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen "there, | some distance, and the house 
 in that little quiet place they, was hid from view. Then her 
 come sometimes I ve seen ! pleasure became great. The 
 two." | afternoon was fair and mild, the 
 
 " You can look for fish another [ footing pleasant , and Ellen felt 
 time. Come now, and take a like a bird out of a cage. She 
 
 Come! 
 
 was ready to be delighted with 
 every trifle; her companion could 
 not by any means understand or 
 
 walk with me." 
 
 "Where?" said Ellen. 
 "Oh, you shall see. 
 
 I 11 take you all about and show! enter into her bursts of pleasure 
 
 you where people live. Youha nt at many a little thing which she 
 
 been any where yet, have you? "j of the] black eyes thought not 
 "No," said Ellen "and I; worthy of notice. She tried to 
 
 should like dearly to go, but" | bring Ellen back to higher sub- 
 She hesitated. Her aunt s jects of conversation. 
 
 words came to mind, that this "How long have you been 
 
 was not a good girl, and that she here?" she asked. 
 
 must have nothing to do with "Oh, a good while," said 
 
 her; but she had not more than (Ellen "I don t know exactly; 
 
 half believed them, and she j it sa^ week, 1 believe." 
 
 could not possibly bring herself 
 
 now to go in and ask Miss For 
 tune 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 a while 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?" 
 
 " 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, 1 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 105 
 
 "Yes, you needn t tell me 
 she s smart everybody knows 
 that ; that ain t what I ask you 
 
 how do you like her?" 
 "How do I like her?" 
 
 said 
 
 Ellen, again "how can I tell 
 how 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, some 
 what scornfully; "do you think 
 I don t know you half hate her 
 already? and it 11 be whole 
 hating in another week more. 
 When I first heard you d come, 
 I guessed you d have a sweet 
 time with her." 
 
 "Why?" said Ellen. 
 ; 0h, don t ask me why," said 
 
 "I don t like him at all," said 
 Ellen, reddening. 
 "Don t you?" said the other, 
 
 surprised 
 likes him. 
 him for?" 
 
 "why, everybody 
 What don t you like 
 
 "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. 
 
 "Kich! I guess she is! She s 
 one of the very best farms in the 
 
 the other, impatiently, " when | country , and money enough to 
 you know as well as I do. Every | have a dozen help , if she wanted 
 soul that speaks of you, says! em. Van Brunt takes care of the 
 poor child! and I m glad I farm, you know." 
 : ,. T i v~,, ~ A ^14. *~ "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 
 
 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, in the same tone Ellen. " And are those Aunt For- 
 "of course you don t; I sup- j tune s oxen that he drives?" 
 pose you don t know whether | " To be sure they are. Well, I 
 your tongue is your own or some- j do think you are green, to have 
 body s else. You think Miss For- 1 been there all this time , and not 
 tune is an angel, and so do I found that out. Mr. Van Brunt 
 
 to be sure she is ! 
 
 does just what he pleases over the 
 
 Not very well pleased with this ! whole farm, though; hires what 
 kind of talk, Ellen walked on for help he wants, manages every - 
 a while, in grave silence. Her! thing; and then he has his share 
 companion meantime recollected of all that comes of it. I tell you 
 herself; when she spoke again it what you d better make friends 
 
 was with an altered tone. 
 
 with Van Brunt, for if anybody 
 
 "How do you like Mr. Van can help you when your aunt gets 
 Brunt? " j one of her ugly fits, it s him ; she 
 
106 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 don t care to meddle with him i fast; I wonder if it grows here, or 
 "* " what it is?" 
 
 "Oh, never mind," said the 
 other; "it always grows on the 
 
 much. 
 
 Leaving the lane, the two girls 
 took a footpath leading across 
 
 the fields. The stranger was rocks everywhere; I don t know 
 greatly amused here with Ellen s what it is and what s more , I 
 awkwardness in climbing fences, don t care. Taint worth looking 
 Where it was a possible thing, at. Come!" 
 she was fain to crawl under; butj Ellen followed her. But pre- 
 once or twice that could not be sently the path entered an open 
 done; and having, with infinite j woodland, and now her delight 
 difficulty, mounted to the top rail, ; broke forth beyond bounds, 
 poor Ellen sat there in a most; "Oh, how pleasant this is! how 
 tottering condition, uncertain on lovely this is ! Isn t it beautiful? " 
 which side of the fence she should she exclaimed. 
 
 tumble over, but seeing no other 
 possible way of getting down. 
 The more she trembled, the more 
 her companion laughed, standing 
 
 "Isn t wliat beautiful? I do 
 think you are the queerest girl, 
 Ellen." 
 
 "Why, everything," saidEllen, 
 
 aloof meanwhile , and insisting not minding the latter part of the 
 she should get down by herself.] sentence; "the ground is beauti- 
 Necessity enabled her to do this ful, and those tall trees, and that 
 
 at last, and each time the task be 
 came 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 point 
 ed out to Ellen two or three houses 
 in the distance , and gave her not 
 
 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! 
 
 a little gossip about the people what are you staring at?" 
 who lived in them; but all this) Ellen s eyes were fixed on a 
 Ellen scarcely heard , and cared I string of dark spots which were 
 nothing at all about. She had rapidly passing overhead, 
 paused by the side of a large rock "Hark!" said she; "do you 
 standing alone by the wayside, hear that noise? what is that? 
 and was looking very closely at what is that?" 
 
 its surface. 
 
 What is this curious brown 
 
 "It s only a flock of ducks," 
 said the other , contemptuously; 
 
 come! do come!" 
 
 But Ellen was rooted to the 
 
 stuff," said Ellen, "growing all 
 
 over the rock like shrivelled 
 
 and dried -up leaves? Isn t it 
 
 curious? part of it stands out the airy^ travellers till the last one 
 
 like a leaf, and part of it sticks j had quitted the piece of blue sky 
 
 ound, and her eyes followed 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 107 
 
 spring 
 
 which the surrounding woods left! of, I suppose. Corne, I ll go with 
 to be seen. And scarcely were ; you now. I do think this is the 
 these gone when a second flight: loveliest place I ever did see. 
 came in view, following exactly Are there any flowers here in the 
 in the track of the first. 
 
 "Where are they going?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "I am sure I don t know where 
 they are going; they never told 
 me. I know where / am going ; I 
 should like to know whether you 
 are going along with me." 
 
 Ellen, however, was in no hurry. 
 
 "I don t know yes, lots of 
 em." 
 
 "Pretty ones ? " said Ellen. 
 
 " You d think so, I suppose; I 
 never look at em." 
 
 " Oh, how lovely that will be ! " 
 said Ellen, clasping her hands. 
 "How pleasant it must be to live 
 The ducks had disappeared, but j in the country I" 
 her eye had caught something "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 Thiiiwall. Wait till 
 we get out of the wood , and I 11 
 show you where I live. You can t 
 see it from here." 
 
 Shocked a little at her compa 
 nion s language, Ellen again 
 walked on in sober silence. Gra 
 dually the ground became more 
 
 else that charmed it. 
 
 "Whatisthis?" saidEllen. 
 
 "Nothing but moss." 
 
 "Isthatmoss? Howbeautiful! 
 how green and soft it is ! I de 
 clare 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; broken, sinking rapidly from the 
 to try its softness , with a face of j side of the path, and rising again 
 great satisfaction. I in a steep bank on the other side 
 
 "I don t believe it a bit," said of a narrow dell; both sides were 
 the other; "all the carpets I ever! thickly wooded, but stripped of 
 saw were as hard as a board, and green now, except where here 
 harder; as soft as that, indeed!"] and there a hemlock-fir flung its 
 
 "Well," saidEllen, still jump- graceful branches abroad, and 
 ing up and down, with bonnet stood in lonely beauty among its 
 off", and glowing cheek, and her leafless companions. Now the 
 hair dancingaboutherface, "you gurgling of waters was heard, 
 may believe what you like; but] " Where is that?" saidEllen, 
 I ve seen a carpet as soft as this, stopping short, 
 and softer, too only one, " Way down down at the 
 
 bottom there. It s the brook." 
 "What brook? Not the same 
 
 though." 
 
 "What was it made of?" 
 
 What other carpets are made \ that goes by Aunt Fortune s?" 
 
108 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 It s j the little quiet pools where the 
 water lay still behind some large 
 stone, and the variety of graceful 
 
 " Yes , it s the very same, 
 the crookedest thing you ever 
 saw. It runs over there," said the 
 speaker , pointing with her arm, tiny cascades, 
 "and then it takes a turn and goes "Look here, Nancy!" cried 
 that way, and then it comes Ellen; "that s the Falls of Nia- 
 round so, and then it shoots off gara do you see? that large 
 in that way again and passes byi one 5 oh, that is splendid! And 
 your house; and after that, the) this will do for Trenton Falls 
 
 what a fine foam it makes ! isn t 
 it a beauty? And what shall we 
 
 dear knows where it goes, for I 
 don t. But I don t suppose it 
 
 ippose 
 
 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 offences." 
 
 Very steep indeed it was , and 
 strewn with loose stones; but 
 
 Ellen did not falter here, andjly; "why? I don t like that. 
 though once or twice in imminent "Why, the water s all dark and 
 danger of exchanging her cau- black, don t you see?" 
 tious stepping for one long roll "Well," said Ellen, "let it be 
 to the bottom, she got there safe- Black, then; but I don t like it. 
 ly on her two feet. When there, Now, remember, this is Niaga- 
 everything was forgotten in de- ra, that is Black, and this is 
 li 
 1 
 
 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, dubious- 
 
 Trenton ; and what is this ? " 
 
 If you are going to name them 
 all," said Nancy, "we shan t get 
 
 ight. It was a wild little place. 
 The high, close sides of the dell 
 left only a little strip of sky over 
 head; and at their feet ran the | home to-night; you might as well 
 brook, much more noisy and name all the trees, there s a 
 lively here than where Ellen had | hundred of em, and more. I say, 
 before made its acquaintance ; Ellen , supposV we follow the 
 leaping from rock to rock, eddy- j brook instead of climbing up 
 ing round large stones , and boil- 1 yonder again ; it will take us out 
 ing over the small ones , and now to the open fields by and by." 
 and then pouring quietly over "Oh, do let s!" said Ellen; 
 some great trunk of a tree that I that will be lovely!" 
 had fallen across its bed and ? It proved a rough way; but 
 dammed up the whole stream. lEllen still thought and called it 
 : Ellen could scarcely contain her- * lovely." Often by the side of 
 self at the magnificence of many fthe stream there was no footing 
 of the waterfalls, the beauty of lat all, and the girls picked their 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 109 
 
 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 reaching, at the immi 
 nent hazard of falling in. But 
 they laughed at the danger; 
 sprang on in great glee , delight 
 ed with the exercise and the fun ; 
 didn t stay long enough any where 
 to lose their balance, and enjoyed 
 themselves amazingly. There 
 was many a hair-breadth escape ; 
 many an almost sousing ; but that 
 made it 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 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 difficulty, 
 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 com 
 pany with them. 
 
 "I guess we d better get back 
 into the lane now," said Miss 
 Nancy; "we re a pretty good 
 long way from home." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Splitters. 
 
 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 towards the west, 
 where towered a high mountain, 
 no longer hid from their view by 
 the trees. 
 
 " I told you I d showyou where 
 I live," said she. "Look up now 
 
 clear to the top of the moun 
 tain, 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 away up 
 there?" 
 
 "That s just what I do; and 
 that s just what I wish I didn t 
 But granny likes it; she will live 
 there. I don t know 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?" 
 
 5 No, I don t think I should," 
 said Ellen. " Isn t it very cold up 
 there ? " 
 
 "Cold! you don t know any 
 thing about it. The wind comes 
 there , I tell you ! 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 
 
110 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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!" 
 
 tune said of you was true ," said 
 Ellen. She had coloured very 
 high, but she added no more, and 
 walked on in dignified silence. 
 Nancy stalked before her in si 
 lence that was meant to be digni 
 fied too, though it had not exactly 
 that air. By degrees each cooled 
 
 Oh, she don t care," said the j down , and Nancy was trying to 
 
 other; "she sees my nose freeze 
 off every winter, and it don t make 
 no difference." 
 
 "Freeze your nose off!" said 
 
 Ellen. 
 
 To be sure," said the other, 
 
 find out what Miss Fortune had 
 said of her, when on the edge 
 
 of the next field they met the 
 again. After running a 
 
 brook 
 
 long way to the right, it had 
 swept round, and here was flow- 
 
 1 Jl j 1 
 
 nodding gravely "every winter; ing gently in the opposite direc- 
 it grows out again when the warm tion. But how Avere they ever to 
 
 sonm 
 mean 
 
 ing in a fury - 
 m by that? it 
 
 weather comes." 
 
 "And is that the reason why it 
 is so little?" saidEllen, innocent 
 ly, and with great curiosity. 
 * "Little!" said the other, crim- 
 "Avhat do you 
 "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 
 
 "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, fu 
 riously. " 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 AuntFor- 
 
 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 sur 
 face was green with moss and 
 slippery with slime. Ellen was 
 sadly afraid to trust herself on it ; 
 but what was she to do? Nancy 
 soon settled the question, as far 
 as she was concerned. Pulling 
 off her thick shoes , she ran fear 
 lessly upon the rude bridge; her 
 clinging bare feet carried her 
 safely over, and Ellen soon saw 
 her re-shoeing herself in triumph 
 on the opposite side; but thus 
 left behind and alone, her own 
 difficulty increased. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. Ill 
 
 "Pull off your shoes, and do as to every ridiculous thing she 
 I did ," said Nancy. | could think of. Too miserable to 
 
 "I can t," said Ellen; "I m be angry, Ellen could not laugh, 
 afraid of wetting my feet; I know and would not cry, but she ex- 
 Mamma wouldn t let me." | claimed , in distress 
 
 "Afraid of wetting your feet! " j "Oh, what shall I do ! I am so 
 said the other ; "what a chickanin- cold ! " 
 
 ny you are! Well, if you try to "Come along," said Nancy; 
 come over with your shoes on, "give me your hand; we ll run 
 you ll fall in, I tell you; and right over to Mrs. Van Brunt s 
 then you 11 wet more than your ( t ain t far it s just over here, 
 feet. But come along somehow, ! There ," said she , as they got to 
 for I won t stand waiting here the top of the bank, and came 
 much longer." I within sight of a house standing 
 
 Thus urged, Ellen set out upon! only a few fields off "there it 
 her perilous journey over the is! Run, Ellen, and we 11 be there 
 bridge. Slowly and fearfully, ! directly." 
 
 and with as much care as possible, | "Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" 
 she set step by step upon the Ellen contrived to say, as Nancy 
 slippery log. Already half of the j hurried her along, 
 danger was passed, when, reach- "Who is she? run, Ellen! 
 ing forward to grasp Nancy s out- j why, she s just Mrs. Van Brunt 
 stretched hand, she missed it jyour Mr. Van Brunt s mother, you 
 perhaps that was Nancy s fault i know make haste, Ellen ! we 
 poor Ellen lost her balance, and had rain enough the other day; 
 went in head foremost. The water I m afraid it wouldn t be good for 
 was deep enough to cover her the grass if you stayed too long 
 completely as she lay, though not in one place ; hurry ! I m afraid 
 enough to prevent her getting up you 11 catch cold you got your 
 again. She was greatly frighten- feet wet after all , I m sure." 
 ed, but managed to struggle upj Run they did; and a few mi- 
 first to a sitting posture, and then nutes brought them to Mrs. Van 
 to her feet, and then to wade out Brunt s door. The little brick 
 to the shore ; though , dizzy and j wall leading to it from the court- 
 sick, she came near falling back yard gate was as neat as a pin; 
 again more than once. The water so was everything else the eye 
 was very cold; and thoroughly could rest on; and when Nancy 
 sobered, poor Ellen felt chill went in, poor Ellen stayed her 
 enough in body and mind too; all foot at the door, unwilling to 
 her fine spirits were gone; and carry her wet shoes and dripping 
 not the less because Nancy s had garments any further. She could 
 risen to a great pitch of delight at hear, however, what was going on. 
 her misfortune. The air rang with "Hillo !Mrs.Van Brunt," shout- 
 her laughter; she likened Ellen |ed Nancy u where are you? 
 
112 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 oh! Mrs. Van Brunt, are you! drawn Ellen to the fire, and all 
 outof water? cos if you are I ve j this while she was pulling off as 
 brought you a plenty; the person; fast as possible her wet clothes, 
 that has it don t want it; she s Then sending a girl who was in 
 just at the door; she wouldn t waiting , for clean towels, she 
 bring it in till she knew you want- j rubbed Ellen dry from head to 
 edit. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don t foot, and wrapping her in a 
 look so, or you ll kill me with: blanket, left her in a chair before 
 laughing. Come and see! come the fire, while she went to seek 
 and see!" something; for her to put on. 
 
 The steps within drew near the 
 door, and first Nancy showed 
 herself, and then a little old wo- 
 
 Ellen had managed to tell who 
 she was, and how her mischance 
 had come about, but little else, 
 
 man not very old , neither j though the kind old lady had 
 of very kind, pleasant counte- kept on pouring out words of sor 
 row and pity during the whole 
 time. She came trotting back di 
 rectly with one of her own short 
 gowns, the only thing that she 
 
 nance. 
 
 "What is all this?" said she, 
 in great surprise. "Bless me! 
 poor little dear! what is this?" 
 
 Nothing in the world but a could lay hands on that was 
 drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt, ! anywhere near Ellen s length, 
 don t you see?" said Nancy. Enormously big it was for her, 
 
 "Go home, Nancy Vawse! go but Mrs. Van Brunt wrapped it 
 ame," said the old lady ; " you re j round and round, and the blanket 
 
 home, 
 
 a regular bad girl. I do believe ; overitagain, and then she bustled 
 
 this is some mischief o y^ourn - 1 A * : " - 1 "* ^" J """^ " 
 
 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 colour in your face, not one 
 
 1^4- " 
 
 bit. 
 Good 
 
 Mrs. Van Brunt had 
 
 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 ; per 
 haps it might not have lasted so 
 very long as it did, but for that. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 113 
 
 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 open and shut, 
 and then the voice said 
 
 "So, mother, you ve got my 
 stray sheep here, have you?" 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the voice of Mrs. 
 VanBrunt; "have you been look 
 ing 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 ; any how, I did. She s 
 a queer little chip , as ever I see." 
 
 "She s a dear little soul, / 
 know," said his mother; "^ou 
 needn t say nothin agin her, I ain t 
 agoing to believe it." 
 
 "No more am I. I m the best 
 friend she s got, if she only 
 knowedit; but don t you think," 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 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 oiflike 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 
 
 firl, and I made her tell me ; she 
 ad no mind to at first. It 11 be 
 the worse for Ellen if she takes to 
 that wicked thing." 
 
 "She won t. Nancy has 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 11 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 han t had 
 supper, have you?" 
 
 "No, mother, and I must take 
 that young one back. Ain t she 
 a wake yet?" 
 
 "I 11 see directly; but she ain t 
 going home, nor you neither, 
 Brahm , till you ve got your sup 
 per it would be a sin to let her. 
 She shall have a taste of my split 
 ters 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 
 
114 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 where to come when she wants I which the old lady replied with a 
 good things, mother. Well, 1 1 kiss, and telling her she mustn t 
 won t say splitters ain t worth say a word about that. 
 
 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 
 making the cakes; she lay quiet. 
 
 " You re a good friend, Brahm," 
 began the old lady again; "no 
 body knows that better than me; 
 but 1 hope that poor little thing 
 has got another one to-day that 11 
 
 do more for her than you can." 
 
 "What, yourself, mother? 1 
 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 11 
 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 SAveet, 
 as she always does, and I guess, 
 there now I 11 see after my 
 little sleeper." 
 
 And presently Mrs. Van Brunt 
 came to the bedside with a light, 
 and her arm full of Ellen s dry 
 clothes. Ellen felt as if 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 her feelings before 
 strangers. She suffered Mrs. Van 
 Brunt to dress her in silence, 
 only say ing, with a sigh, "How 
 kind you are tome. Ma am!" to 
 
 The kitchen was bright with 
 firelight and candlelight; the tea- 
 table looked beautiful with its 
 piles of white splitters, besides 
 plenty of other and more sub 
 stantial things ; and at the corner 
 of the hearth sat Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 "So," said he, smiling, asEllen 
 came in and took her stand at the 
 opposite corner "Sol 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 taking so much 
 trouble to come and look after 
 me." 
 
 She said it with a look of grati 
 tude and trust that pleased him 
 very much." 
 
 "Trouble, indeed!" said he, 
 good-humouredly," 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 
 agoing to ask you that again." 
 
 He shook the little hand; and 
 
 from that time Ellen am 
 
 d 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 meal was that. What 
 ever an epicure might have 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 115 
 
 thought of the tea, to Ellen, in | and;, that " Brahrn" should go and 
 her famished state, it was deli- j tell Miss Fortune the child was 
 cious ; and no epicure could have I safe and well , and would be with 
 found fault with the cold ham j her early in the morning. Mr. 
 
 Van Brunt shook his head two or 
 
 and the butter and the cakes 
 but far better than all was the 
 spirit of kindness that was there. 
 Ellen feasted on that more than 
 
 three times, but finally agreed, to 
 Ellen s great joy. When he came 
 back, she was sitting on the floor 
 
 on anything else. If her host and j before the fire , with all the five 
 hostess were not very polished, i kittens in her lap, and the old 
 
 they could not have been out 
 done in their kind care of her, 
 
 mother cat walking around and 
 over her and them. But she look- 
 
 and kind attention to her wants, j ed up with a happier face than he 
 And when the supper was at | had ever seen her wear, and told 
 length over, Mrs. Van Brunt de-|him she was "so much obliged to 
 clared a little colour had come j him for taking such a long walk 
 back to the pale cheeks. The co- for her ; " and Mr. Van Brunt felt 
 lour came back in good earnest a that, like his oxen, he could 
 few minutes after, when a great have done a great deal more with 
 tortoise-shell cat walked into the pleasure, 
 room. Ellen jumped down from 
 her chair, and presently was be 
 stowing the tenderest caresses 
 upon pussy, who stretched out 
 
 herheadandpurredas if sheliked 
 them very well. 
 
 " What a nice cat ! " said Ellen. 
 
 " She has five kittens," said Mrs. 
 
 Van Brunt. 
 
 "Five kittens!" 
 
 said Ellen. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Hope deferred. 
 
 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 
 
 "Oh, may I come some time and! wants to be off to his work, and 
 see them?" won t stay for breakfast. Slept 
 
 "You shall see em right away, , sound , did you?" 
 dear, and come as often as you "Oh, yes, indeed; as sound as 
 like, too. Sally, just take a atop," said Ellen, rubbing her 
 basket, and go fetch them kittens | eyes ; " I m hardly awake yet." 
 here." "I declare it s too bad," said 
 
 Upon this, Mr. Van Brunt be- { Mrs. Van Brunt "but there s 
 gan to talk about its being time no help for it. You don t feel no 
 to go, if they were going. But his headache , do you, nor pain in 
 mother insisted that Ellen should your bones ? " 
 stay where she was; she said she j "No, Ma am, not a bit of it; 
 
 was not fit to go home that night, I feel nicely." 
 that she oughtn t to walk a step,] "Ah! well," 
 
 said Mrs. Van 
 
116 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 can t go that, mother. I 11 under 
 take to r see Miss Ellen safe home, 
 but the cat ud be more than I 
 could manage, ft 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 fa 
 vourite, which was uneasily en 
 deavouring 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 stood watching her, 
 and throwing her arms around 
 her neck, silently spoke her gra 
 titude in a hearty hug and kiss. 
 
 " Good-bye , Ma am ," said she ; 
 "I may come and see them some 
 time again, and seey ou, mayn tl?" 
 
 "Indeed you shall, my darling," 
 said the old woman; "just as 
 often as you like just as often 
 
 Well, choose one, then, dear j as you can get away. I ll make 
 choose the one you like best, j Brahm bring you home, some- 
 
 Brunt, "then your tumble into 
 the brook didn t do you any mis 
 chief; 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. 
 
 "Oh! mayn t I just take one 
 look at the kitties?" said Ellen, 
 when she was ready to go. 
 
 "Indeed you shall," said Mrs. 
 Van Brunt, "if Brahm s 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 delight; "are you 
 in earnest? oh, thank you, dear 
 Mrs. Van Brunt! oh, I shall be 
 so glad ! " 
 
 and Brahm shall carry it for 
 
 times. Brahm, you 11 bring her, 
 
 won t you?" 
 "There s two 
 
 words to that 
 
 The choice was made, and Mrs. 
 Van Brunt and Ellen returned to bargain, mother, I can tell you; 
 the kitchen, where Mr. Van Brunt j but if I don t, I 11 know the reason 
 
 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 
 
 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 sun 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 117 
 
 rise; 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 dis 
 agreeable; and her little head 
 Avas filled with pleasant things 
 She watched where the silver 
 light in the east foretold the sun s 
 coming. 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 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 al 
 ways 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, philosophi 
 cally. 
 
 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 Con- 
 klin s, that had ought to be a 
 good 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." 
 
 "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 springing step changed 
 to so slow and lagging a one, that 
 Mr. Van Brunt more than once 
 
118 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 fell quite behind , and 
 allowed Mr. Van Brunt to go in 
 first. 
 
 Miss Fortune was busy about 
 the breakfast, and, as Mr. Van 
 Brant afterwards described it, 
 "looking as if she could have 
 bitten off a ten-penny 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 yesterday? " 
 
 " Through the front door." 
 
 " The front door was locked." 
 
 "I unlocked it." 
 
 "What did you go out that way 
 for?" 
 
 "I didn t want to come this 
 way." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Miss 
 Fortune, still more emphatically 
 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 arid 
 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 han t no better breakfast for 
 Miss Ellen and me than all this 
 here, we ll just go right away 
 hum again; but there s some 
 thing in your kettle there that 
 smells uncommonly nice, and 1 
 wish you d just let us have it , and 
 no more words." 
 
 No more words did Miss For 
 tune waste on any one that morn 
 ing. She went on with her work, 
 and dished up the breakfast in 
 silence, and with a face thatEllen 
 did not quite understand; only 
 she thought she had never in her 
 life seen one so disagreeable. 
 The meal was a very solemn and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 119 
 
 uncomfortable one. Ellen could 
 scarcely swallow, and her aunt 
 was near in the same condition. 
 Mr. Van Brunt and the old lady 
 alone despatched 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 be 
 tween Ellen and her aunt that 
 neither could make any effort to 
 mend. Miss Fortune did not renew 
 the disagreeable conversation 
 that Mr. Van Brunt had broken 
 off; she left Ellen entirely to her 
 self, scarcely speaking to her, or 
 seeming to knoAv 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 
 Avhere he did before in Miss For 
 tune s good graces ; but notEllen. 
 To her, when others were not by, 
 her face wore constantly some 
 thing of the same cold , hard , dis 
 agreeable expression it had put 
 on after Mr. Van Brunt s inter 
 ference a look that Ellen came 
 to regard with absolute abhor 
 rence. 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 morn 
 ing 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." 
 
 Ellen longed now for a letter 
 with unspeakable longin g but 
 none came; day after day 
 broughtnew 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 prisoner at home , whither he 
 never came but at meal times. 
 The old grandmother was very 
 much disposed 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 com 
 pany; but no hint of the kind 
 dropped fromMiss Fortune s lips ; 
 and Ellen s longing look for this 
 as well as for a word from her 
 mother, was daily doomed to be 
 
120 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 in 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 comfort 
 able; nothing living under Mr. 
 Van Brunt s care was ever suffered 
 to look otherwise. He was al 
 ways in the barn or barnyard at 
 milking- time , and under his pro 
 tection 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 
 rivalling 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, un 
 
 known to her, drawn by Ellen s 
 fingers. These minutes in the 
 farm-yard 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 axe upon 
 the grindstone. The axe was in 
 that gentleman s hand, and its 
 edge carefully laid to the whirl 
 ing stone, which one of the farm- 
 boys was turning. 
 
 "Where is the post office? 
 Why, over to Thirlwall, 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 busi 
 ness, 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 running 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 121 
 
 now, or soon will be, I know, 
 for me ," said Ellen. " When do 
 you think you 11 go again , Mr. 
 Van Brunt?" 
 
 "Now, if I d ha know d that, 
 I d ha gone to Thiiiwall yester 
 day 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 shan 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 5 yes they do come 
 once in a while by old Mr. Swaim, 
 but he han t been here this great 
 while." 
 
 "And who s he?" said Ellen. 
 
 "Oh, he s a queer old chip 
 that goes round the country on 
 all sorts of errands; he comes 
 along once in a while. That ll 
 do , Johnny I believe 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," re 
 plied Mr. Van Brunt, who was 
 slowly drawing his thumb over 
 the edge of the axe; "your 
 questions are a good deal too 
 sharp for me , Miss Ellen ; I only 
 know it would spoil the axe, or 
 the grindstone, or both, most 
 likely." 
 
 "It s very odd," said Ellen, 
 
 thoughtfully "I wish I knew 
 everything. But, dear! I am 
 not likely to know anything," 
 said she, her countenance sud 
 denly changing from its pleased 
 inquisitive look to a cloud of (dis 
 appointment 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 11 have to tell 
 me. I will! I am tired of living 
 so. I ll know what she means to 
 do, and then I can tell what I 
 must do." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt, seemingly du 
 bious about the success of this 
 line of conduct, stroked his chin 
 and his axe alternately two or 
 three times in silence, and finally 
 walked off. Ellen, without wait 
 ing 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, 
 cellar, or lower kitchen, was not 
 to be thought of. Ellen waited a 
 while, but her aunt did not come, 
 and the excitement of the mo 
 ment cooled down. She was not 
 quite so ready to enter upon 
 the business 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!" 
 
122 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Work not deferred. 
 
 THE next morning, after break 
 fast, 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, AuntFortune? " 
 said she, after she had watched 
 her withabeating heart for about 
 five minutes. 
 
 "What is what?" 
 
 "I mean, what is that you are 
 straining through the colander 
 into that jar?" 
 
 "Hop-water." 
 
 "What is it for?" 
 
 "I m scalding this meal with 
 it to make turnpikes." 
 
 "Turnpikes!" said Ellen 
 "I thought turnpikes were high, 
 smooth roads, with toll-gates 
 every now and then that s 
 what Mamma told me they were." 
 
 "That s all the kind of turn 
 pikes your Mamma knew any 
 thing about, I reckon," said Miss 
 Fortune, in a tone that convey 
 ed the notion that Mrs. Mont 
 gomery s education had been 
 very incomplete. " And indeed," 
 she added, immediately after, 
 "if she had made more turn 
 pikes 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 turn 
 pike-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 11 
 drive me crazy." 
 
 "But there s one more ques 
 tion I want to ask very much," 
 said Ellen, with her heart beat 
 ing. 
 
 "Well, ask it, then, quick, 
 and have done, and take your 
 self off. I have other fish to fry 
 than to answer all your ques 
 tions." 
 
 Miss Fortune, however, was 
 still quietly seated by the fire 
 stirring her meal and hop-water, 
 and Ellen could not be quick; 
 the words stuck in her throat 
 came out at last. 
 
 "Aunt Fortune, I wanted to 
 ask you if I may go to school." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
THE WIDE, "WIDE WORLD. 
 
 123 
 
 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 plea- 
 santest. 
 
 "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 Mon 
 day may I?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Ellen wished exceedingly that 
 her aunt would speak in some 
 other tone of voice; it was a 
 continual damper to her rising 
 hopes. 
 
 "I ll get my books ready, 
 
 will be the best way for me to go, 
 Aunt Fortune?" 
 
 I don t know." 
 
 I couldn t walk so far, 
 could I?" 
 
 "You know best." 
 
 "I couldn t, I am sure," said 
 Ellen. "It s four miles to Thirl 
 wall, 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. 
 
 "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 For 
 tune "but Mr. Van Brunt can 
 go for you morning and even 
 ing in the ox -cart, if that will 
 answer." 
 
 "The ox-cart! But, dear me! 
 it would take him all day, Aunt 
 
 Fortune, 
 hours to 
 
 It takes hours and 
 O 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," saidMissFortune, 
 in the same dry tone. 
 
 " Then I can t go there s 
 no help for it," said Ellen de- 
 spondingly. " Why didn t you 
 say so before? When you said 
 yes, I thought you meant yes." 
 
 She covered her face. Miss 
 Fortune rose with a half -smile 
 
 said she " and look em over and carried her jar of scalded 
 a little, too, I guess. But what | meal into the pantry. She then 
 
124 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 came back and commenced the 
 operation of washing up the 
 breakfast- things . 
 
 "Ah, if I only had a little 
 pony," said Ellen, "that would 
 carry me there and back, and 
 go trotting about with me every 
 where how nice that would 
 be!" 
 
 " Yes, that would be very nice ! 
 And who do you think would go 
 trotting about after the pony? 
 I suppose you would leave that 
 to Mr. Van Brunt ; and I should 
 have to go trotting about after 
 you, to pick you up in case you 
 broke your neck in some ditch 
 or gulley it would be a very 
 nice affair altogether, I think." " 
 
 Ellen was silent. Her hopes 
 had fallen to the ground, and 
 her disappointment was unsooth- 
 ed 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 feel 
 ings were working within her 5 
 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 cypher, 
 don t you?" 
 
 "Kead arid write and cypher! " 
 
 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?" 
 
 i " Oh, a great many things," said 
 Ellen; "French, and Italian, and 
 Latin, and music, and arithmetic, 
 and chemistry, and all about ani 
 mals, and plants, and insects 
 I forget what it s called and 
 oh, I can t recollect; a great 
 many things. Every now and 
 then I think of something I want 
 to learn; I can t remember them 
 now. But I m doing nothing," 
 said Ellen, sadly "learning 
 nothing I am not studying 
 and improving myself as I meant 
 to; Mamma will be disappointed 
 when she comes back; and I 
 meant to please her so much ! " 
 
 The tears were fast coming; 
 she put her hand upon her eyes 
 to force them back. 
 
 "If you re so tired of being 
 idle," said Miss Fortune, "I ll 
 warrant I 11 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 sup 
 pose. If she had been trained to 
 use her hands and do something 
 useful, instead of thinking her 
 self 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!" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 125 
 
 said Ellen, indignantly; " I don t 
 know what you mean; and she 
 never thinks herself above be 
 ing useful ; it s very strange you 
 should say so when you don t 
 know anything about her." 
 
 "I know she han t brought 
 you up to know manners, any 
 how," said Miss Fortune. " Look 
 here I 11 give you something 
 to do just you put those plates 
 and dishes together ready for 
 washing, while I am down stairs." 
 
 Ellen 
 enough. 
 
 obeyed, unwillingly 
 She had neither know- 
 
 very delicately with the tips of 
 her fingers. 
 
 "Look here," said Miss For 
 tune " don t you let me hear 
 no more of that, or I vow I 11 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 alon 
 
 g then, 
 
 and I 11 
 
 show you; it s time you did. 
 I reckon you 11 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 introduc 
 tion to the buttery ; she had never 
 dared to go in there before. It 
 
 ledge of the business nor any 
 liking for it; so it is no wonder 
 Miss Fortune at her return was 
 not well pleased. 
 
 "But I never did such a thing 
 before," said Ellen. 
 
 "There it is now!" said Miss 
 Fortune. "I wonder where your 
 eyes have been every single time 
 that I have done it since you 
 have been here. I should think 
 your own sense might have told 
 
 you ! But you re too busy learn- j was a long light closet or pantry, 
 ing of Mr. Yan Brunt to know | lined on the left side , and at the 
 what s going on in the house, j further end, with wide shelves up 
 Is that what you call made ready | to the ceiling. On these shelves 
 for washing? Now just have the I stood many capacious pans and 
 goodness to scrape every plate basins, of tin and earthenware, 
 clean off and put them nicely in filled with milk, and most of them 
 a pile here; and turn out the j coated with superb yellow cream, 
 slops out of the tea cups and Midway was the window, before 
 saucers, and set them by them- j which Miss Fortune was accus- 
 selves. Well! what makes you tomed to skim her milk; and at 
 handle them so? are you afraid the side of it was the mouth of a 
 they ll burn you?" wooden pipe , or covered trough, 
 
 "I don t like to take hold off; which conveyed the refuse milk 
 things people have drunk out down to an enormous hogshead 
 of," said Ellen, who was indeed standing at the lower kitchen 
 touching the cups and saucers!] do or, whence it was drawn as 
 
126 
 
 THE WIDE, W1DB WORLD. 
 
 WL ited for the use of the pigs. 
 Beyond the window in the buttery, 
 and on the higher shelves were 
 rows of yellow cheeses; forty or 
 fifty were there, at least. On the 
 right hand of the door was the 
 cupboard, and a short range of 
 shelves, which held in ordinary 
 all sorts of matters for the table, 
 both dishes and eatables. Floor 
 and shelves were well painted 
 with thick yellow paint, hard and 
 shining, and clean as could be; 
 and there was a faint pleasant 
 smell of dairy things. 
 
 Ellen did not find out all this at 
 once , but in the course of a day 
 or two, during which her visits 
 to the buttery were many. Miss 
 Fortune kept her word, and found 
 her plenty to do ; Ellen s life soon 
 became a pretty busy one. She 
 did not like this at all ; it was a 
 kind of work she had no love 
 for; yet no doubt it was a good 
 exchange for the miserable 
 moping life she had lately led. 
 Anything was better than that. 
 ! One concern, however, lay upon 
 poor Ellen s mind with pressing 
 weight her neglected studies 
 and wasted time; for no better 
 than wasted she counted it. 
 "What shall I do?" she said to 
 herself, after several of these 
 busy days had passed; "I am 
 doing nothing I am learning 
 nothing I shall forget all I have 
 learned directly. At this rate, 
 I shall not know any more than 
 all these people around me ; and 
 what will Mamma say? Well, 
 if I can t go to school, I know 
 what I will do ," she said, taking 
 
 | a sudden resolve "I ll study 
 by myself! I 11 see what I can 
 do ; it Avill be better than nothing, 
 any way. I 11 begin this very 
 day ! " 
 
 With new life Ellen sprang up 
 stairs to her room, and forthwith 
 began pulling all the things out 
 of her trunk to get at her books. 
 They were at the very bottom ; 
 and by the time she had reached 
 them, half the floor was strewn 
 with the various articles of her 
 wardrobe: without minding them 
 in her first eagerness, Ellen 
 pounced at the books. 
 
 " Here you are , my dear Numa 
 Pompilius," said she, drawing 
 out a little French book she had 
 just begun to read; "and here 
 you are, old grammar and dictio 
 nary and here is my history 
 very glad to see you, Mr. Gold 
 smith! and what in the world s 
 this? wrapped up as if it was 
 something great oh ! my expo 
 sitor; I am not glad to see you, 
 I am sure; never want to look at 
 
 S)ur face or your back again, 
 y copy-book I wonder who 11 
 set copies for me nows ; my arith 
 metic, that s you! geography 
 and atlas all right ; and my 
 slate; but, dear me, I dont 
 believe I ve such a thing as a 
 slate-pencil in the world; where 
 shall I get one, I wonder? well, 
 I ll manage. And that s all 
 that sail, 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 127 
 
 " I declare," said she to herself, | was nothing in it but a broad KHV 
 "it s too bad to have nothing in! shelf or step under the stairs, 
 the shape of a bureau to keep 1 where Ellen presently decided 
 one s clothes in. I wonder if ijshe could stow away her books 
 am to live in a trunk, as Mamma ] very nicely. "It only wants a 
 says, all the time I am here, and littles brushing out," said Ellen, 
 have to go down to the bottom "and it Avill do very well." The 
 of it every time I want a I other door, in the other corner, 
 pocket-handkerchief or a pair of! admitted her to a large light 
 stockings. How I do despise closet, perfectly empty. "Now, 
 those gray stockings! But | if there were only some hooks or 
 
 what can I do? it s too 
 to squeeze my nice things up so. 
 1 wonder what is behind those 
 doors? I 11 find out, I know, 
 before long." 
 
 On the north side of Ellen s 
 room were three doors. She had 
 never opened them, but now took 
 it into her head to see what was 
 there, thinking shemightpossibly 
 
 pegs here," thought Ellen, "to 
 hang up dresses on; but why 
 shouldn t I drive some nails? I 
 will ! I will ! Oh, that 11 be fine ! " 
 Unfastening her door in a 
 hurry , she ran down stairs ; and 
 her heart beating, between plea 
 sure and the excitement of daring 
 so far without her aunt s know 
 ledge, she ran out and crossed 
 
 find what would help her out of! the chip-yard to the barn, where 
 
 her difficulty. She had some 
 little fear of meddling with any 
 thing in her aunt s domain; so 
 she fastened her own door, to 
 guard against interruption while 
 she was busied in making dis 
 coveries. 
 
 At the foot of her bed, in the 
 corner, was one large door, 
 fastened by a button, as indeed 
 they were all. This opened, she 
 found, updn 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 
 
 she had some hope of finding 
 Mr. Van Brunt. By the time she 
 got to the little cowhouse door, 
 a great noise of knocking or 
 pounding in the barn made her 
 sure he was there , and she went 
 on to the lower barn-floor. There 
 he was, he and the two farm-boys 
 (who, by -the -by, were grown 
 men), all three threshing wheat. 
 Ellen stopped at the door, and 
 for a minute forgot what she had 
 come for in the pleasure of look 
 ing at them. The clean floor was 
 strewn with grain, upon which 
 the heavy flails came down one 
 after another, with quick, regular 
 beat one two three one 
 two three , keeping per 
 fect time. The pleasant sound 
 could be heard afar off; though, 
 
 other half of the window. There j indeed, where Ellen stood, it was 
 
128 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD. 
 
 rather too loud to be pleasant. 
 Her little voice had no chance 
 of being heard; she stood still 
 and waited. Presently, Johnny, 
 who was opposite, caught a sight 
 of her, and, without stopping 
 his work, said to 
 ; Somebody there 
 
 his leader, 
 for you 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt." That gentle 
 man 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. Van Brunt, 
 could you be so good as to let me 
 have a hammer and half-a-dozen 
 nails?" 
 
 "A hammer and half-a-dozen 
 nails ; come this way," said he. 
 
 They went out of the barn-yard 
 and across the chip-yard to an 
 out-house below the garden, and 
 not far from the spout, called the 
 poultry-house; though it was 
 
 "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 11 try." 
 
 " Where do you want em driv?" 
 
 "Up in a closet in my room," 
 said Ellen, speaking as softly as 
 if she had feared her aunt was at 
 the corner: "I want em to hang 
 up dresses and things." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt half smiled, and 
 put up the hammer and nails on 
 the shelf again. 
 
 "Now, 1 11 tell you what we 11 
 do," said he; "you can t 
 manage them big things ; I 11 
 put em up for you to-night when 
 I come into supper." 
 
 "But I m afraid she won t let 
 you," said Ellen, doubtfully. 
 
 "Never you mind about that," 
 said he; "I 11 fix it. Maybe we 
 won t ask her." 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" said Ellen, 
 joyfully, her face recovering its 
 
 quite as much the property of the : full sunshine in answer to his 
 hogs, who had a regular sleeping smile , and clapping her hands, 
 
 apartment there, where corn was 
 always fed out to the fatting ones. 
 
 she ran back to the house , while 
 more slowly Mr. Van Brunt re- 
 
 Opening a kind of granary store- turned to the threshers. Ellen 
 room, where the corn for this seized dustpan and brush, and 
 purpose was stowed, Mr. Van Iran up to her room; and setting 
 Brunt took down from a shelf [about the business with right 
 a large hammer and a box of | good will, she soon had her 
 nails , and asked Ellen what size closets in beautiful order. The 
 
 books, wri ting- desk, and work- 
 box were then bestowed very 
 carefully in the one ; in the other 
 her coats and dresses, neatly 
 folded uj) in a pile on the floor, 
 waiting till the nails should be 
 driven. Then the remainder of 
 
 she wanted. 
 "Pretty large." 
 
 "So?" 
 
 "No, a good deal bigger yet, 
 I should like." 
 
 "A good deal bigger yet 
 who wants em?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 129 
 
 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 earn 
 est. 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 For 
 tune. 
 
 "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 11 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 left my shoes at the door. 
 Miss Ellen, I believe I ve got to 
 go through your room." 
 
 Ellen was glad to run before, to 
 hide her laughter. When they 
 reached her room, Mr. Van Brunt 
 produced a hammer out of the 
 bag, and taking a handful of 
 nails from his pocket, put up a 
 fine row of them along her closet 
 wall, then, while she hung up 
 her dresses, he went on to the 
 garret, and Ellen heard him 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 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 endeavours and of her suc 
 cess. It was a despairing account. 
 Ellen complained that she wanted 
 help to understand, and lacked 
 time to study; that her aunt kept * 
 her busy, and, she believed, took 
 pleasure in breaking her off from 
 her books; and she bitterly said, 
 her mother must expect to find 
 an ignorant little daughter when 
 she came home. It ended with 
 "Oh, if I could just see you, and 
 kiss you , and put my arms round 
 you, Mamma, I d be willing to 
 die!" 
 
 This letter was despatched the 
 next morning by Mr. Van Brunt; 
 and Ellen waited and watched 
 with great anxiety for his return 
 from Thiiiwall in the afternoon. 
 
130 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XV: 
 
 Mother earth rather than aunt Fortune. 
 
 THE afternoon was already 
 half spent when Mr. Van Brunt s 
 ox-cart was seen returning. Ellen 
 was standing by the little gate 
 that opened on the chip-yard ; and 
 with her heart beating anxiously, 
 she watched the slow- corning 
 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 lei 
 surely 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. Wishingher aunt should 
 not see her swollen eyes, she was 
 going quietly through to her own 
 room, when Miss Fortune called 
 her. Ellen stopped. Miss Fortune 
 was sitting before the fire with 
 an open letter lying in her lap, 
 and another in her hand. The 
 latter she held out to Ellen, 
 
 saying, "Here, child, come and 
 take this." 
 
 "What is it?" said Ellen, 
 slowly coming towards her. 
 
 "Don t you see what it is?" 
 said Miss Fortune, still holding 
 it out. 
 
 "But who is it from?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Your mother." 
 
 "A letter from Mamma, and 
 not to me!" said Ellen, with 
 changing colour. She took it 
 quick from her aunt s hand. But 
 her colour changed more as her 
 eye fell upon the first words, 
 "My dear Ellen," and turning 
 the paper, she saw upon the back, 
 " Miss Ellen Montgomery." Her 
 next look was to her aunt s face, 
 with her eye fired, and her 
 cheek pallid 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 an 
 swered; "/ opened it. I should 
 like to know who has a better 
 right. And I shall open every one 
 that comes, to serve you for look 
 ing 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 feel 
 ings, rage was not the only 
 one , she ran from her aunt s 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 131 
 
 presence. She did not shed any ever, to be out of the house and 
 tears now; she could not 5 they in the sweet open air. Ellen 
 were absolutely burnt up by pas- breathed more freely, and pau- 
 sion. She walked her room with sing a moment there, and clasping 
 trembling steps , clasping and her hands together once more in 
 wringing her hands now and sorrow, she went down the road, 
 then , wildly thinking what could and out at the gate , and ex- 
 she do to get out of this dreadful changing her quick, broken step 
 state of things, and unable to see for a slow, measured one, she 
 anything but misery before her. j took the way towards Thirlwall. 
 She walked, for she could not sit; Little regarding the loveliness 
 down ; but presently she felt that which that day was upon every 
 she could not breathe the air of slope and roadside, Ellen pre- 
 the house; and taking her bon- sently quitted the Thirlwall road, 
 net, she went down, passed! and, half unconsciously, turned 
 through the kitchen, and went into a path on the left which she 
 out. Miss Fortune asked where had never taken before per- 
 she was going, and bade her stay I haps for that reason. It was not 
 within doors, but Ellen paid no j much travelled, evidently, the 
 attention to her. grass grew green on both sides, 
 
 She stood still a moment put- and even in the middle of the 
 side of the little gate. She might way, though here and there the 
 have stood long to look. The track of wheels could be seen. 
 
 mellow light of anlndian 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 
 and the 
 
 every distant object; 
 silence of nature all 
 
 around was absolute, made more 
 noticeable by the far-off voice of 
 somebody, it might be Mr. Van 
 Brunt calling to his oxen, very 
 far off and not to be seen; the 
 sound carne 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, how- 
 
 Ellen did not care about where 
 she was going; she only found it 
 pleasant to walk on, and ge 
 further from home. The road or 
 lane led towards a mountain 
 somewhat to the northward of 
 Miss Fortune s ; the same which 
 Mr. Van Brunt had once named 
 to Ellen as "The Nose." After 
 three-quarters of an hour, the 
 road began gently to ascend the 
 mountain, rising towards the 
 north. About one-third of the way 
 from the bottom, Ellen came to a 
 little footpath on the left, which 
 allured her by its promise of 
 prettiness, and she forsook the 
 lane for it. The promise was 
 abundantly fulfilled; it was a 
 most lovely, wild, woodway path; 
 but withal not a little steep and 
 9* 
 
132 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 rocky. Ellen began to grow | near the setting, threw his mel- 
 wi ary . The lane went on towards lowing rays, touching every slope 
 the north ; the path rather led off and ridge with a rich, warm 
 towards the southern edge of the glow. 
 
 mountain, rising all the while; 1 Poor Ellen did not heed the 
 but before she reached that, El- picturesque affect of all this, yet 
 len came to what she thought a I the sweet influences of nature 
 good resting-place, where theireached her, and softened while 
 path opened upon a small level ;they increased her sorrow. She 
 platform or ledge of the hill. The j felt her own heart sadly out of 
 mountain rose steep behind her, tune with the peace and loveli- 
 and sank very steep immediately! ness of all she saw. Her eye 
 before her, leaving a very superb sought those distant hills how 
 view of the open country from very far off they were ! and yet 
 the north-east to the south-east, all that wide tract of country was 
 Carpeted with moss, and fur- j but a little piece of what lay be- 
 nished with fallen stones and tween her and her mother. Her eye 
 pieces of rock, this was a fine sought those hills but her mind 
 resting-place for the wayfarer, or overpassed them, and went far 
 loitering -place for the lover of beyond, over many such a tract, 
 nature. Ellen seated herself on till it reached the loved one at 
 one of the stones, and looked last "But, oh! how much be- 
 sadly and wearily towards the tween! I cannot reach her 
 east, at first very careless of the \ she cannot reach me!" thought 
 exceeding beauty of what she rjoor Ellen. Her eyes had been 
 beheld there. filling and dropping tears for 
 
 For miles and miles, on every some time, but now came the 
 side but the west, lay stretched rush of the pent-up storm, and 
 before her a beautifully broken the floods of grief were kept back 
 country. The November haze no longer. 
 
 hung over it now like a thin veil, p When once fairly excited , El- 
 giving great sweetness and soft- len s passions were always ex 
 treme. During the former peace 
 ful and happy part of her life, the 
 occasions of such excitement had 
 
 ness to the scene. Far in the dis 
 tance a range of low hills showed 
 like a misty cloud; near by, at 
 the mountain s foot, the fields 
 and farmhouses and roads lay, 
 a pictured map. About a mile 
 
 been very rare. Of late, unhap 
 pily, they had occurred much 
 oftener. Many were the bitter 
 
 and a half to the south, rose thejfits of tears she had known within 
 mountain where Nancy Vawse a few weeks. But now it seemed 
 lived, craggy and bare; but the as if all the scattered causes of 
 
 leafless trees, and stern, jagged 
 rocks, were wrapped in the haze; 
 and through this the sun, now 
 
 sorrow that had wrought those 
 tears were gathered together, 
 ancl pressing upon her at once, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 133 
 
 and that the burden would crush ness well matched the voice, 
 her to the earth. To the earth it looking upon her with grave con- 
 brought her, literally. She slid cern. She stood motionless and 
 from her seat at first, and, em- silent. 
 
 bracing the stone on which she "What is the matter, my dear?" 
 had sat, she leaned her head! The tone found Ellen s heart, 
 there ; but presently in her agony and brought the water to her 
 quitting her hold of that, she cast ; eyes again, though with a diffe- 
 herself down upon the moss, rence. She covered her face with 
 lying at full length upon the cold her hands. But gentle hands 
 ground, which seemed, to her were placed upon hers, and drew 
 childish fancy, the best friend them away ; and the lady, sitting- 
 she had left. But Ellen was down on Ellen s stone, took her 
 wrought up to the last pitch of in her arms ; and Ellen hid her 
 grief and passion. Tears brought face in the bosom of a better 
 no relief. Convulsive weeping friend than the cold earth had 
 only exhausted her. In the ex- i been like to prove her. But the 
 tremity of her distress and de- change overcame her; and the 
 spair, andinthatlonely place, out i soft whisper, "Don t cry any 
 of hearing of every one, she I more," made it impossible to stop 
 sobbed aloud, q,nd even scream- ; crying. Nothing further was said 
 ed,for_almost the first time in for some time; the lady waited 
 iTerTiTe7andtlie?c fits of violence ! till Ellen grew calmer. When she 
 were succeeded by exhaustion, | saw her able to answer, she said, 
 during which she ceased to shed: gently 
 
 tears, and lay quite still, drawing I "What does all this mean , my 
 only long, sobbing sighs, nowj child? What troubles you? Tell 
 
 and then. 
 How long Ellen had lain there, 
 
 me, and I think we can find a way 
 to mend matters/ 
 
 or how long this would have Ellen answered the tone of 
 gone on before her strength had: voice with a faint smile, but the 
 been quite worn out, no one canj words with another gush of tears, 
 tell. In one of these fits of forced j "You are Ellen Montgomery, 
 quiet, when she lay as still as the i aren t you? 
 rocks around her, she heard aj "Yes, Ma am." 
 voice close by say, "What is the j "I thought so. This isn t the 
 matter , my child? " first time I have seen you ; I have 
 
 The silver sweetness of the seen you once before." 
 
 tone came singularly upon the 
 tempest in Ellen s mind. She got 
 up hastily, and, brushing away 
 the tears from her dimmed eyes,, 
 
 Ellen looked up , surprised. 
 "Have you, Ma am? I am sure 
 I have never seen you." 
 
 "No, I know that. I saw you 
 
 she saw a young lady standing when you didn t see me. Where, 
 there, and a face, whose sweetfi do you think?" 
 
134 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I can t tell, I am sure," said 
 Ellen, "I can t guess; I haven t 
 seen you at Aunt Fortune s , and 
 I haven t been anywhere else." 
 
 "You have forgotten, "said the 
 lady. "Did you never hear of a 
 little girl who went to take a 
 walk once upon a time , and had 
 an unlucky fall into a brook, and 
 then went to a kind old lady s 
 house, where she was dried, and 
 put to bed , and went to sleep ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Ellen. "Did } ier j n h er arms. "What is the 
 you see me there, Ma am, and ma tter? Hardly anything in the 
 when I was asleep?" world is so bad it can t be 
 
 "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 aero, I knew you 
 
 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 11 find time 
 another day. Begin with the 
 worst." 
 
 But she waited in vain for an 
 answer, and became distressed 
 herself at Ellen s distress, which 
 was extreme. 
 
 "Don t cry so, my child 
 don t cry so," she said, pressing 
 
 a little wnue ago, 
 again very soon. And 
 
 you 
 knew 
 
 what the matter was , too , pretty 
 well; but nevertheless, tell me 
 all about it, Ellen; perhaps I can 
 help you." 
 
 Ellen shook her head dejected 
 ly. "Nobody in this world can 
 help me," she said. 
 
 "Then there s One in heaven 
 that can," said the lady, stea 
 dily. "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; 
 
 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 articulate. But, strug 
 gling with herself for a minute or 
 two , she then spoke again , and 
 more clearly. 
 
 " The worst is, oh ! the worst 
 is, that I meant I meant 
 to be a good child, and I have 
 been worse than ever I was in my 
 life before." 
 
 Her tears gushed forth. 
 
 "But how, Ellen?" said her 
 surprised friend, after a pause. 
 "I don t quite understand you. 
 When did you mean to be a 
 good child? Didn t you always 
 
 don t know when I 
 get through." 
 
 should ever 
 
 Ltthe;ea reso m7ny^ngs^ mean so? and what have you 
 I don t know where to begin I been doing? 
 
 Ellen made a great effort, and 
 ceased crying; straightened her 
 self dashed away her tears , as 
 if determined to shed no more; 
 and presently spoke calmly, 
 though a choking sob every now 
 
 you 
 
 a 
 
 " So many things that trouble 
 
 T711~ Of! 
 
 Ellen? 
 
 , JL4JULVSU 
 
 Yes, Ma am." 
 
 I am sorry for that, indeed, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 135 
 
 and then threatened to interrupt 
 
 her. 
 "I will tell you, Ma am. 
 
 That 
 
 "You are grieved to find your 
 self so unlike what you would be. 
 You wish to be a child of the dear 
 
 first day I left Mamma when I ! Saviour, and to have your heart 
 was on board the steamboat, and filled with his love, and to do 
 feeling as badly as I could feel I what will please him. Do you? 
 a kind, kind gentleman I don t ; Have you gone to him day by 
 knoAv who he was came to me, | day, and night by night, and told 
 and spoke to me, and took care! him so? have you begged him 
 of me the whole day. Oh , if I j to give you strength to get the 
 could see him again! He talked j better of your wrong feelings, 
 to me a great deal he wanted j and asked him to change you, 
 me to be a Christian he wanted and make you his child?" 
 
 me to make up my mind to begin 
 thatday 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 be 
 fore. But I think I have never 
 been so bad in my life as I have 
 been since then. Instead of feel 
 ing 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,! 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 | even didn t like to raise my things 
 else in the world , but I am not enough to see the cover of it. I 
 and what shall I do?" 
 
 "At first I did, Ma am," said 
 Ellen, in a low voice. 
 
 "Not lately!" 
 
 "No, Ma am;" in a lower tone 
 still, and looking down. 
 
 "Then you have neglected 
 your Bible and prayer for some 
 time past? " 
 
 Ellen hardly uttered , "Yes." 
 
 "Why, my child!" 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am," said 
 Ellen, weeping "that is one 
 of the things that made me think 
 myself so very wicked. I couldn t 
 like to read my Bible or pray 
 either, though I always used to 
 before. My Bible lay down quite 
 at the bottom of my trunk , and I 
 
 Her face sank in her hands 
 
 great 
 
 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 compa 
 nion; "how apt we are to shrink 
 "Do you remember who said, [most from pur Physician just 
 Come unto me, all ye that labour ] when we are in most need of him ! 
 and are heavy laden, and I will j But, Ellen, dear, that isn t right, 
 give you rest? " No hand but His can touch that 
 
 Ellen looked up inquiringly. sickness you are complaining of. 
 
 agan. 
 
 "And this is your 
 trouble ? " said her friend. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
136 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Seek it, love - seek it. He will ( " Then I am sure you will find 
 bear and help you, no doubt of : your causes of trouble grow less. 
 it, in every trouble you carry j I will not hear the rest of them 
 simply and humbly to his feet; Inow. In a day or two I hope 
 he has promised, ymiknow." |you will be able to give me a 
 
 Ellen was weeping very much, very different account from what 
 but less bitterly than before; the you would have done an hour 
 clouds were breaking, and light ago; but, besides that, it is 
 beginning to shine through. [getting late, and it will not do 
 
 "Shall we pray together now?" ! for us to stay too long up here: 
 
 said her companion, 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 beside the stone, 
 where Ellen s head rested and 
 
 you have a good way to go to 
 reach home. Will you come and 
 see me to-morrow afternoon?" 
 
 "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 
 
 her friend s folded hands were | straight on in the road that s 
 laid. It might have been two - 11 
 
 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 with 
 out difficulty that the speaker 
 carried it calmly through, for 
 Ellen s sobs went nigh to check 
 her more than once. When they 
 rose, Ellen silently sought her 
 friend s arms again, and laying 
 her face on her shoulder and 
 putting both arms round her 
 neck, she wept still but what 
 different tears ! It was like the 
 gentle rain falling through sun 
 shine, 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." 
 
 all : and it s the first house you 
 come to. It isn t very far from 
 here. Where were you going on 
 the mountain?" 
 
 "Nowhere, 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 11 take you over the Bridge of 
 the Nose; it isn t but a step or 
 two more: a little rough, to be 
 sure, but you musn t mind that." 
 
 "W T hat 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 present 
 ly where you turn a very sharp 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 137 
 
 corner to get from one side of the! whose hand raised up those 
 hill to the other; and my brother 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 
 
 named it, jokingly, the Bridge of 
 the Nose." 
 
 "Why do they give the moun 
 
 tain such a queer name?" said;you. " 
 
 Ellen. Ellen looked up; their eyes 
 
 " I don t know, I am sure. The met: her answer was in that 
 people say that from one point grateful glance, 
 of view this side of it looks very] The lady sat down and drew 
 like a man s nose; but I never Ellen close to her. 
 could find it out, and have some "Do you see that little white 
 doubt about the fact. But now village yonder, down at the far 
 here we are! Just come round lend of the lake? that is the 
 this great rock mind how you! village of Carra-carra; and that 
 step, Ellen now, look there ! " | is Carra-carra lake ; that is where 
 
 The rock they had just turned I go to church; you cannot see 
 was at their backs , and they the little church from here. My 
 looked towards the west. Both father preaches there every Sun- 
 exclaimed at the beauty before day morning." 
 them. The view was not so ex- "You must have a long way to 
 tended as the one they had left, go," said Ellen. 
 On the north and south the "Yes, a pretty long way, but 
 broken wavy outline of moun- 1 it s very pleasant , though. I 
 tains closed in the horizon; but | mount my little gray pony, and 
 far to the west stretched an open- he carries me there in quick time, 
 ing between the hills, through; when I will let him. I never 
 Avhich the setting sun sent his wish the way shorter. I go in 
 long beams, even to their feet, j all sorts of weathers, too, Ellen; 
 In the distance all was a golden Sharp and I don t mind frost and 
 haze; nearer, on the right and snow." 
 
 left, the hills were lit up singu 
 larly, and there was a most 
 
 "Who is Sharp?" saidEllen. 
 "My pony. An odd name, 
 
 beautiful mingling of deep, hazy isn t it? It wasn t of my choosing, 
 
 shadow, and bright, glowing! Ellen, but he deserves it, if ever 
 
 mountain -sides and ridges. A pony did. He s a very cunning 
 
 glory was upon the valley. Far ; little fellow. Where do you go, 
 
 down below, at their feet, layajEllen? to Thirlwall?" 
 
 large lake , gleaming in the sun- 1 " To church, Ma am ! I don t 
 
 light; and at the upper end of it, go anywhere." 
 
 a village of some size showed j "Doesn t your aunt go to 
 
 like a cluster of white dots. I church ? " 
 
 "How beautiful!" said the! "She hasn t since I have been 
 lady again. "Ellen, dear, He here." 
 
138 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "What do you do with your 
 self on Sunday?" 
 
 "Nothing, Ma am; I don t 
 know what to do with myself all 
 
 getting upon another of your 
 troubles, and we haven t time for 
 that now. By your own account, 
 you have been much in fault 
 
 the day long. I get tired of being j yourself, and I trust you will find 
 in the house, and I go out of all things mend with your own 
 doors; and then I get tired of j mending. But now, there goes 
 being out of doors, and come in! the sun! and you and I must 
 again. I wanted a kitten dread- follow his example." 
 
 fully, but Mr. Van Brunt said 
 
 Aunt Fortune would not let me the houses of the village were 
 
 1, ,. , ,)) 1 _.!_ 1 .[__ 1 - _J. 11 .Ll - 
 
 keep one. 
 
 "Did you want a kitten to help 
 you keep Sunday, Ellen?" said 
 her friend , smiling. 
 
 "Yes, I did, Ma am," said 
 
 The lake ceased to gleam, and 
 
 less plainly to be seen ; still the 
 mountain heads were as bright 
 as ever. Gradually the shadows 
 crept up their sides , while the 
 gray of evening settled deeper 
 
 Ellen, smiling again. "I thought and deeper upon the valley, 
 it would be a great deal of com- "There," said Ellen, "that s 
 pany for me. I got very tired of just what I was wondering at the 
 reading all day long, and I had! other morning; only then the 
 nothing to read but the Bible; light shone upon the top of the 
 and you know, Ma am, I told you ! mountains first , and walked 
 I have been all wrong ever since down, and now it leaves the 
 
 Icame 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?" 
 
 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 any 
 thing." 
 
 "Put me in mind of it to-mor 
 row, and I 11 try to make you 
 understand it," said the lady. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Ma am, I am sure of j "But we must not tarry now. I 
 
 it," said Ellen, clinging to her. 
 "Oh, I 11 come gladly, if you 
 will let me and if Aunt For 
 tune 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 
 
 see you are likely to find me 
 work enough, Ellen." 
 
 "I 11 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 139 
 
 Ellen, as they ran down the hill; I much? For one person that 
 "they keep coming into my head .shows herself well bred in this 
 all the while." matter, there are a thousand, I 
 
 It was easier going down than I think, that ask impertinent ques- 
 comirig up. They soon arrived i tions. I am very glad you are an 
 
 at the place where Ellen had left 
 the road to take the wood path. 
 
 "Here we part," said the lady. 
 "Goodnight!" 
 
 "Goodnight, 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 
 
 exception to the common rule. 
 But, dear Ellen, I am quite will 
 ing that 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 
 
 not asked me "that I have been! than it had been a few hours be- 
 Do you know who I fore, and she regained her home 
 
 expecting, 
 am?" 
 
 "No, Ma am." 
 "Don t you want to know?" 
 "Yes, Ma am, very much," said 
 Ellen, laughing at her friend s 
 look; "butMamma told me never 
 to try to find out anything about 
 other people that they didn t 
 
 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 
 
 wish me to know, or that wasn t I her room. She did not forget her 
 
 my business." 
 
 "Well, I think this is your 
 business decidedly. Who are you 
 
 friend s advice. She had no light; 
 she could not read; but Ellen 
 did pray. She did carry all her 
 
 going to ask for when you come heart -sickness, her wants, and 
 to see me to-morrow? Will you! her woes, to that Friend whose 
 ask for the young lady that! ear is always open to hear the 
 lives in this house? or will you cry of those who call upon Him 
 give a description of my nose and in truth ; and then , relieved , re- 
 
 J 1, * !, -i. JX, ~ ,. "U ^ ^ 1 .4. "U ,-. 1 ~ ,3 ~ 1 .i. 
 
 eyes and height. 
 
 Ellen laughed. 
 
 "My dear Ellen," said the 
 lady, changing her tone, "do 
 you know you please me very 
 
 freshed, almost healed, she went 
 to bed and slept sweetly. 
 
140 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Counsel, Cakes, and Captain Parry. 
 
 me," she thought; "I ll do as 
 that dear Miss Humphreys told 
 
 EARLY next morning Ellen! me it s good and early, and 1 
 awoke with a sense that some- shall have a fine time before 
 thing pleasant had happened, breakfast yet to myself. And 
 Then the joyful reality darted I 11 get up so every morning and 
 into her mind, and jumping out have it!" that 11 be the very 
 of bed , she set about her morn- best plan I can hit upon." 
 ing work with a better heart than | As she thought this , she drew 
 she had been able to bring to it i forth her Bible from its place at 
 for many a long day. When she the bottom of her trunk; and 
 had finished, she went to the opening it at hazard, she began 
 window. She had found out how to read the 18th chapter of 
 to keep it open now, by means Matthew. Some of it she did 
 of a big nail stuck in a hole not quite understand; but she 
 under the sash. It was very ! paused with pleasure at the 14th 
 early, and in the perfect still- verse. "That means me," she 
 ness, the soft gurgle of the little ( thought. The 21st and 22nd 
 brook came distinctly to her ear. i verses struck her a good deal, 
 Ellen leaned her arms on the but when she came to the last she 
 window-sill, and tasted the! was almost startled. 
 morning air; almost wondering | "There it is again!" she said. 
 at its sweetness, and at the love- ! " That is exactly what that gen- 
 liness of field and sky, and the tleman said tc me. I thought I 
 bright eastern horizon. For days j was forgiven, but how can I be? 
 and days all had looked dark for I feel I have not forgiven 
 and sad. | Aunt Fortune." 
 
 There were two reasons for Laying aside her book, Ellen 
 the change. In the first place, knelt down ; but this one thought 
 Ellen had made up her mind to so pressed upon her mind, that 
 go straight on in the path of she could think of scarce any- 
 duty; in the second place, she! thing else; and her prayer this 
 had found a friend. Her little morning was an urgent and re- 
 
 heart bounded with delight and ipeated petition that she might be 
 swelled with thankfulness at the enabled "from her heart" to 
 thought of Alice Humphreys. ! forgive her Aunt Fortune "all 
 She was once more at peace with her trespasses." Poor Ellen! she 
 herself, and had even some no- felt it was very hard work. At 
 tion of being by and by at peace jthe very minute she was striving 
 with her aunt; though a sad! to feel at peace with her aunt, 
 twinge came over her whenever j one grievance after another 
 she thought of her mother s j would start up to remembrance, 
 letter. and she knew the feelings that 
 
 " But there is only one way for j met them were far enough from 
 
THE WIDE!, WIDE WORLD, 141 
 
 the spirit of forgiveness. In the ! some prime maple. You like em, 
 
 midst of this she was called I guess, don t you?" 
 
 down. She rose with tears in her! "I don t know, yet I have 
 
 eyes, and "what shall I do?" in never seen any," said Ellen. 
 
 her heart. Bowing her head once " Never seen buckwheats ! why, 
 
 more, she earnestly prayed that they re most as good as mymo- 
 
 if she could not yet feel right to- ther s splitters. Buckwheat cakes 
 
 wards her aunt, she might be kept and maple molasses that s food 
 
 at least from acting or speaking fit for a king, / think when 
 
 wrong. Poor Ellen ! In the heart they re good ; and Miss Fortune s 
 
 is the spring of action; and she is always first-rate." 
 
 found it so this morning. Miss Fortune did not relent at 
 
 Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt all at this compliment, 
 were already at the table. Ellen! "What makes you so white, 
 took her place in silence, for one this morning?" Mr. Van Brunt 
 look at her aunt s face told her presently went on; "you ain t 
 that no "good morning" would well, be you?" 
 be accepted. Miss Fortune was j "Yes," said Ellen, doubtfully 
 in a particularly bad humour, "I m well" 
 owing, among other things, to "She s as well as lam, Mr. Van 
 Mr. Van Brunt s having refused Brunt, if you don t go and put her 
 to eat his breakfast unless Ellen up to any notions!" MissFortune 
 were called. An unlucky piece of said, in a kind of choked voice, 
 kindness. She neither spoke toj Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and 
 Ellen nor looked at her; Mr. Van \ said no more to the end of break- 
 Brunt did what in him lay to make fast-time. 
 
 amends. He helped her very J Ellen rather dreaded what was 
 carefully to the cold pork and to come next, for her aunt s look 
 potatoes, and handed her the ; was ominous. In dead silence the 
 well -piled platter ~of griddle-: things were put away, and put 
 cakes. up, and in course of washing and 
 
 "Here s the first buckwheats drying, when Miss Fortune sud- 
 of the season," said he, "and I denly broke forth 
 told Miss Fortune I warn t agoing j "What did you do with your- 
 to eat one on ern if you didn t self yesterday afternoon?" 
 come down to enjoy em along! "I was up on the mountain," 
 with us. Take two take two ! said Ellen, 
 you want em to keep each other " What mountain?" 
 hot." "I believe they call it the 
 
 Ellen s look and smile thanked Nose." 
 
 him, as, following his advice, she | "What business had you up 
 covered one generous "buck-! there?" 
 wheat" with another as ample. "I hadn t any business there." 
 
 " That s the thing ! Now, here s ; "What did you go there for ? " 
 
142 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 swal 
 low her feelings. 
 
 "Your mother! I daresay 
 mothers always are blind. I dare 
 say she took everything you said 
 for gospel!" 
 
 Ellen was silent, from sheer 
 want of words that were pointed 
 enough to suit her. 
 
 "I wish Morgan could have 
 had the gumption to marry in his 
 own country; but he must go 
 running after a Scotchwoman! 
 A Yankee would have brought 
 up his child to be worth some 
 thing. Give me Yankees ! " 
 
 Ellen set down the cup she was 
 wiping. 
 
 "You don t know anything 
 about my mother," she said. 
 " You oughtn t to speak so < it s 
 not right." 
 
 "Why ain t Bright, I should 
 like to know?" said Miss Fortune ; 
 " this is a free country, 1 guess. 
 Our tongues ain t tied we re 
 all free here." 
 
 "I wish we were," muttered 
 Ellen ; " I know what I d do." 
 
 "What would you do?" said 
 Miss Fortune. 
 
 Ellen was silent. Her aunt re 
 peated the question in a sharper 
 tone. 
 
 "I oughtn t to say what I was 
 going to ," said Ellen "I d ra 
 ther not." 
 
 "I don t care," said Miss For 
 tune 5 "you began, and you shall 
 
 finish it. I will hear what it was. 1 
 
 "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 
 ito go on wiping. There s a pile 
 ready for you. What were you 
 doing yesterday afternoon?" 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
 "Were you alone, or with 
 somebody?" 
 
 "I was alone part of the time." 
 
 "And who were with you 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 IVliss Fortune. 
 
 "I had rather not tell." 
 
 "And I had rather you should 
 tell so out with it." 
 
 "I was alone with Miss Hum 
 phreys." said Ellen; "and it is no 
 matter what we were talking ab out 
 it doesn t concern anybody but 
 her and me." 
 
 "Yes it does, it concerns me," 
 said her aunt; "and 1 choose to 
 know; what were you talking 
 about?" 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 143 
 
 "Will you tell me?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen, low, but re 
 solutely. 
 
 "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. 1 11 give 
 you such a " 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! " said Ellen wild 
 ly "you must not speak to me 
 so ! Mamma never did , and you 
 have no right to ! If Mamma or 
 Papa were here, you would not 
 dare talk to me so/ 
 
 The answer to this was a sharp 
 box on the ear from Miss For 
 tune s wet hand. Half stunned, 
 less by >the blow than the tumult 
 of feeling it roused, Ellen stood 
 a moment, and then thro win 
 down her towel, she ran out o 
 the room, quivering with passion, 
 and brushing off the soapy water 
 left on her face as if it had been 
 her aunt s very hand. Violent 
 tears burst forth as soon as she 
 reached her own room tears at 
 first of anger and mortification 
 only; but conscience presently 
 began to whisper, "You are 
 wrong ! you are wrong ! " and 
 tears of sorrow mingled with the 
 others. 
 
 "Oh!" said Ellen, "why 
 couldn t I keep still? when I 
 had resolved so this morning 
 why couldn t I be quiet? But 
 she ought not to have provoked 
 me so dreadfully 1 couldn t 
 help it." "You are wrong," said 
 conscience again, and her tears 
 
 c 
 
 ? p 
 b 
 
 flowed faster. And then came 
 back her morning trouble the 
 duty and the difficulty of forgi- j 
 ving. Forgive her aunt Fortune ! I 
 with her whole heart in a I 
 passion of displeasure against 
 her. Alas! Ellen began to feel 
 and acknowledge that indeed all 
 was wrong. But what to do? 
 There was just one comfort, the 
 visit to Miss Humphreys in the 
 afternoon. "She will tell me," 
 thought Ellen; "she will help 
 me. But in the mean while ? " 
 
 Ellen had not much time to 
 think; her aunt called her down 
 and set her to work. She was 
 very busy till dinner-time, and 
 very unhappy; but twenty times 
 in the course of the morning did 
 Ellen pause for a moment, and 
 covering her face with her hands, 
 
 ray that a heart to forgive might I 
 
 e given her. 
 As soon as possible after 
 dinner, she made her escape to 
 her room that she might prepare 
 for her walk. Conscience was not 
 quite easy that she was going 
 without the knowledge of her 
 aunt. She had debated the ques 
 tion with herself, and could not 
 make up her mind to hazard 
 losing her visit. 
 
 So she dressed herself very 
 carefully. One of her dark meri- 
 noes was affectionately put on; 
 her single pair of white stock 
 ings; 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 
 
144 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 un 
 dressed, dressed again, and went 
 down stairs. 
 
 "Come! you ve been an age," 
 said Miss Fortune; "now make 
 haste ; there ain t but a handful ; 
 and I want to mop up." 
 
 Ellen took courage again 
 ironed away with right good will; 
 and as there was really but a 
 handful of things, she had soon 
 done, even to taking off the iron 
 ing blanket and putting up the 
 irons. In the mean time she had 
 changed her mind as to stealing 
 off without leave; conscience was 
 too strong for her; and, though 
 with a beating heart, she told of 
 Miss Humphrey s desire and her 
 half engagement. 
 
 "You may go where you like 
 I am sure I do not care what 
 you do with yourself," was Miss 
 Fortune s reply. 
 
 Full of delight at this ungra 
 cious permission , Ellen fled up 
 stairs, anddressingmuch quicker 
 than before, was soon on her way. 
 
 But at first she went rather 
 sadly. In spite of all her good re 
 solves 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 Avalked. Further from 
 her aunt s house, however, her 
 spirits began to rise ; her foot fell 
 lighter cm the greensward. Hope 
 
 and expectation quickened her 
 I steps ; and when at length she 
 passed the little wood-path, it was 
 .almost on a run. Not very far be- 
 |yond 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 knock 
 ed; 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 easi 
 ly have been mistaken for the at 
 tacks of some rat s teeth upon the 
 wainscot, Ellen grew weary of 
 her fruitless toil, and of standing 
 on tiptoe, and resolved, though 
 doubtfully, to go round the house 
 and see if there was any other 
 way of getting in. Turning the 
 far corner, she saw a long, low 
 out-building or shed, jutting out 
 from the side of the house. On 
 the further side of this, Ellen 
 found an elderly woman, standing 
 in front of the shed, which was 
 there open and paved, and wring 
 ing some clothes out of a tub of 
 water. She was apleasant woman 
 to look at, very trim and tidy, and 
 a good-humoured eye and smile 
 when she saw Ellen. Ellen made 
 up to her, and asked for Miss 
 Humphreys. 
 
 " Why, where in the world did 
 you coinefrom?" said the woman. 
 
THE 7yiDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 145 
 
 "I don t receive company at the 
 back of the house." 
 
 "I knocked at the front door 
 till I was tired," said Ellen, smi 
 ling in return. 
 
 "Miss Alice must ha been a- 
 sleep. Now, honey, you have 
 come so far round to find me, will 
 you go a little further and find 
 Miss Alice? Just go round this 
 corner, and keep straight along 
 till you come to the glass- door 
 
 there you ll find her. Stop! 
 
 may be she s asleep; I may as 
 well go along with you myself." 
 
 She wrung the water from her 
 hands and led the way. 
 
 A little space of green grass 
 stretched in front or 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 
 
 quaintance," 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?" 
 
 e "Yes, indeed I do, Ma am," 
 said Ellen, pulling off her last 
 jlove. 
 
 "Ah, but wait till you have 
 ;aken tea with me half a dozen 
 imes, 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, which 
 ever you choose to call it. Do 
 
 woods were now all brown stems, 1 7 OU see what a beautiful view I 
 except here and there a superb I have ^ here? The wood was just 
 
 hemlock and some scattered 
 silver 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 
 
 as thick all along as it is on the 
 right and left; I felt half smother 
 ed 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 
 
 {* J 1 , T 
 
 vno wiicic j-^iiuii 11 a, u. iiiicvl iitJl o 
 
 strength and patience upon the|f that beautiful stretch of 
 knocker; a little further on they) country. I should grow melan- 
 paused at the glass-door. Onej cnol y. if I tad that wall of trees 
 step led to it. Ellen s conductress 1 Pressing on my vision all the 
 looked in first through one of the! time; it always comforts me to 
 panes, and then openingthe door, ! lk off? far away, to those distant 
 motioned her to enter. blue hills." 
 
 "Here you are, my new ac- "Aren t those the hills I was 
 The Wide, Wide World. ^Q 
 
146 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 looking at yesterday?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "From up on the mountain? 
 the very same; this is part of the 
 very same view, and a noble view 
 it is. Every morning, Ellen, the 
 sun, rising behind those hills, 
 shines in through this door and 
 lights up my room; and in winter 
 he looks in at that south window, 
 so I have him all the time. To be 
 sure^ if I want to see him set, I 
 must take a walk for it but that 
 isn t unpleasant; and you know 
 we cannot have everything at 
 once." 
 
 It was a very beautiful extent 
 of woodland, meadow, and hill, 
 that was seen picture -fashion 
 through the gap cut in the forest; 
 the wall of trees on each side ser 
 ving as a frame to shut it in , and 
 the descent of the mountain, from 
 almost the edge of the lawn, 
 being very rapid. The opening 
 had been skilfully cut; the effect 
 was remarkable, and very fine; 
 the light on the picture being 
 often quite different from that on 
 the frame or on the hither side 
 of the frame. 
 
 "Now, Ellen," said Alice, turn 
 ing from the window, "take a 
 good look at my room. I want 
 you to know it and feel at home 
 in it; for Avhencver you can run 
 away from your aunt s, this is 
 your home do you under 
 stand?" 
 
 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 sum 
 
 mer it very often walks out of 
 doors to accommodate people on 
 the grass-plat. I have a great 
 fancy for taking tea out of doors, 
 Ellen, in warm weather; and if 
 you do not mind a musquito or 
 two, I shall always be happy to 
 have your company. That door 
 opens into the hall ; look out and 
 see, for I want you to get the 
 geography of the house. That 
 odd-looking, lumbering, painted 
 concern is my cabinet of curiosi 
 ties. I tried my best to make the 
 carpenterman at Thiiiwall under 
 stand what sort of a thing I want 
 ed, and did all but shoAv him 
 how to make it; but, as the 
 southerners say, he hasn t made 
 it right, nohow! There I keep 
 my dried ilowers, my minerals, 
 and a very odd collection of cu 
 rious things of all sorts that I am 
 constantly picking up. I 11 shoAv 
 you them some day, Ellen. Have 
 you a fancy for curiosities?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma am, I believe so." 
 
 "Believe so! not more sure 
 than that? Are you a lover of 
 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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 147 
 
 "Yes, Ma am, all my life." I "I have some pretty ones out 
 
 " But nowyouhave seen a little yet , and shall have one or two in 
 
 of the country don t you think the winter; but I can t keep a 
 
 you shall like it better ? " I great many here ; I haven t room 
 
 "Oh, a great deal better!" for them. I have hard work to 
 
 "Ah, that s right. lam sure ; save these from the frost. There s 
 
 you will. On that other side, you: a beautiful daphne that will be 
 
 see, is my winter sofa. It s a very I out by-and-by, and make the 
 
 comfortable resting-place , I can whole house sweet. But here, 
 
 tell you , Ellen , as I have proved ; Ellen , on this side , between the 
 
 by many a sweet nap ; and its ; windows , is my greatest treasure 
 
 old chintz covers are very plea-j my precious books. All these 
 
 santtome, for I remember them | are mine. Now, my dear, it is 
 
 as far back as I remember any- 1 time to introduce you to my most 
 
 thing." I excellent of easy-chairs the 
 
 There was a sigh here; but: best things in the room, aren t 
 
 Alice passed on, and opened a j they? Put yourself in that; now 
 
 do you feel at home?" 
 
 "Very much indeed, Ma am," 
 said Ellen, laughing, as Alice 
 placed her in the deep easy-chair. 
 
 There were two things in the 
 
 door near the end of the sofa. 
 
 "Look in here, Ellen; this is 
 my bedroom." 
 
 "Oh, how lovely!" Ellen ex 
 claimed. 
 
 The carpet covered only the room that Alice had not mention- 
 middle of the floor; the rest was ed; and while she mended the 
 painted white. The furniture was fire , Ellen looked at them. One 
 common, but neat as wax. Ample was the portrait of a gentleman, 
 curtains of white dimity clothed grave and good-looking; this had 
 the three windows , and lightly very little of her attention. The 
 draped the bed. The toilet-table | other was the counter-portrait of 
 was covered with snow- white mus- 1 a lady; a fine, dignified counte- 
 lin, and by the toilet-cushion nance, that had a charm for Ellen, 
 stood, late as it was, a glass of It hung over the fireplace in an 
 flowers. Ellen thought it must be excellent light; and the mild eye, 
 a pleasure to sleep there. [and somewhat of a peculiar ex- 
 
 "This," said Alice, when they pression about the mouth, bore 
 came out, "between my door and such a likeness to Alice, though 
 the fireplace, is a cupboard. Here older, that Ellen had no doubt 
 be cups and saucers, and so forth, whose it was. 
 In that other corner beyond the Alice presently drew a chair 
 fireplace you see my flower- close to Ellen s side, and kissed 
 stand. Do you love flowers, her. 
 Ellen?" "I trust, my child," she said, 
 
 "I love them dearly, Miss |" that you feel better to-day than 
 Alice." I you did yesterday?" 
 
 10* 
 
148 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 "Oh, I do, Ma am a great 
 deal better," Ellen answered. 
 
 " Thenlhope the reason is that 
 you have returned to your duty, 
 and are resolved not to be a 
 Christian by-and-by, but to lead 
 a Christian s life now?" 
 
 " I have resolved so , 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 want 
 ed to see you to-day to tell me 
 what I should do ! I resolved and 
 resolved this morning; and then, 
 as soon as I gotdown-stairs, I be 
 gan to have bad feelings towards 
 Aunt Fortune, and I have been 
 full of bad feelings all day 5 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 you don t like her." 
 
 "No, Ma am, I don t, to be sure; 
 how can I?" 
 
 "Why cannot you, Ellen?" 
 
 "Oh, I can t, Ma am! I wish I 
 could. But, oh! Ma am, I should 
 have liked her I might have 
 liked her, if she had been kind, 
 but she never has. Even that first 
 night I came she never kissed me 
 nor said she was glad to see me." 
 
 " That was failing in kindness, 
 certainly; but is she unkind to 
 you, Ellen?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, 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 doit," said Ellen, firing 
 with passion; "she has no rigid 
 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/zer/ I can t Jearher!" 
 
 "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, ibhe sat 
 a moment, and then turning to 
 her companion, put both arms 
 round her neck , and hid her face 
 on her shoulder again ; and, with 
 out raising it, she gave her the 
 history of the morning. 
 
 "What has brought about this 
 dreadful state of things?" said 
 Alice, after a few minutes." Whose 
 fault is it, Ellen?" 
 
 "I think it is Aunt Fortune s 
 fault," said Ellen, raising her 
 head; "I don t think it is mine. 
 If she had behaved well to me, I 
 should have behaved well to her. 
 I meant to, I am sure." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you do 
 not think you have been in fault 
 j at all in the matter?" 
 
 " No , Ma am , I do not mean to 
 say that. I have been very much 
 in fault, very often I know that. 
 I get very angry and vexed , and 
 sometimes I say nothing, but 
 
THE "WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 149 
 
 sometimes I get out of all pa- earnest, the answer will come, 
 tience, and say things I ought But there is something else you 
 not. I did so to-day; but it is so can do, and must do, Ellen, be- 
 very hard to keep still when I am sides praying, or praying may be 
 in such a passion, and now I have in vain." 
 
 got to feel so towards Aunt For- "What do you mean, Miss 
 tune, that I don t like the sight Alice? 
 
 of her ; I hate the very look of her "You acknowledge yourself in 
 bonnet hanging up on the wall, fault; have you made all the 
 I know it isn t right; and it makes amends you can? Have you, as 
 me miserable ; and I can t help it, soon as you have seen yourself in 
 for I grow worse and worse every the wrong, gone to your aunt 
 day and what shall I do?" Fortune and acknowledged it, 
 
 Ellen s tears came faster than and humbly asked her pardon?" 
 her words. Ellen answered " Xo ," in a low 
 
 "Ellen, my child," said Alice, voice. 
 
 after a while, "there is but one " Then , my child , your duty is 
 way. You know what I said to plain before you. The next thing 
 you yesterday?" after doing wrong is to make all 
 
 "I know it; but, dear Miss the amends in your power; con- 
 Alice, in my reading this morning fess your fault, and ask forgive- 
 I came to that verse that speaks ness, both of God and man. Pride 
 about not being forgiven if we do struggles against it I see yours 
 not forgive others ; and oh! how does; but, my child, God re- 
 it troubles me! for I can t feel sisteth the proud, but giveth grace 
 that I forgive Aunt Fortune; I unto the humble. " 
 feel vexed whenever the thought Ellen burst into tears, and cried 
 of her comes into my head ; and heartily. 
 
 how can I behave right to her " Mind your own wrong doings, 
 while I feel so?" my child, and you will not be 
 
 " You are right there, my dear ; half so disposed to quarrel with 
 you cannot, indeed. The heart those of other people. But, Ellen, 
 must be set right before the life dear, if you will not humble your- 
 can be." I self to this , you must not count 
 
 "But what shall I do to set it upon an answer to your prayer, 
 right?" j lf thou bring thy gift to the 
 
 "Pray." I altar, and there rememberest that 
 
 "Dear Miss Alice, I have been thy brother hath aught against 
 praying all this morning that I thee what then? leave there 
 might forgive Aunt Fortune, and thy gift before the altar; go first 
 yet I cannot do it." and be reconciled to thy brother, 
 
 "Pray still, my dear," said and then come. " 
 Alice, pressing her closer in her "But it is so hard to forgive! " 
 arms "pray still 5 if you are in sobbed Ellen. 
 
150 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD-. 
 
 "Hard? yes, it is hard when 
 our hearts are so. But there is 
 little love to Christ, and no just 
 sense of his love to us, in the 
 heart that finds it hard. Pride 
 and selfishness make it hard; the 
 heart full of love to the dear 
 Saviour cannot lay up offences 
 against itself." 
 
 "I have said quite enough," 
 said Alice, after a pause; "you 
 know what you want, my dear 
 Ellen , and what you ought to do. 
 I shall leave you for a little while 
 to change my dress, for I have 
 been walking and riding all the 
 morning. Make a good use of the 
 time while I am gone." 
 
 Ellen did make good use of the 
 time. When Alice returned, she 
 met her with another face than 
 she had worn all that day, humbler 
 and quieter; and flinging her 
 arms around her, she said 
 
 "I will ask Aunt Fortune s for 
 giveness; I feel I can do it 
 now." 
 
 "And how about forqivinq. 
 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 bet 
 ter Friend than I always near 
 you; trust in Him; if I have done 
 you any good , don t forget it was 
 He brought me to you yesterday 
 afternoon." 
 
 " There s just one thing that 
 troubles me now," said Ellen, 
 
 " Mamma s letter. I am thinking 
 of it all the time ; I feel as if I 
 should fly to get it!" 
 
 "We ll see about that. Cannot 
 you ask your aunt for it?" 
 
 "I don t like to." 
 
 "Take care, Ellen; there is 
 some pride there vet." 
 
 " 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 11 try, if I can." 
 
 "Well, now, to change the 
 subject at what o clock did you 
 dine to-day?" 
 
 " I don t know, Ma am at the 
 same time we always do, I be 
 lieve." 
 
 "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 house 
 keeping." 
 
 She led the way across the hall 
 to the room on the opposite side; 
 a large, well-appointed, and spot 
 lessly neat kitchen. Ellen could 
 not help exclaiming at its plea 
 santness. 
 
 " Why, yes I think it is. I 
 have been in many a parlour that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 151 
 
 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 
 Thirl wall?" 
 
 "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 11 do it, Miss Alice; it snot 
 good for you to go so long with 
 out eating." 
 
 Alice now rolled up her sleeves 
 above the elbows, and tying a 
 large white apron before her, 
 set about gathering the different 
 things she wanted for her work 
 . to Ellen s great amusement. 
 A white moulding - board was 
 placed upon a table as white 
 and round it soon grouped the 
 pail of flour, the plate of nice 
 yellow butter, the bowl of cream, 
 the sieve, tray, and sunclry_etce- 
 teras. And then, first sifting 
 some flour into the tray, Alice 
 began to throw in the other 
 things one after another, anc 
 toss the whole about with a care 
 lessness that looked as if al 
 would go wrong, but with a con 
 fidence that seemed to say al 
 was going right. Ellen gazed ii 
 comical wonderment. 
 
 "Did you think cakes wen 
 made without hands? " said Alice 
 
 aughing at her look. "You saw 
 ae wash mine before I began." 
 
 " Oh ! I m not thinking of that," 
 aid Ellen; "I am not afraid of 
 four hands." 
 
 "Did you never see your mo- 
 her do this?" said Alice, who 
 was now turning and rolling 
 about the dough upon the board 
 11 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 
 ind butter making?" 
 
 " Butter-making ! Oh," said El- 
 ,en , 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 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 al 
 ready; and she had quite for 
 gotten all possible causes of 
 vexation, past, prevent, or fu 
 ture, when suddenly a large gray 
 cat jumped upon the table, and 
 coolly walking upon the mould 
 ing-board, planted his paw di 
 rectly 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. 
 
152 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 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, butMargery hap 
 pily comingm, seizedpussinboth 
 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, 
 certainty. 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. CaptainPar- 
 ry is very particular and delicate 
 about his eating." 
 
 "Cap tain Parry!" said Ellen, 
 "is that his name?" 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, laughing-, 
 "I don t wonder you look asto 
 nished, Ellen. I have had that 
 cat five years , and when he was 
 first given me, by my brother 
 Jack, who was younger then than 
 he is now, and had been reading 
 Captain Parry s Voyages, gave him 
 that name, and would have him 
 called so. Oh, Jack!" said Alice, 
 half laughing and half crying. 
 
 Ellen wondered why. But she 
 went to wash her hands, and 
 when her face was again turned 
 to Ellen , it was unruffled as ever. 
 
 "Margery, my cakes arc ready," 
 said she 5 "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 11 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 arran 
 ging the cups and saucers and 
 other things that Alice handed 
 her from the cupboard; and 
 when, a few minutes after, the 
 tea and the cakes came in, and 
 she and Alice were cozily seated 
 at supper, poor Ellen hardly 
 knew herself, in such a pleasant 
 state of things. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Difficulty of doing right. 
 
 "ELLEN, dear," said Alice, as 
 she poured out Ellen s second 
 cup of tea, "haye we run through 
 the list of your troubles?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Miss Alice, indeed 
 we haven t; but we have got 
 through the worst." 
 
 "Is the next one so bad it 
 would spoil our supper?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen, "it couldn t 
 do that, but it s bad enough, 
 though ; it s about my not going 
 to school. Miss Alice, I pro 
 mised myself I would learn so 
 much while Mamma was away, 
 and surprise her when she came 
 back, and instead of that I am 
 not learning anything. I don t 
 mean not learning anything " said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 153 
 
 Ellen, correcting herself; "but 
 I can t do much. When I found 
 Aunt Fortune wasn t going to 
 .send me to school, I determined 
 I would try to study by myself; 
 and I have tried; but I can t get 
 along." 
 
 "Well, now, don t lay down 
 your knife and fork and look so 
 doleful," said Alice, smiling; 
 "this is a matter I can help you 
 in. What are you studying? " 
 
 "Some things I can manage 
 well enough," said Ellen "the 
 easy things ; but I cannot under 
 stand 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, un 
 less you should be too hard for 
 me. What do you say to that?" 
 
 Ellen said nothing to it, but 
 the colour that rushed to her 
 cheeks the surprised look of 
 delight were answer enough. 
 
 "It will do, then," said Alice; 
 "and I have no doubt we shall 
 untie the knot of those arithme 
 tical problems very soon. But, 
 Ellen, my dear, I cannot help 
 you in French, for I do not 
 know it myself. What will you 
 do about that?" 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am; I am 
 sorry." 
 
 " So am I, for jour sake. I can 
 help you in Latin, if that would 
 be any comfort to you." 
 
 "It wouldn t be much comfort 
 to me," said Ellen, laughing; 
 "Mamma wanted me to learn 
 Latin, but I wanted to learn 
 French a great deal more: I 
 don t care about Latin except to 
 please her." 
 
 "Permit me to ask if you know 
 English?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, 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 after 
 noon." 
 
 "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 
 
154 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE "WORLD. 
 
 say it; I don t think I ever did 
 before I came here." 
 
 "What are you so anxious to 
 learn French for?" 
 
 "Mamma knows it , and I have 
 often heard her talk French with 
 a great many people ; and papa 
 and I always wanted to be able 
 to talk it too ; and Mamma want 
 ed 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 with 
 out that ; I 11 study anything you 
 please." 
 
 "Dear Ellen, I believe you 
 would. But I should like to know 
 it for my own sake ; we 11 study 
 it together; we shall get along 
 nicely, I have no doubt; we can 
 learn to read it at least, and that 
 is the main point." 
 
 "But how shall we know what 
 to call the words?" said Ellen, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "That is a grave question," 
 said Alice, smiling. "I am afraid 
 we should hit upon a style of 
 pronunciation that a Frenchman 
 would make nothing of. I have 
 it!" she exclaimed, clapping her 
 hands; "where there s a will 
 there s a way it always hap 
 pens so. Ellen, I have an old 
 friend upon the mountain who 
 will give us exactly what we 
 want, unless I am greatly mis 
 taken. We ll go and see her; 
 
 that is the very thing! my old 
 friend Mrs. Yawse." 
 
 "Mrs. Vawse ! " repeated Ellen; 
 "not the grandmother of that 
 Nancy Vawse ? " 
 
 " The very same. Her name is 
 not Vawse the country people 
 call it so, and I, being one of 
 the country people, have fallen 
 into the way of it; but her real 
 name is Vosier. She was born 
 a Swiss, and brought up in a 
 wealthy French family, as the 
 personal attendant of a young 
 lady, to whom she became ex 
 ceedingly attached. This lady 
 finally married an American gen 
 tleman; and so great was Mrs. 
 Vawse s love to her, that she left 
 country and family to follow her 
 here. In a few years her mistress 
 died; she married; and since that 
 time she has been tossed from 
 trouble to trouble a perfect 
 sea of troubles till now she is 
 left like a wreck upon this moun 
 tain top. A fine wreck she is! 
 I go to see her very often, and 
 next time I will call for you and 
 we will propose our French plan ; 
 nothing will please her better, 
 I know. By the way, Ellen, are 
 you as well versed in the other 
 common branches of education as 
 you are in your mother tongue ? " 
 
 "What do you mean, Miss 
 Alice?" 
 
 "Geography, for instance; do 
 you know it well?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma am, I believe so; I 
 am sure I have studied it till I am 
 sick of it." 
 
 "Can you give me the boun 
 daries of Great Thibet or Peru?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 155 
 
 Ellen hesitated. 
 
 "I had rather not try," she 
 said "I am not sure. I can t 
 remember those queer countries 
 in Asia and South America, half 
 so well as Europe and North 
 America." 
 
 "Do you know anything about 
 the surface of the country in 
 Italy or France the character 
 and condition of the people 
 what kind of climate they have, 
 and what grows there most 
 freely?" 
 
 "Why, no, Ma am," saidEllen; 
 " nobody ever taught me that." 
 
 "Would you like to go over 
 the atlas again, talking about 
 all these matters, as well as the 
 mere outlines of the countries 
 you have studied before?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, dearly!" exclaimed 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Well, I think we mav let 
 Margery have the tea-things. 
 But here is Captain s cake." 
 
 "Oh, may I give him his sup 
 per?" 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 Cap 
 tain?" 
 
 Not far off; for scarcely had 
 Alice opened the door and called 
 him once or twice, when, with 
 a queer little note of answer, he 
 came hurriedly trotting in. 
 
 "He generally has his supper 
 .in the outer kitchen," said Alice 
 "but I grant him leave to have 
 it here to-night, as a particular 
 honour to him and you." 
 
 "How handsome he is! and 
 how large ! " said Ellen. 
 
 "Yes, he is very handsome; 
 and more than that, he is very 
 sensible for a cat. Do you see how 
 prettily his paws are marked? 
 Jack used to say he had white 
 gloves on." 
 
 "And white boots, too," said 
 Ellen. "No, only one leg is 
 white; pussy s boots aren t mates. 
 Is he good-natured?" 
 
 "Very if you don t meddle 
 with him." 
 
 "I don t call that being good- 
 natured," said Ellen, laughing. 
 
 "Nor I; but truth obliges me 
 to say, the Captain does not per 
 mit anybody to take liberties 
 with him. He is a character, 
 Captain Parry. Come out on the 
 lawn, Ellen, and we will let 
 Margery clear away." 
 
 "What a pleasant face Mar 
 gery has!" said Ellen, as the 
 door closed behind them; "and 
 what a pleasant way she has of 
 speaking! I like to hear her; 
 the words come out so clear, and 
 I don t know how, but not like 
 other people." 
 
 "You have a quick ear, Ellen; 
 you are very right. Margery had 
 lived too long in England before 
 she came here to lose her trick 
 of speech afterwards. But Tho- 
 ! mas speaks as thick as a Yankee, 
 I 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 mo 
 ther; and I believe now she 
 
156 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 looks upon John and me as her On the extreme edge , and at the 
 
 own children. I think she could lower end of it, was fixed a rude 
 
 scarcely love us more if we bench, well sheltered by the 
 
 were so in truth. Thomas you towering forest trees. Here Alice 
 
 haven t seen Thomas yet, have and Ellen sat down. 
 
 you?" It was near sunset; the air cool 
 
 "No." sand sweet; the evening light 
 
 "He is an excellent good man upon field and sky. 
 
 in his way, and as faithful as the "How fair it is!" said Alice, 
 
 day is long but he isn t equal musingly "how fair and lovely! 
 
 to his wife. Perhaps I am partial; Look at those long shadows of 
 
 Margery came to America for the the mountains, Ellen; and how 
 
 love of us, and Thomas came for bright the light is on the far hills ! 
 
 the love of Margery there s a It won t be so long. A little while 
 
 difference." i more, and our Indian summer will 
 
 "But, Miss Alice!" be over and then the clouds, 
 
 " What , Miss Ellen ? " I the frost , and the wind , and the 
 
 " You said Margery came over snow. Well let them come." 
 
 "I wish they wouldn t, 
 
 "Yes; is that what makes you sure ," said Ellen. "I arn sorry 
 look so astonished? " enough they are coming." 
 
 "But then you are English, "Why? all seasons have their 
 
 too?" 
 
 pleasures. I am not sorry at all ; 
 
 " Well, what of that? you won t I like the cold very much." 
 love me the less, will you?" "I guess you wouldn t, Miss 
 
 "Oh, no," said Ellen, "my own 1 Alice, if you had to wash every 
 mother came from Scotland, Aunt morning where I do?" 
 
 Fortune says." 
 
 "I am English born, Ellen, but 
 you may count me half American, 
 if you like, for I have spent rather 
 more than half my life here. 
 Come this way, Ellen, and I 11 
 
 "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 
 
 show you my garden. It is some I kitchen door. The water comes 
 distance off, but as near as a spot | in a little, long, very long trough 
 could be found fit for it." from a spring at the back of the 
 
 They quitted the house by a pig-field; and at the end of the 
 little steep path leading down j trough, where it pours out, is the 
 the mountain, which in two or spout." 
 
 three minutes brought them to a "Have you no conveniences for 
 clear bit of ground. It was not washing in your room?" 
 large, but lying very prettily "Not a sign of such a thing, 
 among the trees, with an open, Ma am. I have washed at the 
 view to the east and south- east, j spout ever since I have been 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 157 
 
 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 
 is rather uncomfortable, even 
 without any danger of four-footed ! 
 society." 
 
 " It isn t so bad just now," said 
 Ellen, "in this warm weather; 
 but in that cold time we had a 
 week or two back do you re 
 member, Miss Alice? just be 
 fore the Indian summer began? 
 oh, how disagreeable it was! 
 Early in the morning, you know ; 
 the sun scarcely up, and the cold 
 wind blowing my hair and my 
 clothes all about; and then that 
 board before the spout that I 
 have to stand on , is always kept 
 wet by the spattering of the 
 water, and it s muddy besides, 
 and very slippery there s a 
 kind of green stuff comes upon it ; 
 and I can t stoop down for fear of 
 muddying myself; I have to tuck 
 my clothes round me and bend 
 over as well as I can, and fetch 
 up a little water to my face in the 
 hollow of my hand, and of course 
 I have to do that a great many 
 times before I get enough. I can t 
 help laughing," said Ellen; "but 
 it isn t a laughing matter, for all 
 that." 
 
 "So you wash your face in 
 
 your hands , and have no pitcher 
 but a long wooden trough? Poor 
 child! I am sorry for you; I 
 think you must have some other 
 way of managing before the snow 
 comes." 
 
 " The water is bitter cold al 
 ready," said Ellen; "it s the 
 coldest waterl ever saw. Mamma 
 gave me a nice dressing-box be 
 fore I came away, but I found very 
 soon this was a queer place for a 
 dressing-box to come to. Why, 
 Miss Alice, if I take out my brush 
 or comb, I haven t any table to 
 lay them on but one that s too 
 high, and my poor dressing-box 
 has to stay on the floor. And I 
 haven t a sign of a bureau all 
 my things are tumbling about 
 in my trunk." 
 
 "I think if I were in your place 
 I would not permit that, at any 
 rate," said Alice; "if my things 
 were confined to my trunk, I 
 would have them keep good order 
 there, at least." 
 
 "Well, so they do," said El 
 len "pretty good order; I 
 didn t mean tumbling about ex 
 actly." 
 
 "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 musthasten 
 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 
 
158 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 her. Both were quite still for a! Learn more of Christ, our dear 
 minute. Saviour, and you can t help but 
 
 "Next week, if nothing hap- be happy. Never fancy you are 
 pens, we will begin to be busy helpless and friendless while you 
 with our books. You shall come; have him to go to. Whenever 
 to me Tuesday and Friday, and you feel wearied and sorry, flee 
 all the other days you must study j to the shadow of that great rock 
 
 as hard as you can at home ; for 
 I am very particular, I forewarn 
 you 
 
 "But suppose Aunt Fortune 
 
 should not let me come? 
 Ellen , without stirring. 
 
 will you? and do you under 
 stand me?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma am yes, Ma am," 
 said Ellen, as she lifted her lips 
 
 "Oh, she will. You need not 
 speak about it; I 11 come down 
 \ and ask her myself, and nobody 
 .ever refuses me anything." 
 
 "I shouldn t think they would," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 said to kiss her friend. Alice heartily 
 returned the kiss, and pressing 
 
 Ellen in her arms , said 
 
 "Now, Ellen, dear, you. must 
 go*, I dare not keep you any 
 longer. It will be too late now, 
 I fear, before you reach home." 
 Quick they mounted the little 
 
 "Then, don t you set the first path again, and soon were at the 
 example," said Alice, laughing, house; and Ellen was putting on 
 "I ask you to be cheerful and her things. 
 
 happy, and grow wiser and better 
 every day." 
 
 "Next Tuesday, remember 
 but before that, Sunday you 
 
 "How early?" 
 
 " Oh, as early as you please 
 
 Dear Miss Alice, how can I are to spend Sunday with me; 
 promise that ? " come_bright and early." 
 
 "Dear Ellen, it is very easy. 
 There is One who has promised 
 
 to hear and answer you when [before breakfast and our Sun- 
 you cry to him ; he will make you ! day morning breakfasts aren t 
 in his own likeness again ; and to late, Ellen ; we have to set off be- 
 know and love him and not be times to go to church." 
 happy is impossible. Thatblessed Kisses and good-byes; and 
 Saviour ! " said Alice " oh ! I then Ellen was running down the 
 what should you andl do without road at a great rate ; for twilight 
 him, Ellen? as rivers of waters was beginning to gather, and she 
 in a dry place; as the shadow of had a good way to go. 
 a great rock in a weary land ; She ran till out of breath ; then 
 
 walked awhile to gather breath ; 
 then ran again, Running down 
 hill is a pretty quick way of tra- 
 
 how beautiful how true! 
 how often I think of that!" 
 
 Ellen was silent, though enter 
 ing into the feeling of the words. 
 
 "Remember Him, dear Ellen; 
 remember your best Friend. 
 
 veiling; so before very long she 
 saw her aunt s house at a dis 
 tance. She walked now. She had 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 159 
 
 good-humoured when she had 
 that handkerchief on." 
 
 She returned to the kitchen im 
 mediately. Her aunt was busied 
 in washing and wiping the dishes. 
 "I have come home rather 
 late," said Ellen, pleasantly; 
 "shalll 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 11 
 be ready." 
 
 Ellen looked down at herself. 
 " Oh, my merino ! I forgot about 
 that. I 11 go and change it." 
 
 Miss Fortune said nothing, and 
 Ellen went. 
 
 When she came back, the 
 
 sav^and then, nowever shetakes | thin gs were all wiped ; and as she 
 it, I shall have the comfort of w ^s about to put some of them 
 knowing I have done right." away, her aunt took them out of 
 "But," said conscience, "you! her hands, bidding her "go and 
 must not say it stiffly and proud- slt down ! 
 
 ly; you must say it humbly , and ^ llen obeyed, and was mute; 
 as if you really felt and meant it." while MissFortune dashed round 
 said Ellen. wlth a display of energ there 
 
 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 swal 
 lowed up all her thoughts, and 
 she walked leisurely on, ponder 
 ing 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 humour and say some 
 thing to vex me but I 11 not be 
 vexed. But it will be very hard to 
 help it ; but I will not be vexed ; 
 - I have done wrong, and I 11 
 tell her so, and ask her to forgive 
 me ; it will be hard but I 11 
 do it I 11 say what I ought to 
 
 
 her head , spoke displeasure. ! to . night? w ~ hy didn>t you 
 
 "She isn t in a good mood, "j at Mr Humphreys ?" 
 said Ellen, as she went upstairs "M ss Alice didn t ask me." 
 to leave her bonnet and cape "That means, I suppose, that 
 there ; " I never knew her to be . you would if she had?" 
 
160 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am; Miss 
 Alice wouldn t have asked me to 
 do anything that wasn t right." 
 
 "Oh, no! of course not! 
 Miss Alice is a piece of perfec 
 tion; everybody says so; and I 
 suppose you d sing the same 
 
 time. It will be better to go to 
 bed now, and ask Aunt Fortune s 
 pardon to-morrow." But con 
 science said, "First be reconciled 
 to thy brother." 
 
 Miss Fortune came down stairs 
 presently. But before Ellen could 
 
 song, who haven t seen her three | get any words out, her aunt pre- 
 times." ,--,-*-^/i u~ 
 
 "Indeed I would," saidEllen; 
 "I could have told that in one 
 seeing. I d do anything in the 
 world for Miss Alice." 
 
 "Ay I daresay that s the 
 way of it. You can show not one 
 bit of goodness or pleasantness 
 to the person that does the most | 
 for you, and has all the care of 
 you but the first stranger that 
 comes along, you can be all 
 honey to them, and make yourself 
 out too good for common folks, 
 and go and tell great tales how 
 you are used at home, I suppose. 
 I am sick of it!" said Miss For 
 tune, setting up the hand-irons, 
 and throwing the tongs and 
 shovel into the corner in a way 
 
 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 For 
 tune." 
 
 " Say it, and be quick ; Ihaven t 
 time to stand talking." 
 
 "Aunt Fortune," said Ellen, 
 stumbling over her words "1 
 want to tell you that I knowl was 
 wrong this morning, and I am 
 sorry, and I hope you ll forgive 
 me." 
 
 A kind of indignant laugh es 
 caped from Miss Fortune s lips. 
 
 "It s easy talking; I d rather 
 have acting. I d rather see people 
 
 that made the iron ring again, j mend their ways than stand 
 "One might as good be a step- and make speeches about them, 
 mother at once, and done \vith it! Being sorry don t help the matter 
 Come, mother, it s time for you much." 
 
 to go to bed." 
 
 The old lady rose with the 
 meekness of habitual submis 
 sion, and went tip-stairs with her 
 daughter. Ellen had time to be 
 think herself while they were 
 and resolved to lose no 
 
 gone, an resove to ose no umpn 
 time when her aunt came back once." 
 
 "But I will try not to do so any 
 more," saidEllen. 
 
 "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 
 into goodness all at 
 
 in doing what she had to do. 
 
 She 
 
 would fain have persuaded her 
 self to put it off. "It is late," she 
 said to herself; "it isn t a good 
 
 " 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 161 
 
 sudden fit of dutifulness and fine ! should like him to know it for 
 talking?" once." 
 
 "Miss Alice told me I ought to j Ellen struggled hard with her- 
 ask your pardon for what I had i self before she could speak; Miss 
 done wrong," said Ellen, scarce i Fortune s lips began to wear a 
 able to keep from crying; " and j scornful smile. 
 I know I did wrong this morning, | "I 11 tell him! " said Ellen, at 
 and I did wrong the other day! length; "I 11 tell him I was 
 about the letter; and I am sorry, 
 whether you believe it or no." 
 
 wrong, if you wish me to." 
 
 "I do wish it. I like people s 
 eyes to be opened. It 11 do him 
 
 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 j said Ellen, timidly, 
 neighbours. I think people that "Oh, I can t be bothered to 
 don t set up for being quite such look for it now; I 11 see about it 
 great things, get along quite as some other time; takeyour candle 
 well in the world." and go to bed now, if you have 
 
 Ellen was strongly tempted to j nothing more to say." 
 
 good, I guess, and you too. 
 Now, have you anything more 
 to say?" 
 
 Ellen hesitated; the colour 
 came and went; she knew it 
 wasn t a good time, but how could 
 she wait? 
 
 "Aunt Fortune," she said, 
 "you know I told you I behaved 
 very ill about that letter won t 
 you forgive me?" 
 
 "Forgive you? yes, child; I 
 don t care anything about it." 
 
 "Then will you be so good as 
 to let me have my letter again?" 
 
 reply, but kept her lips shut. 
 
 Ellentook her candle and went. 
 
 >ply, i 
 
 "I 11 tell you what," said Miss I Some tears were wrung from her 
 Fortune "If you want me to by hurt feeling and disappoint- 
 believe that all this talk means |ment; but she had the smile of 
 something, I ll tell you what! conscience, and, as she believed, 
 you shall do you shall just tell ! of Him whose witness conscience 
 Mr. Van Brunt to-morrow about: is. She remembered that "great 
 it all, and how ugly you have rock in a weary land," and she 
 been these two days , and let him went to sleep in the shadow of it. 
 know you were wrong and I was The next day was Saturday, 
 right. I believe he thinks you! Ellen was up early; and after 
 cannot do anything wrong, and I ! carefully performing her toilet 
 
 The Wide, Wide World, H 
 
162 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 duties, she had a nice long hour 
 before it was time to go down 
 stairs. The use she made of thi 
 hour had fitted her to do cheer 
 fully and well her morning work 
 and Ellen would have sat dowr 
 to breakfast in excellent spirits iJ 
 it had not been for her promised 
 disclosure to Mr. Van Brunt. 11 
 vexed her a little. "ItoldAunl 
 Fortune that was all right; bu1 
 why I should be obliged to tell 
 Mr. Van Brunt, I don t know. Bu1 
 if it convinces Aunt Fortune thai 
 I am in earnest, and mean what 
 I say then I had better." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked uncom 
 monly grave, she thought; her 
 aunt uncommonly satisfied. Ellen 
 had more than half a guess at the 
 reason of both ; but make up her 
 mind to speak she could not, 
 during all breakfast time. She 
 ate, without knowing what she 
 was eating. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt at length having 
 finished his meal, without saying 
 a syllable, arose, and was about 
 to go forth, when Miss Fortune 
 stopped him. "Wait a minute, 
 Mr. Van Brunt," she said; "Ellen 
 has something to say to you. Go 
 ahead, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen felt rather than saw the 
 smile with which these words 
 were spoken. She crimsoned and 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Ellen and I had some trouble 
 yesterday," said Miss Fortune; 
 "and she wants to tell you 
 about it." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt stood gravely 
 waiting. 
 
 Ellen raised her eyes, which 
 
 were full, to his face. " Mr. Van 
 Brunt," she said, "Aunt Fortune 
 wants me to tell you what I told 
 her last night that I know I 
 behaved as I ought not to her 
 yesterday, and the day before, 
 and other times." 
 
 " And what made you do that ? " 
 said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " Tell him," said Miss Fortune, 
 colouring , "that you were in the 
 wrong, and I was in the right 
 then he 11 believe it, I suppose." 
 
 "I was wrong," said Ellen. 
 
 "And I was right," said Miss 
 Fortune. 
 
 Ellen was silent. Mr. Van Brunt 
 looked from one to the other. 
 
 "Speak," said Miss Fortune; 
 "tell him the whole , if you mean 
 what you say." 
 
 "I can t," said Ellen. 
 
 "Why, you said you were 
 wrong," said Miss Fortune; 
 "that s only half of the business ; 
 if you were wrong , I was right ; 
 why don t you say so, and not 
 make such a shilly-shally piece 
 of work of it?" 
 
 "I said I was wrong," said 
 Ellen "and so I was; but I 
 never said you were right, Aunt 
 Fortune , and I don t think so." 
 
 These words, though moderate- 
 y spoken, were enough to put 
 Miss Fortune in a rage. 
 
 "What did I do that was 
 wrong?" she said; "come, I 
 should like to knoAV. What was 
 t, Ellen? Out with it; say 
 everything you can think of; 
 stop and hear it, Mr. Van Brunt; 
 ome, Ellen: let s hear the 
 whole!" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 163 
 
 "Thank you, Ma am, I ve 
 heerd quite enough," said that 
 gentleman, as he went out and 
 closed the door. 
 
 "And I have said too much," 
 said Ellen. "Pray forgive me, 
 Aunt Fortune. I shouldn t have 
 said that if you hadn t pressed me 
 so ; I forgot myself a moment. 
 I am sorry I said that." 
 
 "Forgot yourself!" said Miss 
 Fortune; "I wish you d forgot 
 
 herself. "It serves me right; I 
 oughtn t to have got in a passion ; 
 oh! I have got a lesson this 
 time ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Loses care on the cat s back. 
 
 THE Sunday with Alice met all 
 Ellen s hopes. She wrote a very 
 long letter to her mother, giving 
 the full history of the day. How 
 pleasantly they had ridden to 
 
 yourself out of my house. Please church on the pretty gray pony 
 to forget the place where I am for she half the way and Alice t 
 
 ay 
 
 the 
 
 to-day, anyhow; I ve got enough | other half, talking to each other 
 of you for one while. You had j all the while ; for Mr. Humphreys 
 better go to Miss Alice and get had ridden on before. How lovely 
 a new lesson, and tell her you are! the road was, "winding about 
 
 coming on finely." 
 Gladly would Ellen, indeed, 
 
 round the mountain, up and 
 down," and with such a wide fair 
 
 i / / r* it j - _ i _ 
 
 have gone to Miss Alice, but as | view, and "part of the time close 
 the next day was Sunday, she! along by the edge of the water." 
 thought it best to wait. She went I This had been Ellen s first ride 
 sorrowfully to her own room, on horseback. Then the letter 
 "Why couldn t I be quiet?" said described the little Carra-carra 
 Ellen. "If I had only held my church Mr. Humphreys excel- 
 tongue that unfortunate minute ! i lent sermon, "every word of 
 what possessed me to say that?" which she could understand;" 
 
 Strong passion strong pride 
 both long unbroken; and Ellen 
 had yet to learn that many a 
 prayer and many a tear, much 
 watchfulness, much help from on 
 high, must be hers before she 
 could be thoroughly dispossessed 
 
 of 
 
 these evil spirits, 
 her sickness; 
 
 But she 
 
 Alice s Sunday-school, in which 
 she was sole teacher; and how 
 Ellen had four little ones put 
 under lier 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 
 
 applied to the Physician; she 
 v, as in a fair way to be well. 
 
 (MI(! 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 
 
 sEe~~ had j women at Carra-carra reading 
 
 and explaining the Bible to the 
 one and to the other, who was 
 blind, repeating the whole sub 
 stance of her father s sermon. 
 "Miss Alice told me that nobody 
 could enjoy , sermon better than 
 that old woman, but she cannot 
 11* 
 
164 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 go out, and every Sunday Miss 
 Alice goes and preaches to her, 
 she says." How Ellen went home 
 in the boat with Thomas and 
 Margery, and spent the rest of 
 the day and the night also at the 
 parsonage; and how polite and 
 kind Mr. Humphreys had been. 
 " He s a very grave-looking man, 
 indeed," said the letter, "and not 
 a bit like Miss Alice ; he is a great 
 deal older than I expected." 
 
 This letter was much the longest 
 Ellen had ever written in her life ; 
 but she had set her heart on 
 having her mother s sympathy in 
 her new pleasures, though not 
 to be had but after the lapse of 
 many weeks, and beyond a sad 
 interval of land and sea. Still 
 she must have it; and her little 
 fingers travelled busily over the 
 paper hour after hour, as she 
 found time, till the long epistle 
 was finished. She was hard at 
 work at it Tuesday afternoon 
 when her aunt called her down; 
 and obeying the call, to her great 
 surprise and delight she found 
 Alice seated in the chimney- 
 corner and chatting away with 
 her old grandmother, who looked 
 remarkably pleased. Miss For 
 tune was bustling round, as usual, 
 looking at nobody, though put 
 ting 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 your 
 self up well, for it is not warm." 
 
 Without waiting for a word of 
 answer , Ellen j oy fully ran off, 
 
 "You have chosen rather an 
 ugly day for your walk, Miss 
 Alice." 
 
 "Can t expect pretty days in 
 December, Miss Fortune. lam 
 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 11 stop up 
 on the mountain till supper-time, 
 I guess won t you ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; I shall want some 
 thing to fortify me before coming 
 home after such a long tramp. 
 You see I have brought a basket 
 with me. I thought it safest to 
 take a loaf of bread with me , for 
 no one can tell what may be in 
 Mrs. Vawse s cupboard, and to 
 lose our supper is not a thing to 
 be thought of." 
 
 "Well, have you looked dut 
 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 pump 
 kin pies to put in Miss Alice s 
 basket." 
 
 J Thank you, Miss Fortune," 
 said Alice, smiling; "I shall tell 
 Mrs. Vawse who it comes from. 
 Now, my dear, let s be off; we 
 have a long walk before us." 
 
 Ellen was quite ready to be off, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 165 
 
 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 
 
 But no soonerhad 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." j strong, too, and seemed to carry 
 
 "Here is the Captain, indeed," j the dullness through all manner 
 said Alice. "Oh, pussy, pussy, of wrappers. Alice and Ellen, 
 what have you come for?" j however, did not much care for 
 
 Pussy walked up to his mistress, it ; they walked and ran by turns, 
 and strokinghimself and his great j only stopping once in a while, 
 tail against her dress, seemed to when poor Captain s u 
 
 say that he had come for her sake, 
 and that it made no difference to 
 him where she was going. 
 
 uneasy cry 
 
 warned them they had left him 
 too far behind. Still he would not 
 submit to be carried, but jumped 
 
 "He was sitting as gravely as down whenever Alice attempted 
 possible," said Ellen, "on the i it, and trotted on most perseve- 
 stone just outside the door, jringly. As they neared the foot 
 waiting for the door to be opened, j of the mountain, they were some 
 what sheltered from the wind, 
 
 How could he have come here?" 
 
 "Why, he has followed me," 
 
 said Alice; "he often does; but 
 
 I came quick, and I thought I had 
 
 left him at home to-day. This is 
 
 too long an expedition for him. 
 
 Kitty, I wish you had stayed at 
 
 home." 
 
 Kitty did not think so ; he was 
 
 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 
 
 arching his neck and purring in 1 1 said I would ask her pardon, 
 acknowledgment of Alice s soft Well, I did, that same night 
 
 touch. 
 
 "Can t you send him back?" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "No, my dear; he is the most 
 
 after I got home , but it was very 
 disagreeable. She didn t seem 
 to believe I was in earnest, and 
 wanted me to tell Mr. Van Brunt 
 
 sensible of cats, no doubt, but that I had been wrong. I thought 
 he could by no means understand I that was rather hard ; but at any 
 such an order. No , we must let rate I said I would ; and next 
 him trot on after us , and when morning I did tell him so ; and I 
 he gets tired I ll carry him; it believe all would have done well 
 won t be the first time, by a good if I could only have been quiet; 
 many." but Aunt Fortune said something 
 
 They set off with a quick pace, that vexed me, and almost before 
 which the weather forbade them j I knew it I said something that 
 to slacken, It was somewhat as | vexed her dreadfully. It. was 
 
166 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 nothing very bad, Miss Alice, | be, is not a very happy person, 
 though I ought not to have said j and no one can tell but those 
 it, and I was sorry two minutes j that are unhappy how hard it is 
 after; but I just got provoked, [not to be unamiable too. Return 
 and what shall I do? for it is so j good for evil as fast as you can, 
 
 hard to prevent it." 
 
 " The only thing I know," said 
 Alice , with a slight smile , "is to 
 be full of that charity which 
 among other lovely ;ways of show 
 ing 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 ac 
 quainted 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 some 
 how 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, 
 
 and you will soon either have no 
 thing to complain of or be very 
 well able to bear it." 
 
 They now began to go up the 
 
 mountain, and the patl 
 in places steep and 
 
 became 
 rugged 
 
 enough. " There is an easier way 
 on the other side," said Alice, 
 "but this is the nearest for us." 
 Captain Parrv now showed signs 
 of being decidedly weary, and 
 permitted Alice to take him up. 
 But he presently mounted from 
 her arms to her shoulder, and to 
 Ellen s great amusement, kept 
 his place there , passing from one 
 shoulder to the other, and every 
 now and then sticking his nose 
 up into her bonnet as if to kiss 
 her. 
 
 "What does he do that for?" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "Because he loves me, and is 
 pleased," said Alice. "Put your 
 
 "Aunt Fortune would like to have j ear close, Ellen, and hear the 
 Mr. Van Brunt not like me." quiet way he is purring to himself 
 
 said Alice, "what do you hear? That s his way; 
 
 "Well," 
 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;youcouldnottakeupaworse; 
 and even when it is forced upon 
 you, see as little of it as you can, 
 
 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. Ho s not to be 
 laughed at, Ellen, I can tell you." 
 
 The travellers went on with 
 good will; but the path was so 
 
 and forget as soon as you can steep, and the way so long, that 
 what you see. Your aunt, it may j when about half-way up the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 167 
 
 mountain they were fain to fol- and our little river of ice. What 
 low the example of their four- pleasant sleigh-rides to church I 
 footed companion, and rest them- 1 have had upon that river ! And 
 selves. They sat down on the | then the evergreens look at 
 ground. They had warmed them- 1 them ; you don t know in summer 
 selves with walking, but the wea- ] how much they are worth. Wait 
 ther was as chill and disagreeable j till you see the hemlock branches 
 and gusty as ever; every now I bending with a weight of snow, 
 and then the wind came sweeping j and then, if you don t say the 
 by, catching up the dried leaves I winter is beautiful , I ll give you 
 
 up as a young lady of bad taste." 
 " " 
 
 at their feet, and whirling and 
 scattering them off to a distance 
 winter s warning voice. 
 
 "I never was in the country 
 
 I dare say I shall," saidEllen; 
 "I am sure I shall like what you 
 like. But, Miss Alice, what makes 
 
 before when the leaves were off j the leaves fall when the cold wea- 
 the trees," said Ellen. " It isn t so ther comes? " 
 pretty, Miss Alice ; do you think 
 so?" 
 
 "So pretty! No, I suppose 
 not, if we were to have it all the 
 while ; but I like the change very 
 much." 
 
 "Do you like to see the leaves 
 off the trees?" 
 
 "Yes, in the time of it. There s 
 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 
 
 "A very pretty question, Ellen, 
 and one that can t be answered in 
 
 a breath." 
 
 "I asked Aunt Fortune 
 other day," said Ellen, lau 
 
 very heartily, "and she told me 
 to hush up and not be a fool; and 
 I told her I really wanted to 
 know, and she said she wouldn t 
 make herself a simpleton if she 
 was in my place ; so I thought I 
 might as well be quiet." 
 
 "By the time the cold weather 
 comes, Ellen, the leaves have 
 done their work, and are no more 
 
 spread and ramify, or branch out I needed. Do you know what work 
 again , is most beautiful. There s they have to do? do you know 
 first the trunk, then the large what is the use of leaves?" 
 branches, then those divide into | "Why, for prettiness, I sup- 
 smaller ones, and those part 1 pose," said Ellen, "and to give 
 and part again into smaller and ; shade ; I don t know anything 
 smaller twigs, till you are cano-jelse." 
 
 pied, as it were, with a network j "Shade is one of their uses, no 
 of fine stems. And when the snow j doubt, and prettiness too. He 
 falls gently on them oh , Ellen, ! who made the trees, made them 
 winter has its own beauties. I love [ pleasant to the eyes, as well as 
 it all: the cold, and the wind, |* good for food. So we have an 
 and the snow, and the bare forests, ; infinite variety of leaves; one 
 
168 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 shape would have done the work 
 just as well for every kind of tree, 
 but then we should have lost a 
 great deal of pleasure. But, Ellen, 
 the tree could not live without 
 leaves. In the spring, the thin 
 sap which the roots suck up from 
 the ground is drawn into the 
 leaves; there, by the help of the 
 sun and air, it is thickened and 
 prepared in a way you cannot 
 understand, and goes back to 
 supply the wood with the various 
 matters necessary for its growth 
 and hardness. After this has 
 gone on some time, the little ves 
 sels of the leaves become clogged 
 and stopped up with earthy and 
 other matter; they cease to do 
 their work any longer; the hot 
 sundries them up more and more, 
 and by the time the frost comes 
 they are as good as dead. That 
 finishes them, and they drop ofl 
 from the branch that needs them 
 no more, 
 this?" 
 
 Do you understand all 
 
 "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 with 
 out a heart and lungs." 
 
 "I am very glad to know that," 
 said Ellen. " Then how is it with 
 the evergreens, Miss Alice? Why 
 don t their leaves die and drop 
 off too?" 
 
 "They do; lookhowthe ground 
 is carpeted under that pine-tree." 
 
 "But they stay green all winter, 
 don t they?" 
 
 " Yes ; their leaves are fitted to 
 
 resist frost; I don t know what 
 the people in cold countries would 
 do else. They have the fate of all 
 other leaves, however; they live 
 awhile , do their work , and then 
 die; not all at once, though; there 
 is always a supply left on the tree. 
 Are we rested enough to begin 
 again?" 
 
 "I am," said Ellen; "I don t 
 know about the Captain. Poor 
 fellow! he s fast asleep. I de 
 clare it s too bad to wake you up, 
 pussy. Haven t we had a pi 
 sant little rest, Miss Alice? I h 
 learnt something while we have 
 been sitting here." 
 
 ^That is pleasant, Ellen," said 
 Alice, as they began their up ward 
 march; "I would I might be all 
 the while learning something." 
 
 lea- 
 ave 
 
 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 arid over them with 
 great force, making their way 
 quite difficult. 
 
 "Courage, Ellen!" said Alice, 
 as they struggled on; "we shall 
 soon be there." 
 
 "I wonder," said the panting 
 Ellen, as, making an effort, she 
 came up alongside of Alice, U I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 169 
 
 wonder why Mrs. Yawse will live 
 in such a disagreeable place." 
 
 "It is not disagreeable to her, 
 Ellen ; though I must say I should 
 not like to have too much of this 
 wind." 
 
 "But does she really like to 
 live up here better than down be 
 low, 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, 
 
 made so it would be a great relief 
 to them." 
 
 The odd roof Ellen thought 
 was pretty. But they now reach 
 ed 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 
 
 she followed to this country." 
 "Well, "said Ellen," she n 
 
 she must 
 
 have a queer taste that is all I 
 can say. 
 
 They were now witlyn a few 
 easy steps of the house, which did 
 not look so uncomfortable when 
 
 arms. 
 
 that this little cottage was built j came to meet them with open 
 onpurpose for her, near ten years 
 ago, by a good old friend of hers, 
 a connexion of the lady whom 
 
 " Miss Alice ! Dear Miss Alice, 
 how glad I am to see you ! " 
 
 "And I you, dear Mrs. Vawse," 
 said Alice , kissing her. " Here s 
 another friend you must welcome 
 for my sake little Ellen Mont 
 gomery." 
 
 "I am very glad to see Miss 
 Ellen ," said the old woman , kiss- 
 
 they came close to it. It was small; ing her also; and Ellen did not 
 and low, of only one story, though shrink from the kiss , so pleasant 
 it is true the roof ran up very were the lips that tendered it; so 
 steep to a high and sharp gable, kind and frank the smile, so win- 
 It was perched so snugly, in ajriing the eye; so agreeable the 
 niche of the hill, that the little; whole air of the person. She turn- 
 yard was completely sheltered ; ed from Ellen again to Miss Alice. 
 with a high wall of rock. Thej "It s a long while that I nave 
 house itself stood out more bold-! not seen you, dear not since 
 ly, and caught pretty well near you went to Mrs. Marshman s. 
 all the winds that blew; but so,! And what a day you have chosen 
 Alice informed Ellen, the inmate , to come at last! " 
 liked to have it. " I can t help that ," said Alice, 
 
 "And that roof ," said Alice, pulling off her bonnet, "I 
 "she begged Mr. Marshman, ; couldn t wait any longer. I want- 
 when the cottage was building, ed to see you dolefully, Mrs. 
 that the roof might be high and j Vawse." 
 
 pointed; she said her eyes were! "Why, my dear? what s the 
 tired with the low roofs of this matter? I have wanted to see you, 
 country, and if he would have it \ but not dolefully." 
 
170 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "That s the very thing, Mrs.j 
 Vawse; I wanted to see you, to 
 get a lesson of quiet content- 1 
 nient." 
 
 "I never thought you wanted: 
 such a lesson, Miss Alice. What s j 
 the matter?" 
 
 "I can t get over John s going! 
 away." 
 
 Her lip trembled and her eye 
 was swimming as she said so. 
 The old woman passed her hands 
 over the gentle head, and kissed 
 her brow. 
 
 " So I thought so I felt, when 
 my mistress died, and my hus 
 band , and my sons, one after the 
 other. But now I think I can say, 
 with Paul, I have learned, in 
 whatsoever state I am , therewith 
 to be content. I think so may 
 be 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 loses 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 bro 
 ther; 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 be 
 lieve that?" 
 
 "I do, surely, Mrs.Vawse," said 
 Alice, wiping away a tear or two ; 
 "but I forget it sometimes; or 
 the pressure of present pain is 
 too much for all that faith and 
 hope can do." 
 
 "It hinders faith and hope 
 from acting that is the trouble. 
 They that seek the Lord, shall 
 not want any good thing. I know 
 that is true, of my own ex 
 perience ; so will you , dear." 
 
 "I know it, Mrs. Vawse I 
 know it all; but it does me good 
 to hear you say it. I thought I 
 should become accustomed to 
 John s absence, but I do not at 
 all; the autumn winds all the 
 while seem to sing to me that he 
 is away." 
 
 "My dear love," said the old 
 lady, "it sorrows me much to 
 hear you speak so ; I would take 
 away this trial from you if I could ; 
 but He knows best. Seek to live 
 nearer to the Lord, dear Miss 
 Alice , and he will give you much 
 more than he has taken away." 
 
 Alice again brushed away some 
 tears. 
 
 "I felt I must come and see 
 you to-day," said she , " and you 
 have comforted me already. The 
 sound of your voice always does 
 me good. I catch courage and 
 patience from you, I believe," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 171 
 
 " As iron sharpeneth iron, so a; wood and stores were kept; no- 
 man sharpeneth the countenance thing was to be seen here that 
 of his friend. How did you leave did not agree with the very corn- 
 Mr, and Mrs. Marshman? and has! fortable air of the whole. It 
 Mr. George returned yet?" ! looked as if one might be happy 
 
 Drawing their chairs together, j there; it looked as if somebody 
 a close conversation began. Ellen was happy there; and a glance 
 had been painfully interested at the old lady of the house 
 and surprised by what went be- ! would not alter the opinion, 
 fore , but the low tone of voice j Many a glance Ellen gave her as 
 now seemed to be not meant for j she sat talking with Alice; and 
 her ear, and turning away her j with every one she felt more and 
 attention, she amused herself more drawn towards her. She 
 with taking a general survey. was somewhat under the corn- 
 It was easy to see that Mrs. mon size, and rather stout; her 
 Yawse lived in this room, and countenance most agreeable; 
 probably had no other to live in. j there was sense, character, sweet- 
 Her bed was in one corner; cup- ness in it. Some wrinkles, no 
 boards filled the deep recesses doubt, were there, too; lines 
 on each side of the chimney; and deep-marked, that spoke of sor- 
 in the wide fireplace, the crane rows once known. Those storms 
 and the hooks and trammels; had all passed away; the last 
 hanging upon it showed that the | shadow of a cloud had departed; 
 bedroom and sitting-room was; her evening sun was shining 
 the kitchen too. Most of the floor I clear and bright towards the 
 was covered with a thick rag setting; and her brow was beau- 
 carpet; where the boards could tifully placid, not as though it 
 be seen they were beautifully! never had been, but as if it 
 clean and white , and everything . never could be ruffled again. Re- 
 else in the room, in this respect, spect no one could help feeling 
 matched with the boards. The for her; and more than respect, 
 panes of glass in the little win- one felt, would grow with ac- 
 dows were clear and bright as quaintance. Her dress was very 
 panes of glass could be made; odd, Ellen thought. It was not 
 the hearth was clean swept up; American, and what it was she 
 the cupboard doors were un- did not know, but supposed Mrs. 
 stained and unsoiled, though Vawse must have a lingering 
 fingers had worn the paint on , fancy for the costume as well as 
 dust was nowhere. On a little for the roofs of her fatherland, 
 stand by the chimney corner lay More than all, her eye turned 
 a large Bible and another book; again and again to the face, 
 close beside stood a cushioned which seemed to her, in its 
 arm-chair. Some other apart- j changing expression, winning 
 ment there probably was where \ and pleasant exceedingly. The 
 
172 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 mouth had not forgotten to smile, j floor, and plenty of hay laid up 
 nor the eye to laugh ; and though | for her. Snow deserved it, for 
 this was not often seen, the she was a beauty, and a very 
 constant play of feature showed well behaved-cow, letting Alice 
 a deep and lively sympathy in j and Ellen stroke her and pat her, 
 all Alice was saying, and held and feel her thick hide, with the 
 Ellen s charmed gaze ; and when most perfect placidity. Mrs. 
 the old lady s looks and words | Vawse meanwhile went to the 
 were at length turned to herself, j door to look out. 
 she blushed to think how long "Nancy ought to be home to 
 she had been looking steadily at j milk her," she said; "I must give 
 a stranger. i you supper and send you off. 
 
 "Little Miss Ellen, how do 1 1 ve no feeling nor smell if snow 
 you like my house on the rock; isn t thick in the air somewhere; 
 here?" we shall see it here soon." 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am," said "I 11 milk her," said Alice. 
 Ellen; "I like it very much; only "I 11 milk her!" said Ellen; 
 I don t think I should like it so "I 11 milk her! Ah, do let me! I 
 
 well in winter." 
 
 know how to milk ; Mr. Van Brunt 
 
 . . 
 
 I am not certain that I don t j taught me, and I have done it 
 like it then best of all. Why several times. May I? I should 
 
 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 danger of freezing, 
 
 Miss Ellen. I make myself very 
 
 like it dearly." 
 
 "You shall do it surely, my 
 child," said Mrs. Vawse. "Come 
 with me , and I 11 give you the 
 pail and the milking- stool." 
 
 When Alice and Ellen came in 
 with the milk, they found the 
 
 my house is too strong for the j kettle on, the little table set, and 
 
 wind to blow it away. Don t you ! Mrs. Vawse very busy at another 
 
 want to go out and see my cow?: table. 
 
 I have one of the best cows that "What are you doing, Mrs. 
 
 warm keep good fires and 
 
 ever you saw; her name is Snow: 
 there is not a black hair upon 
 her; she is all white. Come, 
 
 Vawse, may I ask?" said Alice. 
 "I m just stirring up some In 
 dian meal for you ; I find I have 
 
 Miss Alice ; Mr. Marshman sent not but a crust left." 
 
 her to me a month ago; she s a| "Please to put that away, 
 
 great treasure , and worth look- Ma am, for another time. Do you 
 
 ing at." 
 
 think I didn t know better than 
 
 They went across the yard to to come up to this mountain top 
 the tiny barn or outhouse, where j without bringing something to 
 they found Snow nicely cared live upon while I am here? 
 for. She was in a warm stable, Here s a basket, Ma am, and in 
 a nice bedding of straw upon the jit are divers things: I believe 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 173 
 
 Margery and I between us have ticular. Miss Fortune s pumpkin 
 packed up enough for two or pie was declared to be very fine, 
 three suppers to say nothing and so were Mrs. Vawse s cheese 
 of Miss Fortune s pie. There it J and butter. Eating and talking 
 is sure to be good, you know; went on with great spirit, their 
 and here are some of my cakes, old friend seeming scarce less 
 that you like so much, Mrs. pleased or less lively than them- 
 Vawse," said Alice, as she went! selves. Alice proposed the 
 on pulling the things out of the j French plan, and Mrs. Vawse 
 basket; "there is a bowl of \ entered into it very frankly; it 
 butter that s not wanted, I was easy to see that the style of 
 see and here is a loaf of bread; building and of dress to which 
 
 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," 
 
 she had been accustomed in early 
 life were not the only things re 
 membered kindly for old times 
 sake. It was settled they should 
 meet as frequently as might be, 
 
 said Ellen; "my arm hasn t done either here or at the parsonage, 
 , though I had it so and become good Frenchwomen 
 
 aching yet 
 little while. 
 
 "Ah, I am glad to hear that 
 
 me. It is very fine tea ; and he 
 sent me a noble supply, like him 
 self, " 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 re 
 minded of two good ones. Mr. 
 John knew one of my weak points 
 
 when he sent 
 souchong." 
 The supper 
 
 me that box of 
 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 par- 
 
 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, Iwon tinind 
 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 for 
 getting at the reason of every 
 thing, 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 
 
174 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 home, and the memory of my! "No need to be sorry, dear 
 young days. Till I was as old as j I am glad ; you don t look fit for 
 you are, and a little older, I any troublesome jobs." 
 lived among the mountains andj "I am fit enough," said Alice. 
 upon them; and after that, for ."Don t put up the curtains; I ll 
 many a year, they were just be- come and do it." 
 fore my eyes every day, stretch-! Y ou must come with a 
 ing away for more than one stronger face, then," said her old 
 hundred miles, and piled up one friend . "have you wearied your- 
 above another, fifty times as big se lf with walking all this way?" 
 as any you ever saw; these are I UI was a little weaiy " sa id 
 only molehills to them I loved U^ but nice tea has 
 
 them - oh ! how I love them still j made me ^ 
 
 
 
 this hill that I am among my own j . 
 
 mountains, but I can breathe ifh fh 
 
 ^ } 
 
 better 
 plain. 
 
 here than down in the -.-> o 
 
 I feel more free; and in you stay with me ? 
 
 d >t look 
 c , t 
 
 . 
 
 the village I would not live for I " : A must no f ~ li Couldn t do," 
 gold, unless that duty bade me." said Alice, who was hastily put- 
 
 " .. ** n * rivi cf f\Y\ n Pv Tniruva t ncr/} II cr\rtv 
 
 "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, anymore 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 listing and caulking 
 for you in a day or two. Oh, you 
 
 have it done without me ! 
 sorry. 
 
 1 am 
 
 ting on her things; "we 11 soon 
 run down the hill. But we are 
 leaving you alone where s 
 Nancy ? " 
 
 "She 11 not come if there s a 
 promise of a storm," said Mrs. 
 Vaw se; "she often stays out a 
 night." 
 
 "And leaves you alone ! " 
 "I am never alone," said the 
 old lady, quietly; "I have no 
 thing 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 vet to 
 Mrs. Van Brunt s ; Mr. Van Brunt 
 will take you the rest of the way 
 in his little waggon," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 175 
 
 "Do you think it is needful?" 
 
 said Alice , doubtfully. 
 a lam sure it is best. 
 
 Hasten 
 
 down. Adieu, man enfant." 
 
 They kissed and embraced her, 
 and hurried out. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Showing that in some circumstances 
 white is black. 
 
 THE clouds hung thick and 
 
 " She must be a very bad girl," 
 said Ellen 5 "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 independentwoman. 
 breathing. She does all sorts of 
 things to support herself. Now, 
 
 low 5 the wind was less than it for instance, Ellen, if anybody 
 had been. They took the path i s s i c k within ten miles round, 
 Mrs. Vawse had spoken of; it the family are too happy to get 
 was broader and easier than the Mrs. Vawse for a nurse. She is 
 other, winding more gently down an admirable one. Then she goes 
 the mountain; it was sometimes, out tailoring at the farmers 
 indeed, travelled by horses, Bouses; she brings home wool 
 though far too steep for any kind ! and returns it spun into yarn: 
 of carriage. Alice and Ellen ran i she br ings home yarn and knits 
 
 along without giving much heed 
 to anything but their footing 
 
 it up into stockings and socks; 
 all sorts of odd jobs. I have seen 
 
 down, down running andj her picking hops; she isn t above 
 bounding, hand in hand, till want do i ng anything, and yet she 
 of breath obliged them to slacken ! never f or g e ts her own dignity. I 
 their pace. think, wherever she goes and 
 
 Do you think it will snow whatever she is about, she is at 
 soon. asked Ellen. Ljl t i mes one O f tne most tru ly 
 
 "I think it will snow how , lady . like persons I have ever 
 
 soon, I cannot tell. Have you had i seen . And everybody respects 
 
 a pleasant afternoon? " her ; everybody likes to gain her 
 
 Oh, very. good will; she is known all over 
 
 "I always have when I go the country; and all the country 
 there. Now , Ellen , there is an are her friends." 
 example of contentment for you. [ 
 If ever a woman loved husband 
 
 and children and friends, Mrs. 
 Vawse loved hers ; I know this 
 
 " They pay her for doing these 
 things, don t they?" 
 
 "Certainly ; not often in money ; 
 
 from those who knew her long; more commonly in various kinds 
 ago; and now, look at her. Of i of matters that she wants flour, 
 them all, she has none left but ; and sugar, and Indian meal, and 
 the orphan daughter of her pork, and ham, and vegetables, 
 youngest son, and you know a land wool anything; it is but a 
 little what sort of a child that is." j little of each that she wants. She 
 
176 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 has friends that would not permit j 
 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 
 cheerfullest and happiest crea 
 tures in the world, "when Alice 
 suddenly exclaimed. "It is snow 
 ing! 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 j 
 air was rilled with the falling 
 flakes, and the wind, which had 
 lulled for a little , now rose with 
 greater violence, 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 ? holding each other s hands 
 and strengthening themselves 
 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 making it 
 necessary to use no small effort 
 to keep on their way. Ellen hard 
 ly knew where she went, but 
 allowed herself to be pulled 
 along by Alice, or, as well, pull 
 ed her along it was hard to 
 say which hurried most. In the 
 midst of this dashing on 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 Avhat. 
 
 Alice called again ; no answer, 
 but a wild gust of wind and snow 
 that 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 inter 
 vals, "Pussy! kitty! pussy!" and 
 listening for an answer that came 
 not. Ellen was very unwilling to 
 tarry, and nowise inclined to pro 
 long their j ourney by going back 
 wards. 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; U L 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 177 
 
 hear him! poor kitty! " and she | hardest time of it, with that heavy 
 set off at a quick pace up the hill. | load to carry ; 1 wish I could help 
 
 Ellen followed, but presently a 
 burst of wind and snow brought 
 
 you 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, but no- 
 
 theni both to a stand. Alice body could do that; I doubt if 
 faltered a little at this , in doubt i Captain would lie in any arms but 
 whether to go up or down; but! mine." 
 
 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. 
 
 "Let me carry the basket, 
 then," said Ellen "do. Miss 
 Alice." 
 
 "No, my dear, it hangs very 
 In a few minutes he came in well on my arm. Take it gently; 
 sight, trotting hurriedly along; Mrs. Van Brunt s isn t very far 
 through the snow, and on reach- j off ; we shall feel the windless 
 ing his mistress he sat down im- 1 when we turn." 
 mediately on the ground, without I But the road seemed long. The 
 offering any caress a sure sign j storm did not increase in violence 
 that he was tired. Alice stooped truly there was no need of that 
 down and took him up in her but the looked-for turning was 
 arms. not soon found, and the gather- 
 
 " Poor kitty!" she said, "you ve j ing darkness warned them day 
 done your part for to-day, I i was drawing to wards a close. As 
 think; I ll do the rest. Ellen, they neared the bottom of the 
 dear, it s of no use to tire our- J hill, Alice made a pause, 
 selves out at once; we will go "There s a path that turns off 
 moderately. Keep hold of my! from this, and makes a shorter 
 cloak, my child; it takes both of cut to Mrs. Van Brunt s, but it 
 my arms to hold this big cat. j must be above here; I must have 
 Now, never mind the snow ; we [missed it, though I have been on 
 can bear being blown about a j the watch constantly." 
 
 little ; are you very tired? " 
 
 She looked up and down. It 
 
 "No," said Ellen, "not very; I would have been a sharp eyein- 
 am a little tired ; but I don t care deed that had detected any slight 
 for that, if we can only get home opening in the woods on either 
 safe." side of the path, which the dri- 
 
 " There s no difficulty about viiig snow-storm blended into 
 that, I hope. Nay, there may be j one continuous wall of trees, 
 some difficulty, but we shall get They could be seen stretching- 
 there, I think, in good safety after .darkly before and behind them; 
 a while. I wish we were there but more than that where they 
 
 now, for your sake, my child. 
 
 "Oh, never mind me," said 
 Ellen, gratefully; "I am sorry 
 
 stood near together, and were 
 scattered apart, was all confusion 
 through that fast-falling shower 
 
 for you, .Miss Alice; you have the of flakes. 
 The Wide, Wide_World. 12 
 
178 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 the p 
 
 Shall we go back and lookfor j could not go fast, either; they 
 
 TiofTir" cQirl TT.llo n txrovo fr^ri weaver an/1 4- V o irr n 1 Lr i r n* 
 
 said Ellen. 
 
 II were too weary, arid the walking 
 am afraid we shouldn t find ! too heavy. Captain had the best 
 it if we did," said Alice; "weiof it; snug and quiel 
 
 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 knoAv better 
 than to go out in snowy weather 
 next time on long expeditions, 
 at least." 
 
 ,_, ^uiet 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-desired 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 satisfac 
 tion escaped from Ellen s lips. It 
 
 They had to shout to make j reached Alice s ear. 
 each other hear, so drove the, "What s the matter, love?" 
 snow and wind through the trees, ! said the sweet voice. No trace of 
 and into their very faces and ears. 
 
 They plodded on. It was plod 
 ding; the snow lajr thick enough 
 now to make their footing un- 
 
 weariness was allowed to come 
 into it. 
 
 "I am so glad we have got here 
 at last," said Ellen, looking up 
 
 easy, and grew deeper every mo- 1 with another sigh , and removing 
 ment; their shoes were full; their ! her hand for an instant from its 
 
 feet and ankles were wet; and 
 their steps began to drag heavily 
 
 over the ground, 
 close to Alice s 
 
 Ellen clung as 
 cloak as their 
 
 hurried travelling would permit ; 
 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 
 
 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 pre 
 sently spoke again. 
 
 "Miss Alice are you afraid?" 
 
 "I am afraid of your getting 
 sick, my child , and a little afraid 
 
 of the hill , and the road did not of it for myself of nothing else. 
 
 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 
 
 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 no- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 179 
 
 thing but to keep straight on;; the road was impossible; their 
 and the fences would prevent us ; only Avay was to keep along by 
 from getting out of the road. It ; one of the fences ; and , for fear 
 is hard walking, I know, but we; of hurting themselves against 
 shall get there by-and-by; bear some outstanding post or stone, 
 up as well as you can, dear. I am it was necessary to travel quite 
 sorry I can give you no help but gently. They were indeed in no 
 words. Don t you think a nice condition to travel otherwise, if 
 bright fire will look comfortable light had not been wanting, 
 after all this ? " j Slowly and patiently , with pain- 
 
 " dear, yes ! " answeredEllen, ful care groping their way, they 
 
 rather sadly. 
 "Are you afraid, Ellen?" 
 "No, Miss Alice not much 
 
 pushed on through the snow and 
 the thick night. Alice could feel, 
 the earnestness of Ellen s grasp 
 
 I don t like its being so dark; I upon her clothes; andher clothes 
 can t see where I m going." I pressing up to her, made their 
 
 " The darkness makes our way progress still slower and more 
 longer and more tedious ; it will difficult than it would otherwise 
 do us no other harm, love. I wish have been. 
 I had a hand to give you, but this i " Miss Alice," said Ellen, 
 great cat must have both of mine, j "What, my child?" 
 The darkness and the light are I "I wish you would speak to me 
 both alike to our Father: we are once in a while." 
 in His hand; we are safe enough, | Alice freed one of her hands, 
 dear Ellen." and took hold of Ellen s. 
 
 Ellen s hand left the cloak | "I have been so busy picking 
 again for an instant to press my way along, I have neglected 
 Alice s arm in answer; her voice you, haven t I?" 
 failed at the minute. Then cling- ! " Oh, no, Ma am. But I like to 
 ing anew as close to her side as hear the sound of your voice 
 she could get, they toiled patient- sometimes; it makes me feel 
 ly on. The wind had somewhat better." 
 
 lessened of its violence, and, be- j " This is an odd kind of travel- 
 sides, it blew not now in their ling, isn t it?" said Alice, cheer- 
 faces, but against their backs, fully; "in the dark, and feel- 
 helping them on. Still the snow ing our way along? This will be 
 continued to fall very fast, and quite an adventure to talk about, 
 already lay thick upon the won t it?" 
 ground; every half hour increa- 1 " Quite," said Ellen, 
 sed the heaviness and painfulness j "It is easier going this way; 
 of their march; and darkness don t you find it so? The wind 
 gathered till the very fences helps us forward." 
 could no longer be seen. It was| "It helps me too much," said 
 pitch dark; to hold the middle of; Ellen; "I wish it wouldn t be 
 
 12* 
 
180 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 quite so very kind. Why , Miss j after passing the house ; and now 
 Alice, I have enough to do to hold | her glance was directed often be- 
 myself together, sometimes. It j hind her, that they might be sure 
 almost makes me run, though I; in any case of not missing their 
 am so very tired." desired haven. In vain she look- 
 
 "Well, it is better than having j ed forward or back; it was all 
 it in our faces, at any rate. Tired one , no cheering glimmer of 
 you are, I know, and must be. \ lamp or candle greeted her strain- 
 We shall want to rest all day to- ; ing eyes. Hurriedly now from 
 morrow, shan t we? " time to time the comfortingwords 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," saidEllen, were spoken to Ellen, for to 
 sighing; "I shall be glad when ! pursue the long stretch of way 
 jve begin. How long do you; that led onward from Mrs. Van 
 think it will be, Miss Alice, before Brunt s to Miss Fortune s, would 
 we get to Mrs. Van Brunt s?" be a very serious matter; Alice 
 
 "My dear child, I cannot tell] wanted comfort herself, 
 you. I have not the least notion ! "Shall we get there soon, do 
 whereabouts we are. I can see j you think, Miss Alice?" said 
 no way-marks, and I cannot poor Ellen, whose wearied feet 
 judge at all of the rate at which i 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 answered; but it 
 was spoken rather patiently than 
 
 we have come." 
 
 "But what if we should have 
 
 passed it in this darkness?" 
 Ellen. 
 
 said 
 
 "No, I don t think that," said 
 
 Alice, though a cold doubt! cheerfully. "Fear nothing, dear 
 struck her mind at Ellen s words ; | Ellen ; remember who has the 
 " I think we shall see the glimmer care of us; darkness and light 
 
 of Mrs. Van Brunt s 
 candle, by-and-by." 
 
 riendly 
 
 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 eye 
 balls, and she almost doubted 
 her being able to see any light if 
 light there were ; it Avas all blank 
 thick darkness still. She began 
 to question anxiously with her 
 self which side of the house was 
 Mrs. Van Brunt s ordinary sit 
 ting-room; whether she should 
 see the light from it before or 
 
 are both alike to Him ; nothing 
 will do us any real harm." 
 
 How tired you must be , dear 
 Miss Alice, carrying pussy!" 
 Ellen said, with a sigh. 
 
 For the first time Alice echoed 
 the sigh; but almost immediately 
 Ellen exclaimed, in a totally 
 different tone, "There s alight! 
 but it isn t a candle it is mo 
 ving about; what is it, Miss 
 Alice?" 
 
 They stopped and looked. A 
 light there certainly was , dimly 
 seen, moving at some little dis 
 tance from the fence on the^op- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 posite side of the road. All of a 
 
 enrlrla-n T<- /3J~~., -i ** 
 
 181 
 
 sudden it disappeared 
 "Whatisit?"w>n- T. 
 
 fearfully. 
 "I don t know, 
 
 wait" 
 
 love, yet; 
 
 They waited several minutes. 
 
 "What could it be?" 
 . "It was certainly a 
 *t as plainly as ever 
 mg; what can 
 
 said 
 
 Va S m V ?I glad to see 7ou, Mr. 
 Van Brunt," said Alice s sweet 
 voice; but it trembled a little 
 
 sobbed 
 
 ./ pj vmat uaii 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 travelled on 
 
 Halloo! "called Alice, again 
 asjoud as she could. 
 
 "Halloo!" answered a rough 
 deep. The light sudden^ 
 
 That 
 
 That gentleman, at first dumb 
 with astonishment, lifted his lan 
 tern to survey them, and assure 
 his eyes that his ears had not 
 been mistaken. 
 
 "Miss Alice! how in the 
 name of wonder! - and my poor 
 htt e lamb! - but what on fith 
 Ma am ? - you must be half dead 
 
 SJ5 th ^V wa y -Just come back 
 
 little bit - why, where were 
 you^gomg, Ma am?" 
 
 "To your house, Mr Van 
 Brunt; I have been looking f 
 vi h no little anxiety, I 
 
 he! that s he! 
 
 +* * uvi Tnat s he!" PT- 
 I If* * Ell > an ecstacy, and 
 almost dancing - "I know it - 
 
 l^ Va ^ B /nt!it sMr.Van 
 
 5runt! oh M " 
 
 you. 
 
 "Looking for it! Why 
 
 n Q 4-1-* f v *" 
 
 tni you wouldn t see the 
 biggest house ever was built half 
 
 .!-oh,li?s7Alic b e " r -l Van thf s a " d ffsucha P la W night as 
 
 crvine-. AliVo f a u +u to i. /> urr , _ 
 
 /T ght from the windows! 
 The storm rattled so agin the 
 
 ISs-S^j^filK^lg 
 r r :f f SSS SsSS?r ^ ;OU ^ K 
 
 showing a bit of the dark 
 covered with snow, and 
 
 rails 
 they 
 
 re of a 
 
 ij ! ouvw, an 
 could dimly see the fiVu 
 
 mangettingoverthem.fecro S sed 
 
 ^5^a^^^ 
 
 -- v,, diauuaSS 
 
 already, hadn t we? 
 
 "Indeed, had you, Ma am I 
 saw my fight, han t 
 
182 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 
 untied 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 
 
 seemed to Ellen a perfect store 
 house 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, an- 
 
 seen him to his nT So that s how swering the call, Mrs. Van Brunt 
 
 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 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 
 dripping garments. A few steps 
 further, and they came to the 
 same door that had opened then 
 so hospitably 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. 
 
 Head-sick and heart-sick. 
 MR. VAN BRUNT flung open the 
 door, and the two wet and weary 
 travellers 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 
 
 and the light came hurriedly in. 
 
 "What s the matter, Brahm? 
 who s this? why taint Miss 
 Alice ! My gracious me ! and 
 all wet! 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 j ointprudence and 
 experience might suggest toward 
 oft any ill effects from the fatigue 
 and exposure 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 taking 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 183 
 
 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, what 
 ever you call it; I believe my 
 nngers are too big for it! " 
 
 It was Ellen s former acquain 
 tance who came forward in obe 
 dience to this call. Ellen had 
 not seen before that she was in 
 the room. Nancy grinned a mis 
 chievous 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 take off the shoes, 
 which were filled with snow. 
 Nancy sat down on the floor be 
 
 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. 
 
 J 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 diso 
 bey. ^ "Mother, han t you got 
 
 "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 
 
 ^>-v,,4- ? * 1 TIT TT T 
 
 fore Ellen to obey this order;l about >" sai(1 Mr. Van Brunt; 
 and , tired and exhausted as she j aild after tnat kee P out of this 
 was, Ellen felt the different man-! room > and don t whisper again 
 ner in which her hands and feet tm I g ive 7 OU leave - Now , Miss 
 
 were waited upon. 
 
 Ellen, dear, how do you feel?" 
 Ellen said in words that she felt 
 
 "How did you get into this Ellen said in wor 
 scrape?" said Nancy; "this was I "nicety," but the eyes and the 
 none of my doings, anyhow. It ll sm il sa id a great deal more; 
 never be dry weather , Ellen, j Ellen s heart was running over, 
 where you are. I won t put on| "Oh, she ll feel nicely direct- 
 my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes ly, I ll be bound," said Mrs. Van 
 when I go a walking with you. Brunt; "wait till she gets her 
 You had ought to ha been a duck .feet soaked, and then" . 
 or a goose, or something like! "I do feel nicely now," said 
 that. What s that for, Mr. Van Ellen. And Alice smiled in an- 
 Br ",nt? " swer to their inquiries , and said, 
 
 ihis last query, pretty sharply : if she only knew her father was 
 
184 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 easy, there would be nothing 
 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 prepa 
 ring their room, Mr. Van Brunt 
 suddenly entered. He was cloak 
 ed 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.VanBrunt 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." 
 
 "Pray don t, Mr. Van Brant," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "Can t help it; I ve got busi 
 ness 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." 
 
 "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 11 be back in half 
 an hour , if Brahm and me don t 
 come across a snowdrift a leetU 
 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 go 
 ing 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 For 
 tune s anxietjr." 
 
 Alice sprang to call him back, 
 but Mrs. Van Brunt assured her 
 it was too late, and that she 
 need not 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 ago 
 ing 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 bet 
 ter 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 colour-, "and a nice bed? 
 But I feel as if I could sleep on 
 the floor to-night. Isn t it a most 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 185 
 
 a price for, to find how much i generous feeling on the part of 
 
 kindness there is in some peo 
 ple 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 
 
 the other, untied their tongues; 
 and Ellen looked from one to the 
 other in some amazement, to see 
 how agreeable they could be. 
 Kindness and hospitality always 
 kept Mrs. Van Brunt in full flow; 
 and Alice, whatever she felt, 
 exerted herself and supplied 
 
 weeks before I saw you, Miss i what was wanting everywhere, 
 Alice!" ilike the transparent glazing 
 
 One earnest kiss for good which painters use to spread 
 night; and Ellen s sigh of plea- over the dead colour of their 
 sure on touching the pillow was pictures ; unknown , it was she 
 scarcely breathed when sleep, i gave life and harmony to the 
 deep and sound, fell upon her whole. And Ellen, inherenjoy- 
 
 eyelids. 
 It was very late next morning 
 
 merit of everything and every 
 body, forgot or despised aches 
 
 when they awoke, having slept and pains, and even whispered to 
 rather heavily than well. They I Alice that coffee was making her 
 crawled out of bed, feeling stiff well again. 
 
 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 am 
 bathing and drinking that Mrs. 
 
 But happy breakfasts must 
 come to an end, and so did this, 
 prolonged though it was. Im 
 mediately after, the party, whom 
 circumstances had gathered for 
 the first and probably the last 
 
 Van Brunt had administered, had j time, scattered again: but the 
 been too little to undo what wet; meeting had left pleasant effects 
 and cold and fatigue had done. ! on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt 
 But Mrs. Van Brunt had set her was in general delight that she 
 breakfast -table with everything had entertained so many people 
 her house could furnish that was i she thought a great deal of, and 
 nice; a bountifully-spread board j particularly glad of the chance 
 it was. Mr. Humphreys was there, of showing her kind feelings to- 
 too; and no bad feelings of two wards two of the number. Mr. 
 of the party could prevent that | Humphreys remarked up on "that 
 from being a most cheerful andj very sensible, good-hearted man, 
 pleasant meal. Even Mr. Hum- j Mr. Van Brunt, towards whom he 
 phreys and Mr. Van Brunt, two felt himself under great obliga- 
 
 persons not usually given to 
 many words , came out wonder- 
 
 tion." Mr. Van Brunt said "the 
 minister warn t such a grum man 
 
 fully on this occasion; gratitude as people called him;" and more- 
 and pleasure in the one, and j over said, "it was a good thing 
 
186 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to have an education, and lie 
 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 be 
 fore ; but their late troubles had 
 drawn them closer together, and 
 given them fresh occasion to 
 value their friends. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys had brought 
 
 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 appe 
 tizing nicety, on a little table by 
 the bedside, where she could 
 reach them herself: and Miss 
 
 the little one-horse sleigh for his I Fortune was generally at hand 
 daughter, and, soon after break- 1 when she was wanted. But, in 
 fast, Ellen saw it drive off with I spite of all this, there was some- 
 licr. Mr. Van Brunt then har- 1 thing missing in that sick room 
 iiessed his own and carried Ellen there was a great want; and 
 home. Ill though she felt, the whenever the delirium was upon 
 poor child made an effort, and her, Ellen made no secret of it. 
 spent part of the morning in j She was never violent; but she 
 finishing the long letter to her moaned, sometimes impatiently, 
 mother, which had been on the and sometimes plaintively, for 
 stocks since Monday. The effort her mother. It was a vexation 
 became painful towards the last: 
 
 and the aching limbs and trem 
 bling hand of which she com 
 plained, 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 vio 
 lent 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 energies; 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 
 
 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 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 
 speak 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 mo 
 ther 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 187 
 
 her how well Ellen knew the one I knows," said Miss Fortune, on 
 from the other; and, little as she her way down stairs "nobody 
 
 cared for Ellen, it was wormwood 
 to her. 
 
 Miss Fortune was not without 
 offers of help during this sick 
 time. Mrs. Van Brunt, and after 
 wards 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 surf ere d, 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, how 
 ever, to go up to the sick-room 
 for a few minutes; Ellen, who 
 was then in a high fever, in 
 formed her that her mother was 
 downstairs, and her aunt For 
 tune would not let her come up ; 
 she pleaded, with tears, that she 
 might come, and entreated Mrs. 
 Vawse to take her aunt away, 
 
 knows the blessing of taking care 
 of other people s children that 
 han t tried it. I ve tried it, to 
 my heart s content." 
 
 Mrs. Vawse sighed, but de 
 parted in silence. 
 
 It was not when the fever was 
 on her and delirium 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 
 oh, 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 scarce 
 ly 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, soli- 
 
 and send her mother. Mrs. Vawse tary day, when the only Variety 
 
 - 
 
 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 way she 
 gets into whenever the fever s on 
 her. I have the pleasure of hear 
 ing that sort of thing all the time. 
 
 to be looked for was Miss For 
 tune 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 
 
 Come away, Mrs. Vawse, and | was too weak and subdued now 
 leave her; she can t be better for violent weeping. She won- 
 any way than alone, and I am in dered sadly why Alice did not 
 
 the room every other thing come to see her; it was another 
 she s just as well quiet. Nobody | great grief added t 
 
 to the former. 
 
188 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 She never chose, however, to 
 mention her name to her aunt. 
 She kept her wonder and her sor 
 row to herself all the harder 
 to bear for that. After two weeks 
 Ellen began to mend, and then 
 
 "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 
 
 /_ _* i i f* i _i P _ 
 
 she became exceeding weary of for once in her life wished for 
 
 being alone and shut up in 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 
 
 her aunt s presence. 
 "What are you doing?" 
 "Nothing ," said Ellen. 
 "Nothing, indeed! It safine 
 
 thing to lie there and do nothing. 
 
 at a few words, but that was not j YOU won t get well in a hurry, 
 
 _Ij. J _1_ 1 ] J._| T -n r> TT -i i 
 
 I guess will your You look 
 as well as I do this minute. Oh, 
 I always knew you was a sham. 
 
 very often, and she longed to 
 see somebody, and hear some 
 thing besides her aunt s dry ques 
 tions and answers. 
 
 One afternoon Ellen was sit 
 ting, alone as usual, bolstered 
 up in bed. Her little hymn-book 
 was clasped in her hand; though 
 not equal to reading, she felt 
 the touch of it a solace to her. 
 Half -dozing, 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 pre 
 sented itself. She came in brisk 
 ly, 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, un 
 easily. 
 
 "Miss Fortune s gone out, and 
 she told me to come and take 
 care of you; so I m going to 
 spend the afternoon." 
 
 You are 
 
 very 
 
 much mis 
 
 taken," said Ellen, indignantly; 
 "I have been very sick, and I 
 am not at all well yet." 
 
 "Fiddle-de-dee! 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 getting up a little. / believe 
 you hurt yourself with sleeping ; 
 it ll do you good to be out of bed 
 awhile ; come , get up ! " 
 
 She pulled Ellen s arm as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Stop, Nancy let me alone ! " 
 cried Ellen, struggling 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 her 
 self 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? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 189 
 
 "I am not taking any," said when she has a captured mouse 
 Ellen. at the end of her paws. While 
 
 "What are you taking?" the gruel was heating, she spun 
 
 "Nothing but gruel and little round the room in quest of 
 things." ! amusement; and her sudden 
 
 " Gruel and little things; jerks and flings from one place 
 little things means something and thing to another had so 
 good, I s pose. Well, is it time much of lawlessness, that Ellen 
 for you to take some gruel or was in perpetual terror as to what 
 one of the little things? " ! she might take it into her head to 
 
 "No, I don t want any." do next. 
 
 "Oh, that s nothing; people! "Where does that door lead 
 never know what s good for to?" 
 
 them; I m your nurse now, and| "I believe that one leads to 
 I m going to give it to you when the garret," said Ellen. 
 I think you want it. Let me feel j " You believe so ? why don t you 
 your pulse: yes, your pulse say it does, at once?" * 
 says gruel is wanting. I shall j "I have not been up to see." 
 put some down to warm right "You haven t! you expect me 
 away." I to believe that, I s pose? I am 
 
 "I shan t take it," said Ellen. ! not quite such a gull as you take 
 
 " That s a likely story ! You d me for. What s up there ? " 
 better not say so. I rather s pose | "I don t know, of course." 
 you will if I give it to you. Lookl "Of course! I declare I don t 
 here, Ellen, you d better mind know what you are up to exactly, 
 how you behave; you re going but if you won t tell me, I 11 find 
 to do just what I tell ^ou. I know out for myself pretty quick 
 how to manage you ; if you make that s one thing." 
 any fuss I shall just tickle you; She flung open the door and 
 finely," said Nancy, as she pre- ran up; and Ellen heard her feet 
 pared a bed of coals, and set the tramping overhead from one end 
 tin cup of gruel on it to get hot. of the house to the other; and 
 "I 11 do it in no time at all, my sounds, too, of pushing and 
 young lady so you d better, pulling things over the floor; it 
 mind." j was plain Nancy was rummaging. 
 
 Poor Ellen involuntarily curled I "Well," said Ellen, as she 
 up her feet under the bed-clothes, turned uneasily upon her bed, 
 so as to get them as far as pos-;"it s no affair of mine; I can t 
 sible out of harm s way. She help it, whatever she does. But 
 judged the best thing was to oh! wont Aunt Fortune be an- 
 keep quiet if she could, so she gry!" 
 
 said nothing. Nancy was in great j Nancy presently came down 
 glee ; with something of the same | with her frock gathered up into a 
 spirit of mischief that a cat shows ; bag before her. 
 
190 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " What do you think I have got 
 
 to bear, so it was set on one side 
 
 here?" said she, "I s pose you to cool. Then taking up her 
 didn t know there was a basket rambling examination of the 
 of fine hickory- nuts up there in room, she went from window to 
 the corner? Was it you or Miss window. 
 
 Fortune that hid them away so! "What fine big windows! one 
 nicely? I s pose she thought might get in here easy enough. I 
 nobody would ever think of look- ; declare, Ellen, some night I 11 
 ing behind that great blue chest set the ladder up against here, 
 arid under the feather-bed, but it i and the first thing you 11 see will 
 takes me! Miss Fortune was be me coming in. You 11 have 
 afraid of your stealing em, I me to sleep with you before you 
 guess, Ellen." think." 
 
 " She needn t have been ," said j " I 11 fasten my windows," said 
 Ellen, indignantly. Ellen. 
 
 "No, I s pose you wouldn t j " No, you won t. You 11 do it 
 take em if you saw em; you a night or two , maybe, but then 
 wouldn t eat em if they were j you 11 forget it. I shall find them 
 cracked for you, would you?" [open when I come. Oh, I 11 
 
 She flung some on Ellen s bed come!" 
 
 as she spoke. Nancy had seated I "But I could call Aunt For- 
 herself on the floor, and using for , tune ," said Ellen, 
 a hammer a piece of old iron she | "No, you couldn t, cause if 
 had brought down with her from | you spoke a word I d tickle you 
 the garret, she was cracking the i to death 5 that s what I d do. I 
 nuts on the clean white hearth. 
 
 "Indeed I wouldn t! 
 Ellen, throwing them back : 
 
 you oughtn t to crack them there, with my ladder, and then you d 
 Nancy you 11 make a dreadful ! get a fine combing for disturbing 
 mess." i the house. What s in this trunk?" 
 
 " What , do you think I care ? " " Only my clothes and things," 
 said the other, scornfully. She said Ellen. 
 
 leisurely cracked and ate asj "Oh, goody! that s fine; now 
 many as she pleased of the nuts, I 11 have a look at em. That s 
 bestowing the rest in the bosom just what I wanted, only I didn t 
 of her frock. Ellen watched know it. Where s the key? Oh, 
 fearfully for her next move. If here it is, sticking in that s 
 she should open the little door good!" 
 
 ackmg the to death ; tliat s wnat l a do. 1 
 j hearth. know how to fix you off. And if 
 t t!" said you did call her, I d just whap 
 iack; "and out of the window and run off 
 
 and get among her books and 
 boxes! 
 
 Nancy s first care, however, 
 was the cup of gruel. It was 
 
 Oh, please don t!" said Ellen, 
 raising herself on her elbow; 
 "they re all in nice order, and 
 you 11 get them all in confusion. 
 
 found too hot for any mortal lips j Oh , do let them alone I 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 191 
 
 "You d best be quiet, or I 11 j them a sudden fling at Ellen, 
 come and see you," said Nancy ;i They just missed her face, and 
 "I m just going to look at every- 1 struck the wall beyond. Ellen 
 thing in it, and if I find anything! seized them to throwback, but 
 out of sorts, you 11 get it. What s ; her weakness warned her she was 
 this? ruffles, 1 declare ! ain t you [ not able, and a moment reminded 
 fine ! I 11 see how they look on her of the folly of doing anything 
 me. What a plague ! you haven t | to rouse Nancy, who, for the pre- 
 a glass in the room. Never mind sent, was pretty quiet. Ellen lay 
 I am used to dressing without upon her pillow and looked on, 
 a glass." I ready to cry with vexation. All 
 
 "Oh, I wish you wouldn t," i her nicely-stowed piles of white 
 said Ellen, who was worried to! clothes were ruthlessly hurled 
 the last degree at seeing her | out and tumbled about; her capes 
 nicely -done -up ruffles round tried on; her summer dresses un- 
 Nancy s neck; "they re so; folded, displayed, criticised, 
 nice, and you 11 muss them all Nancy decided one was too 
 up." j short; another very ugly; a third 
 
 "Don t cry about it," said horribly ill- made; and when she 
 Nancy, coolly; "I ain t agoing had done with each, it was cast 
 to eat em. My goodness ! what I out of her way, on one side or the 
 a fine hood! ain t that pretty?" j other, as the case might be. 
 
 The nice blue hood was turning The floor was littered with 
 about in Nancy s fingers, and clothes in various states of dis- 
 well looked at inside and out. i arrangement and confusion. The 
 Ellen was in distress for fear it! bottom of the trunk was reached 
 would go on Nancy s head, as i at last, and then Nancy suddenly 
 well as the ruffles round her I recollected her gruel, and sprang 
 neck; but it didn t; she flung it to it. But it had grown cold 
 at length on one side, and went again. 
 
 on pulling out one thing after I "This won t do," said Nancy, 
 another, strewing thein very care- as she put it on the coals again 
 lessly about the floor. "it must be just right; it 11 warm 
 
 "What s here? a pair of dirty soon, and then, MissEllen, you re 
 stockings, as I am alive! Ain t agoing to take it, whether or no. 
 you ashamed to put dirty stock- 1 1 hope you won t give me the 
 ings in your trunk?" | pleasure of pouring it down." 
 
 ^ "They are no such thing," said i Meanwhile she opened the 
 Ellen, who, in her vexation, was j little door of Ellen s study closet 
 in danger of forgetting her fear ; and went in there , though Ellen 
 " I have worn them but once." [ begged her not. She pulled the 
 
 "They ve no business inhere, | door to, and stayed some time 
 anyhow," said Nancy, rolling perfectly quiet. Not able to see 
 them up in, a hard ball and giving \ or hear what she was doing, and 
 
192 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 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 11 never do. What are you 
 out here for? you 11 catch your 
 death with those dear little bare 
 feet, and we shall have the mis 
 chief 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 vexa 
 tion as the best plan. Nancy pre 
 pared 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 re solved not to drink 
 a drop. Between laughing on 
 Nancy s part, and very serious 
 anger on Ellen s , a struggle en 
 sued. 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 wan t to have the ma 
 naging of you when 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 11 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 pre 
 sented themselves. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 193 
 
 "Oh, Mr.VanBrunt," sobbed away, and not let her come back, 
 Ellen , " I am so glad to see you ! j Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen , "I ll 
 Won t you please send Nancy be so much obliged to you." 
 away?" "Let me go!" said Nancy; "I 
 
 "What are you doing here?" declare you re a real mean 
 said the astonished Dutchman. Dutchman, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 "Look and see, Mr.VanBrunt," He took both her hands in one, 
 said Nancy, with a smile of mis- 1 and laid the other lightly over 
 chief s own curling; "you won t i her ears, 
 be long finding out, I guess." "I 11 let you go," said he. 
 
 "Take yourself off, and don t i" Now, don t you be caught here 
 let me hear of your being caught again , if you know what is good 
 here again." for yourself." 
 
 "I 11 go when I m ready, thank He saw Miss Nancy out of the 
 you," said Nancy; "and as to door, and then came back to 
 the rest, I haven t been caught j Ellen , who was crying heartily 
 the first time , yet; I don t know ! again from nervous vexation, 
 what you mean." " She s gone," said he. " What 
 
 She sprang as she finished her has that wicked thing been doing, 
 sentence, for Mr.VanBrunt made I Miss Ellen? what s the matter 
 a sudden movement to catch her with you?" 
 
 then and there. He was foiled; "Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said 
 and then began a running chase (Ellen, "you can t think how she 
 round the room, in the course of j has worried me; she has been 
 which Nancy dodged, pushed, j here this great while; just look 
 and sprang, with a power of | at all my things on the floor, and 
 squeezing past impassables, and j that isn t the half." 
 o verleaping impossibilities, that, j Mr. Van Brunt gave a long 
 to say the least of it, was re- whistle as his eye surveyed the 
 markable. The room was too tokens of Miss Nancy s mischief- 
 small for her, and she was caught j making , over and through which 
 
 said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 
 both she and himself had been 
 
 chasing at full speed, making the 
 
 "I do say," said he, slowly, 
 that is too bad. I d fix them ui 
 
 at last. 
 
 "I vow. 
 
 as he pinioned her hands, "1| state of matters rather worse 
 should like to see you play blind than it was before, 
 man s buff for once , if I warn 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 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 mat is too Daa. i a nx mem up 
 again for you, Miss Ellen, if I 
 knew how; 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." 
 13 
 
194 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLt>. 
 
 said Ellen, "I don t mind what houses, though," said Mr. Van 
 you ve done , a bit. I m so glad . Brunt, with as near an approach 
 to see you!" jto a smile as his lips commonly 
 
 She put out her little hand to made; "we 11 see." 
 him as she spoke. He took it in Ellen smiled more broadly, 
 his own, silently; but, though he "But don t give yourself any 
 said and showed nothing of it, trouble for me ," said she. 
 Ellen s look and tone of afFectionj "Trouble, indeed!" said Mr. 
 thrilled his heart with pleasure. I Van Brunt; "I don t know any- 
 "How do you do?" said he,; thing about that. How came that 
 kindly. i wicked thing up here to plague 
 
 " I m a great deal better," said you? " 
 
 Ellen. " Sit down, won t you, Mr. "She said Aunt Fortune left 
 Van Brunt? I want to see you a her to take care of me." 
 little." " That s one of her lies. Your 
 
 Horses wouldn t have drawn aunt s gone out, I know; but 
 him away after that. He sat she s a trifle wiser than to do 
 down. jsuch a thing as that. She has 
 
 "Ain t you going to be up again plagued you badly, han t she? " 
 some of these days?" said he. He might have thought so. 
 
 "Oh yes, I hope so," said The colour which excitement 
 Ellen, sighing; "I am very tired 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 no 
 body to read to me." 
 
 Her hand put the little book 
 towards him as she said so. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt would vastly 
 rather any one had asked him 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 
 
 of lying here. 
 
 He looked round the room; got 
 up and mended the 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 to bed again." 
 
 It was no wonder; harder and 
 straighter- backed chairs never 
 were invented. Probably Mr. 
 Van Brunt thought so. 
 
 "Wouldn t you like to have a 
 rocking cheer?" said he, sudden 
 ly, as if a bright thought had 
 struck him. 
 
 " Oh yes, how much I should! " 
 said Ellen, with another long- 
 drawn breath; "but there isn t 
 such a thing in the house, that 
 
 ever I saw. 
 "Ay, but 
 
 there 
 
 other 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 195 
 
 towards 
 excuse. 
 
 eyelash. But she quickly wiped 
 them away. 
 
 "What do you read them 
 things for," said he, "if they 
 
 Ellen, wishing for an 
 
 But the pale little face 
 that lay there against the pillow 
 the drooping eyelids the, UU i 6 o ivi , o,^ , 
 meek, helpless look of the little make you feel bad? 
 child, put all excuses out of his "Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, 
 head ; and though he would have they don t 5 they make me happy; 
 chosen to do almost any thing! I love them dearly. I never read 
 else, he took the book, and asked | that one before. You can t think 
 her "Where?" She said, "Any-! how much I am obliged to you 
 where ; " and he took the first he for reading it to me. Will you let 
 
 " 
 
 "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! once more?" 
 
 me see where it is? 
 He gave it her. 
 
 "Yes, there s his mark !" said 
 with sparkling eyes. 
 Mr. Van Brunt, would 
 
 Ellen 
 
 "Now , 
 
 you be so very good as to read it 
 
 hands on her breast, "how 
 lovely that is ! " 
 He stopped and looked at her 
 
 He obeyed. It was easier this 
 time. She listened, as before, 
 with closed eyes, but the colour 
 
 a moment, and then went on with ! came and went, once or twice. 
 
 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. Goon, 
 please." 
 
 "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 you love 
 hymns?" 
 
 "I don t know much about em, 
 Miss Ellen." 
 
 "Mr. Van Brunt, are you one 
 of that fold?" 
 
 "What fold?" 
 
 " The fold of Christ s people." 
 
 "I m afeard not, Miss Ellen," 
 said he, soberly, after a minute s 
 
 He finished the hymn with- pause 
 out more interruption. Looking] "Because," said Ellen, burst- 
 again towards Ellen, he was sur- ing into tears, "I wish you were, 
 prised to see several large tears very much." 
 finding their way down her! She carried the great brown 
 cheeks from under the wet .hand to her lips before she let it 
 
196 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 go. He went, without saying a 
 word. But when he got out, he 
 stopped and looked at a little 
 tear she had left on the back 
 of it. And he looked till one of 
 his own fell there to keep it com 
 pany. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Footsteps of Angels. 
 
 THE next day, about the mid 
 dle of the afternoon, a light 
 step crossed the shed, and the 
 great door opening gently, in 
 walked Miss Alice Humphreys. 
 The room was all "redd up," 
 and MissFortune 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 ho w she did. 
 
 " Pretty well! -- oh, pretty 
 well!" she answered, with the 
 look of bland good -humour her 
 face almost always Avore "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 world with 
 you, MissFortune?" 
 
 ask? Has anything happened to 
 trouble you? 
 
 "Oh, no!" said the other, 
 somewhat impatiently ; " nothing 
 that s any matter to any one but 
 myself; it s no use speaking 
 about it." 
 
 "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, turn 
 ing round upon her with startling 
 sharpness of look and tone; 
 " take the world easy! you al 
 ways 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 answer 
 ing 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, grave 
 ly, "if our toiling looks no fur 
 ther than this world. When we 
 go we shall carry nothing away 
 with us. I should think it would 
 
 Humph ! it s a queer kind of be very wearisome to toil only 
 a world, I think," answered that I for what we cannot keep, nor 
 lady, drily, sweeping some of stay long to enjoy." 
 
 "It s a pity you warn t a 
 minister, Miss Alice," said Miss 
 Fortune, drily. 
 
 the picked beans into her pan: 
 "I get a most sick of it, some 
 times." 
 
 what s the matter," 
 
 "Why, 
 said Alice, pleasantly; "may I 
 
 "Oh, no, MissFortune," said 
 Alice, smiling, " the family would 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 197 
 
 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 any 
 thing 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 very hard 
 with you. I don t know anybody, 
 I think, lives in more indepen 
 dent 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. Yan Brunt is a good 
 farmer very good there s 
 no doubt about that," 
 
 " I wonder what lie d do ," said 
 Miss Fortune, quickly and sharp 
 ly, as before, " if there warn t a 
 head to manage for him! Oh, 
 the farm s well enough, Miss 
 Alice tain t.that; every one 
 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-humour was 
 giving way, but something dis- 
 
 agreeable 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 up 
 stairs, 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." 
 
 "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 benefactions 
 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 unneces 
 sary; it is easy to see from your 
 own that there is no love lost 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 198 
 
 between you, and I am very sorry ! " Certainly, Miss Alice if I 
 
 can. 
 
 "If you think Ellen has been 
 
 it is so." 
 
 "Love, indeed!" said Miss 
 
 Fortune, with great indignation ; sufficiently punished for her ill- 
 " there never was any to lose, I j behaviour if you do not think 
 can assure you. She plagues the it right to withhold her letter 
 
 very life out of me. Why, she 
 hadn t been here three days be 
 fore she went off with that girl 
 Nancy Vawse, that I had told 
 her never to go near, and was 
 
 still will you let me have the 
 pleasure of giving it to her? I 
 should take it as a great favour 
 to myself." 
 
 Miss Fortune made no kind of 
 
 gone all night; that s the time reply to this, but stalked put of 
 she got in the brook. And if the room, and in a few minutes 
 
 you .d seen her face when I was 
 scolding her about it it was 
 
 stalked in again with the letter, 
 which she gave to Alice, only 
 
 like seven thunderclouds. Much saying, shortly 
 
 you know about it! I dare say "It came to me in a letter from 
 
 she s very sweet to you; that s her father." 
 
 the way she is to everybody be 
 side me; they all think she s too 
 good to live; and it just makes 
 me mad!" 
 
 "She told me herself," said 
 Alice, "of her behaving 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, dri 
 ly "after a fashion." 
 
 "Has she had her letter yet?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How is she to-day?" 
 
 "Oh, she s well enough 
 
 she s sitting up. 
 and see her." 
 
 You can go up 
 
 "I will, directly," said Alice. 
 "But now, Miss Fortune, I am 
 going to ask a favour of you 
 will you do me a great pleasure?" 
 
 "You are willing she should 
 have it?" said Alice. 
 
 "Oh, yes! do what you like 
 with it." 
 
 Alice now went softly up stairs. 
 She found Ellen s door 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 hear 
 ing 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 wistfulness 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 change of expression 
 took away all her powers of 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 199 
 
 speech. Ellen s face became ra 
 diant; 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 
 much 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 HOAV." 
 
 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 mur 
 mured. But she was weeping, 
 and the current of tears seemed to 
 gather force as it flowed. What 
 was little Ellen thinking of just 
 then? Oh, those times gone 
 by! when she had sat just so; 
 her head pillowed on another as 
 gentle 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 i 
 the same, and, oh! how much j 
 not the same ! and Ellen knew j 
 both. Blessing, as she did, the| 
 breast on which she leaned, andi 
 the arms whose pressure she felt, i 
 they yet reminded her sadly of j 
 those most loved and so very far j 
 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. 
 
 "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 going to ; I had a feel 
 ing she would be glad about what 
 I was sorry about." 
 
 "Don t know that you ought to 
 say," said Alice. "Kemember, 
 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 
 
200 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 out of my head ; but I have got so ! came up to see me last night? 
 tired lying here all alone. Aunt Wasn t it good of him? He even 
 
 Fortune coming in and out, was 
 just as good as nobody." 
 
 "Poor child!" said Alice, "you 
 have had a worse time than I." 
 
 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 
 
 "I used to lie and watch that said yes, for these other chairs 
 crack in the door, at the foot of are dreadful they break my 
 my bed," said Ellen, "and I got back; and there wasn t such a 
 so tired of it I hated to see it; but! thing as a rocking-chair in Aunt 
 when I opened my eyes I couldn t j Fortune s house she hates em, 
 help looking at it, and watching she says; and this morning, the 
 all the little ins and outs in the j first thing I knew, in walked 
 crack, till I was as sick of it asjMr. Van Brunt with this nice 
 could be; and that button too, j rocking-chair. Just get up and 
 that fastens the door, and the see how nice it is; you see 
 little round mark the button has I the back is cushioned, and the 
 made, and thinking how far the j elbows, as well as the seat; it s 
 button went round. And then, queer-looking, ain t it? but it s 
 if I looked towards the windows, ! very comfortable. Wasn t it good 
 I would go right to counting the ! of him?" 
 
 panes, first up and down, and "It was very kind, I think. But 
 then across and I didn t want j do you know, Ellen, I am going to 
 to count them, but I couldn t help : have a quarrel with you? " 
 it; and watching to see through j "What about?" said Ellen, 
 which pane the sky looked j "I don t believe it s anything 
 brightest. Oh! I got so sick of j very bad, for you look pretty 
 it all! There was only the fire [good-humoured, considering." 
 
 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 sadl 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 
 hadnotbeentiedat home myself." 
 
 "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 shan t hear it," 
 said Ellen, kissing her. "I don t 
 know what makes me say it 
 
 So I thought, and that made I never used to. But I ve got 
 it seem so very strange. But more to tell you I ve had more 
 oh ! don t you think," said Ellen, visitors. Who do you think came 
 her face suddenly brightening |to see me? you d never guess 
 "don t you think Mr. Van Brunt | Nancy Yawse! Mr. Van Brunt 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 201 
 
 came in the very nick of time, j bringing the rocking-chair for 
 when I was almost worried to, me she couldn t say much, 
 death with her. Only think of | but I could see by her face. ^ And 
 her coming up here unknown! then Mrs. Van Brunt s coming 
 to everybody! And she stayed I don t think she liked that. 
 
 an age , and how she did go on ! 
 She cracked nuts on the hearth ; 
 
 Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt came to see 
 me this morning, and brought 
 
 she got every stitch of my clothes ! me a custard. How many people 
 out of my trunk, and scattered! are kind to me, everywhere 
 them over the floor; she tried I go ! " 
 
 to make me drink gruel, till, 
 between us, we spilled a great 
 
 I hope, dear Ellen, you 
 don t forget whose kindness 
 
 parcel on the bed; and she sends them all?" 
 had begun to tickle me when "I don t, Miss Alice; I always 
 Mr. Van Brunt came. Oh! wasn t] think of that now; and it seems, 
 1 glad to see him! And when i you can t think how pleasant, to 
 Aunt Fortune came up and saw it me sometimes." 
 all, she was as angry as she could " Then I hope you can bear 
 be; and she scolded and scolded, unkindness from one poor wo- 
 till at last I told her it was none i man who , after all , isn t as 
 of my doing I couldn t help it | happy as you are without feel- 
 at all and she needn t talk so ; ing any ill-will towards her in re- 
 to me about it; and then she said | turn." 
 
 it was my fault , the whole of it! ! "I don t think I feel ill-will 
 that if I hadn t scraped acquain- 1 towards her," said Ellen; "I al- 
 tance with Nancy, when she had i ways try as hard as I can not to ; 
 forbidden me, all this would never but I can t like her, Miss Alice; 
 have happened." I and I do get out of patience. 
 
 "There is some truth in that, | It s very easy to put me out of 
 isn t there , Ellen? " | patience, I think ; it takes almost 
 
 "Perhaps so; but I think it nothing, sometimes." 
 might all have happened whether "But, remember, * charity suf- 
 orno; and, at any rate, it is a ferethlong, and is kind. " 
 little hard to talk so to me about! "And I try all the while, dear 
 it now, when it s all over, and Miss Alice, to keep down my 
 can t be helped. Oh, I have been bad feelings," said Ellen, her 
 so tired to-day, Miss Alice! eyes watering as she spoke; "I 
 Aunt Fortune has been in such try, and pray to get rid of them, 
 a bad humour." ! and I hope I shall, by-and-by ; I 
 
 "What put her in a bad believe I am very bad." 
 humour?" Alice drew her closer. 
 
 "Why, all this about Nancy, "I have felt very sad part of 
 in the first place; and then I know to-day," said Ellen, presently; 
 she didn t like Mr. Van Brunt s , "Aunt Fortune, and my being so 
 
202 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 lonely, and my poor letter, al- 1 you and myself. Which will you 
 together; but part of the time I have first?" 
 felt a great deal better. Iwasj "Three pieces of good news!" 
 
 said Ellen, with opening eyes; 
 "I think I 11 have my part first." 
 Directing Ellen s eyes to her 
 pocket, Alice slowly made the 
 corner of the letter show itself. 
 Ellen s colour came and went 
 quick as it was drawn forth; but 
 when it was fairly out, and she 
 knew it again, she flung herself 
 upon it with a desperate eager- 
 say that, has no right to be ness Alice had not looked for: 
 unhappy. No matter what she was startled at the half- 
 happens , we have enough to be frantic way in which the child 
 glad of." clasped and kissed it, weeping 
 
 "And then I was thinking of bitterly at the same time. Her 
 those words in the Psalms \ transport was almost hysterical. 
 4 Blessed is the man stop, I ll|She had opened the letter, but 
 find it; I don t know exactly how | she was not able to read a word ; 
 it goes; Blessed is he whose j and quitting Alice s arms, she 
 
 learning that lovely hymn do 
 you know it, Miss Alice? 
 
 Poor, weak, and worthless, though 
 I am. 1 " 
 
 Alice went on : 
 
 " I have a rich, almighty Friend; 
 Jesus the Saviour is his name, 
 He freely loves, and without end. 
 
 "Oh, dear Ellen, whoever can 
 
 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 
 
 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 aAvay. 
 
 When Ellen was able to begin 
 her letter, the reading of it served 
 
 throw her back into fresh fits 
 
 King. Poor Miss Fortune never 
 
 knew the sweetness of those to 
 
 words. We ought to be sorry of tears. Many a word of Mrs. 
 
 for her, and pray for her , Ellen ;|Montgomery s went so to her 
 
 and never, never, evenin thought, little daughter s heart, that its 
 
 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 iny- 
 sclf, and the third concerns both 
 
 very inmost chords 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 remembered hand-wri 
 ting had mighty power to move 
 her. She was so wrapped up in 
 her own feelings, that through 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 203 
 
 it all she never noticed that Alice j ask no more questions ; but lift- 
 was not near her, that Alice did! ing her hands once or twice 
 not speak to comfort her. When! caressingly to Alice s face, she 
 the letter had been read time was distressed to find her cheek 
 
 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. 
 
 wet still. Alice spoke at last. 
 
 "It isn t fair not to tell you 
 what is the matter, dear Ellen, 
 since I have let you see me sor 
 rowing. It is nothing new, nor 
 
 Alice was sitting by the window, anything I would have otherwise 
 her face hid in her hands; and i if I could. It is only that I have 
 
 as Ellen drew near, she was sur- had 
 prised to see that her tears were lost 
 
 a mother once, and have 
 her 5 and you brought 
 flowing, and her breast heaving. | back the old time so strongly, 
 Ellen came quite close, and that I could not command my- 
 
 softly laid her hand on Alice s 
 shoulder. But it drew no atten 
 tion. 
 
 "Miss Alice," said Ellen, al 
 most fearfully, dear Miss Alice" 
 and her own eyes filled fast 
 again "what is the matter? 
 won t you tell me ? Oh ! don t do 
 so! please don t!" 
 
 "I will not," said Alice, lifting 
 her head; "I am sorry I have 
 troubled you, dear; I am sorry, 
 
 self." 
 
 Ellen felt a hot tear drop upon 
 her forehead, and again ven 
 tured to speak her sympathy 
 only by silently stroking Alice s 
 cheek. 
 
 "It is all past now," saidAlice; 
 "it is all well. I would not have 
 her back again. I shall go to 
 her, I hope, by-and-by." 
 
 "Oh, no! you must stay with 
 me," said Ellen v , clasping both 
 arms round her. 
 
 There was a long silence, du- 
 
 I could not help it." 
 
 She kissed Ellen, who stood 
 
 anxious and sorrowful by her ring which they remained locked 
 side, and brushed away her tears, in each other s arms. 
 But Ellen saw she had been "Ellen, dear," said Alice, at 
 shedding a great many. (length, "we are both mother- 
 
 "What is the matter, dearjless, for the present, atleast 
 Miss Alice? what has happen- j both of us almost alone : I think 
 ed to trouble you? won t you God has brought us together to 
 tell me?" Ellen was almost be a comfort to each other. We 
 
 crying herself. 
 
 will be sisters while He permits 
 
 Alice came back to the rock- us to be so. Don t call me Miss 
 ing-chair, and took Ellen in her Alice any more. You shall be 
 arms again; but she did not my little sister, and I will be your 
 answer her. Leaning her face elder sister, and my home shall 
 against Ellen s forehead, she re- ! be your home as well." 
 mained silent. Ellen ventured to j Ellen s arms were drawn very 
 
204 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 close round her companion at j washed Ellen s gruel cup and 
 this, but she said nothing, and! spoon; and presently she had 
 her face was hid in Alice s bo- 1 the satisfaction of seeing Ellen 
 som. There was another very j eating the broth with that keen 
 
 long pause. Then Alice spoke in 
 a livelier tone. 
 
 enjoyment none know but those 
 that have been sick and are cret- 
 
 " Come, Ellen! lookup! you ting well. She smiled to see her 
 and I have forgotten ourselves; l gaining strength almost in the 
 it isn t good for sick people to very act of swallowing, 
 get down in the dumps. Look "Ellen," said she, presently, 
 up, and let me see these pale j "I have been considering your 
 cheeks. Don t you want some- dressing -table. It looks rather 
 thing to eat?" doleful. I ll make you a present 
 
 "1 don t know," said Ellen, of some dimity, and when you 
 faintly. come to see me you shall make a 
 
 "What would you say to a cup cover for it, that will reach down 
 of chicken-broth?" to the floor and hide those long 
 
 "Oh, I should like it very 
 much!" said Ellen, with new 
 
 energy. 
 
 legs." 
 
 "Thatwouldn t do at all," said 
 Ellen; "Aunt Fortune would go 
 
 ; Margery made me some par- ! off into all sorts of fits." 
 
 ticularly nice, as she always 
 does ; "and I took it into my head 
 
 a little might not come amiss to 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Why, the washing, Miss Alice 
 to have such a great thing to 
 
 you ; so I resolved to stand the ! wash every now and then. You 
 chance of Sharp s jolting it all i can t think what a fuss she makes 
 over me , and I rode down with a j if I have more than just so many 
 little pail of it on my arm. Let j white clothes in the wash every 
 me rake open these coals, and week." 
 
 you shall have some directly." 
 
 "And did you come without 
 being spattered?" said Ellen. 
 Not a drop. Is this what you 
 
 "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 
 
 use to warm things in? Never | care enough about it to take the 
 mind, it has had gruel in it; I 11 1 trouble. 
 
 set the tin pail on the fire; it 
 won t hurt it." 
 
 I am so much obliged to you," 
 
 ; Oh, indeed I do ! " said Ellen ; 
 "I should like it very much, and 
 I ll get Mr. Van Brunt to no , I 
 
 said Ellen, "for do you know 1 1 can t, AuntFortune won t let me; 
 have got quite tired of gruel, and I was going to say, I would get 
 
 panado I can t bear." 
 
 it." 
 
 Then I am very glad I brought 
 
 him to saw off the legs and make 
 it lower for me, and then my 
 dressing -box would stand so 
 
 While it was warming, Alice nicely on the top. Maybe lean 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 205 
 
 yet. Oh , I never showed you iny 
 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 un 
 kindly about it what do you 
 think would be a good thing?" 
 
 "I don t know, Ellen I ll 
 take the matter into considera 
 tion." 
 
 "Do you think a Bible would 
 do?" 
 
 " Perhaps that would do as well 
 as anything; I ll think about 
 it." 
 
 "I should like to do it, very 
 much," said Ellen, "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 forgotten 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 objection, 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 consent," 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 Mam 
 ma 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 
 glistening eyes; and though, as 
 she saw Alice s fill, her own over 
 flowed again, she hung over her 
 still to the last; going over every 
 line this time with a new plea 
 sure : 
 
 "New York, Saturday, Nov. 22, 18 . 
 
 "Mr 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 finish 
 ing anything that could be called 
 
206 
 
 THE WIt)E, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 thathasarrangeditdoes 
 nothing amiss; we must trust 
 Him, my daughter, that all will 
 be well. 1 feel it is well; though 
 sometimes 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 com 
 mitted to his care is ever for 
 gotten 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 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 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, 
 
 1 and set down my cup, remember 
 ing only that the dear little hand 
 I which used to minister to my wants 
 is near me no more. My child 
 my child ! words are poor to ex 
 press the heart s yearnings, my 
 spirit is near you all the time. 
 
 " Your old gentleman has paid 
 I me several visits. The day after 
 you went, came some beautiful 
 pigeons. 1 sent word back that 
 you were no longer here to enjoy 
 I 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 
 | behaviour in the store. That 
 ! thought has been sweeter to me 
 than all the old gentleman s birds 
 and fruit. I am sorry to inform 
 you that, though I have seen him 
 so many times , I am still perfect 
 ly ignorant of his name. 
 
 " We set sail on 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, 
 
 207 
 
 "You ought to be a good child,] shakes to the panes of glass, 
 Ellen," said Alice, as she dashed land through many an opening in 
 away some tears. " Thank you the wooden framework of the 
 for letting me see this; it has Chouse it came in and saluted 
 been a great pleasure to me." Ellen s bare arms and neck. She 
 
 feel 
 little 
 
 Andnow," saidEllen, you hurried to finish her dressing, and 
 
 as if you knew Mamma a wrapping her double-gown over 
 ." all, went down to the kitchen. It 
 
 "Enough to honour and respect! was another climate there. A 
 her very much. Now, good-bye, I great fire was burning, that it 
 my love; I must be at home be- 1 quite cheered Ellen s heart to 
 fore it is late. I will see you again | look at ; and the air seemed to be 
 
 
 
 before Christmas comes." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Shows how Mr. Van Brunt could be sharp 
 
 To 
 
 upon some things. 
 
 Ellen s sorrow, 
 
 she was 
 
 pronounced next morning well 
 enough to come downstairs; her 
 aunt averring 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 illness, 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 
 
 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 up-stairs," said 
 
 Ellen, drawin 
 The warmth 
 
 up her shoulders. 
 ad not got inside 
 
 of her wrapper ye 
 
 "Well, taint 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. Break 
 fast 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 agoing to warm 
 you," said he, "make haste and 
 get something down; or drink a 
 cup of coffee you re as blue as 
 skim milk." 
 
 how cold it was ! The wind swept] "Ami?" saidEllen, laughing; 
 past her windows , giving wintry | " I feel blue , but I can t eat such 
 
208 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a pile of cakes as that, Mr. Van \ for once anyhow. I m not one of 
 Brunt." | them to care what folks say. I ll 
 
 As a general thing, the meals have it so! But I won t have em 
 at Miss Fortune s were silent so- to tea, mind you I d rather 
 lemnities; an occasional consul- ; throw apples and all into the fire 
 tation, or a few questions and re- at once. I ll have but one plague 
 marks about farm affairs, being of setting tables, and that. I won t 
 all that ever passed. The break- have em to tea. I ll make it up 
 fast this morning was a singular to em in the supper, though." 
 exception to the common rule. "I ll take care to publish that," 
 
 "I am in a regular quandary," j said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 said the mistress of the house,! "Don t you go and do such a 
 when the meal was about half thing," said Miss Fortune, earn- 
 over, estly. "I shall have the whole 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked up for country on my hands. I won t 
 an instant, and asked, "What have but just as many on em 
 about? " | as 11 do what I want done ; that 11 
 
 " Why, how I am ever going to be as much as I can stand under, 
 do to get those apples and sau- ! Don t you whisper a word of it to 
 sage-meat done? If I go to doing! a living creature. I ll go round 
 em myself, I shall about get and ask em myself to come^Mon- 
 
 through by spring." 
 
 Why don t you make a bee? " 
 
 day evening." 
 
 "Monday evening; then I sup 
 pose you d like to have up the 
 
 said Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 " Ain t enough of either on em sleigh" this afternoon. Who s 
 to make it worth while. I ain t acoming?" 
 
 agoing to have all the bother of | "I don t know; I han t asked 
 a bee without something to show " 
 for t." 
 
 " Turn em both into one," sug 
 gested her counsellor, going on 
 with his breakfast. 
 
 "Both?" 
 
 " Yes let em pare apples in 
 
 one room and cutporkin t other." keeping. 
 
 em yet." 
 
 "They 11 every soul come that s 
 asked that you may depend; 
 there ain t one on em that would 
 miss of it for a dollar." 
 
 Miss Fortune bridled a little at 
 the implied tribute to her house- 
 
 "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. Pre 
 sently, 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 if to folks knowing it." 
 
 " If I was some folks, I wouldn t 
 let people know I was in such a 
 of 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 objection 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 055 fdbtfd 
 
 200 
 
 "Pshaw! I didn t mean ?/ow," 
 said Miss Fortune 5 "I was think 
 ing of those Lawsons , and other 
 folks." 
 
 "If you re 
 
 there," saidMr. Van Brunt "Dan 
 Dennison s a fine hand at a most 
 anything, in-doors or out." 
 "That s more than you can 
 
 agoing to ask them say for his sister. Cilly Dennison 
 to your bee, you ain t of my mind." | gives herself so many airs, it s 
 "Well, I am, though," replied altogether too much for plain 
 iss Fortune; "there s a good; country folks. I should like to 
 
 r Jl _? 5 .1 1 i j i j i i i ir 
 
 Miss 
 
 many hands of em ; they can turn 
 off a good lot of work in an even 
 ing; 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 kill 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 m sure I m willing; there ll 
 be enough; lain tagoingtomince 
 matters when once I begin. Now, 
 let me see. There s five of the 
 Lawsons to begin with I sup 
 pose they ll all come Bill Huff 1 
 and Jany, that s seven 
 
 "That Bill Huff is as good- 
 natured a fellow as ever broke 
 ground," remarked Mr. Van 
 
 know what she 
 It s a most too 
 
 thinks herself, 
 much for my 
 
 stomach to see her flourishing 
 that watch and chain." 
 
 "What s the use of troubling 
 yourself about other people s no 
 tions? " said Mr. Van Brunt. "If 
 folks want to take the road , let 
 them have it. That s my way. 
 I m satisfied, provided they don t 
 
 I d 
 
 Brunt. "Ain t better people in 
 the town than them Huffs are." 
 
 " They re well enough," said 
 Miss Fortune. "Seven and 
 thellitchcocks, there s three of 
 them , that 11 make ten " 
 
 ain t 
 The Wide , Wide World. 
 
 far from 
 
 run me over. 
 
 " Tain t my way, then, 
 have you to know," said Miss 
 Fortune; "I despise it! And 
 tain t your way, neither, Van 
 Brunt; what did you give Tom 
 Larkens a cowhiding for?" 
 
 "Cause he deserved it, if ever 
 <b man did," said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 quite rousing up; "he was treat 
 ing 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 me" 
 
 "And how much good do you 
 suppose it did?" said Miss For 
 tune, rather scornfully. 
 
 "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 For 
 tune ; " that makes twelve and 
 you and your mother are four- 
 14 
 
210 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 teen. I suppose that man Marsh- little window that opened into 
 
 i 11 11 ~l 1* 1 JT 1 T A 1 il 1 1 
 
 chalk will come dangling along 
 after the Hitchcocks." 
 
 To be sure he will; and his 
 
 aunt, Miss Janet, will come with into the 
 
 the shed. And there , indeed, was 
 the face of Miss Nancy pressed 
 flat against the glass, 
 
 . . _ peering 
 
 room! Miss Fortune 
 
 beckoned to her. 
 
 "That is the most impudent, 
 shameless, outrageous piece of . 
 What were you doing at the win 
 dow?" said she, as Nancy came in. 
 
 "Looking at you, Miss For- 
 
 him, most likely." 
 
 "Well there s no help for 
 it," said Miss Fortune. "That 
 makes sixteen." 
 
 " Will you ask Miss Alice ? " 
 
 "Not I; she s another of your ^v,~^ & , j^, ^^ 
 proud set. I don t want to see j tune," said Nancy, coolly. "What 
 anybody that thinks she s going have you been talking about, 
 to do me a great favour by; this great while? If there had 
 coming." | only been a pane of glass broken, 
 
 Ellen s lips opened, but wisdom j I needn t have asked." 
 came in time to stop the words "Hold your tongue," said Miss 
 that were on her tongue. It did ; Fortune , " and listen to me." 
 not, however, prevent the quick j "I ll listen. Ma am," said 
 little turn of her head, which; Nancy, "but it s of no use to 
 showed what she thought, and hold my tongue. I do try some - 
 the pale cheeks were for a mo- j times, but I never could keep it 
 
 long." 
 
 " Have you done ? " 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am," said 
 
 ment bright enough. 
 
 "She is, and I don t care who 
 hears it," repeated Miss Fortune. 
 
 "I suppose she d look as sober Nancy, shaking her head; "it s 
 as a judge , too , if she saw cider just as it happens." 
 on the table; they say she wontj "You tell your granny I m 
 touch a drop ever, and thinks it s going to have a bee here next 
 wicked; and if that ain t setting Monday evening, and ask her if 
 one s self up for better than other i she 11 come to it." 
 folks , I don t know what is." Nancy nodded. " If it s good 
 
 "I saw her paring apples at j weather," she added, condition- 
 the Huffs , though," said Mr. Van ally. 
 
 Brunt, " and as pleasant as any- "Stop, Nancy!" said Miss For- 
 but she didn t stay to tune "here!" for Nancy was 
 
 body; 
 supper. 
 
 shutting the door behind her. 
 
 "I d askMrs.Vawse, if>I could! "As sure as you come here Mon- 
 get word to her ," said Miss For- j day night without your grandma, 
 tune ; " but I can never travel up you 11 go out of the house quicker 
 
 that mountain. If I get a sight of 
 Nancy, I ll tell her." 
 
 " There she is , then," said Mr. 
 Van Brunt, looking towards the 
 
 than you come in; see if you don t!" 
 With another gracious nod and 
 
 smile, Nancy departed. 
 "Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 rising, "I ll despatch this busi-jVan Brunt was standing at 
 ness down-stairs, and then I ll bottom, and he looked up. 
 bring up the sleigh. The pickle s "itTo-o- T ^ A^ *i. Q 
 ready, I suppose." 
 
 211 
 
 the 
 
 "No, it ain t," said Miss For 
 tune ; " I couldn t make it yester 
 day ; but it s all in the kettle, and 
 I told Sam to make a fire down 
 stairs , so you can put it on when 
 you go down. The kits are all 
 ready, and the salt, and every 
 thing 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 notrequired 
 to do anything. She sat and 
 looked on, keeping out of the 
 aunt as far as 
 ut Miss For- 
 
 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 
 asking any questions." 
 
 Ellen went down. But before 
 she reached the lowest step she 
 stopped with almost a start, and 
 stood fixed with such a horrified 
 face , that neither Mr. Van Brunt 
 nor SamLarkens, 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 before, 
 greeted Ellen s eyes. They lay 
 in different parts of the room, 
 with each a cob in his mouth. A 
 fourth lay stretched upon his 
 back on the kitchen table , which 
 was drawn out into the middle of 
 
 way of her bustling ; 
 it was possible; b 
 tune s gyrations were of that cha 
 racter , that no one could tell five 
 minutes beforehand what she j the floor. Ellen stood fast on the 
 might consider "in the way."! stair. 
 
 Ellen wished for her quiet room "Have they been killed?" was 
 again. Mr. Van Brunt s voice j her first astonished exclamation, 
 sounded downstairs in tones of j to which Sam responded with an- 
 business; what could he be other burst, 
 about? It must be very uncom- 1 "Be quiet, Sam Larkens/ said 
 mon business that kept him in! Mr. Van Brunt. "Yes, Miss 
 the house. Ellen grew restless j Ellen, they ve been killed, sure 
 with the desire to go and see, j enough." 
 
 and to change her aunt s com- j "Are these the same pigs I used 
 pany for his ; and no sooner was j to see you feeding with corn, Mr. 
 .Miss Fortune fairly shut up in Van Brunt?" 
 the buttery at some secret work, " The identical same ones," re- 
 than Ellen gently opened the plied that gentleman , as, laying 
 door at the head of the lower j hold of the head of the one on 
 stairs, and looked down. Mr. j the table , and applying his long 
 
 14* 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 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." 
 
 "And what s going to be done 
 with them now ? " said Ellen. 
 
 "I am just going to cut them 
 up and lay them down. You never 
 see nothing of the kind before, 
 did you?" 
 
 " No ," said Ellen. " What do 
 you mean by laying them down, 
 Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 
 "Why, laying em down in salt 
 for pork and hams. You want 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 up-stairs ; 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 cur 
 rents of air that would find their 
 way into the room, despatched 
 Sam for an old buffalo robe that 
 lay in the shed. This he himself 
 with great care wrapped round 
 her, feet and chair and all, and 
 secured it in various places with 
 old forks. He declared then she 
 looked for all the world like an 
 Indian , except her face ; and , in 
 high good humour both, he went 
 
 on 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 certainty just where he 
 wished it; the hams were beauti 
 fully trimmed out; the pieces 
 fashioned clean ; no ragged cut 
 ting; and his quick-going knife 
 disposed of carcass after carcass 
 with admirable neatness and cele 
 rity. Sam meanwhile arranged 
 the pieces in different parcels at 
 his direction, and minded the 
 kettle, in which a great boiling 
 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 , strewing 
 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 goodwithout 
 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 213 
 
 "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." 
 
 " Smoked !" said Ellen; "how?" 
 
 "Why, han t you been in the 
 smoke-house? 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 $iey are done." 
 
 "How very curious?" said 
 Ellen. " Then it s the smoke that 
 
 fives them that nice taste? 1 never 
 new smoke was good for any 
 thing before." 
 
 "Ellen!" said the voice of Miss 
 Fortune, from the top of the stairs 
 " come right up here , this mi 
 nute ! you 11 catch your death ! " 
 Ellen s countenance fell. 
 
 The upper door was shut again 
 pretty sharply, but that was the 
 only audible expression of opi 
 nion with which Miss Fortune fa 
 voured them. 
 
 "I guess mv 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 clone its work," he said; "but 
 I 11 never say anything is good 
 for nothing again. Have you found 
 out where the apples are, yet?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen. 
 
 "Han t Miss Fortune showed 
 you? Well, it s time you d know. 
 Sam , take that little basket and 
 go fill it at the bin; I guess you 
 know where they be, for I believe 
 you put em there." 
 
 Sam went into the cellar, and 
 presently returned with the bas 
 ket 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 AuntFortune say?" 
 
 "She won t say a word," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt; "and don t you 
 say a word neither, but whenever 
 
 "There s no sort of fear of; you want apples, just go to the 
 that, Ma am," said Mr. Van Brunt, [bin and take em. / give you 
 quietly; "and Miss Ellen is fasten- leave. It s right at the end of the 
 ed up so, she can t get loose ; and j far cellar, at the left-hand corner ; 
 1 can t let her out just now." | there are the bins and all sorts of 
 
214 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 apples in em. You ve got a pretty 
 variety there, han t you? " 
 
 "Oh! all sorts," said Ellen 
 "and what beauties! and I love 
 apples very much red, and yel 
 low, and speckled, and green 
 what a great monster ! " 
 
 "That s a Swar; that ain t as 
 good as most of the others; 
 those are Seek-no-furthers." 
 
 " Seek-no-further ! " said Ellen ; 
 " what a funny name ! It ought to 
 be a mighty good apple. / 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 these." 
 
 The pork was all packed ; the 
 kettle was lifted off the fire 5 Mr. 
 Van Brunt was wiping his hands 
 from the salt. 
 
 "And now, I suppose I must 
 go," said Ellen, with a little sigh. 
 
 "Why, 1 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 up-stairs. I am 
 very much obliged to you, Mr. Van 
 Brunt. But," said she, stopping 
 as she had taken up her basket to 
 
 fo , " aren t y^ou going to put the 
 ams 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 up stairs 
 with her apples. To bestow them 
 
 safely in her closet was her first 
 care ; the rest of the morning was 
 spent in increasing weariness and 
 listlessness. She had brought 
 down her little hymn-book, think 
 ing to amuse herself with learn 
 ing 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 pil 
 lowed upon that, fast asleep. 
 
 "Bless my soul!" saidMr.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, drily 
 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 remarking, 
 at the same time, that "it might 
 be well 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. 
 
 How Miss Fortune went out arid pleasure 
 came in. 
 
 SHE was thoroughly roused at 
 last by the slamming of the house 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 door after her aunt. She and Mr. j the wall, moved lightly by the 
 Van Brunt had gone forth on \ wind , drew its icy fingers over 
 their sleighing expedition, and | the panes of glass. Wintry it was 
 Ellen waked to find herself quite without, but that made the 
 alone. warmth and comfort within seem 
 
 She could not long have doubt- all the more. Ellen would have 
 ed that her aunt was away, even enjoyed it very much if she had 
 if she had not caught a glimpse [had any one to talk to; as it was, 
 of her bonnet going out of the she felt rather lonely and sad. 
 shed door the stillness was so She had begun to learn a hymn; 
 uncommon. No such quiet could j but it had set her off upon a long 
 be with Miss Fortune anywhere i train of thought; and with her 
 about the premises. The old j head resting on her hand, her 
 grandmother must have been fingers pressed into her cheek, 
 
 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 contented and cheerful 
 style , and the latter giving occa 
 sional little snaps and sparks, 
 that just served to make one 
 
 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 open 
 ed, 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 
 
 take notice how very quietly and Alice, as Ellen s warm lips were 
 steadily it was burning. 
 
 Miss Fortune had left the room 
 put up in the last extreme of neat 
 ness. Not a speck of dust could 
 
 pressed again and again to her 
 cold cheeks. 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Fortune s gone 
 out. Come and sit down here in 
 
 be supposed to lie on the shining; the rocking-chair. How cold you 
 painted floor; the back of every j are ! Oh , do you know she is go- 
 chair was in its place against the j ing to have a great bee here M on- 
 wall. The very hearth -stones day evening? What is a bee?" 
 shone, and the heads of the large Alice smiled. "Why," said she, 
 iron nails in the floor were polish- " when people here in the country 
 ed to steel. Ellen sat awhile have so much of any kind of work 
 listening to the soothing chirrup! to do that their own hands are 
 of the cricket, and the pleasant not enough for it, they send and 
 crackling of the flames. It was a call in their neighbours to help 
 fine, cold winter s day. The two, them that s a bee. A large 
 little windows at the far end of the party in the course of a long 
 kitchen looked out upon an ex- j evening can do a great deal." 
 panse of snow; and the large " But why do they call it a bee?" 
 lilac-bush, that grew close by "I don t know, unless they 
 
216 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 mean to be like a Live of bees for 
 the time. As busy as a bee, you 
 know." 
 
 " Then they ought to call it a 
 
 pressure of her two arms about 
 her friend, said as much. There 
 
 was a long pause. The cheek of 
 Alice rested on Ellen s head, 
 
 hive, and not a bee, I should I which nestled against her; both 
 think. Aunt Fortune is going to were busily thinking, but neither 
 ask sixteen people. I wish you spoke; and " 
 
 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, 
 she vexed me this morning by 
 something she said! " 
 
 You mustn t get vexed so 
 
 Oh, how 
 
 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 ex 
 plain it. Mamma used to do it 
 5 sometimes. I have been thinking 
 
 on t let every a great deal about her to-day; 
 little untoward thing roughen and 1 think I am very different 
 
 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 11 
 
 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 
 
 mind it, and I know it isn t true, j was uplifted to her,andpresently 
 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, 
 you told me." 
 
 "I am so glad you are come, 
 dear Alice!" said Ellen again. 
 
 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. 
 
 I am glad j "There, now," said Ellen 
 
 "what is a charge?" 
 
 "Don t you know that?" 
 
 "I think I do, but I wish you 
 
 would tell me." 
 
 I wish I could have you al 
 ways ! " And the long , very close | " Try to tell me first." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 217 
 
 "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, or taken care of. 
 I remember very well once, when 
 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 5 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 
 out 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 honour to 
 give him all the honour that 
 belongs to him." 
 
 "But can /honour Him? 11 
 
 " Most certainly ; either honour 
 or dishonour; you cannot help 
 doing one." 
 
 "1!" said Ellen, again. 
 
 "Must not your behaviour 
 speak either well or ill for the 
 mother who has brought you 
 up?" 
 
 "Yes, I know that." 
 
 "Very well; when a child of 
 God lives as he ought to do, 
 people cannot help having high 
 and noble thoughts of that glori 
 ous 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 de 
 spising it. I have heard 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 king 
 dom 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 faith 
 ful, patient, self-denying per 
 formance of every duty as it 
 comes to hand Whatsoever 
 
218 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 thy hand findeth to do , do it with jghe was a Christian, because she 
 thy might. " Jiad taught you the truth, and 
 
 "It is very little that /can do," ^evidently had tried to lead you 
 said Ellen. in it," 
 
 "Perhaps more than you think The quivering face of delight 
 but never mind that. All are with which Ellen began to listen 
 not great stars in the church ; you gave way, long before Alice had 
 may be only a little rushlight done , to a burst of tears, 
 see you burn well." "It makes me so glad to hear 
 
 "I remember," said Ellen, you say that!" she said, 
 musing, "Mamma once told me, "The praise of it is your mo- 
 when I was going somewhere, ther s, you know, Ellen." 
 that people would think strangely! "I know it but you make 
 of her if I didn t behave well." jme so glad!" And hiding her 
 
 "Certainly. Why, Ellen, I: face in Alice s lap, she fairly 
 formed an opinion of her very sobbed, 
 soon after I knew you." "You understand now, don t 
 
 "Did you?" said Ellen, with a you, how Christians may honour 
 wonderfully brightened face ! or dishonour their Heavenly 
 "what was it? was it good? ah! Father?" 
 do tell me!" "Yes, I do; but it makes me 
 
 "I am not quite sure of the afraid to think of it." 
 wisdom of that," said Alice, "Afraid! it ought rather to 
 smiling: "you might take home make you glad. It is a great 
 the praise that is justly her right honour and happiness for us to 
 and not yours." I be permitted to honour Him 
 
 " Oh 010 , indeed ," said Ellen J] A never-dying soul to save 
 
 " I had rather she should have it I And flt }t for the sk y- 
 
 than I. Please tell me what you Yes that is the great duty you 
 thought of her, dear Alice Lowe yourself. Oh, never forget 
 know it was good, at any rate." jit, dear Ellen! And whatever 
 "Well, I will tell you," said would hinder you, have nothing 
 Alice, "at all risks. I thought! to do with it. What shall it 
 your mother was a lady, from profit a man though he gain the 
 the honourable notions she had [whole world, and lose his own 
 given you ; and , from your ready j soul? 
 Obedience to her, which was To serve the present age, 
 
 evidently the obedience of love, | My calling to fulfil. 
 
 1 judged she had been a good! "What is the present age? " 
 
 mother in the true sense of the said Ellen. 
 
 term. I thought she must be a| "All the people who are living 
 
 refined and cultivated person, in the world at this time." 
 
 from the manner of your speech | "But, dear Alice, what can I 
 
 and behaviour; and I was sure, do to the present age?" 
 
THE WIDE, "WIDE WORLD- 219 
 
 "Nothing to the most part of I ness. Is there no improvement 
 them, certainly; and yet, dear! to be made here?" 
 Ellen, if your little rushlightj "Ohme, yes!" L answeredEllen, 
 shines well , there is just so much with a sigh. 
 
 the less darkness in the world j "Then your old grandmother, 
 though perhaps you light only a ; Can you do nothing to cheer her 
 very Tittle corner. Every Christian : life in her old age and helpless- 
 is a blessing to the world jness? can t you find some way of 
 another grain of salt to go to- ! giving her pleasure some way 
 wards sweetening and saving the | of amusing a long tedious hour, 
 mass." I now and then?" 
 
 " That is very pleasant to think I Ellen looked very grave ; in 
 of," said Ellen, musing. her inmost heart she knew this 
 
 " Oh , if we were but full of was a duty she shrank from, 
 love to our Saviour, how pleasant "He went about doing good. 
 it would be to do anything for j Keep that in mind. A kind word 
 him! how many ways we should! spoken a little thing done to 
 find of honouring bim by doing smooth the way of one, or lighten 
 good." |the load of another teaching 
 
 "I wish you would tell me those who need teaching en- 
 some of the ways that I can do treating those who are walking 
 it," said Ellen. in the wrong way. Oh! my child, 
 
 "You will find them fast enough there is work 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. 
 
 "Is your daily example as per 
 fect as it can be?" 
 
 Ellen was silent, and shook 
 her head. 
 
 Christ pleased not himself, 
 
 To serve the present age, 
 My calling to fulfil ; 
 
 Oh, may it all my powers engage 
 To do my Maker s will! 
 
 Arm me with jealous care, 
 As in thy sight to live ; 
 
 And oh! thy servant, Lord, prepare, 
 A strict account to give ! " 
 
 "An account of what?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "You know what an account 
 
 and went about doing good ; and is. If I give Thomas a dollar to 
 he said, If any man serve me, spend for me at Carra-carra, I 
 let him follow me. Remember expect he will give me an exact 
 that. Perhaps your aunt is uu- account, when he comes back, 
 reasonable and unkind see what he has done with every 
 with how much patience and per- shilling of it. So must we give 
 feet sweetness of temper you can an account of what we have done 
 bear and forbear 5 see if vou |with everything our Lord has 
 cannot win her over by untiring : committed to our care our 
 gentleness, obedience, and meek- (hands, our tongues, our time, 
 
220 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 our minds, our influence; how 
 much we have honoured him, 
 how much good we have done 
 to others , how fast and how far 
 we have grown holy and fit for 
 heaven." 
 
 "It almost frightens me to hear 
 you talk , Miss Alice." 
 
 "Not frighten, dear Ellen 
 that is not the word; sober, we 
 ought to be mindful to do 
 nothing we shall not wish to and glistening eyes were raised 
 
 "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 
 
 remember in the great day of 
 account. Do you recollect how 
 that day is described? Where 
 is your Bible?" 
 
 She opened at the 20th chapter 
 
 to hers, " if you love Jesus Christ, 
 you may know you are his child, 
 
 of the Revelation. 
 
 Where I and none shall pluck you out of 
 his hand." 
 
 "But how can I tell whether I 
 do love him really? Sometimes I 
 
 "And I saw a great white! think I do, and then again some- 
 throne, and him that sat on it, | times I am afraid 1 don t at all." 
 
 Alice answered in the words of 
 
 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 grieved when you fail? There 
 were in it; and death and hell is the point. You cannot love 
 delivered up the dead which were Christ without loving to please 
 in them: and they were judged! him." 
 
 every man according to their Ellen rose, and putting both 
 works. And death and hell were arms round Alice s neck, laid 
 cast into the lake of fire. This is! her head there, as her manner 
 
 Christ: "He that hath my com 
 mandments and keepeth them, 
 he it is that loveth me." 
 
 "Oh, I don t keep his com 
 mandments!" said Ellen, the 
 tears running down her cheeks. 
 
 "Perfectly, none of us do. But, 
 dear Ellen , that is not the ques 
 tion. Is it your heart s desire 
 and effort to keep them? Are you 
 
 j "U j? i o mi 
 
 the second death. 
 
 "And whosoever was not found 
 written in the book of life was 
 cast into the lake of fire." 
 
 Ellen shivered. "That is dread 
 ful! " she said. 
 
 sometimes Avas, tears flowingfast. 
 "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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 221 
 
 " Indeed he will, dear Ellen," 
 
 said Alice, folding her arms 
 
 round her little adopted sister 
 
 -indeed he will. He has promised 
 
 that, llemember what he told | pay for it." 
 
 said Miss Fortune. " She s slept 
 this whole blessed forenoon; I 
 suppose she 11 want to be alive 
 and dancing the whole night, to 
 
 somebody who was almost in 
 
 "I can tell you what she ll 
 
 despair Fear not; only be- want a sight more," said Mr. 
 lieve. " i Van Brunt, who had followed her 
 
 Alice s neck was wet with j in it must have been to see 
 Ellen s tears; and after they had about Ellen, for he was never 
 ceased to flow, her arms kept known to do such a thing before 
 their hold, and her head its j or since "I ll tell you what 
 resting-place on Alice s shoulder j she 11 want, and that s a right 
 for some time. It was necessary! hot supper. She s ate as nigh 
 at last for Alice to leave her. as possible nothing at all this 
 
 Ellen waited till the sound of | noon. There ain t much danger 
 her horse s footsteps died away j of her dancing a hole in your 
 on the road; and then, sinking floor this some time." 
 on her knees beside her rocking- 
 chair, she poured forth her whole 
 heart in prayers and tears. She 
 confessed manyafault andshort- 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Sweeping and dusting. 
 
 GREAT preparations were ma- 
 
 coming that none knew but her- [ king all Saturday and Monday 
 self; and most earnestly besought I for the expected gathering. From 
 help that "her little rushlight; morning till night Miss Fortune 
 might shine bright." Prayer was i was in a perpetual bustle. The 
 to little Ellen what it is to all ; great oven was heated no less 
 that know it the satisfying of than three several times onSatur- 
 doubt, the soothing of care , the | day alone. Ellen could hear the 
 quieting of trouble. She had j breaking of eggs in the buttery, 
 knelt down very uneasy; but she I arid the sound of beating or 
 knew that God has promised to, whisking, for a long time to- 
 be the hearer of prayer, and shelgether; and then Miss Fortune 
 rose up very comforted, her mind would come out with floury 
 fixing on those most sweet words hands, and plates of empty egg- 
 Alice had brought to her me-! shells made their appearance, 
 mory "Fear not; only believe." But Ellen saw no more. When- 
 When Miss Fortune returned, i ever the coals were swept out of 
 Ellen was quietly asleep again in the oven, and Miss Fortune had 
 her rocking-chair, with a face made sure that the heat was just 
 very pale, but calm as an evening ! right for her purposes, Ellen was 
 sunbeam. |sent out of the way, and when 
 
 "Well, I declare if that child; she got back there was nothing 
 ain t sleeping her life away !"|to be seen but the fast-shut oven 
 
M 
 LD. 
 
 222 THE WIDE, WIDE WOR 
 
 door. It was just the same when ! unable to go out or come in. 
 the dishes, in all their perfec-jBut not long. As the words 
 tion, were to come out of the; came back upon her memory 
 oven again. The utmost Ellen; "A charge to keep I have" 
 was permitted to see was the her mind was made up ; after one 
 napkin covering some stray cake moment s prayer for help and 
 or pie that by chance had to i forgiveness, she shut the door, 
 pass through the kitchen where ! came back to the fireplace, and 
 
 she was. 
 
 As she could neither help nor 
 look on, the day passed rather 
 
 spoke in a cheerful tone 
 
 "Grandma, wouldn t you like 
 to have me read something to 
 
 wearily. She tried studying; a; you?" 
 very little, she found, was enough i "Eead!" answered the old 
 to satisfy both mind and body in; lady "laws a me! / don t 
 their present state. She longed read nothing, deary." 
 
 to go out again and see how the 
 
 "But wouldn t you like to have 
 
 snow looked, but a fierce wind me read to you, Grandma?" 
 all the fore part of the day made ! The old lady, in answer to 
 it unfit for her. Towards the this, laid down her knitting, 
 middle of the afternoon she saw j folded both arms round Ellen, 
 with joy that it had lulled, and, land kissing her a great many 
 though very cold, was so bright i times , declared she should like 
 and calm, that she might ven- anything that came out of that 
 ture. She had eagerly opened sweet little mouth. As soon as 
 the kitchen door to go up and I she was set free, Ellen brought 
 get ready, when a long weary j her Bible, sat down close be- 
 yawn from her old grandmother i side her, and read chapter after 
 made her look back. The old chapter; rewarded even then by 
 lady had laid her knitting in her; seeing that, though her grand- 
 lap , and bent her face down to i mother said nothing , she was 
 her hand, which she was rub- j listening with fixed attention, 
 bing across her brow, as if to j bending down over her knitting 
 clear away the tired feeling that ! as if in earnest care to catch 
 had settled there. Ellen s con- j every word. And when at last 
 science instantly brought up ! she stopped, warned by certain 
 Alice s words "Can t you\do j noises downstairs that her aunt 
 something to pass away a tedious I would presently be bustling in, 
 hour now and then?" The first the old lady again hugged her 
 feeling was of vexed regret that close to her bosom, kissing her 
 they should have come into her! forehead and cheeks and lips, 
 
 head at that moment; then con 
 science said that was very selfish. 
 There was a struggle. Ellen 
 stood with the door in her hand, 
 
 and declaring that she was "a 
 great deal sweeter than any 
 sugar -plums;" and Ellen was 
 very much surprised to feel her 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 223 
 
 face wet with a tear from herjSukey, and Betty Flynn sleek 
 grandmother s cheek. Hastily; and contented; winter and sum- 
 kissing her again (for the first mer were all the same to them, 
 time in her life), she ran out of. And Mr. Van Brunt was very 
 the room , her own tears start- i glad to see her there again , and 
 ing, and her heart swelling big. Sam Larkens and Johnny Low 
 "Oh! how much pleasure," she looked as if they were too, and 
 thought, "I might have given Ellen told them with great truth 
 my poor Grandma ; and how I she was very glad indeed to be 
 have let her alone all this while !> there ; and then she went in to 
 How wrong I have been! But it: supper with Mr. Van Brunt and 
 shan t be so in future ! " tan amazing appetite. 
 
 It was not quite sundown, andj That was Saturday. Sunday 
 Ellen thought she might yet have i passed quietly, though Ellen 
 two or three minutes in the open j could not help suspecting it was 
 air. So she wrapped up very ; not entirely a day of rest to her 
 warm and went out to the chip- j aunt ; there was a savoury smell 
 yard. | of cooking in the morning, which 
 
 Ellen s heart was very light; nothing that came on table by 
 she had just been fulfilling a duty; any means accounted for; and 
 that cost her a little self-denial, j Miss Fortune was scarcely to be 
 and the reward had already seen the whole day. 
 come ; and now it seemed to her With Monday morning began 
 that she had never seen anything a grand bustle, and Ellen was 
 so perfectly beautiful as the scene I well enough now to come in for 
 before her the brilliant snow | her share. The kitchen, parlour, 
 that lay in a thick carpet over! hall, shed, and lower kitchen, 
 all the fields and hills , and the i must all be thoroughly swept 
 pale streaks of sunlight stretch- and dusted; this was given to 
 ing across it between the long, her, and a morning s work pretty 
 shadows that reached now from near she found it. Then she had 
 the barn to the house. One mo- to rub bright all the brass han- 
 ment the light tinted the snow- , dies of the doors, and the big 
 capped fences and whitened brass andirons in the parlour 
 barn-roofs; then the lights and and the brass candlesticks on 
 the shadows vanished together, the parlour mantel-piece. When 
 and it was all one cold, dazzling at last she had got through, and 
 white. "Oh, how glorious !" came to the fire to warm herself, 
 Ellen almost shouted to herself, she found her grandmother la- 
 It was too cold to stand still; menting that her snuff-box was 
 she ran to the barnyard to see empty, and asking her daughter 
 the cows milked. There they i to fill it for her. 
 were all her old friends "Oh, I can t be bothered to 
 Streaky and Dolly, and Jane and be running upstairs to fill snuff- 
 
224 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 boxes," answered that lady; 
 "you ll have to wait." 
 
 "I ll get it, Grandma," said 
 Ellen, "if you 11 tell me where." 
 
 " Sit down, and be quiet! " said 
 Miss Fortune; "you go into my 
 room just when 1 bid you, and 
 not till then." 
 
 feeling had sprung up fast; in 
 stead of disliking and shunning, 
 she had begun to love her. 
 
 There was no dinner for any 
 one this day. Mr. and Mrs. Van 
 Brunt came to an early tea; after 
 which, Ellen was sent to dress 
 herself, and Mr. Van Brunt to 
 
 Ellen sat down. But no sooner I get some pieces of board for the 
 was Miss Fortune hid in the but- 1 meat -choppers. He came back 
 tery, than the old lady beckoned (presently with an armful of 
 her to her side, and nodding her I square bits of wood; and sitting 
 head a great many times, gave down before the fire, began to 
 
 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 
 
 want?" 
 
 out! what do you 
 
 "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 any 
 thing, but just get the snuff." 
 
 With an impatient gesture, her 
 
 whittle the rough sawn ends over 
 the hearth. His mother grew ner- 
 
 - r -|71 j T *_ 
 
 vous. Miss Fortune bore 
 she would have borne it 
 
 it as 
 from 
 
 vv mi Hii impauuiii gusuurc, iitu i o 
 
 aunt snatched the box from her! nold her tongue, 
 hand, pushed Ellen out of the 
 
 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 For 
 tune; "she s continually 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 
 
 buttery, and shut the door. The 
 old lady kissed and fondled her, 
 as if she had done what she had 
 only tried to do ; smoothed down 
 her hair, praising its beauty, and 
 whispered 
 
 "Never mind, deary you ll 
 read to Grandma, won t you?" 
 
 It cost Ellen no effort now. 
 With the beginning of kind of 
 fices to her poor old parent, kind 
 
 tjn. 
 
 ub- 
 an 
 
 "That would have been a 
 lie loss, /think," said Mi- 
 Brunt, gravely. 
 
 "Well, you are making a pre 
 cious litter ! " said the lady, turn 
 ing short upon him. 
 
 "Nevermind," said he, in the 
 same tone "it s nothing but 
 what the fire ll burn up, anyhow ; 
 don t Avorry yourself about it." 
 
 Just as Ellen came in, so did 
 Nancy by the other door. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 225 
 
 "What are you here for?" 
 said Miss Fortune, with an ire 
 ful 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 or 
 dered her out. Half - laughing, 
 half-serious , Nancy tried to keep 
 her ground, but Miss Fortune 
 was in no mood to hear parley 
 ing. 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,andMr. 
 Van Brunt whistled Ids thoughts ; 
 but that either made nothing, or 
 made Miss Fortune more deter- 1 
 mined. Off she went, with her; 
 old mother under her arm. While j 
 she was gone, Ellen brought the j 
 broom to sweep up the hearth, j 
 but Mr. Van Brunt would not 
 let her. 
 
 "No, "said he; "it s more than 
 you nor I can do. You know," 
 said he, with a sly look, "we 
 might sweep up the shavings into 
 the wrong corner ! " 
 
 This entirely overset Ellen s 
 gravity, and unluckily she could 
 not get it back again, even 
 though warned by Mrs. Van Brunt 
 that her aunt was coming. Try 
 ing only made it worse , and Miss 
 Fortune s entrance was, but thej 
 
 The Wide, Wide World, 
 
 signal for a fresh burst of hearty 
 merriment. What she was laugh 
 ing 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 magis 
 trate with me ; but it is true." 
 
 "I wonder if you think I am 
 as easily blinded as all that 
 comes to!" said Miss Fortune, 
 scornfully. 
 
 And Ellen saw that her aunt s 
 displeasure was all gathered 
 upon her for the evening. She 
 was thinking of Alice s words, 
 and trying to arm herself with 
 patience and gentleness, when 
 the door opened , and in walked 
 Nancy as demurely as if nobody 
 had ever seen her before. 
 
 "Miss Fortune, granny sent 
 me to tell you she is sorry she 
 can t come to-night; she don t 
 think it would do for her to be 
 out so late; she s a little touch 
 of the rheumatics , she says." 
 
 "Very well," said Miss For 
 tune." "Now, clear out." 
 
 "You d 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 For- 
 15 
 
226 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 tune 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 pre 
 sent humour, 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 linger 
 ing still, walking round and 
 round in a circle, and kicking 
 the snow with her feet in a dis 
 contented fashion. 
 
 "I am very glad she isn t go 
 ing to be here," thought Ellen. 
 "But, poor thing! I dare say 
 she is very much disappointed. 
 And how sorry she will feel go 
 ing 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, dear! J don t 
 want her here! But that s no 
 matter " 
 
 The next minute, Mr. Van 
 Brunt was half startled by Ellen s 
 hand on his shoulder, and the 
 softest of whispers in his ear. He 
 looked up , very much surprised. 
 
 "Why, doyouwanther?" 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 iquiet- 
 ly to himself. " Well ! " said he, 
 "you are a good-natured piece." 
 
 "Miss Fortune," said he, pre 
 sently, " if that mischievous girl 
 comes in again, I recommend you 
 to let her stay." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Cause it s true what she said 
 she ll do you as much good 
 as half-a-dozen. She ll behave 
 herself this evening, I ll engage, 
 or, if she don t, I ll make her." 
 
 "She s too impudent to live! 
 But I don t care her grand 
 mother is another sort ; but I 
 guess she is gone by this time." 
 
 Ellen waited only till her 
 aunt s back was turned. She 
 slipped down stairs and out at 
 the kitchen door, and ran up 
 the slope to the fence of the 
 chip - yard. 
 
 "Nancy! Nancy!" 
 
 "What?" said Nancy, wheel 
 ing about. 
 
 "If you go in now, I guess 
 Aunt Fortune will let you stay." 
 
 "What makes you think so?" 
 said the other, surlily. 
 
 "Cause Mr. Van Brunt was 
 speaking to her about it. GrO in, 
 and you 11 see." 
 
 Nancy looked doubtfully at 
 Ellen s face, and then ran hastily 
 in. More slowly Ellen went back 
 by the way she came. When she 
 reached the upper kitchen she 
 found Nancy as busy as possible 
 as much at home already as if 
 she had been there all day 5 help 
 ing to set the table in the hall, 
 and going to and fro between 
 that and the buttery with an im- 
 Dortant face. Ellen was not 
 suffered to help, nor even to 
 stand and see what was doing; 
 so she sat down in the corner, by 
 her old friend Mrs. Van Brunt, 
 and with her head in her lap 
 watched, by the fire-light, the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 227 
 
 "Not a bit? 
 
 "No." 
 
 busy figures that went back and! Do you know what s going to be 
 forward, and Mr. Van Brunt, who | for supper? " 
 still sat working at his bits of "No." 
 board. There were pleasant 
 thoughts in Ellen s head, that 
 kept the dancing blaze company. 
 Mr. Van Brunt once looked up, 
 and asked her what she was smi 
 ling 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 j m yself what do you think of 
 parlour when the time came: the| tnat ? Miss Fortune always has 
 
 "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. lam 
 going to make part of the supper 
 
 table in the front room, was| nave a bee every week, I know, 
 carried away; the great pile j an( l let me come and help. Hark ! 
 of wood in the parlour fire place, ~ didn t I tell you? there s some- 
 
 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, pull 
 ing 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; 
 fire is only just burning." 
 
 ; Fiddle -de -dee! they won t 
 wait for the fire to burn, I can tell 
 you. They 11 be along directly, 
 some of them. I wonder what 
 Miss Fortune is thinking of 
 that fire had ought to have been 
 burning this long time ago but 
 they won t set to work till they 
 all get here, that s one thing. 
 
 the 
 
 body 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 thev come just as I 
 told you here s Mirny Lawson 
 the first one if there s anybody 
 I do despise, it s Mirny 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 laugh 
 ing a vast deal of unrobing 
 pushing back and pulling up 
 chairs on the hearth and Nancy 
 and Ellen running in and out of 
 the room with countless wrap- 
 15* 
 
228 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE "WORLD. 
 
 pers, cloaks, shawls, comforters, 
 hoods, mittens, and moccasins. 
 
 "What a precious muss it will 
 be to get em all their own things 
 when they come to go away 
 again," said Nancy. "Throw em 
 all down there, Ellen, in that 
 heap. Now, come quick some 
 body 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 BobLawson. He s a 
 precious small young man, for 
 such a big one. There go take 
 his hat. Miss Fortune," said 
 Nancy, coming forward, "mayn t 
 the gentlemen take care of their 
 own things in the stoop , or must 
 the young ladies wait upon them, 
 too? t other room won t hold 
 everything neither." 
 
 This speech raised a general 
 laugh , in the midst of which Mr. 
 Bob carried his own hat and 
 cloak into the shed, as desired. 
 Before Nancy had done chuck 
 
 ling came another arrival a 
 tall, lank gentleman, with one of 
 those unhappy-shaped faces that 
 are very broad at the eyes and 
 very narrow across the chops, 
 and having a particularly grave 
 and dull expression. He was 
 welcomed with such a shout of 
 mingled laughter, greeting, and 
 jesting, that the room was in a 
 complete hurly-burly; and a 
 plain-looking, stout, elderly lady, 
 who had come in just behind 
 him, was suffered to stand un 
 noticed. 
 
 "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 respect 
 ful politeness of her manner, the 
 old lady inquired of Miss For 
 tune, as Ellen went off with a load 
 of mufflers , "who was that sweet 
 little thing?" 
 
 "It s a kind of sweetmeats that 
 is kept for company, Miss Janet," 
 | replied Miss Fortune, with a 
 darkened brow. 
 
 " She s too good for everyday 
 use, that s a fact," remarked Mr. 
 Van Brunt. 
 
 Miss Fortune coloured and 
 tossed her head, and the com 
 pany were for a moment still with 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 229 
 
 surprise. Another arrival set 
 them agoing again. 
 
 "Here come the Hitchcocks, 
 Ellen," said Nancy. "Walk in, 
 Miss Mary walk in, Miss Jenny 
 Mr. Marshchalk has been here 
 this great while." 
 
 Miss Mary Hitchcock was in 
 nothing remarkable. Miss Jenny, 
 when her wrappers were taken 
 off, showed a neat, little, round 
 figure , and a round face of very 
 bright and good-humoured ex 
 pression. 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 ele 
 gance. His hair was arranged in 
 a faultless manner unless, per 
 haps, it had a little too much of 
 the tallow -candle; for when he 
 had sat for awhile before the fire, 
 it had somewhat the look of 
 being excessively wet with per 
 spiration. His boots were as 
 shiny as his hair; his waistcoat 
 was of a startling pattern; his 
 pantaloons were very tightly 
 strapped down; and at the end 
 of a showy watch -riband hung 
 some showy seals. 
 
 The kitchen was now one buzz 
 of talk and good-humour; Ellen 
 stood half-smiling herself to see 
 the universal smile , when Nancy 
 twitched her. 
 
 "Here s more coming 
 
 uess no it s too 
 
 Cilly 
 
 Dennison, I 
 tall; who is it?" 
 
 But Ellen flung open the door 
 with a half-uttered scream, and cock; 
 threw herself into the arms of! was over, Ellen had a 
 Alice, and then led her in; her | greater respect for him. 
 
 face full of such extreme j oy, that 
 it was perhaps one reason why 
 her aunt s wore a very doubtful 
 air as she came forward. That 
 could not stand, however, against 
 the graceful politeness and plea 
 santness of Alice s greeting. Miss 
 Fortune s brow smoothed, her 
 voice cleared, she told Miss Hum 
 phreys she was very welcome 
 and she meant it. Clinging close 
 to her friend as she went from 
 one to another, Ellen was de 
 lighted to see that every one 
 echoed the welcome. Every face 
 brightened at meeting hers, every 
 eye softened, and Jenny Hitch 
 cock 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 
 theymoved. Soon the door open 
 ed again, and various voices 
 hailed the new-comer as "Jane," 
 "Jany," and "Jane Huff." She 
 was a decidedly plain -looking 
 country girl; but when she came 
 near, Ellen saw a sober, sensible 
 face, and a look of thorough 
 good-nature, which immediately 
 ranked her next to Jenny Hitch 
 cock in her fancy. Mr. Bill Huff 
 followed, a sturdy young man; 
 quite as plain, and hardly so 
 sensible -looking; he was still 
 more shining with good -nature. 
 He made no pretensions to the 
 elegance of Mr. Juniper Hitch- 
 
 but 
 
 before the evening 
 vastly 
 
230 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 Last, not least, came the Den- or three. Now, it would be hard 
 nisons; it took Ellen sometime to say whether talking or working 
 to make up her mind about them, j went on best. Not faster moved 
 
 Miss Cilly, or Cecilia, was cer 
 tainly 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 Law- 
 sons whisper to Jenny Hitchcock, 
 that " there wasn t a greater lady 
 in the land than Cilly Dennison." 
 Her brother was very different; 
 tall and athletic, and rather hand 
 some , lie made no pretensions to 
 be a gentleman. He valued his 
 
 fine farming and fine cattle a and talking went on so merrily; 
 
 stories were told; anecdotes, 
 
 great deal higher than Juniper 
 Hitchcock s gentility. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Shows what noise a bee can make when 
 it gets into the house. 
 
 As the party were all gathered, 
 it was time to set to work. The 
 fire in the front room was burning 
 up finely now, but Miss Fortune 
 had no idea of having pork-chop- 
 
 Sing or apple-paring done there, 
 ne party was despatched down 
 stairs into the lower kitchen ; the 
 others made a circle round the 
 fire. Every one was furnished 
 with a sharp knife , and a basket 
 of apples was given to each two 
 
 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 For 
 tune would not let her; so she 
 watched the rest and amused 
 herself as well as she could with 
 hearing and seeing; and standing 
 between Alice and Jenny Hitch 
 cock, she handed them the apples 
 out of the basket as fast as they 
 were ready for them. It was a 
 pleasant evening that. Laughing 
 
 gossip, jokes, passed from mouth 
 to mouth ; and not one made him 
 self 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 El 
 len 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, "replied Nancy, diving 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 231 
 
 down into the barrel to reach the 
 apples; "if you had asked me 
 what Miss Fortune meant, I might 
 ha given a guess." 
 
 "But only look," said Ellen 
 
 "No hush!" said Juniper 
 
 Hitchcock 
 Humph!" 
 
 sassages! 
 
 said Dan, as he 
 
 speared up an apple out of the 
 basket on the point of his knife 
 
 only so many done, and all| "ain t that something like 
 these to do ! Well, I know what what you call killing two " 
 
 busy as a bee means now, if I 
 never did before." 
 
 "You 11 know it better to-mor 
 row, I can tell you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, waittillyou see. I wouldn t 
 be you to-morrow for something, 
 though. Do you like sewing? " 
 
 "Sewing!" said Ellen. But, 
 "Girls! girls! what are you 
 leaving the door open for!" 
 sounded from the kitchen, and 
 they hurried in. 
 
 " Most got through, Nancy?" 
 inquired Bob Lawson. (MissFor- 
 tune had gone downstairs.) 
 
 "Han t begun to, Mr. Lawson. 
 There s every bit as many to do 
 as there was at your house t other 
 night." 
 
 "What on airth does she want 
 with such a sight of em?" in 
 quired Dan Dennison. 
 
 Live on pies and apple-sass 
 
 Just that, exactly," said 
 Jenny Hitchcock, as Dan broke 
 off short, and the mistress of the 
 house walked in. "Ellen," she 
 whispered, " don t you want to go 
 downstairs and see when the 
 folks are coming up to help us? 
 And tell the doctor he must be 
 spry, for we ain t agoing to get 
 through in a hurry," she added, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Which is the doctor, Ma am?" 
 
 "The doctor! Doctor Marsh- 
 chalk! don t you know? " 
 
 "Is he a doctor?" said Ellen. 
 
 "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 Thirl- 
 wall, the other day, and Gibson 
 was out of the way , and Marsh- 
 chalk set it , and did it famously 
 
 suggested j 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 
 
 till next summer , 
 Mirny Lawson. 
 
 "That s the stuff for my 
 money!" replied her brother; _ 
 
 "taters and apple-sass is my sass j stood at one end of the table, 
 in the winter." [cutting, with his huge knife, the 
 
 "It s good those is easy got," | hard-frozen pork into very thin 
 said his sister Mary; "the sass is slices , which the rest of the com- 
 the most of the dinner to Bob, pany took, and, before they had 
 inost commonly." I time to thaw, cut up into small 
 
 "Are they fixing for more j dice on the little boards Mr. Van 
 apple - sass down - stairs ? " Mr. Brunt had prepared. As large a 
 Dennison went on rather drily, jfire as the chimney, would hold 
 
232 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 was built up and blazing finely ; j Janet , and Mrs. Van Brunt, and 
 the room looked as cozy and ~ 
 bright as the one upstairs, and 
 the people as busy and as talka- 
 
 They had less to do , how- 
 or they had been more 
 smart, for they were draAving to 
 
 Mr. Huff they all speak 
 kindly, and look so kindly at me. 
 But it s very funny what a notion 
 people have for kissing I wish 
 they hadn t I ve run away from 
 
 tive. 
 
 ever. . __ ^ __.._ . _ 
 
 uiuu,*..,, jLVi uuv,j T^i^ ^i a, \IHIQ LV/ three kisses already, and I m so 
 the end of their chopping; of j afraid somebody else will try 
 
 which Miss Janet declared herself 
 very glad, for, she said, "the wind 
 came sweeping in under the doors, 
 and freezing her feet the whole 
 time, and she was sure the biggest 
 fire ever was built couldn t warm 
 that room ; " an opinion in which 
 Mrs. Van Brunt agreed perfectly. 
 Miss Janet no sooner spied Ellen 
 standing in the chimney-corner, 
 than she called her to her side, 
 kissed her, and talked to her a 
 longtime, and finally, fumbling 
 in her pocket, brought forth an 
 old, ^ little, three-cornered pin 
 cushion , which she gave her for 
 a keepsake. Jane Huff and her 
 brother also took kind notice of 
 her; and Ellen began to think 
 the world was full of nice people. 
 About half -past eight the 
 choppers went up and joined the 
 company, who were paring 
 apples; the circle was a very 
 large one now, and the buzz of 
 tongues grew quite furious. 
 
 "What are you smiling at?" 
 asked Alice of Ellen, who stood 
 at her elbow. 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," saidEllen, 
 smiling more broadly ; and pre 
 sently added "they re all so 
 kind to me." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Oh, everybody Miss Jenny, 
 and Miss Jane Huff, and Miss 
 
 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. Denni- 
 son caught me , in the first place, 
 and tried to kiss me, but 1 tried 
 so hard to get aAvay , I believe he 
 saw I was really in good earnest, 
 and let me go. And just now 
 only think of it ! while I was 
 standing talking to Miss Jane 
 Huff, downstairs, her brother 
 caught me, and kissed me, before 
 I knew what he was going to do. 
 I declare it s too bad!" said 
 Ellen, rubbing her cheek very 
 hard, as if she would rub off the 
 affront. 
 
 " You must let it pass, my dear ; 
 it s one way of expressing kind 
 ness. They feel kindly towards 
 you, or they would not do it." 
 
 "Then I wish they wouldn t 
 feel quite so kindly," saidEllen 
 "that s all. Hark! what 
 was that?" 
 
 " Whatisthat?" said somebody 
 else ; and instantly there was 
 silence, broken again, after a 
 minute or two , by the faint blast 
 of a horn. 
 
 "It s old Father Swaim, I 
 reckon," said Mr. Van Brunt; 
 "I 11 go fetch him in." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 233 
 
 " 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 after 
 noon, when we were all as still as 
 mice, and studying away, we 
 heard Father Swaim s horn " 
 
 "What does he blow it for?" 
 said Ellen, as Jenny stooped for 
 her knife, which she had let fall. 
 
 "Oh, to let people know he s 
 there, you know; did you never 
 see Father Swaim? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " La ! he s the funniest old fel 
 low! 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. He carries 
 em in a pair of saddle-bags hang 
 ing 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 Us 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 happen 
 ed to you that time at school?" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "Why, when we heard the horn 
 blow, our master the school 
 master , you know went out to 
 get a paper ; and 1 was tired with 
 
 sitting still, so I jumped up, and 
 ran across the room and then back 
 again, and over and back again, 
 five or six times; and when he 
 came in , one of the girls up and 
 told of it. ItwasFannyLawson," 
 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 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 Starksi- 
 fication. We did hate him, that s 
 the fact. I 11 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 abouthim !" 
 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, 
 
234 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Brunt and the old news-carrier 
 came in. 
 
 He was a venerable, mild-look 
 ing old man, with thin hair as 
 white as snow. He wore a long 
 snuff-coloured coat 5 and a broad- 
 brimmed hat, the sides of which 
 were oddly lopped 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 some 
 thing 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 wel 
 comes, and questions, and inqui 
 ries for letters all in a breath. 
 
 " Softly softly," said the old _ 
 
 man, sitting down, slowly; " not | tramp after that. Here s^some- 
 all at once ; I can t attend to you 
 all at once ; one at a time 
 one at a time." 
 
 farmer VanBrunt s hands, I don t 
 know any more what s going to 
 become of me ; and after that 
 glass of cider, I don t much care! 
 Now let s see let s see Miss 
 Jenny Hitchcock here s some 
 thing 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 any- 
 
 bod 
 
 J 
 
 Jedediah B. Lawson 
 
 there s for your father, 
 Mirny; that saves me a 
 
 Miss 
 long 
 
 tramp if you ve twenty -one 
 cents in your pocket, that is; if 
 you han t, I shall be obleeged to 
 
 thing for most all of you, I m 
 thinking. Miss Cecilia Dennison 
 your fair hands how s the 
 
 squire 
 
 rheumatism, eh? I 
 
 think I m a younger man now 
 than your father, Cecilly ; and yet 
 Imustha seenagoodmanyyears 
 more than Squire Dennison; I 
 
 "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 I must, surely. Miss Fortune 
 the glass to her hand, and ex- 1 Emerson that s for you; a 
 claiming, " That s prime ! " Then double letter, Ma am." 
 taking up his saddle-bags from Ellen with a beating heart had 
 the floor, he began slowly to passed nearer and nearer to the 
 undo the fastenings. j old man, till she stood close by 
 
 "You are going to our house j his right hand, and could see 
 to-night, ain t you, Father every letter as he handed it out. 
 Swaim?" said Jenny. A spot of deepening red was on 
 
 " That s where I was agoing," each cheek as her eye eagerly 
 said the old man " I was agoing ; scanned letter after letter; it 
 to stop with your father, Miss spread to a sudden flush when 
 Jenny ; but since I ve got into j the last name was read. Alice 
 
a \ 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. , $3 V 
 
 V" ^>^ 
 
 watched in some anxiety her keen I that he had forgotten to bting 
 look as it followed the letter from ! for ard when they were talking 
 the old man s hand to her aunt s, | on that ere subject two months 
 and thence to the pocket, where I ago." So Nancy brought her 
 Miss Fortune coolly bestowed it. things from the next room, and 
 Ellen could not stand this; she | helped her on with them, and 
 sprang forward across the circle, looked pleased, as well she 
 Ann* "EWtrmA fViorA Q ipf f r>v might, at the smile and kind 
 
 ; Aunt Fortune, there s a letter 
 inside of that for me won t you 
 give it to me? won t you give 
 
 words with which she was re 
 warded. Alice lingered at her 
 
 it to me ? " she repeated , trem- j leave - takings , hoping to see 
 bling. Ellen, but it was not till the last 
 
 Her aunt did not notice her by 
 
 moment that Ellen came in. She 
 
 so much as a look; she turned! did not say a word, but the two 
 away and began talking to some | little arms were put round Alice s 
 one else. The red had left Ellen s! neck, and held her with a long, 
 face when Alice could see it again ! close earnestness , which did not 
 it was livid and spotted from j pass from her mind all the even- 
 stifled passion. She stood in a ing afterwards. 
 
 When she was gone , the com 
 pany sat down again to business ; 
 and apple-paring went on more 
 
 kind of maze. But as her eye 
 caught Alice s anxious and sor 
 rowful look, she covered her face 
 
 with her hands , and as quick as 1 steadily than ever for a while, 
 possible made her escape out of i till the bottom of the barrels was 
 the room. seen, and the last basketful of 
 
 For some minutes Alice heard j apples was duly emptied. Then 
 none of the hubbub around her. \ there was a general shout; the 
 Then came a knock at the door, ! kitchen was quickly cleared, and 
 and the voice of Thomas Grimes everybody s face brightened, as 
 saying to Mr. Van Brunt that much as to say, "Now for fun!" 
 Miss Humphreys horse was there. ! While Ellen and Nancy, and Miss 
 
 " Mr. Swaim," said Alice, rising, j Fortune and Mrs. Van Brunt 
 "I don t like to leave you with ; were running all ways with trays, 
 these gay friends of ours; you ll pans, baskets, knives, and 
 stand no chance of rest with them buckets, the fun began by Mr. 
 to-night. Will you ride home 1 Jumper Hitchcock s whistling in 
 with me ? " j his dog, and setting him to do va- 
 
 Many of the party began to beg rious feats for the amusement of 
 Alice would stay to supper, but the company. There followed 
 she said her father would be un- such a rushing, leaping, barking, 
 easy. The old news-carrier con- laughing, and scolding on the 
 eluded to go with her, for, he part of the dog and his admirers, 
 said, "there was a pint he wanted that the room was in an uproar, 
 to mention to Parson Humphreys ; He jumped over a stick ; he got 
 
236 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 into a chair, and sat up on two 
 legs; he kissed the ladies hands; 
 he suffered an apple -paring to 
 be laid across his nose, then 
 threw it up with a j erk and caught 
 it in his mouth. Nothing very re 
 markable, certainly ; but, as Miss 
 Fortune observed to somebody, 
 "if he had been the learned pig, 
 there couldn t ha been more fuss 
 made over him." 
 
 Ellen stood looking on, smiling 
 partly at the dog and his master, 
 and partly at the antics of the 
 company. Presently Mr. Van 
 Brunt, bending down to her, 
 said j 
 
 "What is the matter with your 
 eyes?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Ellen, start 
 ing "at least, nothing that s 
 any matter, I mean." 
 
 "Come here," said he, drawing 
 her on one side; "tell me all 
 about it what is the matter? " 
 
 "Never mind please don t 
 ask me, Mr. Van Brunt, it s no 
 thing I ought to tell you it isn t 
 any matter." 
 
 But her eyes were full again, 
 and he still held her fast doubt 
 fully. 
 
 "/ /Z tell you about it, Mr. Van 
 Brunt," said Nancy, as she came 
 
 Fast them " you let her go, and 
 11 tell you by-and-by." 
 
 And Ellen tried in vain after 
 wards to make her promise she 
 would not. 
 
 " Come, June," said Miss Jenny, 
 " we have got enough of you and 
 Jumper turn him out; we are 
 going to have the cat now. 
 Come! Puss, puss in the corner! 
 
 Go off in t other room, will you, 
 everybody that don t want to 
 play. Puss, puss ! " 
 
 Now the fun began in good 
 earnest, and but few minutes had 
 passed beforeEllen was laughing 
 with all her heart, as if she never 
 had had anything to cry for in 
 her life. After " puss, puss in the 
 corner" came/ blind-inan s-buff;" 
 and this was played with great 
 spirit, the two most distinguished 
 being Nancy and Dan Dennison, 
 though Miss Fortune played ad 
 mirably well. Ellen had seen 
 Nancy play before ; but she for 
 got her own part of the game in 
 sheer amazement at the way Mr. 
 Dennison managed his longbody, 
 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 lie was blinded, he seemed 
 to know by instinct where the 
 walls were , and keeping clear of 
 them, he would swoop like a 
 hawk from one end of the room 
 to the other, pouncing upon 
 the unlucky people who could by 
 no means get out of the way fast 
 enough. When this had lasted 
 awhile , there was a general call 
 for "the fox and the goose," and 
 Miss Fortune was pitched upon 
 for the latter, she having in the 
 other game shown herself capable 
 of good generalship. But who for 
 the fox? Mr. Van Brunt? 
 
 "Not I," said Mr. Van Brunt 
 "there ain t nothing of the fox 
 about me; Miss Fortune would 
 beat me all hollow." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 237 
 
 " 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?" 
 
 "DanDennison," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt. "Now look out for a 
 sharp fight." 
 
 Amidst a great deal of laughing 
 and confusion, the line was 
 formed, each person taking hold 
 of a handkerchief or band passed 
 round the waist of the person 
 before him, except when the 
 women held by each other s 
 skirts. They were ranged accord 
 ing to height, the tallest being, 
 next their leader, the "goose." 
 Mr. Van Brunt and the elder 
 ladies, and two or three more, 
 chose to be lookers-on, and took 
 post outside the door. 
 
 Mr. Dennison began by taking 
 off his coat, to give himself more 
 freedom in his movements; for 
 his business was to catch the train 
 of the goose, one by one, as each 
 in turn became the hindmost; 
 while her object was to baffle him 
 and keep her family together, 
 meeting him with outspread arms 
 at every rush he made to seize 
 one of her brood; while the long 
 train behind her, following her 
 quick movements, and swaying 
 from side to side to get out of the 
 reach of the furious fox, was 
 sometimes in the shape of the 
 letter C, and sometimes in that 
 of the letter S, and sometimes 
 looked like a long snake with 
 a curling tail. Loud was the 
 
 laughter, shrill the shrieks, as 
 the fox drove them hither and 
 thither, and seemed to be in all 
 parts of the room at once. He 
 was a cunning fox that, as well 
 as a bold one. Sometimes, when 
 they thought him quite safe, 
 held at bay by the goose, he 
 dived under or leaped over her 
 outstretched arms, and almost 
 snatched hold of little Ellen, who 
 being the least, was the last one 
 of the party. But Ellen played 
 very well, and just escaped him 
 two or three times, till he declared 
 she gave him so much trouble, 
 that when he caught her he would 
 " kiss her the worst kind." Ellen 
 played none the worse for that; 
 however, she was caught at last, 
 and kissed, too; there was no 
 help for it, so she bore it as well 
 as she could. Then she watched 
 and laughed till the tears ran 
 down her cheeks, to see how the 
 fox and 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 Hitch 
 cock, and then Cecilia Dennison, 
 | and then Jane Huff, and so on, 
 till at last the fox and the goose 
 had a long struggle for Mirny 
 Lawson, which would never have 
 come to an end if Mirny 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-handkerchiefs, and 
 speaking in broken sentences; 
 glad to rest even from laughing, 
 
238 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 nod 
 ded, 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 / can do, 
 Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen, so 
 gently and timidly, that it ought 
 to have won a kind answer. 
 
 "Yes," said her aunt, "you 
 may go and put yourself to bed ; 
 it s high time, long ago." And 
 looking round as she moved off, 
 she added, "Go!" with a little 
 nod that as much as said, "I am 
 in earnest." 
 
 Ellen s heart throbbed she 
 stood doubtful. One word to 
 Mr. Van Brunt, and she need 
 not go that she knew. But as 
 surely, too, that word would make 
 trouble and do harm. And then 
 she remembered, -"A charge to 
 keep I have ! " She turned quick, 
 and quitted the room. 
 
 Ellen sat down on the first stair 
 she came to, for her bosom was 
 heaving up and down, and she 
 was determined not to cry. The 
 sounds of talking and laughing 
 came to her ear from the parlour, 
 and there at her side stood the 
 covered-up supper; for a fewj 
 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 
 gentle messenger from its Maker 
 bidding his child remember Him ; 
 
 and then came up some words 
 in her memory that her mother s 
 lips had fastened there long ago 
 
 "I love them that love me, and 
 they that seek me early shall find 
 me." She remembered her mother 
 had told her it is Jesus who says 
 this. Her lost pleasure was well 
 nigh forgotten; and yet, as she 
 sat gazing into the moonlight, 
 Ellen s eyes were gathering tears 
 very fast. 
 
 " Well, I am seeking Him," she 
 thought "can it be that he 
 loves me! Oh, I m so glad!" 
 
 And they were glad tears that 
 little Ellen wiped away as she 
 went upstairs, for it was too cold 
 to sit there long, if the moon was 
 ever so bright. 
 
 She had her hand on the latch 
 of her door, when her grand 
 mother called out from the other 
 room to know who was there. 
 
 "It si, Grandma." 
 
 "Ain t somebody there? Come 
 in here who is it? " 
 
 "It si, 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 mat 
 ter? who s down stairs?" 
 
 "It s a bee, Grandma; there s 
 nothing the matter." 
 
 "A bee! who s been stung? 
 what s all the noise about? " 
 
 " T isn t that kind of bee, 
 Grandma; don t you know? 
 there s a parcel of people that 
 came to pare apples, and they Ve 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 239 
 
 been playing games in the par 
 lour that sail." 
 
 "Paring apples, eh? Is there 
 company below?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma am a whole parce 
 of people." 
 
 "Dear me ! " said the old lady, 
 I oughtn t to ha been abed! 
 Why han t Fortune called me? 
 I 11 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 11 get right up. D ear 
 me! what was Fortune thinking 
 about?" 
 
 The moonlight served very 
 well instead of candles. After 
 twice bringing the wrong dresses, 
 Ellenat last hit upon the "paddy- 
 soy," 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 
 ^llen was just tying her nightcap 
 strings , and ready to go peace 
 fully to sleep, when Nancy 
 burst in. 
 
 " Ellen ! Hurry ! you must come 
 right downstairs." 
 
 " Downstairs ! why, I am just 
 ready to go to bed." 
 
 "No matter you must come 
 right away down. There s Mr. Van 
 
 Brunt says he won t begin supper 
 till you come." 
 
 "But does Aunt Fortune want 
 me too?" 
 
 "Yes, I tell you! and the 
 quicker you come the better she ll 
 be pleased. She sent me after 
 you in all sorts of a hurry. She 
 said she didn t know where you 
 was!" 
 
 " Said she didn t know where I 
 was ! Why, she told me herself," 
 Ellen began, and stopped short. 
 
 "Of course!" said Nancy; 
 "don t you think I know that? 
 But he don t, and if you want to 
 plague her, you 11 just tell him. 
 Now come, and be quick, will 
 you? The supper s splendid." 
 
 Ellen lost the first view of the 
 "able, for everything had begun 
 to be pulled to pieces before she 
 came in. The company were all 
 crowded round the table , eating 
 and talking, and helping them 
 selves; and ham and bread and 
 mtter, pumpkin-pies and mince- 
 pies and apple-pies, cake of 
 
 A j-^-.~ JJ. AV >^ j \^c*i\.Vy VA 
 
 various 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; 
 nobody could guess, and many 
 asked how it was made, but Miss 
 Fortune kept a satisfied silence, 
 pleased to see the constant stream 
 of comers to the big dish, till 
 lit was near empty. Just then, 
 I 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 after- 
 
240 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 wards it was the best thing she 
 had ever tasted except the ice 
 cream she once gave her in 
 New York. She had taken, how 
 ever, but one spoonful, when her 
 eye fell upon Nancy, standing 
 back of all the company, and 
 forgotten. Nancy had been upon 
 her good behaviour all the 
 evening, and it was a singular 
 proof of this that she had not 
 pushed in and helped herself 
 among the first. Ellen s eye went 
 once or twice from her plate to 
 Nancy, and then she crossed 
 over and offered it to her. It was 
 eagerly taken, and, a little dis 
 appointed, Ellen stepped back 
 again. But she soon forgot the 
 disappointment. " She 11 know 
 now that I don t bear her any 
 grudge," she thought. 
 
 " Han t you got nothing? " said 
 Nancy, coming up presently; 
 "that wasn t yourn that you gave 
 me was it?" 
 
 Ellen nodded, smilingly. 
 
 "Well, there ain t no more 
 of it," said Nancy. "The bowl 
 is empty." 
 
 "I know it," said Ellen. 
 
 "Why, didn t you like it?" 
 
 "Yes very much." 
 
 "Why, you re a queer little 
 fish," said Nancy. "What did 
 you get Mr. Van Brunt to let me 
 in for?" 
 
 "How did you know I did?" 
 
 " Cause he told me. Say what 
 did you do it for? Mr. Dennison, 
 won t you give Ellen a piece of 
 cake or something? Here take 
 this," said Nancy, pouncing upon 
 a glass of cgg-uogg, 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, smack 
 ing her lips; "what sin it?" 
 
 "Oh, plenty of good things. 
 But what made you ask Mr. Van 
 Brunt to let me stop to-night? 
 you didn t tell me did you want 
 me to stay?" 
 
 "Never mind," said Ellen; 
 " don t ask me any questions." 
 
 "Yes, but I will though: and 
 you ve got to answer me. Why 
 did you? Come! do you like 
 
 mer 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 241 
 
 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 
 afterwards." 
 
 That, however, was not to be. 
 Nancy was offered a ride home to 
 
 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. 
 
 Mrs. Van Brunt s , and a lodging 
 
 there. They were ready cloaked j Oh , I m so glad ! " 
 
 and shawled, and Ellen was still "Why, what has been the 
 
 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 
 
 matter?" said Alice, folding up 
 what Ellen laid down. 
 
 " Oh, a great deal of matter ! 
 I couldn t think what Nancy meant 
 last night I know very well 
 now I shan t want to see any 
 more apples all winter. What do 
 you think I have been about all 
 to-day, dear Miss Alice?" 
 
 "Nothing that has done you 
 much harm," said Alice, smiling, 
 "if I am to guessfromyour looks. 
 
 with tears Ellen kneeled down You are as rosy as a good Spitzen- 
 and gave earnest thanks for this! berg yourself." 
 blessing, and that she had been "That sveryfunny,"saidEllen, 
 able to gain Nancy s good-will. ! laughing, "for Aunt Fortune said 
 
 a while ago that my cheeks were 
 CHAPTER xxvi. just the colour of two mealy 
 
 Sundry things round a pot of chocolate. ! potatoes." 
 
 IT was Tuesday, the 22nd of j "But about the apples?" said 
 December, and late in the day. [Alice. 
 
 Not a pleasant afternoon. The "Why? this morning I was 
 gray snow-clouds hung low 5 the | thinking I would come here so 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
242 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 early, when the first thinglknew, 
 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 to 
 gether; and as fast as I strung 
 them, she hung them up all round 
 the ceiling. 1 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 11 try and forget all 
 disagreeable things while we are 
 together." 
 
 "I have forgotten it almost al 
 ready," said Ellen, as she sat 
 down in Alice s lap , and laid her 
 face against hers; "I don t care 
 for it at all now." 
 
 But her cheeks were fast fading 
 into the uncomfortable colour 
 Miss Fortune had spoken of; and 
 weariness and weakness kept her 
 for awhile quiet in Alice s arms, 
 overcoming even the pleasure of 
 talking. They sat so till the clock 
 struck half-past five ; then Alice 
 proposed they should go into the 
 kitchen, and see Margery, and 
 order the tea made, which she 
 had no doubt Ellen wanted. Mar 
 gery welcomed her with great 
 cordiality. She liked anybody 
 that Alice liked, but she had be 
 sides declared to her husband 
 that Ellen was "an uncommon 
 well-behaved child." She said she 
 would put the tea to draw, and 
 they should have it in a very few 
 minutes. 
 
 "But, Miss Alice, there s an 
 Irish body, out by, waiting to 
 speak to you. I was just coming 
 in to tell you; will you please to 
 see her now?" 
 
 " Certainly let her come in. 
 Is she in the cold, Margery?" 
 
 "No, Miss Alice there s a 
 fire there this evening. I 11 call 
 her." 
 
 The woman came up from the 
 lower kitchen at the summons. 
 She was young, rather pretty, 
 and with a pleasant countenance, 
 but unwashed, uncombed, un 
 tidy, no wonder Margery s 
 nicety had shrunk from introdu 
 cing 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, plea 
 santly. 
 
 "If ye plase, Ma am, it s the 
 master I m wanting," said the 
 woman , dropping a courtesy. 
 
 "My father? Margery, will you 
 tell him?" 
 
 Margery departed. 
 
 "Come nearer the fire," said 
 Alice , " and sit down ; my father 
 willbe here presently. It is snow 
 ing 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 bey ant Carra 
 just right forgin the ould big hill 
 they call the Catchback; in Jem 
 my Morrison s woods . where 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 243 
 
 rgery 
 fresh 
 
 Pat M Farren s clearing is it s 
 there I live, my lady." 
 
 "That is a long distance, in 
 deed, for a walk in the snow," 
 said Alice, kindly; "sit down, 
 and come nearer the fire. Mar 
 will give you something to re 
 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 11 have none by the 
 morning light." 
 
 "Is he so ill?" said Alice-, 
 " what is the matter with him? " 
 
 "Myself doesn t know." 
 
 The voice was fainter; the 
 brown cloak was drawn over her 
 face ; and Alice and Ellen saw her 
 shoulders heaving with the grief 
 she kept from bursting out. They 
 exchanged glances. 
 
 "Sit down," said Alice again 
 presently, laying her hand upon 
 the wet shoulder; " sit down and 
 rest; my father will be here di 
 rectly. 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 11 tell 
 you, my lady." 
 
 She drank off the tea, but re 
 fused 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 was he when 
 we left it it ll be three years come 
 the fifteenth of April next ; but I m 
 thinking the bitter winters of this 
 cowld country has chilled the life 
 out o him and troubles cowlder 
 than all," she added, in a lower 
 tone. "I seed him grow waker 
 and waker, an his dair face grow 
 thinner and thinner, and the red 
 all left it, only two burning spots 
 was on it some days; an I wor 
 ried the life out o me for him, an 
 all I could do , I couldn t do no 
 thing 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 aisy kind o man, my lady, an 
 he said he would, an he never 
 did to this day ; an John , he al 
 ways said it was no use sinding 
 for the doctor, an looked so swato 
 at me , an said for me not to fret, 
 [for sure he d be better soon, or 
 he d go to a better place. An I 
 thought he was already like a 
 heavenly angel itself, an always 
 was, but then more nor ever. Och! 
 it s soon that he 11 be one en 
 tirely ! 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 say- 
 
244 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 ing? says he. An what is it, 
 thin? says I. About the gintle- 
 man that praiches at Carra, says 
 he he s a calling for him, 
 says he. I knowed there wasn t a 
 praist at all at Carra, an I thought 
 he was draiming, or out o his 
 head, or crazy wid his sickness, 
 like; an I went up close to him, 
 an says I, John, says I, what 
 is it you want? says I an 
 sure , if it s anything in heaven 
 above or in earth beneath that 
 yer own mother can get for ye, 
 says I, ye shall have it, says I. 
 An he put up his two arms 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 dair, says 
 he if ye love me, says he, 
 fetch me the good gintleman 
 that praiches at Carra, till I spake 
 to him. Is it the praist you want, 
 John, my boy? says I sure 
 he s in it, says I; for Michael 
 had been for Father Shannon, an 
 he had come home wid him half 
 an hour before. Oh no, mother, 
 says he, it s not him at all that I 
 mane it s the gintleman that 
 spakes in the little white church 
 at Carra he s not a praist at 
 all, says he. An who is he, 
 thin? says I, getting up from the 
 bed , or where will 1 find him , or 
 how will I get to him? Ye 11 
 not stir a fut for him, thin, the 
 night, Kitty Dolan, says my hus 
 band are ye mad? says he; 
 sure it s not his own head the 
 child has at all at all, or it s a little 
 hiritic he is, says he; an ye 
 won t show the disrespect to the 
 
 praist in yer own house. I n 
 maningnone, says I normore 
 he isn t a hiritic ; but if he was 
 he s a born angel to you, Michae 
 Dolan , anyhow, says I ; an wic 
 the kiss of his lips on my face 
 wouldn t I do the arrant of m;j 
 own boy, an he a dying? by tin 
 blessing, an I will, if twenty 
 men stud between me an it. S( 
 tell me where I 11 find him, thif 
 praist, if there s the love o merc^ 
 in any soul o ye, says I. Bu 
 they wouldn t spake a word fo; 
 me, not one of them; so I axec 
 an axed at one place an other 
 till here I am. An now, my lady 
 will the master go for me to ni} 
 poor boy? for he d maybe b( 
 dead while I stand here." 
 
 " Surely I will," said Mr. Hum 
 phreys, who had come in while 
 she was speaking. "Wait but om 
 moment." 
 
 In a moment he came bad 
 ready, and he and the woman sel 
 forth to their walk. Alice lookec 
 out anxiously after them. 
 
 "It storms very hard," she saic 
 and he has not had his tea 
 But he couldn t wait. Come, Ellen 
 love, we 11 have ours. Howwil 
 he ever get back again? it will be 
 so deep by that time." 
 
 There was a cloud on her fail 
 brow for a few minutes, but il 
 passed away, and, quiet and calm 
 as ever, she sat down at the little 
 tea-table with Ellen. From liet 
 Pace all shadows seemed to have 
 flown for ever. Hungry and hap 
 py, she enjoyed Margery s good 
 oread and butter, and the nice 
 honey, and from time to time cast 
 
0?HE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 245 
 
 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 sometime 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 con 
 tentedly down on the rug, and 
 sat leaning back against her. Si 
 lent for very contentment for a 
 while, she sat looking gravely 
 into the fire; while Alice s fingers 
 drove a little steel hook through 
 and through some purse silk in a 
 mysterious fashion , that no eye 
 could be quick enough to follow, 
 and with such skill and steadi 
 ness, that the work grew fast 
 under her hand. 
 
 "I had such a funny dream last 
 night," said Ellen. 
 
 "Had you? what about?" 
 
 "It was pleasant, too," said 
 Ellen, twisting herself 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 he 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 plea 
 sed." 
 
 "Dreamers do not always keep 
 close to the truth, it seems." 
 
 "/ 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. 
 
 "How so, my dear?" 
 
 "I don t know, Miss Alice 
 because I never am good, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 " 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-humoured ; and Aunt 
 Fortune sawlwas, and said some 
 thing 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 
 
246 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 after 
 wards 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 Ellen, rising to 
 throw her arms round Alice s 
 neck, and kissing her with all the 
 energy of love, gratitude, repen 
 tance, andsorrowfulrecollection. 
 
 " Oh , what do you think? " she 
 said, suddenly, her face changing 
 again, "1 got my letter last 
 night!" 
 
 "Your letter!" 
 
 "Yes, the letter the old man 
 brought don t you know? and 
 it was written in 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 
 
 Isn t that 
 
 quite well again. 
 ~ood?" 
 
 "Very good, dear Ellen. lam 
 very glad for you." 
 
 "It was on my bed last night. 
 I can t think how it got there ; and 
 I don t care, either, so long as 
 I Ve got it. What are you ma 
 king?" 
 
 "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 off." 
 
 "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!" ex 
 claimed 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 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 be- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 247 
 
 sides 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 Sun 
 days." 
 
 " Then, we won t venture upon 
 that. You might knit him a night 
 cap." 
 
 4 A nightcap ? you re j oking, 
 Alice, aren t you? I don t think 
 a nightcap would be pretty for 
 a Christmas present do you?" 
 
 "Well, what shall we do, 
 Ellen?" said Alice, laughing. "I 
 made a pocket -pin cushion 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 any 
 thing you should hit upon." 
 
 "I have got a dollar," said 
 Ellen, "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 im 
 possible article of Mr. Van 
 Brunt s dress. 
 
 "I have some nice pieces of 
 fine linen," said 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?" 
 
 ; 0h, yes, I guess I can," said 
 
 CO to destruction 
 never heard of 
 
 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 
 very quickly, 
 her spending five minutes over a 
 book, and the Bible, I am afraid, 
 last of all." 
 
 "But I think," said Ellen slow 
 ly, "I think she would not 
 spoil it, or sell it either, if / 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, 
 
 VSUj J CB ) Jl g ITOpO Jl lHMj Qcin-i i^Ut ou^uicl ticciv j J.CIAI \ji oiivrv , 
 
 Ellen. "Oh, thank you, dear 1 1 think; but it s very windy and 
 
248 
 
 THE WIDE. WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 11 try to make a good 
 use of the time while we are 
 waiting. Suppose you read to me 
 while I work." 
 
 She took down a volume of 
 Cowper, and found his account of 
 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 11 tell you 
 what we 11 do, Ellen," she ex 
 claimed, as she threw her work 
 down, "we 11 make some 
 chocolate for him that 11 be 
 the very thing. Ellen, dear, run 
 into the kitchen and ask Mar 
 gery to bring me the little choco 
 late-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 inter 
 est 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 choco 
 late-pot the cat had walked in. 
 Ellen immediately endeavoured 
 to improve his acquaintance; 
 that was not so easy. The Cap 
 tain 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, touch 
 ing his soft fur with great care. 
 Parry presently lifted up his 
 head uneasily, as much as to 
 say, "1 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 ex 
 actly 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 ac- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 249 
 
 quaintance. Oh, kitty, kitty!" 
 said Alice, fondly stroking his 
 head, "why don t you behave 
 better?" 
 
 Parry lifted his head, and 
 opened and shut his eyes, with 
 an expression of great satis 
 faction , 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. Mean 
 while Ellen wanted to know what 
 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 whilst 
 she was not looking. At last the 
 chocolate began to gather a rich 
 froth, and Ellen called out 
 
 "Oh, Alice! lookhere 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 sur 
 face. 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 looking 
 
 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 bro 
 ther 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 think- 
 iing of, Ellen could not have 
 told, then or afterwards. It was 
 but a few minutes, though it 
 seemed to her a great many, be 
 fore they drew near the fire. 
 Curiosity 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 bit 
 like her; handsome enough, top, 
 to be her brother. And Alice did 
 not look like herself; her usually 
 calm, sweet face was quivering 
 and sparkling now -- jit up as 
 Ellen had never seen it oh, 
 how bright! Poor Ellen herself 
 had never looked duller in her 
 life ; and when Alice said, gaily, 
 "This is my brother, Ellen," 
 her confusion of thoughts and 
 feelings resolved themselves into 
 a flood of tears ; she sprang and 
 hid her face in Alice s arms. 
 Ellen s were not the only eyes 
 
250 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 that were full just then, but of was a difference between John 
 
 course she didn t know that 
 
 "Come, Ellen," whispered 
 Alice, presently, "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, 
 
 Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, 
 or the young gentlemen of the 
 apple -paring; for, though she 
 coloured a good deal, she made 
 no objection, and showed no 
 displeasure. Alice and she now 
 busied themselves with getting 
 
 love," she added, more low, "and! the cups and saucers out of the 
 ask Margery to bring some bread cupboard, and setting the table : 
 and butter, and anything else but all that evening, through 
 
 whatever was doing, Ellen s eyes 
 sought the stranger as if by 
 fascination. She watched him 
 
 she has 
 veller? 
 
 that 
 
 fit for a tra- 
 
 Glad of an escape, Ellen darted 
 away that her wet face might not I whenever she could without 
 be seen. The brother and sister being noticed. At first she was 
 
 were busily talking when she re 
 
 turned. 
 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 bro- 
 
 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 
 
 tber, "Miss Ellen, this sister of i evening?" said John Humphreys, 
 mine is giving us away to each j one time that Alice was gone 
 other at a great rate; I should; into the kitchen on some kind 
 like to know first what you say to errand for him. 
 
 I A -w/-k -*Tf\it TTTI 11-t-n *-*> 4-r\ 4-n1-rf\ f* ii ^P o 1 Iri n rr Q.TI 
 
 it. Are you willing to take a 
 strange brother upon her recom 
 mendation?" 
 
 Half inclined to laugh, Ellen 
 glanced at the speaker s face, 
 
 ; Talking, Sir," said Ellen, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Talking! this whole even 
 ing? Alice must have improved. 
 
 What 
 
 you been talking 
 
 iut meeting the grave though about?" 
 somewhat comical look of two "Hares and dogs and 
 very keen eyes, she looked down about Mr. Cowper and some 
 again, and merely answered, other things." 
 
 " Then, if I am to be your bro 
 
 ther, you must 
 ther s right, you know 
 drawing her gently to him , a] 
 kissing her gravely on the lips. 
 Probably Ellen thought there 
 
 ive me a bro- 
 said he, 
 d 
 
 Jin 
 
 "Private affairs, eh?" said he, 
 with again the look Ellen had 
 seen before. 
 
 "Yes, Sir," said Ellen, nod 
 ding and laughing. 
 
 "And how came you upon Mr. 
 Cowper?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 251 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 "How came you to be talking 
 about Mr. Cowper?" 
 
 "I was reading about his hares, 
 and about John Grilpin; 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 doing all it could to dis 
 comfort 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 
 afumbling in his pocket. 
 
 "Here s a note for you," said 
 he , throwing it into her lap. 
 
 "A note ! Sophia Marshman 
 where did you get it? " 
 
 "From her own hand. Passing 
 there to-day, I thought I must 
 stop a moment to speak to them, 
 and had no notion of doing more ; 
 but Mrs. Marshman was very 
 kind, and Miss Sophia in despair, 
 so the end of it was, 1 dismounted 
 and went in to await the pre 
 paring of that billet while my 
 poor nag was led off to the 
 stables and a fresh horse sup 
 plied me I fancy that tells you 
 on what conditions." 
 
 " Charming ! " said Alice " to 
 spend Christmas I am very 
 glad; I should like to, very 
 much with you dear. If I can 
 only 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 traveller, and the 
 sleighing will be fine if the snow 
 be not too deep. The old sleigh 
 is in being yet, I suppose?" 
 
 "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." 
 
 "Koom in the sleigh? Then 
 we 11 put John on Prince Charlie, 
 and let him ride there, postilion 
 fashion." 
 
 "But Mr. Humphreys? " 
 
 "He always goes on horse 
 back; he will ride Sharp or 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 
 
252 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 before his welcome step was at 
 last heard. 
 
 There was new joy then; new 
 embracing, and questioning, and 
 answering; the little circle open- 
 
 I have seen a little ransomed 
 spirit go home to its rest. Oh! 
 that unspeakable gift! " He 
 pressed his lips thoughtfully to 
 gether while he stirred his cho 
 colate; but having drunk it, he 
 
 ed to let him in; and Alice 
 
 brought the corner of the table I pushed the table from him , and 
 
 to his side and poured him out a drew up his chair. 
 
 cup of hot chocolate. But, after 
 drinking half of it, and neglect 
 ing 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. 
 
 "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 of more than common 
 interest seemed to be in his 
 thoughts. He sat looking earn 
 estly 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; 
 
 Tt it f , I i 1 
 
 "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; "that poor wo 
 man that Mrs. Dolan she 
 lives in the woods behind the 
 Cat s Back, a mile beyond Carra- 
 carra, or more it seemed a long 
 mile to-night; and a more miser 
 able place I never saw yet. A 
 little ricketty 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 remarkable 
 bright, pleasant face, who has 
 planted himself regularly every 
 bunday morning for some time 
 past in the south aisle . of the 
 
 I have seen the fairest sight, al- church, and stood there all ser~ 
 most, a man can see in this world, vice time? " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 253 
 
 Alice said no. 
 
 "I have noticed him often, and 
 noticed him as 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 your honour 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 ex 
 pressively. I suppose it was 
 somewhat difficult for him to 
 speak 5 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. 
 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 my 
 self, I had heard and seen enough 
 to satisfy me entirely; for the 
 sake of the group around the 
 bed, I could have desired some 
 thing further. They kept perfect 
 stillness; awed, I think, by a 
 profession of faith such as they 
 had never heard before. They 
 and I stood watching him, and 
 at the end of a 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 unspeakable 
 gift! -- and then fell back - 
 just dead." 
 
 The old gentleman s voice was 
 husky as he finished, for Alice 
 and Ellen were both weeping, 
 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 
 
254 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 those sweet things of which little 
 JohnDolan 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 
 
 said, "And so you have been 
 well all this time , John? " 
 
 He turned his face towards her 
 without speaking, but Ellen as 
 well as his sister saw the look of 
 love with which he answered her 
 
 forgiven child of God?" 
 
 "I believe I do, Sir," Ellen! question, rather of endearment 
 said. [than inquiry; and from that 
 
 He kissed her forehead and 
 
 blessed her ; and then said , "Let 
 us pray." 
 
 It was late ; the servants had 
 
 minute Ellen s mind was made 
 up as, to the doubt which had 
 troubled her. She went to bed 
 quite satisfied that her new bro- 
 
 gone to bed, and they were ther was a decided acquisition, 
 alone. Oh ! what a thanksgiving 
 Mr. Humphreys poured forth for 
 that "unspeakable gift!" that 
 they, every one there, had been 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 The jingling of sleigh-bells. 
 
 BEFOKE Ellen s eyes were open 
 
 made to know and rejoice in it; the next morning almost be- 
 for the poor little boy, rich in if ore she awoke the thought of 
 faith, who had just gone home i the Christmas visit, the sleigh- 
 in the same rejoicing; for their | ride, John Humphreys , and the 
 own loved ones who were there j weather, all rushed into her mind 
 already; and for the hope ofjat once, and started her half up 
 joining them soon in safety and j in the bed to look out of the win- 
 joy, to sing with them the "new dow. Well frosted the panes of 
 
 song," for ever and ever. 
 
 glass were, but at the corners 
 
 There were no dry eyes in the j and edges, unmistakeable bright 
 room. And when they arose, gleams of light came in. 
 ,er giving his "Oh, Alice, it s be 
 
 Mr. Humphreys , after 
 daughter 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 shoul 
 ders, kissed his cheek also; then 
 silently took his candle and went. 
 They lingered a little Avhile 
 
 exclaimed Ellen ; 
 
 beautiful ! " 
 look how the 
 
 sun is shining! and tisn t very 
 cold. Are we going to-day?" 
 
 "I don t know yet, Ellie, but 
 we shall know very soon. We 11 
 settle that at breakfast." 
 
 At breakfast it was settled. 
 They were to go, and set off 
 
 after he was gone, standing [directly. Mr. Humphreys could 
 round the fire as if loth to part, j not go with them, because he 
 but in grave silence , each busy had promised to bury little John 
 with his own thoughts. Alice s Dolan; the priest had declared 
 
 ended by fixing on her brother, 
 for, laying her hand and her head 
 caressingly on his shoulder, she 
 
 kUL.iv, JJJ.J.GOL iidu. u.cuia,icu 
 have nothing to do with 
 it; and the poor mother had ap 
 plied to Mr. Humphreys, as being 
 
THE WIDE WIDE WORLD, 
 
 255 
 
 the clergyman her child had most 
 trusted and loved to hear. It 
 seemed that little John had per 
 suaded her out of half her pre 
 judices by his affectionate talk 
 and blameless behaviour during 
 some time past. Mr. Humphreys, 
 therefore, must stay at home that 
 day. He promised, however, to 
 follow them the next, and would 
 by no means permit them to wait 
 for him. He said the day was 
 fine, and they must improve it; 
 and he should be pleased to have 
 them with their friends as long as 
 possible. 
 
 So the little travelling-bag was 
 stuffed with more things than it 
 seemed possible to get into it. 
 Among the rest, Ellen brought 
 her little jred Bible, which Alice 
 decided should go in John s 
 
 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 moccassins, which, be 
 longing to Margery, were of 
 course a world too big for her, 
 but " anything but cold ," as their 
 
 Mother Bunch, begged to know 
 how she expected to get to the 
 sleigh ; he said she would want a 
 /boZman indeed 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 fol 
 lowed, and in another minute 
 they were off. 
 
 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 was dancing for joy. No 
 body would have thought it, she 
 sat so still and quiet between 
 Alice and her brother; but her 
 eyes were very bright as they 
 
 pocket; the little carpet-bag looked joyously about her, and 
 could not take it. Ellen was afraid every now and 
 
 hthen she could 
 elp smiling to herself. No 
 thing 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 dim 
 med or crossed it. None crossed 
 it now. It was cold , but not bit 
 terly 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 
 
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 owner said. Her nice blue hood | bells jingled and rang, the very 
 would protect her head well, and music for Ellen s thoughts to 
 Alice gave her a green veil to | dance to. And then with some- 
 save her eyes from the glare of \ body she liked very much on 
 the snow. When Ellen shuffled leach side of her, and pleasures 
 out of Alice s room in this trim, untold in the prospect, no won- 
 John gave her one of his grave j der she felt as if her heart could 
 looks, and saying she looked like j not hold any more. The green 
 
256 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 veil could not be kept on, every- If "Beautiful! wherever you 
 thing looked so beautiful in that can escape from the signs of 
 
 morning s sun. The long, wide 
 slopes of untrodden and un 
 spotted snow, too bright some 
 times for the eye to look at; the 
 shadows that here and there lay 
 upon it, of woodland and scatter- 
 
 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 indul- 
 
 ed trees ; the very brown fences, j ging himself in a walk. 
 
 and the bare arms and branches I "But there are bright excep- 
 
 leafless trees, showin 
 sharp against the white groun 
 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. 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 encouragement 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 
 poorest of vehicles on : 
 
 had the 
 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 Thirl- 
 wall; farmhouses 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 si 
 
 "This is a 
 John!" 
 
 h , was 
 >eautiful world, 
 
 tions ," said Alice. 
 
 " 1 believe it ; never so much 
 as when I come home." 
 
 "Are there none around you, 
 then, in whom you can have con 
 fidence and svmpathy?" 
 
 He shook his head again. "Not 
 enough, Alice. I long for you 
 
 quick 
 
 eve 
 
 life. 
 
 ry day of my 
 
 dice turned her head 
 
 Alice 
 away. 
 
 "It must be so, my dear sister," 
 he said, presently; "we can never 
 expect to find it otherwise. There 
 are, as you say, bright excep 
 tions 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, 
 what 
 
 ; As grave as a 
 are you musing at 
 
 I was thinking," said Ellen, 
 "how men could help the world s 
 being beautiful." 
 
 "Don t trouble your little head 
 with that question," said John, 
 smiling "long may it be be 
 fore you are able to answer it. 
 Look at those snow-birds! " 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 257 
 
 By degrees the day wore on. 
 About one o clock they stopped 
 at a farmhouse 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 5 she was content now to have j of her moccassins, went with John 
 
 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 ber 
 ries; and one unrivalled hemlock, 
 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 
 
 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, 
 wind and sun, and all the re 
 maining hours of the way. 
 It was drawing towards four 
 
 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, 
 
 o clock, when Alice, with some; and kissed her a great many 
 difficulty , roused her to see the \ times , seeming very glad indeed 
 approach to the house , and get ! to see her. She welcomed Ellen, 
 wide awake before they should too, with such warmth , that she 
 reach it. They turned from the | began to feel almost as if she had 
 road, and entered by a gateway I been sent for and expected 
 into some pleasure-grounds, ! told Mr. John he had behaved 
 through which a short drive admirably and then led them 
 brought them to the house. These [into a large room, where was a 
 grounds were fine, but the wide, group of ladies and gentlemen. 
 The Wide, Wide World. 17 
 
258 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 - 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 her herself, telling 
 her she was very glad she had 
 come, and that there were 
 number of young people there, 
 who would be much pleased to 
 have her help them keep Christ 
 mas. 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 
 take hers that day with the elder 
 part of the family. While they 
 were waiting to be called to din 
 ner, 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 forgotten she was 
 
 a stranger. Mr. Marshman him 
 self led her to the dining-room, 
 begged 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 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. Marsh- 
 man 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 bearing; the 
 third, Miss Sophia, who met them 
 first in the hall , was very unlike 
 both the others, but lively and 
 agreeable and good-humoured. 
 
 Dinner gave place to the des 
 sert , and that in its turn was re 
 moved with the cloth. Ellen was 
 engaged in munching almonds 
 and raisins, admiring the bright 
 ness of the mahogany, and the 
 richly -cut and coloured glass, 
 and silver decanter-stands, which 
 were reflected 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 looking doubt 
 fully along the table, as if seeking 
 7 or some one. 
 
 J What is the matter, Ellen?" 
 said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 "Mrs. Bland told me, Mamma," 
 she began, her eye not ceasing 
 "ts uneasy quest; but then break- 
 
THE WIDE , WIDE WORLD, 
 
 259 
 
 ing off and springing to Alice s 
 side , she threw her arms around 
 her neck, and gave her, certainly, 
 the warmest of all the warm wel 
 comes 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 ac 
 cordingly, and hugged and kissed 
 him with a very good will, re 
 marking, however, "Ah, but I ve 
 seen you before, to-day, Grand- 
 
 "Well, here s somebody 
 you ve not seen before," said he, 
 good-humouredly, 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. 
 Mis 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. 
 
 "FromCarra-carra, Sir ," said 
 Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " Go along with you," said he, 
 laughing, and pinching 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, how 
 ever, reached the door, when El 
 len 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 whis 
 pering, and then a nod and smile 
 from Aunt Sophia ; and, satisfied, 
 Ellen returned to her companion, 
 and led her out of the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "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 calling myself, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, but when somebody else 
 calls Ellen, we shall both have 
 to run. Do you run when you 
 are called?" 
 
 "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 com 
 panion s rising colour, with a 
 glance of mixed curiosity and 
 pleasure , in which lay a strong 
 promise of growing love. 
 
 "So do I," she answered, 
 gaily; "I am very glad she is 
 come; and I am very glad you 
 are come, too." 
 
 17* 
 
260 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE 
 
 The little speaker pushed open j her knees then slowly raising 
 a door, and led Ellen into the his head, stepped back. 
 
 presence of a group of young 
 people, rather older than them 
 selves. 
 
 "Miss Ellen Montgomery, I 
 am rejoiced to have the pleasure 
 of seeing you at Ventnor. Isn t 
 
 "Marianne," said she to one of | that polite, now? Is that like 
 them, a handsome girl of four- \ what you have been accustomed 
 teen, "this is Miss Ellen Mont- j to, Miss Montgomery?" 
 gomery she came with Alice, "No-, Sir thank you," said 
 and she is come to keep Christ- j Ellen , who laughed in spite of 
 mas with us aren t you glad? herself. The mirth of the others 
 There 11 be quite a parcel of us redoubled. 
 
 when what s-her-name comes - May I request to be informed, 
 won t there?" then," continued Gillespie, " what 
 
 Marianne shook hands with k g the fashion of making bows in 
 E1 Jen. . , the great city?" 
 
 "She is one of grandpapas M j don > tknow sa idEllen; "I 
 guests, I can tell you, said little neyer gaw a boy make a bow be- 
 Ellen Chauncey; "and he says f ore " 
 we must brush up our country j ^ , _ j 
 
 ~ C me manner?will do for you, 
 
 "Do you think we are a set of 
 ignoramuses, Miss Ellen?" in 
 quired a well-grown boy of fif 
 teen, who looked enough like 
 Marianne Gillespie to prove him 
 her brother. 
 
 "I don t know what that is," 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "Well, do they do things bet 
 ter in the great city than we do 
 here?" 
 
 "I don t know how you do them 
 here," said Ellen. 
 
 "Don t you? Come! Standout 
 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 him 
 self gravely at a little distance 
 from Ellen, and marching so 
 lemnly up to her, bowed down to 
 
 "You re giving her a pretty 
 specimen of em, Bill," said an 
 other boy. 
 
 "For shame, William!" cried 
 little Ellen Chauncey? "didn t I 
 tell you she was one of grand 
 papa s guests? Come here, El 
 len, I 11 take you somewhere 
 else." 
 
 She seized Ellen s hand, and 
 pulled her towards the door, but 
 suddenly stopped again. 
 
 " Oh , I forgot to tell you," she 
 said; "I asked Aunt. Sophia 
 about the bag of moroccoes, 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 261 
 
 comes," said little Ellen; and 
 then they ran off again. 
 
 " I am so glad you are come ! " 
 said she: "the others are all so 
 
 possible. None of the rest, how 
 ever, not even his sister, could 
 keep their countenances, for the 
 eye of the speaker had pointed 
 
 DOli-li O-LH-/ ^ IjAIVy \J IJ-IX^J. O Cfc-L \J C^-LA K? \S \Jj\S VJi IM_1\_/ OJ,/ \v t*V\_,A J.J.C4VL JJ \J AAJL U\^ v*. 
 
 much older, and they have all so and sharpened his words; and 
 much to do together and now "William, very red in the face, 
 you can help me think what I will < was understood to mumble , as 
 make for Mamma. Hush! don t soon as mumbling was possible, 
 say a word about it!" that "he wouldn t laugh unless 
 
 They entered the large draw- he had a mind to," and a threat 
 ing-room, where old and young! to "do something" to his tor- 
 were soon gathered for tea. The 
 children, who had dined early, 
 sat down to a well-spread table, 
 at which Miss Sophia presided; 
 
 mentor. 
 
 "Only not eat me," said John, 
 with a shade of expression in his 
 look and tone which overcame 
 
 the elder persons were standing | the whole party, himself and poor 
 or sitting in different parts of the William alone retaining entire 
 room. Ellen, not being hungry, gravity. 
 
 had leisure to look about her, "What s all this? what s all 
 and her eyes soon wandered from this? what s all this laughing- 
 the tea-table in search of her old | about?" said old Mr. Marshman, 
 friends. Alice was sitting by Mrs. coming up. 
 
 Marshman, talking with two other 
 pre- 
 
 " This young gentleman , Sir," 
 said John, "has been endeavour- 
 
 ladies; but Ellen smiled 
 
 sently, as she caught her eye ling with a mouthful of argu- 
 
 fromthe far end of the room, and jments to prove to us the in- 
 
 fot a little nod of recognition, feriority of city manners to those 
 ohn came up just then to set i learned in the country." 
 down his coffee-cup, and asked "Will, "said the old gentleman, 
 her what she was smiling at. glancing doubtfully at William s 
 
 "That s city manners," said discomfited face; then added, 
 William Gillespie, "to laugh at sternly, " I don t care where your 
 what s going on." manners were learned, Sir, but I 
 
 "I have no doubt we shall all! advise you to be very particular 
 follow the example ," said John as to the sort you bring Avith you 
 Humphreys, gravely, "if the j here. Now, Sophia, let us have 
 young gentleman will try to give some music." 
 
 us a smile. 
 
 He set the children a-dancim 
 
 The young gentleman had just and as Ellen did not know how, 
 accommodated himself with an he kept her by him, and kept her 
 outrageously large mouthful of very much amused, too, in his 
 bread and sweetmeats, and if! own way; then he would have 
 ever so well disposed, compli- her join in the dancing, and bade 
 ance with the request was iin- - Ellen Chauucey give her lessons. 
 
262 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 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 com 
 panion led her was the very pic 
 ture 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 
 hand-irons that stretched them 
 selves 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, mahogany 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 11 sleep here , in this j 
 
 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 piled on mattrasses. 
 The two children sat down to 
 gether 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," saidEllen 
 
 " So do I; but Marianne Grilles- 
 pie won t even put on her shoes 
 and stockings for herself." 
 
 "Who does it, then?" said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Why, Lester --Aunt Matil 
 da s maid. Mamma sent away her 
 maid when we came here, and she 
 says if she had fifty she would 
 like me to do everything 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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 263 
 
 "No," said little Ellen, gravely 
 "he never will come back 
 he never will come back any 
 
 more. 
 
 Ellen was sorry she had asked, 
 
 "No," said Ellen. 
 
 "Don t you? why, I always did, 
 ever since I can remember. I 
 used to think , when I was a little 
 , you know," said she, laugh- 
 
 and both children were silent for I ing "I used to think that Santa 
 a minute. I Claus came down the chimney, 
 
 "I ll tell you what," said little I and I used to hang up my stock- 
 Ellen, jumping up "Mamma ing as near the fire-place as I 
 said we mustn t sit up too long could; but I know better than 
 talking, so I ll run and get my that now; I don t care where I 
 things and bring em here, and hang it. You know who Santa 
 
 we can undress together; won t 
 that be a nice way?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Scraps of Morocco and talk. 
 
 LEFT alone in the strange room 
 with the flickering fire, how 
 quickly Ellen s thoughts left 
 Ventnor and flew over the sea ! 
 They often travelled 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 droop 
 ed. " To-morrow will be Christ 
 mas-eve last Christmas-eve 
 oh, Mamma!" 
 
 Little Ellen Chauncey soon 
 came back, and sitting down be 
 side her on the foot of the bed, 
 began 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 plea 
 santest. I s pose they re all plea 
 sant. Do you hang up your stock 
 ing?" 
 
 Claus is, don t you?" 
 
 "He s nobody," said Ellen. 
 " Oh, yes, he is he s a great 
 many people he s whoever 
 gives vou anything. My Santa 
 Claus is Mamma, and Grandpapa, 
 and Grandmamma, and Aunt So 
 phia, 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," 
 
264 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 said little Ellen, lowering her there s another thing I don t 
 voice, and speaking with open i know how to fix, and that s the 
 eyes and great energy we are edges of the leaves the leaves 
 going to make presents this year ! jfor the needles they must be 
 we children won t it be fine? : fixed somehow." 
 we are going to make what we "I can show you how to do 
 like for anybody we choose, and that," said Ellen, brightening; 
 let nobody know anything about! "Mamma had a needlebook that 
 it; and then New Year s morn- 1 was given to her that had the 
 ing, you know, when the things edges beautifully fixed; and I 
 are all under the napkins, we will \ wanted to know how it was done, 
 give ours to somebody to put land she showed me. I ll show 
 where they belong, and nobody j you that. It takes a good while, 
 will know anything about them but that s no matter." 
 till they see them there. Won t "Oh, thank you; how nice that 
 it be fine? I m so glad you areas! Oh no, that s no matter. And 
 here, for I want you to tell me ! then it will do very well, won t 
 what I shall make." it? Now, if I can only catch Gil 
 
 bert in a good humour he isn t 
 my cousin he s Marianne s 
 
 " Who is it for?" said Ellen, 
 you know 
 
 "Oh, Mamma! 
 
 can t make for everybody, so I cousin that big boy you saw 
 think I had rather it should be for I down -stairs he s so big he 
 Mamma. I thought of making her j won t have anything to say to 
 a needle-book with white backs, me, sometimes, but I guess I ll 
 and getting Gilbert Gillespie to I get him to do this. Don t you 
 paint them he can paint beau- 1 want to make something for 
 
 tifully and having her name 
 and something else written very 
 nicely inside; how do you 
 think that would do ? " 
 
 "I should think it would do 
 very nicely," said Ellen "very 
 nicely, indeed." 
 
 somebody?" 
 
 Ellen had had one or two fever 
 ish thoughts on this subject 
 since the beginning of the con 
 versation, but she only said 
 
 "It s no matter you know I 
 j haven t got anything here ; and 
 
 "I wish Uncle George was at besides, I shall not be here till 
 home, though, to write it for me New Year." 
 
 he writes so beautifully; 
 can t do it well enough." 
 
 "I m afraid I can t either," said 
 Ellen. "Perhaps somebody else 
 
 can. 
 "I 
 
 don t know who. Aunt 
 
 "Not here till New Year! 
 yes, you shall," said little Ellen, 
 throwing herself upon her neck; 
 " indeed you aren t going away 
 before that. I know you aren t 
 I heard Grandmamma and Aunt 
 
 Sophia scribbles and scratches, ! Sophia talking about it. Say you 
 and besides, I don t want her will stay here till New Year 
 to know anything about it. But do!" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 265 
 
 "I should like to, very much in 
 deed," said Ellen, "if Alice does." 
 
 In the midst of half a dozen 
 kisses with which her little com 
 panion rewarded this speech, 
 somebody close by said, plea 
 santly 
 
 "What time of night do you 
 suppose it is?" 
 
 The girls started there was 
 Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Oh, Mamma ! " exclaimed her 
 
 than she was showing and ex 
 plaining to Ellen Chauncey a par 
 ticularly splendid and mysterious 
 way of embroidering the edges of 
 needlebook leaves. Deep in this, 
 they were still an hour after 
 wards, and in the comparative 
 merits of purple and rose-colour, 
 when a little hubbub arose at the 
 other end of the room , on the ar 
 rival of a new-comer. Ellen 
 Chauncey looked up from her 
 
 little daughter, springing to her [work, then dropped it, exclaim- 
 feet, "I hope you haven t heard ing, "There she is! now for 
 
 the bag_!" and pulled Ellen 
 along with her towards the party. 
 A young lady was in the midst of 
 
 what we 
 about?" 
 
 have been talking 
 
 "Notaword," said Mrs. Chaun 
 cey, smiling-, "but as to-morrow 
 will be long enough to talk in, 
 you better go to bed 
 
 hadn t 
 now? 
 
 Her daughter obeyed her im 
 mediately, after one more hug to 
 
 cey stayed to see Ellen in bed, 
 and press one kind, motherly 
 
 it, talking so fast, that she had 
 not time to take off her cloak and 
 bonnet. As her eye met Ellen s, 
 however, she came to a sudden 
 pause. It was Margaret Dun- 
 scombe. Ellen s face certainly 
 
 Ellen, and telling her she was so showed no pleasure; Margaret s 
 glad she had come. Mrs. Chaun- darkened with a very disagree 
 
 able surprise. 
 " My goodness ! Ellen Mont- 
 
 kiss upon her face , so tenderly j gomery ! how on earth did you 
 that Ellen s eyes were moistened 1 get here?" 
 
 she withdrew. But in her 
 dreams that night, the rosy, 
 sweet face, blue eyes, and little 
 plump figure of Ellen Chauncey 
 
 "Do you know her?" asked 
 one of the girls, as the two Ellen s 
 went off after "Aunt Sophia." 
 
 "Do I know her? Yes just 
 
 enough exactly. How did she 
 Humphreys brought 
 
 played the greatest part. 
 
 She slept till Alice was obliged get here 
 to waken her the next morning; j "Miss 
 and then got up with her head in ; her." 
 a charming confusion, of plea- j "Who s Miss Humphreys?" 
 sures past and pleasures to come " Hush !" said Marianne, lower- 
 things known and unknown, j ing her tone "that s her bro- 
 to be made for everybody s New ther in the window." 
 Year presents linen collars 
 
 and painted needlebooks; and 
 no sooner was breakfast over, 
 
 "Whose brother? hers or 
 Miss Humphreys ? " 
 
 "Miss Humphreys . Did you 
 
266 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 never see her? She is here, or 
 has been here, a great deal of the 
 time. Grandma calls her her 
 
 piece of blue morocco in particu 
 lar was made up in imagination 
 by two or three of the party in as 
 
 fourth daughter; and she is just; many different ways. Marianne 
 as much at home as if she was: wanted it for a book-cover; Mar- 
 and she brought her here." garet declared she could make a 
 
 "And she s at home, too, I j lovely reticule with it; and Ellen 
 
 could not help thinking it would 
 make a very pretty needlebox, 
 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 no w ?" 
 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 
 goingto do with em," said George 
 Walsh , coming up to her with a 
 mischievous face , and adding in 
 
 back, bringing word to clear the j a loud whisper, shielding his 
 table, for Aunt Sophia was co-i mouth with his hand "they re 
 ming with the moroccoes. As going to make pr " 
 soon as she came , Ellen Chaun- 1 He was laid hold of forcibly by 
 cey sprang to her neck and the whole party, screaming and 
 
 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 bo 
 thered with in that way." 
 
 Presently the two girls came 
 
 whispered an earnest question. 
 "Certainly!" Aunt Sophia said, 
 as she poured out the contents of 
 the bag; and her little niece de 
 lightedly 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 colours, 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 
 
 laughing, and stopped short from 
 finishing his speech. 
 
 "Well, then, I ll take my de 
 parture," said Miss Sophia 
 "but how will you manage to di 
 vide 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 267 
 
 pulled out a little bit of green 
 morocco aboutthe size of a dollar. 
 Ellen Montgomery came next; 
 then Margaret, then Marianne, 
 then their mutual friend Isabel 
 Hawthorn. Each had to take her 
 
 and I might get yours. We had 
 best each choose in turn what we 
 like, beginning at Isabel." 
 
 "Very well," s aid little Ellen 
 "I m agreed." 
 
 Anythingforaquietlife," said 
 
 turn a great many times; and at George Walsh. 
 
 the end of the drawing, the pieces! But this business of choosing 
 
 were found to be pretty equally 
 divided among the party, with 
 the exception of Ellen, who, be 
 sides several other good pieces, 
 had drawn the famous blue. 
 
 "That will do very nicely," 
 said little Ellen 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; 
 
 was found to be very long and 
 very difficult, each one was so 
 fearful of not taking the exact 
 piece she wantedmost. 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 de- 
 
 turn, sat very 
 with her head 
 
 "I declare it s too vexatious!" 
 said Margaret Dunscombe 
 "here I ve got this beautiful 
 
 but we are all going out to walk I lay and difficulty; and now, as 
 now; I ll give them to you this | it was not her tu 
 afternoon. Come! put these! soberly looking on, wi 
 away, and get on your bonnets resting on her hand, 
 and cloaks." 
 
 A hard measure! but it was 
 done. After the walk came 
 
 dinner; after dinner, Aunt Sophia piece of blue satin, and can t do 
 had to be found and waited on, i anything with it; it just matches 
 till she had fairly sought out and | that blue morocco it s a per- 
 delivered to their hands the feet match I could have made 
 wished-for bundle of silks and! a splendid thing of it, and I have 
 satins. It gave great satisfaction, j got some cord and tassels that 
 
 "But how shall we do about j would just do I declare it s too 
 dividing these ? " said little Ellen ! bad ! " 
 
 " shall we draw lots again? 
 "No, Ellen," said Marianne, 
 
 Ellen s colour changed. 
 "Well, choose, Margaret," said 
 
 "that won t do, because we might Marianne, 
 every one get just the thing we "I don t know what to choose 
 do not want. 1 want one colour: that s the thing. What can 
 or stuff to go with my morocco, : one do with red and purple mo- 
 and you want another to go with! rocco and blue satin? I might 
 yours; and you might get mine j as well give up. I ve a great no- 
 
268 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I shall say what I think, my 
 dear," said Mrs. Gillespie, smi 
 ling; "but I am glad you add the 
 grace of modesty to that of gene- 
 
 "I wish you would, Margaret, rosity; it is the more uncommon 
 and give it to me when it s done," ~ f ^~ * ^ " 
 cried little Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 tion to take this piece of yellow 
 satin, and dress up a Turkish 
 doll to frighten the next young 
 one I meet with." 
 
 "Taint made yet," said the 
 
 other, drily. 
 Ellen s colour 
 
 had changed 
 
 and changed ; her hand twitched 
 
 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, suf 
 fusing every particle of skin that 
 
 nervously, and she glanced un-j could be seen; then left it, 
 
 easily from Margaret s store of 
 
 finery to her own. 
 
 choose, 
 
 "Come, 
 
 Margaret," 
 
 said Ellen Chauncey; "I dare 
 
 say Ellen wants the blue morocco i at all 
 
 with eyes cast down she went on 
 "I don t deserve to be praised 
 it was more Margaret s than 
 I oughtn t to have kept it 
 - for I saw a little bit when 
 
 as much as you do." 
 "No, I don t!" said 
 
 Ellen, 
 
 I put my hand in. 1 didn t mean 
 to , but I did ! " 
 
 abruptly, throwing it over the) Kaising her eyes hastily to 
 
 table to her; "take it, Mar 
 garet, you may have it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said 
 the other, astounded. 
 
 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 
 
 "I mean you may have it," said knew Mrs. Gillespie, Mrs. Chaun- 
 Ellen "I don t want it." j cey , Miss Sophia , and Alice , had 
 
 "Well, I ll tell you what," said, heard her; but this was the one 
 the other "I ll give you yellow | drop too much. Her head sunk; 
 satin for it or some of my red | she covered her face a moment, 
 morocco!" land then made her escape oui 
 
 "No, I had rather not," re- 1 of the room, before even Ellen 
 peated Ellen ; " I don t want it could follow her. 
 you may have it." There was a moment s silence. 
 
 "Very generously done," re- Alice seemed to have some difli- 
 marked Miss Sophia; "I hopejculty not to follow Ellen s ex- 
 you ll all take a lesson in the art ample. Margaret pouted; Mrs. 
 of being obliging." | Chauncey s eyes filled with tears, 
 
 "Quite a noble little girl," said and her little daughter seemed 
 
 Mrs. Gillespie. 
 Ellen crimsoned. "No, Ma am, 
 
 divided between doubt and dis 
 may. Her first move, however, 
 
 I am not, indeed," she said, ! was to run off in pursuit of Ellen, 
 looking at them with eyes that 
 were filling fast; "please don t 
 
 Alice went after her. 
 
 Here s a beautiful example of 
 
 say so I don t deserve it." honour and honesty for you!" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 269 
 
 said Margaret Dunscombe, at of course, that wasn t proper be- 
 length. 
 
 "I think it is," observed John, 
 quietly. 
 
 "An uncommon instance," said 
 Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 "I hope 
 all." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Isabel. 
 "I suppose," said John, cool- 
 , "she chose the society she 
 the pleasantest. Pro- 
 iss Margaret s politeness 
 she had been ac- 
 
 shan t copy it, that s 
 
 "I think you are in no danger," 
 
 said John, again. 
 "Very well!" said 
 
 Margaret coloured, not quite 
 knowing what to make of the 
 speaker or his speech 
 
 who, between her desire of 
 speaking and her desire of con 
 cealing her vexation, did not 
 know what to do with herself; 
 
 "It would take much to make 
 Margaret, me believe," said gentle Mrs. 
 
 "everybody must judge for him 
 self, 1 suppose; I ve got enough 
 of her, for my part." 
 
 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 
 " Where did you ever see her j an uneasy feeling that there were 
 before?" said Isabel Hawthorn. 1 6 yes not far off too keen of sight 
 "Oh, she came up the river I to be baffled; she kept silence 
 with us Mamma had to take till the group dispersed , and she 
 care of her she was with us had an opportunity of whisper- 
 
 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 "What a singular fancy you 
 
 ing in Marianne s ear that "that 
 was the very most disagreeable 
 man she had ever seen in her 
 
 she scarcely came near us; we 
 
 have taken to this little pet of 
 
 couldn t pretend to keep sight Alice s, Mr. John!" said Mrs. 
 of her; Mamma had to send herlMarshman s youngest daughter, 
 maid out to look after her, I " You quite surprise me." 
 don t know how many times. She "Did you think_ me a misan- 
 scraped acquaintance with somejthrope, Miss Sophia?" 
 strange man on board, and liked " Oh, no, not at all; but I al- 
 his company better than ours, ways had a notion y^ou would not 
 for she stayed with him the whole be easily pleased in the choice 
 blessed day, waking and sleep- of favourites." 
 ing; of course Mamma didn t like "Easily! When a simple, in- 
 it at all. She didn t go to a i telligent child of twelve or thir- 
 single meal with us ; you know, ! teen is a common character, then 
 
270 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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." 
 
 "In years perhaps." 
 
 "How gravely you take me 
 up ! " said the young lady, laugh 
 ing. "My dear Mr. John, in 
 years, perhaps, you may call 
 yourself twenty, but in every 
 thing else you might much better 
 pass for thirty or forty." 
 
 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 mo- 
 roccoes had been in the fire. 
 They had not been able to find 
 Ellen. Neither was she in the 
 drawing-room when they return 
 ed to it after dinner; and a se 
 cond 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 plea 
 sant light of the room, where 
 only the fire was burning, invited 
 a stay. He sat down in the deep 
 window, and was musingly look 
 ing out into the moonlight, when 
 the door softly opened, and Ellen 
 came in. She stole in noiseless 
 ly, so that he did not hear her, 
 and she thought the room empty, 
 till in passing slowly down to 
 ward 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. 
 
 "Kunning away from your bro 
 ther, Ellie!" said he, kindly; 
 "what is the matter?" 
 
 Ellen shrank 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. 
 
 "You are taking this matter 
 too hardly, dear Ellen," he said, 
 drawing her close to him; "you 
 did wrong, but you have done 
 all you could to repair 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 dread 
 ful 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 he plea 
 sed," Ellen said. 
 
 " Then sit down here," said he, 
 making room for her on the wide 
 window -seat, but still keeping 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 271 
 
 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 1 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." 
 
 "You will wonder at me, per 
 haps, Ellie," said John, "but I 
 am not very sorry this has hap 
 pened. You are no worse than 
 before; it has only made you 
 see what you are very, very 
 weak guite 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 happened 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 think 
 ing 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 
 dishonoured 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, for our own 
 sakes, about other people s opi 
 nion, 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 eves 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 her 
 self," 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 before them. 
 
272 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "All s well again," said Alice, I her shoulders, and whispering, 
 
 " emrl wf> QVP o-m nrr in fr> f OQ " "T?ll/m T?ll/->v*f" iv r> -*-/-in^ 4-Ur.i 
 
 : and we are going in to tea. 
 
 He smiled and held out his 
 hand, which Ellen took, but he 
 would not leave the library, de 
 claring they had a quarter of an 
 hour still. So they sauntered up 
 and down the long room, talk 
 ing of different things, so plea 
 santly, that Ellen near forgot 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 her 
 self with spirits; the secret of 
 which, perhaps, was the fact, 
 which she several times in the 
 course of the evening whispered 
 to Ellen as a great piece of news, 
 that "it was Christmas eve!" 
 
 Stockings, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 to which the 
 was nothing. 
 
 Bas Bleu 
 
 CHRISTMAS morning was dawn 
 ing gray, but it was still far from 
 broad daylight, when Ellen was 
 awakened. She found little Ellen 
 Chauncey pulling and pushing at kissing her with "all her heart. 
 
 ; Ellen, Ellen!" in a tone that 
 showed a great fear of waking 
 somebody up. There she was, 
 in nightgown and nightcap , and 
 barefooted, too, with a face brim 
 ful 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, laugh 
 ingly, as she bounded out of 
 bed. 
 
 "Ah, but I shall, I know; I al 
 ways do never fear. Hush! 
 step ever so softly I don t want 
 to wake anybody." 
 
 "It s hardly light enough for 
 you to see," whispered 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- 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 273 
 
 declaring she was so glad, she "Oh, never mind! make haste," 
 didn t know what to do. said Ellen Chauncey; "it won t 
 
 "But how shall we know which hurt you, I guess." 
 is which?" "No, it won t hurt me," said 
 
 ^ Perhaps they are both alike," j Ellen , "but" 
 said Ellen. She drew forth a great bunch 
 
 "No at any rate, one s for of white grapes. 
 
 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 
 
 "Splendid! isn t it?" said 
 Ellen Chauncey. "Now for mine." 
 
 It was the counterpart of 
 Ellen s bunch. 
 
 and this is mine ! 
 
 " 
 
 light there yes! Ellen | "So far, so good," said she. 
 M-o-n there, that s yours; my "Now for the next." 
 name doesn t begin with an M; The next thing in each stock 
 ing was a large horn of sugar 
 plums. 
 
 "Well, that s fine, isn t it?" 
 said Ellen Chauncey "yours is 
 
 Another caper round the room, 
 and then she brought up in front 
 of the chair, where Ellen was 
 
 still standing. j tied with white ribbon, and mine 
 
 "I wonder what sin em," she with blue; that s all the dif- 
 said; "I want to look, and I ference. Oh! and your paper s 
 don t want, too. Come , you be- 1 red and mine is purple." 
 gin." "Yes, and the pictures are 
 
 "But that s no stocking of different," said Ellen, 
 mine," said Ellen, a smile gradu- 1 "Well, I had rather they 
 ally breaking upon her sober [would be different wouldn t 
 little face; "my leg never was as i you? I think it s just as plea- 
 big as that." sant. One s as big as the other 
 
 "Stuffed, isn t it?" said Ellen at any rate. Come, what s 
 Chauncey. " Oh, do make haste, next ? " 
 
 and see Avhat is in yours. I want Ellen drew out a little bundle, 
 to know so, I don t know what which, being opened, proved to 
 to do." | be a nice little pair of dark kid 
 
 "Well, will you take out of gloves. 
 
 yours as fast as I take out of "Oh, I wonder who gave me 
 mine?" this?" she said "it s just 
 
 "Well!" what I wanted. How pretty! oh, 
 
 Oh, mysterious delight, and: I m so glad! I guess who it 
 delightful mystery, of the stuffed i was." 
 
 stocking ! Ellen s trembling | " Oh, look here," said the other 
 fingers sought the top, and then! Ellen, who had been diving into 
 very suddenly left it. Vher stocking "I Ve got a ball 
 
 "I. can t think what it is ," said I this is just what I wanted, too ; 
 she,laughmg "itfeels so funny." j George told me if I d get one 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 18 
 
274 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 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 arnen 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 
 
 soft 
 
 orange ," said little Ellen Chaun 
 cey. " Come, Ellen! stop laugh 
 ing, and let s see." 
 
 They were two great scarlet 
 satin pincushions, with E. C. and 
 E. M. , very neatly stuck in pins. 
 
 "Well, we shan t want pins 
 for a good while, shall we? " said 
 Ellen. " Who gave us these ? " 
 
 "I know," said little Ellen 
 Chauncey "Mrs. Bland." 
 
 "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. "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 plea 
 sure, they came back and got 
 into bed together; and for an 
 hour afterwards the two kept up 
 a most animated conversation, 
 intermixed with long chuckles 
 and bursts of merriment, and 
 whispered communications of 
 immense importance. The ar 
 rangement of the painted needle- 
 
 / , . -, . -i 1 CtJ-JLCi t-ill V>JLL \J V/JL UJJ.V pCHJ-.u.uV- V*. AAV^V-* v.*v; 
 
 "She was very kind to make bo( J. wag entirely decided upon 
 ie for me, said Ellen. Mow . thig C0nsultat i n ; also two or 
 
 _. J_T_ ~ -~ ^-^4- I " -t . t 
 
 one 
 
 for the next! 
 Her next 
 
 thing was a little 
 
 three other matters ; and the two 
 children seemed to have al- 
 
 bottle of Cologne water. _ ready lived a day since day- 
 "I can tell who put that m, break by the time they came 
 id her friend "Aunt Sophia. , Mm ? * 
 
 said 
 
 I know her little bottles of Co 
 logne water. Do you love Co 
 logne 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 satis 
 faction. 
 
 down to breakfast. 
 
 After breakfast, Ellen applied 
 secretly to Alice, to know if she 
 could write very beautifully 
 she exceedingly wanted some 
 thing done. 
 
 "I should not like to venture, 
 Ellie , if it must be so superfine : 
 but John can do it for you." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 275 
 
 "Can he? Do you think he Alice said I shouldn t disturb 
 would?" you." 
 
 "Not at all; I Ve been long 
 enough over this stupid news- 
 
 "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. 
 
 paper. What is it?" 
 
 "I want you, if you will be so 
 ood," said Ellen, "to write a 
 
 the newspaper. You won t dis 
 turb him." 
 
 " Well, you won t say anything 
 about it?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 Ellen accordingly went near, 
 
 and said, 
 
 Mr IW 
 
 to hear her. "Mr. Humphreys ! " 
 
 Nonsense, he s only reading I 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 any 
 body?" 
 
 " Tortures shan t draw it from 
 me when I know what it is," 
 said he , with one of his comical 
 ,.,,, , - " looks. 
 
 - a little louder. _ In high glee EUen ran for ^ 
 
 He has not arrived yet, said pieces of Bristol board which 
 John, looking round gravely. were to form the backs of the 
 
 He spoke so gravely, thatjneedlebook, and brought them 
 Ellen could not tell whether he j to the library; and explained 
 were joking or serious. Her face | how room was to be left in the 
 of extreme perplexity was too (middle of each for a painting, a 
 much for his command of coun-jrose on one, a butterfly on the 
 tenance. other; the writing to be as 
 
 "Whom do you want to speak elegant as possible, above, be- 
 to?" said he, smiling. Ineath, and roundab 
 
 "I wanted to speak to you,i fan( T of the wri1 
 Sir," said Ellen, "if you are not ch s , e n 
 too busy." Well, what is to be inscribed 
 
 u i\/r rr 7 -i on thi g most original of needle- 
 
 -Mr. Humphreys, is always books?" said John, as he care- 
 K> M r^ 6 shakl SS his head, fully mended his pen. 
 
 but Mr. John can attend to you - ~ - -- 
 
 at any time, and John will do 
 
 out, as the 
 writer should 
 
 for you whatever you please to 
 ask him." 
 
 "Then, Mr. John," said Ellen, 
 laughing, "if you please, I 
 wanted to ask you to do some 
 thing for me, very much in- 
 
 tell 
 
 11 
 h 
 
 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- 
 
 deed, if you are not too busy; I cey isn t to know anything about 
 
 18* 
 
276 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 it till New Year s day ; nor any 
 body else." 
 
 "Trust me," said John. 
 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 
 favour than to others, and where 
 they would permit mortals to 
 come nearer to them, and would 
 even deign to answer their ques 
 tions." 
 
 "And did they ? " said Ellen. 
 
 "Did they what?" 
 
 "Did they answer their ques 
 tions?" 
 
 "Did who answer their ques 
 tions?" 
 
 "They 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 con 
 trivance of the priests, to in 
 crease their power and wealth. 
 There was always a temple built 
 near, with priests and pries 
 tesses; the questions were put 
 through them; and they would 
 not ask them except on great oc 
 casions, or for people of con 
 sequence, 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 an 
 swers themselves." 
 
 " Perhaps they did, sometimes. 
 JBut people had not the Bible 
 If then, and did not know as much 
 as we know. It was not unna 
 tural to think the gods would 
 care a little for the poor people 
 that lived on the earth. Besides, 
 there was a good deal of manage 
 ment and trickery about the an 
 swers 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. Some 
 times 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 11 
 answer you." 
 
 "But you can t tell what s 
 going to happen?" 
 
 "No matter you ask me 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 277 
 
 "Yes, if you please," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 The pen was laid down while 
 
 mine. 
 "Exactly 
 
 but the oracle 
 
 truly, and I ll answer you ora 
 cularly." 
 
 "That means, like an oracle, 
 I suppose?" said Ellen. "Well, he explained, to a most eager 
 Mr. John, will Alice be pleased little listener. Even the great 
 with what I am going to give her! business of the moment was for- 
 New Year ? " | gotten. From hieroglyphics they 
 
 " She will be pleased with what ; went to the pyramids ; and Ellen 
 she will receive on that day." had got to the top of one, and 
 "Ah, but," said Ellen, laugh- was enjoying the prospect (in 
 ing, " that isn t fair ; you haven t imagination), when she suddenly 
 answered me ; perhaps some- 1 came down to tell John of her 
 body else will give her some- 1 stuffed stocking and its contents, 
 thing, and then she might be j The pen went on again, and came 
 pleased with that, and not with! 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, smi 
 ling "I cannot say I think it 
 was very strange. Is this all 
 the business you had for my 
 hands?" 
 
 "This is all; and I am very 
 much obliged to you, Mr. John." 
 Her grateful, affectionate eye 
 said much more , and he felt well 
 paid. 
 
 Gilbert was next applied to, 
 to paint the rose and the butter 
 fly, 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-coloured silk, 
 they kept by themselves in a 
 
 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 skilful 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 dif 
 ficult character." 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen. "But what 
 was that you said ? " 
 . "Hieroglyphics." 
 
 Ellen added no more, though 
 she was not satisfied. He looked 
 up, and smiled. 
 
 "Do you want to know what 
 that means ?"( 
 
278 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 nagging. It was won 
 derful what 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 tried, and 
 the new scissors extolled as 
 "just the thing for their work." 
 Ellen attempted to let her com 
 panion into the mystery of ora 
 cles and hieroglyphics, 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 them 
 selves with working. Young and 
 old dined together to-day, and 
 the children not set by them 
 selves, 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-pudding. 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, Avhen old Mr. 
 Marshman called to her to "hold 
 out her glass," she held it put, 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. Marsh- 
 man laughed at her a great deal, 
 and asked her if she was "a pro 
 selyte to the new notions;" and 
 Ellen laughed with him , without 
 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 
 night as a great favour. 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 curiosities 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 279 
 
 enjoyed that exceedingly. Alice 
 sang, and Mrs. Gillespie, and Miss 
 Sophia, and another lady, and 
 Mr. Howard; 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 un 
 broken and unclouded pleasure. 
 Ellen s last act was to take an 
 other 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. 
 
 Sunday at Ventnor. 
 
 MR. HUMPHREYS was persuaded 
 to stay over Sunday at Ventnor: 
 and it was also settled that 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 pleasures of 
 Ventnor she could not feel 
 quite at home with any of the 
 young people, but only Ellen 
 Chauncey and her cousin George 
 Walsh. This seemed very strange 
 to her; she almost thought Mar 
 garet Dunscombe was at the bot 
 tom of it all, but she recollected 
 she had felt something of this be 
 fore Margaret came. She tried to 
 think nothing about it 5 and in 
 
 truth it was not able to prevent 
 tier from being very happy. The 
 breach, however, was destined to 
 grow wider. 
 
 About four miles from Ventnor 
 was a large town called Ran 
 dolph. Thither they drove to 
 church on Sunday morning, the 
 whole family; but the hour of 
 dinner and the distance prevented 
 any one from going in the after 
 noon. 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? Headache? 
 oh, I am sorry. Oh! I know" 
 
 She darted away. In two mi 
 nutes she was back 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 open. 
 
280 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 pre 
 cious payment, Alice s look and 
 kiss; and then, with a delicate 
 consciousness 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 her 
 self 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 Sun 
 day; and the sweet Bible words 
 cime, as they often now came to 
 Ellen, with a healing breath. But 
 after an hour or so, to her dismay 
 she heard a door open, and the 
 whole 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 sallSun- 
 day s good for, /think." 
 
 " William ! William ! " sound 
 ed the shocked voice of little Ellen 
 Chauncey, "you are a real 
 wicked boy!" 
 
 "Well, now," said William, 
 "how ami 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 a-bed and sleep, or for 
 Uncle Howard to read novels, or 
 for grandpapa to talk politics , or 
 for mother to talk about the fa 
 shions? there were she and 
 Miss What s-her-name for ever 
 so long this morning doing every 
 thing but makea, dress. Nowwhich 
 is the worst?" 
 
 " Oh , William ! William ! for 
 shame! for shame!" said Ellen 
 again. 
 
 "Do hush, Ellen Chauncey,. 
 will you?" said Marianne, sharp 
 ly; "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 no 
 thing." 
 
 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 
 t sail out of the Bible." 
 
 "Oh, do you? let s hear it, 
 Greorge," cried the girls. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 281 
 
 "I don t believe it is good for 
 anything if it is out of the Bible," 
 saidMargaret. "Now stare, Ellen 
 Chauncey, do!" 
 
 "I ain t staring," said Ellen, in 
 dignantly; -"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 5 
 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 what 
 ever you like." 
 
 " That will improve your know 
 ledge 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 j 
 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 11 take 
 somebody?" 
 
 " Oh , 1 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 without 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 seated on the foot of her 
 bed. As far and as long as she 
 could, she withstood her little 
 friend s entreaties, and very un 
 willingly 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 Wil 
 liam. "Gilbert has thought of 
 somebody. Man or woman?" 
 
 "Man." 
 
 "Young or old?" 
 
 "Why, he was young first, and 
 old afterwards." 
 
 " Pshaw, William ! what a ridi 
 culous question ! " said his sister. 
 "Besides, you mustn t ask more 
 than one at a time, liich 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, Gil 
 bert?" 
 
 " Upon my honour ! " 
 
 "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 parti 
 cular; what kind of a person was 
 he, Gilbert?" 
 
 "A very good man." 
 
 "Handsome or ugly?" 
 
 "History don t say." 
 
282 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Well , what does it say ? " said 
 George " what did he do ? " 
 
 "He took a journey once upon 
 a time." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Do you mean wliy he went, or 
 what was the object of his go 
 ing?" 
 
 "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 ei 
 ther." 
 
 "I can t think of anybody else 
 that went after a wife," said 
 George. "That king what s 
 hisname? 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 5 "he mar 
 ried two of them, but he didn t go 
 to his uncle s to find them. You 
 had better go on with your ques 
 tions. You have had eight al 
 ready. If you don t look out, you 
 won t catch me. Come!" 
 
 "Did he get the wife that he 
 went after? " asked Ellen Chaun 
 cey. 
 
 "He was never married that I 
 know of," said Gilbert. 
 
 "What was the reason he fail 
 ed?" said Isabel. 
 
 "He did not fail." 
 
 "Did he bring *home his wife 
 
 then? You said he wasn t mar 
 ried." 
 
 " He never was, that I know of; 
 but he brought home a wife not 
 withstanding." 
 
 " But how funny you are , Gil 
 bert ."said little Ellen. "He had a 
 wife and he hadn t a wife : what 
 became of her?" 
 
 "She lived and flourished. 
 Twelve questions : take care." 
 
 "Nobody asked what country 
 he was of," said Margaret, - 
 "what was he, Gilbert?" 
 
 "He was a Damascene." 
 
 "Awkatfi" 
 
 "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? " 
 
 e " After. I should think you 
 might have known that." 
 
 "Well, I can t make out any 
 thing about him," said Marianne. 
 "We shall have to give it up." 
 
 " No , no not yet ," said Wil 
 liam. "Where 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 mar 
 ried?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 283 
 
 "Well, what then? I didn t 
 say she married 7w." 
 
 "Whom did she marry?" 
 
 "Ah , that is asking the whole ; 
 I can t tell you." 
 
 "Had they far to go?" asked 
 Isabel. 
 
 "Several days journey I 
 don t know how far." 
 
 "How did they travel?" 
 
 "On camels." 
 
 "Was it the queen of Sheba?" 
 said little Ellen. 
 
 There was a roar of laughter 
 at this happy thought, and poor 
 little Ellen declared she forgot 
 all but 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. Ques 
 tioning seemed hopeless; and 
 Gilbert at last told them his 
 thought. It was Eliezer, Abra 
 ham 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,youhaven t askedasingle 
 .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 coloured, and 
 looked down at her little Bible, 
 which was still in her hand. It 
 encouraged her. 
 
 "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 impa 
 tient cries of " Why not?" " Why 
 not?" 
 
 "Because," said Ellen, trem 
 bling 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 feelings , then," 
 said William; "I am sure nobody 
 has any objection. Youhad better 
 go somewhere else, though, for 
 we are going on; we have been 
 learning 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 
 
284 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 thin^ 
 said 
 
 ; nothing is the matter," 
 lllen. 
 
 tears started, and her breath came 
 quicker. She found Alice lying 
 down and asleep, Miss Sophia 
 beside her; so she stole out again, 
 and went down to the library. 
 Finding nobody, she took posses 
 sion 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 passing this very one j happen? )Y 
 
 while Ellen was sitting here in I "I do know a great deal 
 the library alone, what she was 
 
 " 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 , how 
 ever , 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?" 
 
 " But wouldn t you like to know 
 something about what s going to 
 
 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 
 
 about it." 
 
 "About what is going to 
 happen?" 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "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 parti 
 cular," said Ellen, after taking 
 a grave look out. 
 
 " Well, what in general?" 
 
 " Why, there is the lawn cover 
 ed with snow, and the trees and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 285 
 
 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 
 firmb efore 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. 
 
 "Doyoubelieveit?" said John. 
 
 "Yes," said Ellen "I know 
 it; but I think it is very disagree 
 able to think about it." 
 
 J It would be, Ellie," said he, 
 bringing her again to his side 
 "very disagreeable very mise 
 rable 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. 
 
 " Behold, I create new heavens I 
 and a new earth , and the former ! 
 shall not be remembered, neither 
 come into mind. " 
 
 "Why won t they be remem 
 bered?" 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 eyes 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." 
 
 "Mr. John," said Ellen 
 "don t you think 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 
 
286 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 that followed these words, theylEllie. Oh, Jack! - there has 
 were joined by Alice. Her head I been many a day lately when I 
 was better; and taking her place would gladly have had a head- 
 in the window -seat, the talk ache for the power of laying my 
 began again, between the brother head on vour shoulder! " 
 and sister now; Ellen too happy "And if Mamma had not gone 
 to sit with them and listen. They i away, I should never have known 
 talked of that land again, of the | you," said Ellen. "I wish she 
 happy company preparing for it; never Jiad gone, but I am very, 
 of their dead mother, but not j very glad for this !" 
 much of her; of the glory of their I She had kneeled upon the 
 King, and the joy of his service, j window -seat and clasped Alice 
 even here till thoughts grew j round the neck, just as they were 
 too strong for words , and silence j called to tea. The conversation 
 again stole upon the group. The had banished every disagreeable 
 short winter-day came to an end; j feeling from Ellen s mind. She 
 the sunlight faded away into ; met her companions in the draw- 
 moonlight. No shadows lay now > ing-room , almost forgetting that 
 on the lawn ; and from where she J she had any cause of complaint 
 sat Ellen could see the great against them. And this appeared 
 hemlock all silvered with the; when in the course of the evening 
 moonlight, which began to steal ; it came in her way to perform 
 in at the window. It was very, | some little office of politeness for 
 very beautiful yet she could ! Marianne. It was done with the 
 think now without sorrow that gracefulness that could only 
 all this should come to an end, j come from a spirit entirely free 
 because of that new heaven and; from ungraceful feelings. The 
 new earth wherein righteousness children felt it, and for the 
 should dwell. I time were shamed into better 
 
 "We have eaten up all your j behaviour. The evening passed 
 grapes, Ellie," said Alice "or; pleasantly, and Ellen went to 
 
 rather / have, for John didn t 
 help me much. I think I never 
 ate 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 
 
 bed very happy. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Flowers and Thorns. 
 
 THE next day it happened that 
 the young people were amusing 
 themselves with talking in a room 
 where John Humphreys, walking 
 
 good ," Alice went on. " Except up and down, was amusing himself 
 for my headache, John would not with thinking. In the course of 
 have held my head by the hour his walk, he began to find their 
 as he did ; and you couldn t have | amusement rather disturbing to 
 given me the pleasure you did, j his. The children were all grouped 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 287 
 
 closely round Margaret Duns- 
 combe, who was entertaining 
 them with a long and very 
 detailed account of a wedding 
 and great party at Randolph, 
 which she had the happiness of 
 attending. Eagerly fighting her 
 battles over again, and pleased 
 with the rapt attention of her 
 hearers , the speaker forgot her 
 self, 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, 
 
 sense was branching out right and 
 left into worse than nonsense. 
 
 "Ellen!" said he, suddenly 
 "I want you in the library." 
 
 "My conscience!" said Mar 
 garet, 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." 
 
 She found John seated at one 
 of the tables in the library, 
 sharpening a pencil. 
 
 "Ellen," 
 
 manner 
 
 said he, in his usual 
 I wan t you to do 
 something for me." 
 
 She waited eagerly to hear 
 what; but, instead of telling her, 
 
 hanging upon her lips and drink- he took a piece of drawing-paper, 
 ing in what seemed to him to be and began to sketch something, 
 very poor nonsense. "Her gown! Ellen stood by, wondering and 
 was all blue satin , trimmed here impatient to the last degree ; 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 The next time the let me see what you can make 
 speaker was saying with great \ of that." 
 
 animation, "And lo and behold, \ "But I don t know how," said 
 when I was in the midst of all my : Ellen. 
 
 pleasure, up comes a little gentle-*) "I will teach you. There is a 
 man of about his dimensions ." j piece of paper , and this pencil is 
 He had not taken many turns, sharp enough. Is that chair too 
 Avhen he saw that Margaret s non- low for you?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 He placed another, and with I "Did he set you about that 
 extreme unwillingness and some precious piece of business?" said 
 displeasure, Ellen sat down. It I William. 
 was on her tongue to ask if an- "Yes." 
 
 *j.wo. UWAJ.^ 1^.0 u\J CtOJV 1J_ till" 
 
 other time would not do, but 
 
 somehow she could not get the 
 
 words out. John showed her than any one eise I know~of. r 
 
 how to hold her pencil, how to "I don t know who the Grand 
 
 place her paper, where to begin, I Turk is ," said Ellen. 
 
 and how to go on; and then went "I 11 tell you," said William, 
 
 to the other end of the room, and j putting his mouth close to her 
 
 took up his walk again. T^ii" *! ^ * 1 -- - -!-- 
 
 first felt more inclined 
 
 her pencil through the paper than biggest gobbler in the yard. 
 
 "I declare," said Margaret, 
 "he s fitter to be the Grand Turk 
 
 ain. Ellen at j ear , and speaking in a disagree- 
 ined to drive 1 able loud whisper, "it s the 
 
 to make quiet marks upon it. 
 However, necessity was upon 
 her. She began her work; and 
 once fairly begun, it grew de- 
 
 "Ain t you ashamed, William? " 
 cried little Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 "That s it exactly," said 
 Margaret "always strutting 
 
 lightfully interesting. Her vexa- about." 
 tion went off entirely; she forgot j "He isn t a bit," said Ellen, 
 Margaret and her story; the | very angry; "I Ve seen people a 
 wrinkles on the old trunk smooth-! great deal more like gobblers 
 ed those on her brow; and those than he is." 
 
 troublesome leaves at the branch 
 
 "Well," said William, red- 
 
 end brushed away all thoughts dening in his turn, "I had rather, 
 of everything else. Her cheeks 1 at any rate, be a good turkey 
 were burning with intense inter- gobbler, than one of those out- 
 est, when the library do or burst landish birds that have an ap- 
 open, and the whole troop of ; petite for stones , and glass, and 
 children rushed in; they wanted j bits of morocco, and such things. 
 Ellen for a round game in which ; Come , let us leave her to do the 
 all their number were needed ;i Grand Turk s bidding. Come, 
 she must come directly. j Ellen Chauncey, you mustn t 
 
 "I can t come just yet," said! stay to interrupt her we want 
 she; "I must finish this first." you!" 
 
 "Afterwards will just do as 
 well," said George; "come, 
 
 They left her alone. Ellen had 
 coloured, but William s words 
 
 7 O" wAXix-^ \J\JJL\J i*j. v>^i^ ft^ U.U r f LLllCkiLLL O W \J L U.O 
 
 Ellen, do! you can finish it, did not hit very sore; since John s 
 afterwards." [talk with her about the matter 
 
 j _ . pride tl 
 
 didn t see him go out. I 11 come ! ing very hard to bear. She was 
 in a little while." jvery sorry , however, that they 
 
THE WIDE, WID!} WORLD. 
 
 289 
 
 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 
 
 very painful discoveries in that 
 K^~ " 
 
 line. 
 
 Ellen thought, if he did not, it 
 would not be her fault. She truly 
 
 could see exactly how the old repented her momentary anger 
 tree stood, then, taking up her and hasty speech to William, 
 pencil, jshe soon_forgot every- Not that he did not deserve it, or 
 
 thing 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 be 
 fore her. 
 
 "Is it done?" said he. 
 
 "It is done," said Ellen, smi 
 ling, as she rose up to let him 
 come. He sat down to look at it. 
 
 "It is very well," he said 
 "better than I expected it is 
 very well indeed. Is this your first 
 trial, Ellen?" 
 
 "Yes the first." 
 
 "You found it pleasant work?" 
 
 "Oh, very, very pleasant. I 
 like it dearly." 
 
 that it was not true ; but it was 
 unwise , and had done mischief; 
 and "it was not a bit like peace 
 making, 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 to 
 ward 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 William hand the 
 . dough-nuts to those who could 
 I hen 1 will teach you. This not reach them. Marianne took a 
 
 shows you have a taste for it, and j 
 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 he, 
 smiling a little, "that the old tree 
 
 g-eat while to make her choice, 
 er brother grew impatient. 
 " Well, I hope you have suited 
 
 S)urself ? " said he. " Come, Miss 
 ontgomery, don t you be as 
 long 5 my arm is tired. Shut 
 
 would grow a good deal more!your eyes, and then you ll be 
 crooked under your hands than I j sure to get the biggest one in the 
 meant it to be." basket." 
 
 Ellen blushed exceedingly. "I "No, Ellen," said John, who 
 do believe, Mr. John," said she, none of the children thought was 
 stammering, "that you know near "it would be ungenerous 
 everything I am thinking about." j I wouldn t deprive Master Wil- 
 
 thinking 
 "I might do that, Ellen, with 
 out being as wise as an oracle. 
 But I do not expect to make any 
 The Wide, Wide World, 
 
 I wouldn t deprive Master Wil 
 liam of his best arguments." 
 
 "What do you mean by my ar 
 guments?" said William, sharply. 
 19 
 
290 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 "Generally, those which are in the second place, /was not a 
 
 Q TYirkO-f /li-fifim-il 4- 4-r\ 4-nl^^ ivk * TV\O -f r*V\ -P/M I-IITY-* o TTnoi o ncr* or* TT/MI 
 
 the most difficult to take in, 
 answered his tormentor with per 
 fect gravity. 
 
 Ellen tried to keep from smi 
 ling, but could not; and others of 
 the party did not try. William 
 
 match for him a year ago 5 so you 
 may judge I do not know pre 
 cisely," 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 
 
 and his sister were enraged , the me to have strength enough for 
 more because John had said j twice his bone and muscle. 1 have 
 nothing they could take hold of, I seen him do curious things once 
 or even repeat. Gilbert made 
 
 common cause with them. 
 
 "I wish I was grown up for 
 once ," said William. 
 
 " Will youfight me, Sir ? " asked 
 Gilbert, who was a matter of 
 three years older, and well-grown 
 enough. 
 
 His question received no an 
 swer, and was repeated. 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "Whynot, Sir?" 
 
 "I am afraid you d lay me up 
 with a sprained ankle," said 
 John, "and I should not get back 
 to Doncaster as quickly as I 
 
 . A / 
 
 must. 
 
 " It is very mean of him ," said 
 Gilbert, as John walked away 
 " I could whip him , I know." 
 
 " Who s that? ". said Mr. How 
 ard 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, how to judge of the size of 
 a perfectly well-made man; and, 
 
 or twice ! " 
 
 "That quiet Mr. Humphreys? " 
 
 "Humph ! " said Mr. Howard 
 "gunpowder is pretty quiet stuff, 
 so long as it keeps cool." 
 
 The next day another matter 
 happened to disturb Ellen. Mar 
 garet had received an elegant 
 pair of ear-rings as a Christmas 
 present, and was showing them 
 for the admiration of her young 
 friends. Ellen s did 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 
 passing 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 out without making any 
 
 "Oh, Margaret!" said Ellen, 
 shocked and distressed "how 
 
THE WIDE , WIDE WORLD. 
 
 291 
 
 could you ! liow could you! What I ment and pride had roots deep 
 ,.;ii T\/T Tv/foToTiTTnoi-, 4-v,;%9 enough to keep her pulling up 
 
 the snoots for a good while. She 
 
 will Mr. Marshman think? 
 
 Margaret answered she didn t 
 
 care what he thought. Ellen used to get alone when she could, 
 could only hope he had not to read a verse, if no more, of her 
 
 heard. 
 
 Bible, and pray; she could for- 
 
 But a day or two after, when give William and Margaret more 
 neither Ellen nor her friends were j easily then. Solitude and dark- 
 present, Mr. Marshman asked I ness saw many a prayer and tear 
 who it was that had told him El- of hers that week. As she strug- 
 len Montgomery would like mo- 1 gled thus to get rid of sin , and to 
 
 ney better than anything else for 
 her New Year s present. 
 
 " It was I , Sir," said Margaret. 
 
 "It sounds very unlike her to 
 say so," remarkedMrs. Chauncey. 
 
 "Did she say so?" inquired 
 Mr. Marshman. 
 
 ; I understood her so," said 
 
 e more like what would please 
 God, she grew humble and 
 happy. Never was such a strug 
 gle 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 
 
 Margaret "I understood her and Margaret good morning, and 
 to say she wouldn t care for any- join them in any enterprise of 
 
 thing else. 
 "1 am disa 
 
 appointed 
 d erentlei 
 
 in her," 
 
 said the old gentleman; "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 impo 
 liteness, the half-sneer, the whole 
 
 pleasure or business, with a brow 
 as unclouded as the sun. They, 
 however, were too conscious 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 
 
 taunt, and the real unkindness of the intended giver, by the dis- 
 several of the young party. She co very that Gilbert had consulted 
 
 found herself ready to be irrita 
 ted, inclined to dislike the sight of 
 those, even wishing to visit some 
 
 what seemed to be a verv extra 
 ordinary fancy, in making the 
 rose a yellow one. Ellen did her 
 
 sort of punishment upon them, best to comfort her. She asked 
 
 But Christian principle had taken 
 stronghold in little Ellen s heart; 
 she fought her evil tempers man 
 fully. It was not an easy battle 
 to gain. Ellen found that resent- 
 
 Alice, and found there were such 
 things as yellow roses, and they 
 were very beautiful, too ; and, be 
 sides, it would match so nicely the 
 yellow butterfly on the other leaf, 
 19* 
 
292 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I had rather it wouldn t anew lamented the uncouth va- 
 match!" said Ellen Chauncey;!riety of colours in her own. It 
 "and it _don t match the rose- 1 was a grave question whether 
 coloured silk, besides. Are the pink or yellow ribbons should be 
 yellow roses sweet? " used for the latter. Ellen Mont- 
 
 "No," said Ellen; "but this gomery recommended pink, she 
 couldn t have been a sweet rose herself inclined to yellow, and, 
 at any rate, you know." tired of doubting, at last resolved 
 
 "Oh, but," said the other, burst- to split the difference, and put 
 ing out into a fresh passion of! one string of each colour. Ellen 
 inconsolable tears , "I wanted it thought that did not mend mat- 
 should be the picture of a sweet jters, but wisely kept her thoughts 
 rose! And I think he might have j to herself. Besides the needle- 
 put a purple butterfly yellow: case for Alice, she had snatched 
 butterflies are so common! I had the time, whenever she could get 
 a great deal rather have had a | away from Ellen Chauncey, to 
 purple butterfly and a red rose ! " j work at something for her. She 
 
 What cannot be cured, how- j had begged Alice s advice and 
 ever, must be endured. The tears s help ; and between them, out of 
 were dried in course of time, and | Ellen s scraps of morocco and 
 the needlebook, with its yellow! silk, they had manufactured a 
 pictures and pink edges, was very \ little bag of all the colours of the 
 neatly finished. Ellen had been j rainbow, and very pretty and 
 busy, too, on her own account, tasteful withal. Ellen thought it a 
 Alice had got a piece of fine linen chef-d oeuvre , and was unbounded 
 for her from Miss Sophia; the in her admiration. It lay folded 
 collar for Mr. Van Brunt had been up in white paper in a locked 
 cut out, and Ellen with great drawer, ready for New Year s 
 pleasure had made it. The; day. In addition to all these 
 stitching, the strings, and the fpieces of business, John had 
 very buttonhole, after infinite jfbegun to give her drawing les- 
 pains, were all finished by Thurs- (fsons , according to his promise, 
 day night. She had also made aj These became Ellen s delight, 
 needlecase for Alice, not of so j She would willingly have spent 
 much pretension as the other, much more time upon them than 
 one; this was green morocco, he would allow her. It was the 
 lined with crimson satin; no most loved employment of the 
 leaves, but ribbon stitched in to day. Her teacher s skill was not 
 hold papers of needles, and a greater than the perfect gentle- 
 place for a bodkin. Ellen worked ness and kindness with which he 
 
 very hard at this; it was made 
 with the extremest care, and 
 made beautifully. Ellen Chaun- 
 
 cey admired it very much, and j stand it. 
 
 taught. Ellen thought of Mr. 
 Howard s speech about gun 
 powder she could not under- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 293 
 
 " What is your conclusion, on j Home will not look disagreeable 
 the whole?" asked John, one (again, will it, even after all our 
 day, as he stood beside her gaiety here?" 
 
 mending a pencil. 
 
 "No, indeed! at least, your 
 
 "Why," said Ellen, laughing home won t I don t know what 
 and blushing, "how could you! mine will. me! I had almost 
 guess what I was thinking about, | forgotten Aunt Fortune ! " 
 
 "Never mind, dear Ellie ! You 
 and I have each something to 
 bear we must be brave, and 
 bear it manfully. There is a 
 Friend that sticketh closer than a 
 brother, you know. We shan 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 
 
 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 Idon tknow I wonder 
 ed 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 up 
 rights 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 reforming it. 
 
 It was Thursday afternoon 
 
 that Alice and Ellen were left was "that you said to Margaret 
 alone in the library, several of jDunscombeaboutwantingmoney 
 the family having been called for a New Year s present?" 
 out to receive some visitors;! "You know it, then!" cried 
 Alice had excused herself, and Ellen, starting up. "Oh, I m so 
 Ellen, as soon as they were gone, glad ! I wanted to speak to you 
 nestled up to her side. about it, so I didn t know what 
 
 " How pleasant it is to be alone ; to do, and I thought I oughtn t to. 
 together, dear Alice! I don t; What shall I do about it, dear 
 have you even at night now." | Alice? How did you know? 
 
 "It is very pleasant, dearEllie ! | George said you were not there." 
 
 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 suc 
 cess, Ellie. But,|Ellie, I want to 
 ask you about something. What 
 
294 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Mrs. Chauncey told me; she 
 thought there had been some mis 
 take, 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 apair; 
 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 frighten 
 ed; 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 un 
 happy ! " 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 any 
 thing very hard of you, I dare 
 say." 
 
 "But I think he does already; 
 he hasn t 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. What can I do?" said 
 Ellen , again , after a pause , and 
 wiping away a few tears. 
 "Couldn t Mrs. Chauncey tell 
 Mr. Marshman not to give me 
 anything for that I never expect 
 ed it, and would a great 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 morn 
 ing; 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 pleasant always!" 
 said poor Ellen, but half com 
 forted. 
 
 "What a sigh was there! " said 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 295 
 
 John , coming in. "What is the "It is not altogether that," 
 matter with my little sister?" said Mrs. Marshman, laughing; 
 "Some of the minor trials of |" though I do believe, I am the 
 life, John," said Alice, with a | only Yankee good Hutchinson 
 
 has ever made up his mind en 
 tirely to like. But go and see him 
 he will be very much 
 
 smile. 
 
 "What is the matter, Ellie?" 
 
 "Oh, something you cai 
 help," said Ellen. pleased." 
 
 "And something I mustn t] "Who is Mr. Hutchinson?" 
 
 know. Well, to change the scene said Ellen, as they went on. 
 
 - suppose you go with me to "He is the gardener, or rather 
 
 visit the greenhouse and hot- the head gardener. He came out 
 
 houses. Haveyou seen themyet?" with his master some thirty or 
 
 "No," said Ellen, as she eager- forty years ago , but his old Eng- 
 ly sprang forward to take his ilish prejudice will go to the grave 
 
 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 else 
 where." 
 
 "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 moderate calculation. You shall 
 the hall, they metMrs. Marshman. j have an answer to your question, 
 
 " Where are you going, John? " however. " 
 
 with him, I believe. 
 
 "But why don t he like the 
 Americans?" 
 
 John laughed. "Itwouldnever 
 do for me to attempt to answer 
 that question, Ellie ; 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 
 mid- day to-morrow, at the most 
 
 said she. 
 
 Ellen could not conceive what 
 
 "Where I ought to have been he meant, but resolved to wait 
 before , Ma am to pay my re- for his promised answer, 
 spects to Mr. Hutchinson." As they entered the large and 
 
 "You ve not seen him yet! beautifully - kept greenhouse, 
 that is very ungrateful of you. j Hutchinson came from the fur- 
 Hutchinson is one of your warm- 1 ther end of it to meet them an 
 est friends and admirers. There | old man, of most respectable ap- 
 are few people he mentions with pearauce. He bowed very civilly, 
 so much respect, or that he is so and then slipped his pruning- 
 glad to see , as Mr. John Hum- ; knife into his left hand , to leave 
 phreys." the right at liberty for John, who 
 
 A distinction I owe, I fear, 
 principally to my English blood," 
 said John, shaking his head. 
 
 shook it cordially. 
 
 "And why aven t you been to 
 see me before, Mr. John? I Ve 
 
296 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 thought it rather ard of you: 
 Miss h Alice has come several 
 times." 
 
 " The ladies have more leisure, 
 Mr. Hutchinson. You look flou 
 rishing here." 
 
 "Why, yes, Sir pretty mid 
 dling, wi thing doors; but I don t 
 like the climate, Mr. John 1 
 don t like the climate, Sir. There s 
 no country like h England , I be 
 lieve, for my business. Ere sa 
 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 lostno interest 
 by forty years life in America. 
 As Ellen could not understand 
 what they were talking about, she 
 quitted John s side, and went 
 wandering about by herself. 
 From the moment the sweet aro 
 matic 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 wondering and admi 
 ring, and noAv and then timidly 
 advancing her nose to see if 
 something glorious was some 
 thing sweet too. She could hard 
 ly 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 J paper to John. 
 
 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 varnished, 
 others of hair -like delicacy of 
 structure all lovely. At last 
 she stood still with admiration, 
 and almost held her breath before 
 a white camellia. 
 
 "What does that flower make 
 you think of, Ellen?" said John, 
 coming up. His friend the gar 
 dener had left him to seek a news 
 paper 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 whatl 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 
 garments; 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 un 
 like this; but Mr. Hutchinson 
 coming back prevented anything 
 more from being said. She look 
 ed at the white camellia; it seem 
 ed to speak to her. 
 
 "That s the paragraph, Sir," 
 said the old gardener, giving the 
 
 vkQVkOv ^r\ A r\\\n~\ { Ti)l*C s Si llttlo 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 297 
 
 lady that is fond of flowers , if I 
 don t make a mistake; 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. iHutch- 
 inson, and Mr. Marshman s 
 guest." 
 
 "By both names h entitled to 
 my greatest respect," 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 re 
 member old Utehinson? Would 
 Miss h Ellen like a bouquet?" 
 
 Ellen did not venture to say 
 yes , but her blush and sparkling 
 eyes answered him. The old 
 gardener 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 hard 
 ly 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 
 was 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 abun 
 dance, 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 adornment. How to keep 
 them, in the meanwhile? She 
 consulted Mr. John, and accord 
 ing 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 
 Chauncey and she had often 
 gone to her room to work, where 
 none of the children would find 
 and trouble them. Mrs. Bland 
 promised to take famous care of 
 the flowers , and said she would 
 do it with the greatest pleasure. 
 "Mr. Marshman s guests," she 
 added, smiling, "must have every 
 thing they wanted." 
 
 "What does that mean, Mrs. 
 Bland? "said Ellen. 
 
 "Why, you see, Miss Ellen, 
 there s a deal of company always 
 coming, and some is Mrs. Gilles- 
 pie 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, maybe ; but 
 now and then Mr. Marshman has 
 ; an old English friend or so , that 
 he sets the greatest store by ; and 
 | them he calls Jus guests ; and the 
 
298 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 best in the house is hardly good 
 enough for them , or the country 
 
 . , 1 J I , , . .. " 
 
 so I am one of Mr. 
 Marshman s guests?" said Ellen. 
 "I didn t know what it meant." 
 
 either. 
 "And 
 
 plates, in 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 un 
 folded, according to the size and 
 
 She saved put one little piece j shape of that which they covered, 
 of rose-geranium from her flowers It was worth while to see that 
 for the gratification of her own i long tableful , and the faces of 
 nose; and skipped away through the company, before yet a napkin 
 
 the hall to rejoin her companions, 
 very light-hearted indeed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 The Bank-Note and George Washington. 
 
 NEW YEAR S morning dawned. 
 
 "How I wish breakfast was 
 over ! " thought Ellen as she was 
 dressing. However, there is no 
 way of getting over this life but 
 
 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 
 
 by going through it; so when the! uncovered. And then, what a 
 bell rang she went down as usual, buzz ! pleasure , and thanks, 
 Mr. Marshman had decreed that and admiration, and even laugh- 
 he would not have a confusion of jter. Ellen dreaded at first to 
 gifts atthe breakfast-table ; other | look at her plate ; she bethought 
 people might make presents in her, however, that if she waited 
 
 their own way; they must not 
 interfere with his. Needlecases, 
 bags, and so forth, must there 
 fore wait another opportunity; 
 and Ellen Chauncey decided it 
 would just make the pleasure so 
 
 long, she would have to do it 
 with all eves 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 
 
 much longer, and was a great! covered her; the blood rushed to 
 improvement on the old plan. " 
 
 "Happy New Years" and plea- 
 
 her cheeks and the tears to her 
 eyes. She could not have spoken, 
 
 sant greetings were exchanged, and happily it was no time then; 
 as the party gathered in the j everybody else was speaking 
 breakfast-room; pleasure sat on j she could not have been heard, 
 all faces exceptEllen s, and many | She had time to cool and recol- 
 a one wore a broad smile as they 1 lect herself; but she sat with her 
 sat down to table. For the nap- eyes cast down, fastened upon 
 kins were in singular disarrange- her plate and the unfortunate 
 ment this morning; instead of! bank-bill, which she detested 
 being neatly folded up on the with all her heart. She did not 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 299 
 
 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. 
 
 "You need not look so terri 
 fied," said Mr. Marshman, smi 
 ling; "I only asked you if your 
 bill was 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 burning 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 will please to be so good as 
 to let me give it back to you 
 I should be very glad." 
 
 "Why, hoity-toity!" said the 
 old gentleman "what s all 
 this? what s the matter? don t 
 you like it? I thought I was do 
 ing 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 some 
 
 body 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 usher 
 ear-rings, and she asked me if 
 I wouldn t like to have some like 
 them ; and I couldn t help think 
 ing I would a great deal rather 
 have the money they would cost 
 to buy something 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 some 
 thing 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 with 
 stood. 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 honourable 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, 
 thoug h in imminent danger of 
 bursting into tears! "I am 
 very glad it is out of my hands." 
 
300 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOKLD. 
 
 "But you needn t think I am; her treasures, carried them, glass 
 
 going to let you off so," said and all, to the library, where 
 e; "yon must give me half Alice and John often were in the 
 a dozen kisses at least, to prove morning alone. Alice thanked her 
 that you have forgiven me for; in the way she liked best, and 
 making so great a blunder." jthen the flowers were smelled 
 
 Haifa dozen is too many at and admired afresh. 
 
 once," saidEllen, gaily; "three 
 now, and three to-night." 
 
 "Nothing could have been 
 pleasanter to me, Ellie, except 
 
 So she gave the old gentleman Mr. Marshman s gift." 
 three kisses, but he caught herj "And what was that, Alice? 
 in his arms and gave her a dozen j I haven t seen it yet." 
 at least ; after which he found out Alice pulled out of her pocket 
 that the servant was holding a a small, round, morocco case, 
 cup of coffee at his elbow, and the very thing that Ellen had 
 Ellen went back to her place! thought looked like a dumpling 
 
 with a very good appetite for her 
 
 breakfast. 
 After breakfast 
 
 the needle- 
 
 cases were delivered. Both crave 
 
 under the napkin , and opened it. 
 
 "It s " 
 Ellen. 
 
 Neither of her hearers could 
 
 Mr. John ! " exclaimed 
 "Oh, how beautiful!" 
 
 the most entire satisfaction. Mrs. J help laughing. 
 Chauncey assured her daughter j "It is very fine, Ellie," said 
 that she would quite as lief have 1 Alice; "you are quite right. Now 
 a yellow as a red rose on the|l know what was the business 
 cover, and that she liked the .that took John to Randolph every 
 inscription extremely; which thejdav, and kept him there so long, 
 little girl acknowledged to have while I was wondering at him 
 been a joint device of her own unspeakably. Kind, kind Mr. 
 and Ellen s. Ellen s bag gave I Marshman ! " 
 
 "Did Mr. John get anything?" 
 "Ask him, Ellie." 
 "Did you get anything, Mr. 
 John?" said Ellen, going up to 
 
 when she had a minute to herself, him where he was reading on 
 which Ellen Chauncey did not the sofa. 
 
 give her for a good while, Ellenj "I got this," said John, hand- 
 bethought her of her flowers ing her a little book which lay 
 a sweet ^gift still to be made, beside him. 
 Why not make it now? why "What is this! Wime s 
 should not Alice have the plea- Wiem s Life of Washington 
 sure of them all day? A bright Washington? he was may I 
 thought! Ellen ran forthwith to look at it?" 
 the house -keeper s room, and "Certainly." 
 after a long, admiring look at She opened the book, and pre- 
 
 great delight, and was paraded 
 all over the house. 
 
 After the bustle of thanks and 
 rejoicing was at last over, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 301 
 
 sently sat down on the floor when called off, as she often was, 
 where she was , by the side of by Ellen Chauncey, to helj) her 
 the sofa. Whatever she had in fifty little matters of business 
 found within the leaves of the or pleasure. These were attended 
 book , she had certainly lost her- to , and faithfully and cheerfully, 
 self. An hour passed. Ellen had but the look was in her head all 
 
 not spoken or moved except to 
 turn over leaves. 
 
 "Ellen!" said John. 
 
 She looked up her cheeks 
 coloured high. 
 
 { What have youfound there?" 
 said he, smiling. 
 
 the while. And this pleasure was 
 mixed with Alice s pleasure , the 
 flowers and the miniature, and 
 Mr. Marshman s restored kind 
 ness. She never met John s or 
 Alice s eye that day without a 
 smile. Even when she went to 
 
 "Oh, a great deal! But did; be dressed, her book went with 
 
 Mr. Marshman give you this ? " 
 "No. v 
 
 her, and was laid on the bed 
 within sight, ready to be taken 
 
 " ! " said Ellen, looking puz- 1 up the moment she was at liberty, 
 zled, "I thought you said you; Ellen Chauncey lent her a white 
 got this this morning." frock, which was found to an- 
 
 "No, I got it last night. I got swer very well with a tuck let 
 it for you, Ellie." out; 
 
 "Forme!" said Ellen, her co- her. 
 
 lour deepening very much; "for garet Dunscombe put her head 
 me ! did you? Oh, thank you ! j m at the door to ask Anne , Miss 
 oh, I m so much obliged to you, j Sophia s maid, if she was almost 
 
 and" Alice herself dressed 
 While thiswas doing , Mar- 
 
 Mr. John! 1 
 
 ; It is only an answer to one of 
 
 ready to come and curl her hair. 
 
 Indeed I can t say that I am, 
 Miss Margaret," saidAnne. "I ve 
 ;v something to do for Miss Hum- 
 I phreys, andMiss Sophia hasn t so 
 
 your questions." 
 
 "This! is it? I don t know 
 what , I am sure. Oh , I wish 
 
 could do something to please; much as done the first thing to- 
 you , Mr. John ! " I wards beginning to get ready yet. 
 
 "You shall, Ellie; you shall It ll be a good hour, and more." 
 give me a brother s right again." Margaret went away, exclaim- 
 
 Blushingly Ellen approached ing, impatiently, that she could 
 her lips to receive one of his get nobody to help her, and 
 grave kisses; and then, not at would have to wait till every - 
 all displeased, went down on i body was downstairs. 
 thefloor,and waslostin her book, j A few minutes after, she heard 
 
 Oh, the long joy of that New Ellen s voice at the door of her 
 Year s day! how shall it be room, asking if she might 
 
 told! The pleasure of that de 
 lightful book, in which she was 
 wrapped the whole day even 
 
 "Yes who s that? what 
 do you want?" 
 
302 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I ll fix your hair, if you ll 
 
 A. *> MA .?^1 TT^ll^ 
 
 let me," said Ellen. 
 
 "You! I don t believe 
 can." 
 
 you 
 
 "Oh, yes, lean; 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 Mar- 
 
 would alone have made the even 
 ing pass 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 
 
 aret, seating herself; "it won t j come with Mrs. Dunscombe and 
 
 do any harm, at any rate; and 
 I want to be downstairs before 
 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 
 
 ; But you said it was partly 
 pleasant?" 
 doing the work well, and then "Oh, that was because I had 
 
 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 morn 
 ing, and that made me unhappy." 
 
 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 to 
 gether ; a goodly number of both 
 were gathered from Randolph 
 and the neighbouring country. 
 
 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 sitting up on the 
 
 There were games for the young, I highest part of the boat." 
 dancing for the gay, and a su- "And your friends with 
 perb supper for all; and the big, 
 bright rooms were full of bright 
 
 faces. It was a very happy even 
 ing to Ellen. For a good part 
 of it, Mr. Marshman took pos 
 session of her, or kept her near 
 him; and his extreme kindness 
 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 303 
 
 alone?" said Mr. Marshman, 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 "They were strangers, Sir," 
 said Ellen, colouring a little. 
 
 "Well, so was this man 
 your friend a stranger, too, 
 wasn 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, laughing; "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 gentle 
 man?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Ma am!" said Ellen, 
 looking surprised at the question, 
 "lam sure he was." 
 
 "What did he look like?" 
 
 Ellen tried to tell, but the por 
 trait was not very distinct. 
 
 "What did he wear? Coat or 
 cloak?" 
 
 " Coat dark brown, I think." 
 
 "This was in the end of Octo 
 ber, 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 
 
 l 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! 
 I Mr. Marshman asked how she 
 knew. 
 
 "It was then he came up the 
 river, you know, Sir; and don t 
 I you remember his speaking of a 
 | little girl on board the boat, who 
 Iwas travelling with strangers, 
 and whom he endeavoured to 
 i befriend? I had forgotten it 
 entirely till a minute or 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. " Somebody she pick 
 ed up somewhere." 
 
 "It was Mr. George Marsh 
 man ! " 
 
 "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," 
 
 1 T~ll 1 ** 
 
 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 
 remembered 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 Vent- 
 nor. Ellen Chauncey was very 
 sorry to lose her new friend, and 
 begged she would come again 
 
304 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "as soon as she could." All the 
 family said the same. Mr. Marsh- 
 man 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 brin 
 to see t 
 
 her whenever she came 
 iem. 
 
 The drive back to Carra-carra 
 
 was scarcely less pleasant than 
 the drive out had been; and 
 home, Ellen said, looked lovely ; 
 that is, Alice s home, which 
 she began to think more her own 
 than any other. The pleasure of 
 the past ten days , though great 
 
 as Ellen entered , " 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 reely 
 she s 
 
 rowed handsome since 
 een away." 
 
 " Grown a fiddlestick!" said 
 which Miss Fortune. 
 
 "She. couldn t grow hand 
 
 somer than she was before," said 
 the old grandmother, hugging 
 
 T 1 *^ T 1 i . I 
 
 had not been unmixed; the week land kissing her little grand- 
 that followed was one of perfect daughter with great delight; 
 
 m-ii rfctTTV* n-n4- Tn TV/Tv TTnmr\liTmrc! ^ -f V* a ortrcm-f oc -f v\/-\o-i n i-r -f \\ r\ rv m A n -* 
 
 enjoyment. In Mr. Humphreys 
 household there was an at 
 mosphere of peace and 
 
 that even a child could feel , and 
 
 in which such a child as Ellen 
 
 throve exceedingly. The draw- for Miss Fortune 
 
 ing lessons went on with great haps increased 
 
 success; other lessons were | marked, that 
 
 begun; there were line, long " 
 
 the sweetest posie in the garden 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked as if he 
 entirely agreed with the old lady. 
 That, while it made some amends 
 for Miss Fortune s dryiiess, per- 
 
 walks, and charming sleigh- 
 rides, and more than one visit 
 to Mrs. Vawse ; and what Ellen, 
 perhaps, liked best of all, the 
 long evenings of conversation, 
 and reading aloud, and bright 
 fire-lights, and brighter sym 
 pathy, and intelligence , and af 
 fection. 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 de 
 parted. They were at supper. 
 
 "Well!" said Miss Fortune, 
 
 it. She re- 
 "she thanked 
 
 heaven she could always make 
 herself contented at home;" 
 which Ellen could not help think 
 ing 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 
 satisfaction. Ellen had begged 
 him not to speak of it to her 
 aunt ; and accordingly, one Sun 
 day, when he came there with 
 it on, both he and she were in a 
 state of exquisite delight. Miss 
 Fortune s attention was at last 
 aroused; she made a particular 
 review of him , and ended by de 
 claring, that "he looked un- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 305 
 
 commonly 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." 
 
 "I am not good at all," said 
 Ellen "we re none of us 
 good ; " and the tears rose to her ! 
 "but the Bible will 
 
 j 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. 
 A gathering cloud in the spring weather. 
 
 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 soften- 
 
 , ,, the best of the little inmate she 
 
 "You don t want me to make aj C0 uld not get rid of. She was 
 promise I shouldnt keep, I guess, j certainly resolved to make the 
 
 "No," said Ellen. 
 
 most of her. Ellen was kept on 
 the jump a great deal of the 
 
 so 
 
 "Well, I shouldn t keep that, time: she was runner of errands 
 I won t promise it; but I tell and maid of all work to set the 
 you what I will do , I 11 take j table and clear it was only a 
 The Wide, Wide World. 20 
 
306 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 trifle in the list of her everyday 
 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 diligent 
 ly ; urged on by a three or four 
 fold motive; for the love of 
 them and for her own sake , that 
 John might think she had done 
 well that she might presently 
 please and satisfy Alice 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 , in 
 dolence might have weakened, 
 or temptation surprised her re 
 solution; little Ellen was open to 
 both; but if ever she found her 
 self 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 dif 
 ficulties, beginning to see a little 
 through the mists of ignorance, 
 making some sensible progress 
 on the long road of learning. 
 Study grew delightful her 
 lessons with Alice one of her 
 greatest enjoyments. And as 
 
 they were a labour of 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 difficulties behind 
 them on the road which they 
 had not cleared away, no wonder 
 Ellen went forward steadily and 
 rapidly. Reading also became 
 a wonderful pleasure. Weem 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 
 jthose, Alice s wish was enough 
 she never opened them. Fur 
 thermore, Alice insisted that 
 when Ellen had once fairly 
 begun a book she should go 
 through with it not capricious 
 ly 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 dis 
 turbed. 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 307 
 
 she was to take them. They, or I wish to be doing something else ; 
 some of them , were bestowed in | but, after all, this was not amiss. 
 
 Alipp s Hpslc ! and wlipnpvpv Tipsiflpa flip rlispinlinp. of P.Via,- 
 
 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 dif 
 
 ference 
 home 
 
 or 
 
 whether Alice were 
 not she went 
 
 at 
 
 coaxed up the fire, and began 
 her work. It happened many a 
 time that Alice, coming home 
 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 
 
 Besides the discipline of cha 
 racter, these trials made theplea-^ 
 sant things with which they were 
 mixed up seem doubly pleasant 
 the disagreeable parts of het 
 life relished the agreeable won 
 derfully. After spending the 
 whole morning with Miss For 
 tune in the depths of house 
 work, how delightful it was to 
 forget all in drawing some nice 
 little cottage , with a bit of stone 
 wall, and a barrel in front! or to 
 go with Alice, in thought, to 
 
 very well how she should find ! the south of France , and learn 
 
 T5111 T 1 i jl 1 1 it Jl 
 
 Ellen, bending intently over her 
 desk. These runs to the moun 
 tain were very frequent: some 
 times to draw, sometimes to re 
 cite, always to see Alice and be 
 happy. Ellen grew rosy, and 
 hardy, and in spite of her se 
 
 paration from her mother, she 
 
 how the peasants manage their 
 vines, and make the wine from 
 them; or run over the Hock of 
 Gibraltar with the monkeys ; or, 
 at another time, seated on a 
 little bench in the chimney 
 when the fire blazed up 
 candles were 
 
 corner . 
 
 , well, before the 
 
 was very happy, too. Her ex- 1 lighted, to forget the kitchen, 
 treme and varied occupation I and the supper, and her bustling 
 made this possible. She had no! aunt, and sail round the world 
 time to indulge useless sorrow; with Captain Cook. Yes these 
 on the contrary, her thoughts | things were all the sweeter for 
 were taken up with agreeable being tasted by snatches, 
 matters, either doing or to be Spring brought new occupa- 
 done; and at night, she was far tion; household labours began 
 too tired and sleepy to lie awake \ to increase in number and mea- 
 musing. And besides she hoped! sure; her leisure times were 
 that her mother would come I shortened. But pleasures were 
 back in the spring, or the summer I increased too. When the snow 
 at furthest. It is true Ellen had i went off, and spring-like days 
 no liking for the kind of business i began to come , and birds notes 
 her aunt gave her it was often- were heard again, and the trees 
 times a trial of temper and put out their young leaves, and 
 patience. Miss Fortune was not the brown mountains were look- 
 the pleasantest work-mistress in J ing soft and green, Ellen s heart 
 the world, and Ellen was apt to | bounded at the sight. Thespring- 
 
 20* 
 
308 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD* 
 
 ing 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 
 
 and all in the world that was 
 disagreeable was forgotten 
 forgotten , no more to be remem 
 bered till the walk should come 
 to an end. And it would have 
 surprised anybody to hear the 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt when business led long conversations she and Mr. 
 
 him to the woods, sometimes 
 riding part of the way on the ox- 
 sled. Always a basket for flowers 
 went with her; and when the 
 sled stopped, she would wander 
 all around seeking among the 
 piled -up dead leaves for the 
 white wind-flower, and pretty 
 little hang -head uvularia, and 
 
 Van Brunt kept up he, 
 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 sc- 
 
 delicate blood-root, and the wild I parate kind by the bark and leaf 
 geranium and columbine ; and j and manner of growth. The pine 
 many others, the names of which and hemlock and fir were easily 
 
 she did not know. They were 
 like friends to Ellen ; she gather 
 ed them affectionately as well as 
 admiringly into her little basket, 
 and seemed to purify herself in 
 their pure companionship. Even 
 Mr. Van Brunt began to have an 
 indistinct notion that Ellen and 
 
 flowers 
 gether. 
 
 were made to be to- 
 After he found what a 
 
 pleasure it was to her to go on 
 these expeditions, he made it a 
 point, whenever he was bound 
 to the woods on a fine day, to 
 come to the house for her. Miss 
 Fortune might object as she 
 pleased; he always found an 
 answer; and at last Ellen, to her 
 
 learnt; the white birch, too 
 beyond those, at first, she was 
 perpetually confounding one 
 with another. Mr. Van Brunt had 
 
 to 
 
 go 
 
 structions 
 
 over and over his 
 never weary, 
 
 ways vastly amused. 
 
 n 
 al 
 
 Pleasant 
 
 lessons 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 -i 
 
 great joy, would be told, "Well!! a broken tumbler with a supply 
 
 "" of flowers. The supply was very 
 varied, it is true ; sometimes only 
 a handful of dandelions , some 
 times a huge bunch of lilac 
 flowers, which could not be per 
 suaded to stay in the glass with- 
 
 go get your bonnet and be off 
 with yourself." Once under the 
 shadow of the big trees, the 
 dried leaves crackling beneath 
 her feet, and alone with her kind 
 conductor and Miss Fortune 
 
_ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 309 
 
 out the help of the wall, against a piece of that cheese along with 
 which itleaned in very undignified her;" or, "she wondered if the 
 
 style; sometimes the bouquet 
 was of really delicate and beauti 
 ful wild-flowers. All were charm 
 ing in Ellen s eyes. 
 
 As the days grew long and the 
 weather warm, Alice and she be 
 gan 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 moun 
 tain. 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. Af 
 ter 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 fami 
 liar to them, she loved to tell 
 and they to hear long stories of 
 her youth and native country 
 scenes and people so very dif 
 ferent 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 colouring of 
 Christian thought and feeling. 
 Many things made these visits 
 good and pleasant. It was 
 the least of Alice s -* T7V 
 
 old lady would like a little fresh 
 meat; she guessed she d cut 
 her a bit of that nice lamb ; she 
 wouldn t want but a little piece." 
 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 
 another. 
 
 to add to those of 
 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 neighbourhood. She some 
 times went with her aunt to a 
 formal tea-drinking, one, two, 
 three, or four miles off, as the 
 
 case might be. 
 very pleasant. 
 
 They were not 
 To some places 
 
 not 
 
 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 se 
 cond time liked even home and 
 Miss Fortune better. There were 
 
 a few exceptions; Jenny Hitch- 
 and Ellen s j cock was one of her favourites, 
 joy to carry their old friend and Jane Huff was another; and 
 
 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 
 
 all of their respective families 
 came in , with good reason , for a 
 share of her regard Mr. Juniper, 
 indeed, excepted. Once they went 
 
310 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to a quilting at Squire Demii- 
 son 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 preten 
 sion, as she thought it, the re 
 freshments could bear no com 
 parison with hers. Once they 
 were invited to tea at the Law- 
 sons ; but Ellen told Alice, with 
 much apparent disgust, that she 
 never wantedto go again. Mrs.Van 
 Urunt she saw often. To Thirl- 
 wall, 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 So 
 phia 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 plea 
 sure 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 to garden; helping Thomas 
 to 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 to 
 churn, and the helping each 
 other to set tables; the pleasant 
 mornings, and pleasant evenings, 
 and pleasant mid- days it can 
 
 not be told. Long to be remem 
 bered, sweet and pure, was the 
 pleasure of those summer days 
 unclouded by a shade of dis 
 content or disagreement on either 
 brow. Ellen loved the whole 
 Marshman 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, entreat 
 ing 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 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 Mont 
 gomery would come alone. El 
 len s heart sickened with long- 
 deferred h^pe. She wondered 
 what coula make her mother 
 neglect a matter so necessary 
 for her happiness; sometimes 
 she fancied they were travelling 
 about, and it might be incon 
 venient to write ; sometimes she 
 thought, perhaps they were co 
 ming home without letting her 
 know, and would suddenly sur 
 prise her some day, and make 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 311 
 
 her half lose her wits with joy. 
 But they did not coine,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 cheer 
 ful, and filled with encouraging 
 matter, and in part they were so 
 
 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 For 
 tune 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 think 
 ing about it. Miss Fortune had 
 several reasons. She was un 
 willing to displease Miss Hum 
 phreys, 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 settin 
 
 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 Ja 
 nuary. It would have been in 
 creased, 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 north 
 wester, soft summer airs were 
 
 blowing, 
 difference 
 
 Ellen saw no other 
 except that, per 
 
 haps, if it could be, there was 
 something more of tenderness in 
 the manner of Alice and her bro 
 ther 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, 
 
 O11W 0CU.U QiAV^ S^^U LiXV^VA \J OVyUKJLJLJ.^ i -LAiClVAJ. JJ C* A. U AAA U JJL O V; \y AA I V A WC*J VAW AA j 
 
 her to work; she liked to dash and seldomer was with them in 
 round the house alone, withoutlanyof their pursuits or pleasures, 
 thinking what somebody else was j He generally kept by himself in 
 doing or ought to be doing. In j his study. But whenever he did 
 short, -she liked to have her out speak to Ellen, his tone was parti- 
 of the way for a while. Further- 1 cularly gentle , and his look kind, 
 more, it did not please her that j He sometimes called her "My 
 Mr. Van Brunt and her little ! little daughter," which always 
 handmaid were , as she expressed ! gave Ellen great pleasure ; she 
 it, "so thick." His first thought, ! would jump at such times with 
 and his last thought, she said, she double zeal, to do anything he 
 believed, were for Ellen, whether j asked her. 
 he came in or went out; and Miss I Now drawing went on with 
 
312 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 new vigour under the eye of her 
 master. And many things beside. 
 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 thema 
 great basket of provisions, for 
 Mrs. Vawse could not be expected 
 to entertain so large a party 5 and 
 borrowed Jenny Hichcock spony, 
 which, with old John and Sharp, 
 mounted three of the company; 
 they took turns in walking. No 
 body minded that. The fine 
 weather, the beautiful mountain- 
 top, the general pleasure, Mr. 
 Humphreys uncommon spirits 
 and talkableness, the oddity of 
 their way of travelling, and of a 
 tea-party up on the "Cat s Back," 
 and, furthermore, the fact that 
 Nancy stayed at home and be 
 haved 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 on 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, bor 
 rowing 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 ?/OM, 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 thou 
 sand pleasures that filled up 
 every moment of his stay; she 
 could not be sad then, or only for 
 a minute ; hope threw off the sor 
 row 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 G-od 
 would make her mother well and 
 bring her home to her quickly 
 oh! quickly! and little El 
 len s face began to wear once 
 more something of its old look. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 313 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 The cloud overhead. 
 
 ONE day in the early part of 
 September, she was standing in 1 
 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, half-enjoying the weather ! 
 and the scene , half-indulging the 
 melancholy mood which drove 
 her from the presence of her 
 bustling aunt. The gurgling 
 sound of the brook afew steps off 
 was a great deal more soothing 
 to her ear than Miss Fortune s 
 sharp tones. By-and-by a horse 
 man 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 some 
 thing queer in his hand what 
 was it? who is it? the old 
 newsman! Ellen was sure. Yes 
 she could now see the saddle 
 bags, and the white horsetail 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 the 
 saddle-bags and the white horse 
 jogged on together as if they be 
 longed to nothing else in the 
 world but each other. In an 
 ecstasy of fear and hope, Ellen 
 
 watched the paee 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 For 
 tune s niece I live here." 
 
 " Stop a bit," said the old man, 
 taking up his saddle-bags; "Miss 
 Fortune s niece, eh? Well, I be 
 lieve as I ve got somethin for her 
 somethin here. Aunt well, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 "That s more than you be, 
 ain t it?" said he, glancing side 
 ways at Ellen s face. "How do 
 you know but I Ve got a letter for 
 you here, eh?" 
 
 The colour rushed to that face, 
 and she clasped her hands. 
 
 "No, dear, no," said he; "I 
 han t got any for you it s for 
 the old lady; there, run in 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 postage. 
 
 When she came in again, her 
 aunt was still reading the letter. 
 But her look, Ellen felt, was un 
 promising. She did not venture 
 to speak expectation was chill 
 ed. She stood till Miss Fortune 
 began to fold up the paper. 
 
314 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Is there nothing for me ?" she thought no more was to be got 
 said then , timidly. out of her. 
 
 "No." Her father 
 
 "Oh! why don t she write to 
 me?" cried Ellen, bursting into 
 tears. 
 
 She felt miserable, 
 and her aunt both 
 
 seemed to act strangely; and 
 where to find comfort she scarcely 
 knew. She had one day been tell- 
 
 Miss Fortune stalked about the ling her doubts and sorrows to 
 
 without anyparticular pur 
 pose as far as could be seen. 
 
 " It is very strange," said Ellen, 
 sorrowfully; "I am afraid she is 
 worse. Does papa say she 
 worse?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh! if she had only sent me 
 
 John. He did not try to raise her 
 hopes, but said 
 
 "Troubles will come in this 
 world, Ellie; the best is to trust 
 is | 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 
 
 a message! I should think she good Shepherd means nothing 
 might oh! I wish she had! |but kindness to any lamb in his 
 three words! does papa say why! flock you maybe sure of that, 
 !, j u :^o> Ellie " 
 
 Ellen remembered his words, 
 
 she don t write? 
 
 "No." 
 
 "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 bet 
 ter?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 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 
 all that, "Let not your heart 
 be troubled; ye believe in God, 
 
 "But whatdoeshemean?" saidj believealsoinmet i nmy Father s 
 Ellen, uneasily; "I dont seej nousearemanymans i ons> " There 
 what he means; he doesn t say is no part mg there, thought little 
 rse , and he doesn t say Ellen> She cried a long time, but 
 
 she is worse p 
 
 she is better; what does he say? 
 
 " He don t say much about any 
 thing." 
 
 "Does he say when they are 
 coming home ?" 
 
 Miss Fortune mumbled some 
 thing about " spring," and whisk 
 ed off to the buttery; Ellen 
 
 she was comforted, nevertheless. 
 The heart that rests on the bless 
 ed 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 ra 
 ther queer not quite as usual 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 315 
 
 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 no 
 body else. Weather and other 
 circumstances prevented her go 
 ing 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 to 
 gether; 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. Lown- 
 des 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 11 pay her in 
 something she likes best." 
 
 "Does Mrs.Lowndes keep bee 
 hives?" said Ellen, doubtfully. 
 
 "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. How 
 ever, she wisely asked no more 
 questions, and .set out upon her 
 walk. It was hot and disagree 
 able ; 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 andher daugh 
 ter, when Ellen came in and briefly 
 gave her aunt s message. 
 
 "Bees -wax," said Mrs. Lown 
 des " 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 krow Miss Fortune s 
 tallow was ever anything but the 
 hardest," said Sarah Lowndes. 
 
 "You had better not let your 
 aunt know you ve told on her, 
 Ellen," remarked Mary Lawson; 
 " she won t thank you." 
 
 "Had she a good lot of taller 
 to make up?" inquired the mo 
 ther, 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." 
 
 "You may as well send a good 
 
316 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 speakers be 
 came 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 For 
 tune 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 motionless 
 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 
 ajazing 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?" saidMrs. 
 Lowndes , with a startled look at 
 the others. 
 
 "About a ribbon?" saidEl- 
 len, struggling to get the words 
 out of white lips. 
 
 " My goodness ! " said the other 
 - "did you ever hear anything 
 
 like that? I didn t say nothing 
 about a ribbon, dear." 
 
 "Do you suppose her aunt han 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 
 MaryLawson; " 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 ! " ex 
 claimed 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," saidMrs. 
 Lowndes; "if she s gone the 
 way to the Nose , she s got as far 
 as them big poplars already, or 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 317 
 
 she d be somewhere this side 
 of em , where we could see her." 
 
 "You hadn t ought to ha let 
 her go , Ma am , in all this sun," 
 said Miss Lowndes. 
 
 " I declare," said Mrs. Lowndes, 
 " she scared me so, I hadn t three 
 
 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 
 
 ideas left in my head. I wish I ! like a person stunned with a great 
 
 knew where she was, though, poor 
 little soul!" 
 
 Ellen was far on her way to the 
 mountain, pressed forward by a 
 
 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 
 
 fear that knew no stay of heat or i come ; the violent strain of every 
 fatigue: they were little to her! nerve and feeling seemed to have 
 that day. She saw nothing on her left her benumbed. She would 
 way; all within and without was sleep long, heavy sleeps the 
 swallowed up in that one feeling; greater part of the time, and 
 yet she dared not think what it j seemed to have no power to do 
 was she feared. She put that by. anything else. 
 Alice knew : Alice would tell her ; Her adopted sister watched her 
 on that goal her heart fixed, to | constantly, and for those days 
 that she pressed on ; but oh ! the \ lived but to watch her. She had 
 while , what a cloud was gather- heard all Ellen s story from Mary 
 ing over her spirit, and growing Lawson and Mr. Van Brunt, who 
 darker and darker! Her hurry | had both been to the parsonage 
 of mind and hurry of body made! one on Mrs. Lowndes part, 
 each other worse; it must be soothe other on his own to ask 
 and when she at last ran round about her; and she dreaded that 
 the corner of the house and burst a violent fit of illness might be 
 in at the glass door, she was in a brought on by all Ellen had un- 
 frightful state. jdergone. She was mistaken, 
 
 Alice started up and faced her however. Ellen was not ill; but 
 as she came in, but with a look her whole mind and body bowed 
 that stopped Ellen short. She under the weight of the blow that 
 stood still: the colour in her; had come upon her. As the first 
 cheeks, as her eyes read Alice s, stupor wore off, there were, in- 
 faded quite away; words, and the deed, more lively signs of grief; 
 power to speak them, were gone she would weep till she wept her 
 together. Alas! the need to utter eyes out, and that often, but it 
 them was gone too. Alice burst was very quietly; no passionate 
 into tears, and held out her arms, sobbing, no noisy crying; sorrow 
 saying only, "My poor child! " : had taken too strong hold to be 
 Ellen reached her arms , and struggled with, and Ellen meekly 
 strength and spirit seemed to fail , bowed her head to it. Alice saw 
 
318 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 maybe that 
 
 ed and shaken as it had been, 
 began to take rest again in that 
 happy resting-place with stronger 
 affection, and even with erreater 
 
 , I t n T-r "j i-m 
 
 Ellen would have been better \ joy, than ever before. Yet for all 
 there. The busy industry to I that, this joy often kept company 
 
 11 with bitter weeping; the stirring 
 
 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 
 
 JLUJJ. WL\j\j\jjL. V V>^ |_f AIJ.^ ^ LIJLt/ OL1J.JLXAJ. 
 
 of anything like pleasure rouse 
 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 
 
 be gone. Books had lost their j thin. She never spoke of her mo- 
 
 "ther, after once hearing when 
 
 charm. Walks and drives and 
 staying at home were all one 
 except, indeed, that she rather 
 liked best the latter. Appetite 
 
 and where she had died; she 
 never hinted at her loss , except 
 exclaiming in an agony, "I shall 
 
 failed; her cheek grew colour- (get no more letters !" and Alice 
 less ; and Alice began to fear that j darertli ot touch upon what the 
 if a stop were not soon put to this child seemed to avoid so care- 
 gradual sinking, it would at last fully : though Ellen sometimes 
 end with her fife. But all her j wept on her bosom ,_ and often sat 
 efforts were without fruit; and | for hours still and silent, with her 
 the winter was a sorrowful one head in her lap. 
 not to Ellen alone. The time drew nigh when John 
 
 As it wore on, there came to be : was expected home for the holi- 
 one thing in which Ellen again j days. In the meanwhile they had 
 took pleasure, and that was her j many visits from other friends. 
 Bible. She used to get alone or j Mr. Van Brunt had come several 
 into a corner with it, and turn the times, enough to set the whole 
 leaves over and over; looking! neighbourhood a- wondering, if 
 out its gentle promises, and sweet ; they had only known it ; his good 
 comforting words to the weak I old mother oftener still; Mrs. 
 and the sorrowing. She loved to I Vawse as often as possible ; Miss 
 read about Christ all he said! Fortune once; and that because, 
 and did; all his kindness to his las she said to herself, " Every - 
 people, and tender care of them; I body would be talking about 
 the love shown them here and what was none of their business 
 the j oys prepared for them here- j if she didn t." As neither she nor 
 after. She began to cling 1 more [Ellen knew in the least what to 
 to that one unchangeable Friend I say to each other, the visit was 
 from whose love neither life nor rather a dull one , spite of all 
 death can sever those that be- Alice could do. Jenny Hitchcock, 
 lieve in him ; and her heart , toss- 1 and the Huffs, and the Dennisons 
 
J 
 
 and others , came now and then; 
 but Ellen did not like to see any 
 of them all but Mrs. Vawse. 
 Alice longed for her brother. 
 
 He came at last, just before 
 New Year. It was the middle of 
 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 thoughtfully walk 
 ing 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 
 feelings before other people; so 
 she had been trying to steel her 
 self to meet John without 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; "I thought 
 everybody was gone. My dear 
 Ellie!" 
 
 Ellen could hardly stand the 
 tone of these three words, and 
 she bore with the greatest diffi 
 culty 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. 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 319 
 
 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 remem 
 bered 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. 
 
 "Do you love him less since he 
 ,has brought you into this great 
 i sorrow?" 
 
 "No," sobbed Ellen, "morel" 
 
 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. 
 
320 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 beginning, 
 had been a 
 
 spoken before her in a great great relief. The silence between 
 while, and she could hardly bear I her and Alice on the thing always 
 to hear it now. Her Avhole frame in her mind a silence neither 
 
 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 ex 
 cessive. 
 
 " 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 together, 
 and have done with tears for 
 ever. 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, 
 don t cry so, Ellie" 
 
 And 
 
 He kissed her once or twice, 
 
 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 before 
 Alice came home. 
 
 " You have done her good al 
 ready," 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 care 
 fully looking to the girth, and 
 shortening the stirrup. 
 
 "Whv, 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 
 
 and begged her to calm herself . | ready. Bundle up well, for it is 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 321 
 
 rather frosty. Alice, has she a ! creature. Appetite came back; 
 pair of gloves that are warm j the colour sprang again to her 
 enough? Lend her yours, and 1 cheek; hope meek and sober 
 I 11 see if I can find some at ; as it was re-lighted her eye. In 
 Thirlwall." j her eagerness to please and sa- 
 
 r- Ellen thought she would rather \ tisfy her teacher, her whole soul 
 not go; to anybody else sheiAvas given to the performance 
 would have said so. Half a mi- 1 of whatever he wished her to do. 
 nute she stood still then went I The effect was all that he looked 
 to put on her things. for. 
 
 "Alice, you will be ready by The second evening after he 
 the time we get back? in half came, John called Ellen to his 
 an hour." side, saying he had something he 
 
 Ellen had an excellent lesson, [wanted to read to her. It was 
 and her master took care it before candles were brought, but 
 should not be an easy one. She the room was full of light from 
 came back, looking as she had I the blazing wood fire. Ellen 
 riot done all winter. Alice was ; glanced at his book as she came 
 not quite ready; while waiting to the sofa; it was a largish 
 for her, John went to the book- volume, in a black leather cover, 
 case and took down the first a good deal worn; it did not look 
 volume of Kollin s Ancient Hi- 1 at all interesting, 
 story; and giving it to Ellen, he " 1 * rt: " L " - J - " 
 he said he would talk with her to- 
 
 What is it?" she asked. 
 
 ; It is called," said John, "The 
 
 morrow about the first twenty Pilgrim s Progress from tins World 
 pages. The consequence was, to a better." 
 
 the hour and a half of their ab- 
 
 Ellen thought it did not sound 
 
 sence, instead of being moped at all interesting. She had never 
 away, was spent in hard study. A j been more mistaken in her life, 
 pair of gloves was bought at [and that she found almost as 
 Thirlwall; Jenny Hitchcock s j soon she began. Her attention 
 pony was sent for; and, after j was nailed ; the listless, careless , 
 that, every day, when the weather mood in which she sat down was v 
 would at all do , they took a long i changed for one of rapt delight; 
 ride. By degrees, reading, and j she devoured every word that 
 drawing, and all her studies, fell from the reader s lips; in- 
 were added to the history, till deed they were given their fullest 
 Ellen s time was well filled with effect by a very fine voice and 
 business again. Alice had en- singularly fine reading. When- 
 deavoured to bring this about; ever anything might not be quite 
 before, but fruitlessly. What! clear to Ellen, John stopped to 
 she asked of her, Ellen indeed make it so; and with his help, 
 tried to do; what John told her, | and without it, many a lesson 
 was done. She grew a different went home, Next day she looked 
 The Wide, Wide World. 21 
 
322 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 a long time for the book ; it could 
 not be found; she was forced to 
 wait until evening. Then, to her 
 
 "Do all Christians have it?" 
 "Certainly. None can be a 
 
 ! Christian without it." 
 
 great joy, it was brought out! "But how can one tell whether 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 would leave her work and come; many signs and descriptions, by 
 to the sofa, too; and with her j which Christians may know them- 
 head on her brother s shoulder, selves know both what they 
 
 her hand in his , and Ellen s face 
 leaning against his other arm, 
 that was the common way they 
 
 E laced themselves to read and 
 ear. No words can tell Ellen s 
 enjoyment of those readings. 
 They made her sometimes laugh 
 and sometimes 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 fore 
 head?" 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." 
 
 are and what they ought to be. 
 If you find your own feelings 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 believe, Christ is pre 
 cious, there is one. If ye love 
 me, keep my commandments ; 
 He that saith he abideth in him, 
 ought himself also so to walk even 
 as lie walked; Oh how love I 
 thy law! 1 _ 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 with 
 out it! I didn t love Jesus at all, 
 but I m sure I do now. I don t 
 
THE WIDE, WID\ WORLD. 
 
 323 
 
 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 
 was written; she remembered 
 how, when it was done, her mo 
 ther s head had sunk upon the 
 open page she seemed to see 
 again the thin fingers tightly 
 clasped she had not under 
 stood it then she did now. 
 "She was praying for me," 
 thought Ellen " she was pray 
 ing 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 
 communion between her mother 
 and her that was wanting before. 
 The promise, written and be 
 
 lieved in by the one, realized and 
 rejoiced in by the other, was a 
 dear something in common, 
 though one had m 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. 
 
 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 mending 
 
 at least she did not go bacK 
 any, They were keeping up 
 
 91* 
 
324 
 
 THE WID/, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 come and see you soon. Remem 
 ber what John said when he went 
 
 their rides, also their studies, 
 most diligently; Ellen was un 
 tiring in her efforts to do what 
 ever he had wished her, and was j Ellen did not trust herself to 
 springing forward, Alice said, in speak. She pulled herself away 
 her improvement. 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 spring had come ; and j the house together. 
 Alice and Ellen were looking! Ellen made a manful effort , all 
 forward to pleasanter rides and the way down the hill, to stifle 
 walks , after the sun should have j the tears that were choking her. 
 got a little warmth, and the snow | She knew they would greatly 
 should be gone; when one morn- disturb her companion, and she 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " This working-day world." 
 
 ing, in the early part of March, 
 Mr. Van Brunt made his appea 
 rance. Miss Fortune was not well, 
 and had sent him to beg that 
 Ellen would come back to her. 
 
 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 
 
 He was sorry, he said; he knew answer a question. It was no 
 Ellen was in the best place; but! fault of Mr. Van Brunt s that he 
 her aunt wanted her, and "he was so silent he was beating 
 s posed she d have to go." He his brains the whole way to think 
 did not know what was the matter of something it would do to say, 
 with Miss Fortune; it was a little] and could not suit himself. His 
 
 of one thing and a little ofj 
 another; "he s posed she d over 
 did, 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 , without 
 
 speaking. 
 "Good-bye, 
 
 I . T A 1 
 
 dear Ellie, 
 
 \jiwvvi M y c * vic/ciJL j^Jij-j-v/^ 
 
 whispered Alice at last "1 11 
 
 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 
 
5 
 
 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, 
 without 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 thank 
 ful it is you ; I was afraid it might 
 be Mirny Lawson, or Sarah Lown- 
 des, or some of the rest of the set ; 
 I know they 11 all come scamper 
 ing here as soon as they hear I m 
 
 -, i^-, i 
 
 laid up. 
 
 "Are you very sick, Aunt For 
 tune?" 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 For 
 tune had overtasked her strength, 
 and by dint of economy, house 
 wifery, and smartness, 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, 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 325 
 
 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 agoing 
 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 
 under it. There ain t one of em 
 too good for it, and they shan t 
 have a chance. They ll be streak 
 ing here, a dozen of em, to help 
 take care of the house ; butl don t 
 care what becomes of the house ; 
 I won t have anybody in it. Pro 
 mise 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 downstairs you might 
 begin to iron em; they re only 
 rough dry. But don t come asking 
 me about anything; 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 
 
326 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 go to fussing with anything else 
 there." 
 
 Ellen thought the prospect 
 before her rather doleful when 
 she reached the kitchen. It was 
 in order, to be sure, and clean; 
 but it looked as if the mistress 
 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 
 fireplace, 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 room seemed more 
 comfortable as soon as his big 
 figure was in it. Pie 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 two or three, she 
 became 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 came 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. Mean- 
 : while came in kind Mr. Van Brunt 
 with an armful or two of small, 
 i 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 
 i come to the door and holler." 
 
 Ellen began to thank him. 
 
 "Just don t say any thing 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 
 jwas better where youAvas; but I 
 can t help that. Now, who am I 
 going to get to stay with you? 
 Who would you like to have ? " 
 
 "Nobody, if you please, Mr. 
 Van Brunt," said Ellen; "Aunt 
 i 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 wor 
 ry Aunt Fortune very much to 
 have anybody; don t say any 
 thing about it." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 327 
 
 " Worry her ! " said he ; and he 
 muttered something Ellen did not 
 cjuite understand, about "bring 
 ing the old woman to reason." 
 
 However, he went off for the 
 present; and Ellen filled up her 
 teapot 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 de 
 light at seeing her fondled her, 
 kissed her, cried over her, and 
 finally insisted on getting up di 
 rectly and going downstairs. El 
 len received and returned her ca 
 resses with great tenderness, 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 
 dishwater. 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. 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 be 
 gan to iron ; doing double duty at 
 the same time, for Mrs. Mont 
 gomery 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; lean- 
 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! Iguess 
 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 , Til 
 doitforyou," said Nancy, rolling 
 up her sleeves, and pushingEllen 
 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?" 
 
 "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 
 thing; I 11 stay myself." 
 
 "No, you can t, Nancy," said 
 Ellen, quietly. 
 
 "I guessl will, if I veamind to. 
 I should like to know how you d 
 help it: Miss Fortune s a-bed." 
 
 "I could help it ? though," said 
 
328 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 ! andl ll 
 help you finely, and I won t bo 
 ther 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 up stairs. 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 11 try to, Ma am, as well as I 
 can." 
 
 "I d as lief have her as any 
 body," 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 rampan- 
 ging 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 
 to share what she felt would be a 
 very great burden. "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. dear, to lie here! but 
 tell her , if she don t do just what 
 
 SDU tell her, I ll have Mr. Van 
 runt turn her out by the ears. 
 And don t let her come near me, 
 for she drives me mad. And, El 
 len, put the keys in your pocket. 
 Have you a pocketinthatdress?" 
 
 "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 somewhat of a charge, 
 she was strong, and willing, and 
 ready, and, if she liked anybody, 
 liked Ellen. Mr. Van Brunt pri 
 vately 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 11 let the men go 
 off to Mrs. Van Brunt s to meals ; 
 we 11 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." 
 
 " Well I aint as fond of him 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 329 
 
 as all that," said Nancy, "but 
 if 11 have to be as you like, I sup 
 pose. We 11 feed him somehow." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask 
 if they had anything in the 
 house for supper. Ellen told him 
 "plenty," and would have him 
 come in just as usual. There 
 was nothing to 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 every 
 thing 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 sud 
 denly 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 de 
 light 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 innocenl 
 heads, but it was impossible ; anc 
 
 recollecting the business on her 
 lands, she too danced away. 
 
 "Whew!" said Nancy, when 
 lien told her of the new inmates 
 of the barnyard; "there 11 be 
 work to do ! Get your milk-pans 
 ready, Ellen; in a couple of 
 weeks we 11 be making butter." 
 
 "Aunt Fortune will be well by 
 that time, I hope," said Ellen. 
 
 "She won t, then, so you may 
 ust make up your mind to it. 
 Dr. Gibson was to see her yester 
 day 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 encumbered with 
 other ailments, she lay from 
 week to week, bearing her con 
 finement very ill , 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 i 
 work, and now her whole time 
 was filled up with it. Studies 
 could not be thought of. Read 
 ing 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 
 down stairs for her aunt, or stand 
 and bathe her face and hands 
 with vinegar, or read the paper 
 
330 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to her, when Miss Fortune de 
 clared 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 per 
 haps at the very moment when 
 Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her 
 best. Miss Fortune never could 
 be put off; her old mother some 
 times could, with a kiss and a 
 promise but not always ; and 
 then, rather than she should 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 
 could not help her at all in these 
 matters, for neither Miss Fortune 
 nor the old lady would let her 
 come near them. Besides 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 weep 
 ing would come. But Ellen re 
 membered 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 toge 
 ther 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 to her one parti 
 cular morning, became great fa 
 vourites: 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. 
 
 "What do you keep reading 
 that for, the whole time?" said 
 Nancy, one day. 
 
 "Because I like to," said Ellen. 
 
 "Well, if you do, you re the 
 first one I ever 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, / know. 
 They think they must read a 
 little , and so they do , and they 
 are too glad if something hap 
 pens 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD, 331 
 
 for? Come, let s hear: maybe but it makes me happy to read 
 you 11 convert me." such verses as these. I wish 
 
 "I love it for a great many you knew, Nancy, how happy it 
 reasons," said Ellen, who had! makes me." 
 
 some difficulty in speaking of! This profession of faith was 
 what she felt Nancy could not not spoken without starting tears, 
 understand. Nancy made no reply. 
 
 " Well I ain t any wiser yet." As Miss Fortune had foretold, 
 
 "I like to read it because I plenty of people came to the 
 want to go to heaven, and it tells house with proffers of service, 
 me how." j Nancy s being there made it easy 
 
 "But what s the use?" said for Ellen to get rid of them all. 
 Nancy "you ain t going to Many were the marvels that 
 die yet you are too young Miss Fortune should trust her 
 you Ve time enough." I house to "two girls like that," 
 
 "Oh, Nancy! little John and many the guesses that she 
 Dolan, and Eleanor Parsons, and would rue it when she got up 
 Mary Huff all younger than again. People were wrong, 
 you and I; how can you say so?" | Things went on very steadily, 
 
 "Well," said Nancy "at any land in an orderly manner; and 
 rate, that ain t reading it because | Nancy kept the peace as she 
 you love it it s because you! would have done in few houses, 
 must, like other folks." Bold and insolent as she some- 
 
 " That s only one of my rea- times was to others, she regarded 
 sons," said Ellen, hesitating, and j Ellen with a mixed notion of re- 
 speaking gravely; "I like tojspect and protection, which led 
 read about the Saviour, and what her at once to shun doing any- 
 he has done for me, and what a thing that would grieve her, and 
 friend he will be to me , and how \ to thrust her aside from every 
 he forgives me. I had rather heavy or difficult job, taking the 
 have the Bible Nancy, than all .brunt herself. IS an cy might well 
 the other books in the world." j do this , for she was at least 
 
 "That ain t saying much,"! twice as strong as Ellen; but she 
 said Nancy "but how come you would not have done it for every- 
 to be so sure you are forgiven? " j body. 
 
 "Because the Bible says, HeJ There were visits of kindness 
 that believeth on him shall not be as well as visits of officiousness. 
 ashamed, and I believe in him Alice and Mrs. Van Brunt and 
 and that he will not cast out any Margery, one or the other every 
 one that comes to him, and I day. Margery would come in and 
 have come to him and that he mix up a batch of bread ; Alice 
 loves those that love him, and I! would bring a bowl of butter or a 
 love him. If it did not speak so : basket of cake; and Mrs. Van. 
 very plainly, I should be afraid, , Brunt sent whole dinners. Mr. 
 
332 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 remembrance 
 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 
 let 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 
 caine in. 
 
 "Good morning!" said he. 
 "How d ye do to-day?" 
 
 Very well, Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 "I wish you d look a little 
 redder in the face. Don t you 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 anything cooked in 
 the house ; we have eaten every 
 thing up." 
 
 "Cleaned out, eh? Bread and 
 all?" 
 
 "Oh, no, not bread; there s 
 plenty of that, but there s no 
 thing else." - 
 
 "Well, nevermind ; you bring 
 me a ham and a dozen of eggs, 
 and I 11 make you a first-rate 
 breakfast." 
 
 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 1 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: 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 333 
 
 his slices of ham were very artist- ! again to get the salt and pepper 
 like, and frying away in the most and vinegar; but she always 
 unexceptionable manner. Ellen jumped willingly for Mr. Van 
 watched him, and laughed at Brunt. The meals were plea- 
 him, till the ham was taken out santer during those weeks than 
 and all the eggs broke in; then, in all the time Ellen had been in 
 after seeing that the coffee was , Thirlwall before ; or she thought 
 right, she went upstairs to dress j so. That sharp eye at the head 
 her grandmother always the of the table was pleasantly 
 last thing before breakfast. missed. They with one accord 
 
 "Who s frying ham and eggs 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 her how to 
 make it), and she praised his ham 
 
 downstairs?" inquired Miss For 
 tune. 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt ," said Ellen. 
 
 This answer was unexpected. 
 Miss Fortune tossed her head 
 
 over in a dissatisfied kind of way, I and eggs. Old Mrs. Montgomery 
 and told Ellen to tell him to be praised everything, and seemed 
 careful." to be in particular comfort; 
 
 "Of what?" thought Ellen; talked as much as she had a 
 and wisely concluded with her- mind, and was respectfully at- 
 self not to deliver the message,! tended to. Nancy was in high 
 very certain she should laugh if feather; and the clatter of knives 
 she did; and she had running in and forks and tea-cups went on 
 her head an indistinct notion j very pleasantly. But at last, 
 of the command, "Honour thy chairs were pushed from the 
 
 father and thy mother." 
 
 Breakfast was ready, but no 
 
 table , and work began again. 
 Nancy went back to her tubs. 
 
 one there when she got down-! Ellen supplied her grandmother 
 stairs. She placed her grand- with her knitting , and filled her 
 mother at table, and called! snuff-box; cleared the table, and 
 Nancy, who all this time had | put up the dishes ready for 
 been getting the clothes out of [washing. Then she went into the 
 the rinsing water and hanging j buttery to skim the cream. This 
 them out on the line to dry; said j was a part of the work she liked, 
 clothes having been washed the It was heavy lifting the pans of 
 day before by Miss Sarah j milk to the skimming shelf before 
 Lowndes, who came there for j the window; but as Ellen drew 
 the purpose. Ellen poured out her spoon round the edge of the 
 
 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 it was it looked half butter 
 
 spout. Ellen had to jump up already. She knew how to take 
 
 cream, she liked to see it wrinkle 
 up in thick, yellow, leathery 
 folds, showing how deep and rich 
 
334 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 
 
 treat hogshead at the lower 
 itchen door. 
 
 This done, Ellen went up stairs 
 to her aunt. Dr. 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 comfort 
 ably placed again, Ellen had to 
 go 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 pro 
 vince of housekeeping that was 
 left her; and a fluttering tape, 
 escaping through the crackof the 
 door, would have put her Avhole 
 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 up 
 
 stairs , and wait till it was eaten. 
 And very particularly it must be 
 prepared, and very faultlessly it 
 must be served, or, with an impa 
 tient expression of disgust, Miss 
 Fortune would send it down 
 again. On the whole , Ellen al 
 ways thought herself happy when 
 this part of her day was well over. 
 
 When she got down this morn 
 ing 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 ll tell you what, Ellen we ll 
 just boil pot for to-day; some 
 body else will send us something 
 by to-morrow, most likely." 
 
 "I don t know what you mean 
 by * boil pot, " said Ellen. 
 
 U 0h, you don t know every 
 thing yet, by half. / know l 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 
 [ can do in the way of cookery . 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 335 
 
 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 5 I 
 don t know anything about beef." 
 
 While Nancy went round the 
 cellar, gathering in her apron the 
 various roots she wanted, Ellen 
 uncovered 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 11 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 the cover, and 
 began to 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 
 stairs, and beheld Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 "Here you are!" said he. 
 "Churning! Been long at it?" 
 
 "A good while," said Ellen, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "Coming?" 
 
 "I don t know when." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt stepped to the 
 door, and shouted for 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 
 up stairs 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 di 
 rectly. Hurra! who comes there?" 
 
 She jumped to the door. It was 
 Thomas, bringing Margery s re 
 spects, and a custard-pie for Miss 
 Ellen. 
 
 "I declare," said Nancy, "it s a 
 good thing to have friends, ain t 
 it? I 11 try and get some. Hollo! 
 what s wanting? Mr. Van 
 Brunt s calling you, p]llen." 
 
 Ellen ran down. 
 
 " The butter s come ," said he. 
 "Now, do you know what to do 
 with it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," saidEllen, smiling; 
 "Margery showed me nicely." 
 
 He brought her a pail of water 
 
336 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 from the spout, and stood by with | said she was tired of gruel, and 
 a pleased kind of look, while she | couldn t eat it; she must have 
 carefully lifted the cover and! some milk porridge; and she gave 
 rinsed down the little bits of Ellen very particular directions 
 butter which stuck to it and the how to make it. Ellen sighed 
 dasher; took out the butter Avith only once as she went down with 
 her ladle into a large wooden j her despised dish of gruel, and 
 bowl, washed it, and finally salt- set about doing her best to fulfil 
 ed it. her aunt s wishes. The first dish 
 
 "Don t take too much pains," j of milk she burnt; another 
 said he; "the less of the hand it : sigh and another trial; better 
 gets , the better. That will do j care this time had better success, 
 very well." j and Ellen had the satisfaction to 
 
 "Now, are you ready?" said see her aunt perfectly suited with 
 
 Nancy, coming down stairs, 
 cause dinner is. My goodness ! 
 
 her dinner. 
 
 When she came down with the 
 
 ain t that a fine lot of butter? empty bowl, Nancy had a pile of 
 there s four pounds, ain t there?" [ dishes ready washed , and Ellen 
 
 "Five," said Mr. Van Brunt. took the towel to dry them. Mrs. 
 
 "And as sweet as it can be,"! Montgomery, who had been in an 
 said Ellen. "Beautiful, isn t it ?i uncommonly quiet fit all day, now 
 Yes, I m ready as soon as I set laid down her knitting, and asked 
 
 " if Ellen would not come and read 
 
 this in the cellar and cover it up." 
 Nancy s dish the pork, pota 
 toes, carrots, beets, and cabbage, 
 all boiled in the same pot toge 
 ther was found very much to 
 
 to her. 
 
 "Presently, Grandma, as 
 soon as I have done here." 
 
 "Iknow somebody that s tired," 
 
 everybody s taste, except Ellen s, said Nancy. "I tell you Avhat, 
 She made her dinner off potatoes | Ellen, you had better take to 
 and bread, the former of which liking pork; you can t work on 
 she declared, laughing, were potatoes. I ain t tired a bit. 
 very porky and cabbagy; her | There s somebody coming to the 
 meal would have been an ex- door again! Do run and open it, 
 tremely light one, if it had not twill you? my hands are wet. I 
 been for the custard-pie. wonder why folks can t come in 
 
 After dinner, new labours be- without giving so much trouble." 
 gan. Nancy had forgotten to j It was Thomas again , with a 
 hang on a pot of water for the j package for Ellen, which had just 
 dishes ; so, after putting away the come, he said, and Miss Alice 
 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 
 
 V/VfiiAV> ^ **V kJCt-J-V*. j CbJLLVL XTAiOO ^jLlAVy^ 
 
 thought she would like to have it 
 directly. Ellen thanked her, and 
 thanked him, with a face from 
 which all signs of weariness had 
 fled away. The parcel was sealed 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 337 
 
 up, and directed in a hand she often think of you, and wish I 
 was pretty sure she knew. Her could be near you. Still, dear 
 fingers burned to break the seals ; , Ellie , the good Husbandman 
 but she would not open it there, knows what his plants want. Do 
 neitherleaveherworkunfinished; jyou believe that, and can you 
 she went on wiping the dishes, i trust him? They^ would have 
 with trembling hands and a beat- nothing but sunshine if that was 
 ing heart. good for them. He knows it is 
 
 " What s that?" said Nancy;jnot; so there come clouds and 
 "what did Thomas Grime want? rains, and stormy wind, fulfilling 
 what have you got there ? " 
 
 I don t know," said Ellen, 
 smiling; "something good, I 
 
 guess. 
 
 Something good? is it some 
 
 thing to eat? 
 
 ig good? 
 
 No," said Ellen "I didn t 
 
 his will. And what is it all for? 
 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 
 
 mean anything to eat when I said j little sister to look much forward ; 
 something good; I don t think so do not look forward, Ellie; 
 those are the best things." look up ! look off unto Jesus from 
 
 To Ellen s delight, she saw that all your duties, troubles, and 
 her grandmother had forgotten { wants ; he will help you in them 
 about the reading,and was quietly i all. The more you look up to 
 taking short naps , with her head | him , the more he will look down 
 against the chimney. So she put! to you; and he especially said, 
 away the last dish , and then j Suffer little children to come unto 
 seized her package and flew up- me; you see you are particularly 
 stairs. She was sure it had come invited." 
 
 from Doncaster; she was right. Ellen was a long time upstairs, 
 It was a beautiful copy of the | and when she came down, it was 
 Pilgrim s Progress, on the first! with red eyes, 
 leaf was written, "To my little { Mrs. Montgomery was now 
 sister Ellen Montgomery. From j awake, and asked for the reading 
 J. H.; " and within the cover lay^a : again; and for three quarters of 
 letter. This letter Ellen read in an hour Ellen and she were quiet- 
 the course of the next six days, at ly busy with the Bible. Nancy, 
 least twice as many times; and mean while, was downstairs wash- 
 never without crying over it. j ing the dairy things. When her 
 
 "Alice has told me, "said John, grandmother released her, Ellen 
 ^aboutyournewtroubles. There had to go up to wait upon her 
 is said to be a time when the aunt; after which, she went into 
 clouds return after the rain. I am! the,; buttery, and skimmed the 
 sorry, my little sister, this time! cream, and got the pans ready 
 should come to you so early. I : for the evening milk. By this 
 
 The Wide , Wide World. 22 
 
338 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 time it was five o clock,and Nancy I Van Brunt, when she came down 
 came in with the basket of dry again, 
 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 
 
 ; She wanted to know what was 
 burning." 
 
 "Did you tell her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, what did she say?" 
 
 " Said I mustn t use any more 
 eggs without asking her." 
 
 " That ain t fair play," said Mr. 
 Van Brunt; "you and I are the 
 
 of sprinkling and folding upon head of the house now, I take it. 
 herself. This gave Ellen spirits You just use as many on em as 
 to carry out a plan she had long you ve a mind; and all you spile, 
 had , to delight the whole family ! I ll fetch you again from hum. 
 with some eggs, scrambled in That s you, Nancy! Now, Ellen, 
 Margery s fashion ; after the milk here s the spider; try it again; 
 was strained and put away , she let s have plenty of butter in this 
 went about it, while Nancy set time, and plenty of eggs, too." 
 the table. A nice bed of coals was I This time the eggs were scram 
 bled to a nicety, and the supper 
 
 prepared; the spider set over 
 them; the eggs broken in, pep 
 pered and salted; and she began 
 carefully to stir them as she had 
 seen Margery do. But instead of 
 acting right,the eggs malilicious- 
 ly stuck fast to the spider and 
 burned. Ellen was confounded. 
 
 mt 
 uid 
 
 " How much butter did you j 
 in?" said Mr. Van Brunt, who h 
 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 am sorry ! " 
 
 Never mind," said Mr. Van 
 
 met with great favour from all 
 parties. 
 
 Ellen s day was done when the 
 fishes 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 con- 
 Iscience. And her awaking to 
 another day of labour, though by 
 
 Brunt " taint worth your being j jao means joyful, was yet not un- 
 sorry about. Here Nancy clean (hopeful or unhappy 
 
 _*.^_-_ __ .*__ _j _.ni ^_ She had a hard 
 
 us off this spider, 
 again " 
 
 and we ll try 
 
 At this moment Miss Fortune 
 was heard screaming; Ellen ran 
 
 "What did she want? "said Mr. 
 
 two after. 
 
 trial a day or 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 339 
 
 footsteps enter the kitchen. Out 
 went little Ellen to see who it was, 
 and there stood Alice and old Mr. 
 Marshman! He was going to 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 impos 
 sible that is, that it would not 
 be right, and she said so; and in 
 spite of Alice s wistful look, and 
 Mr. Marshman s insisting, she 
 stood her ground. Not without 
 some difficulty, and some glisten 
 ing 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 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 
 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 day she 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 be 
 came 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 grow 
 ing pleasant, too; soft airs be 
 gan 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, or 
 on the big log under the apple- 
 tree, in the chip-yard. In those 
 minutes the reading was doubly 
 sweet; or else, the loveliness of 
 earth and sky were such, that 
 Ellen could not take her eyes 
 from them, till she saw Sam or 
 Johnny 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 a fine copy, well- 
 bound, with beautiful cuts. But 
 when she came to look further, 
 she found all through the book, 
 22* 
 
340 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 on the margin, or at the bottom 
 of the leaves, in John s beauti 
 ful hand -writing, a great many 
 notes; simple, short, plain, ex 
 actly what was needed to open 
 
 for any things were said to be 
 dreadfully "in the way" where 
 she had never found it out dis 
 order and dirt were groaned over 
 where Ellen did not know the 
 
 the whole book to her, and make | fact, or was utterly ignorant how 
 it of the greatest possible use! to help it waste was suspected 
 and pleasure. Many things she j where none had been, and care- 
 remembered hearing from hisilessness charged where rather 
 lips when they were reading it 1 praise was due. Impatient to have 
 together; there was a large part j things to her mind, and as yet 
 of the book where all was new ;| unable to do anything herself, 
 the part he had not had time to Miss Fortune kept Nancy and 
 finish. How Ellen loved the book Ellen running, till both wished 
 and the giver, when she found her back in bed; and even Mr. 
 these beautiful notes, it is im- Van Brunt grumbled, that "to 
 possible to tell. She counted it pay Ellen for having grown white 
 her greatest treasure, next to her and poor, her aunt was going to 
 little red Bible. 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 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 The Brownie.. 
 
 IN the course of time Miss For- tried than in all those weeks be- 
 tune showed signs of mending;: fore. But if there were small 
 and at last, towards the latter pleasure in pleasing her aunt, 
 end of April, she was able to j Ellen did earnestly wish to please 
 come downstairs. All parties j God: she struggled against ill- 
 hailed this event, for different; temper, prayed against it, and, 
 reasons: even Nancy was grown! though she often blamed herself 
 tired of her regular life, and I in secret, she did so go through 
 willing to have a change. Ellen s that week as to call forth Mr. 
 joy was, however, soon dimmish- 1 VanBrunt s admiration, and even 
 ed by the terrible rummaging to stir a little the conscience of 
 which took place. Miss Fortune s her aunt. Mr. Van Brunt coin- 
 hands were yet obliged to lie forted her with the remark, that 
 still, but her eyes did double "it is darkest just before day;" 
 duty; they were never known to and so it proved. Before the 
 be idle in the best of times, and ( week was at an end, Miss For- 
 it seemed to Ellen now as if they j tune began, as she expressed it, 
 were making amends for all their , to "take hold:" Jenny Hitchcock 
 weeks of forced rest. Oh , those j and Jane Huff were excused from 
 eyes! Dust was found where j any more butter-making; Nancy 
 Ellen never dreamed of looking | was sent away 5 Ellen s labours 
 
THE WIDE* WIDE WORLD. 
 
 341 
 
 were much lightened; and thej 
 house was itself again. 
 
 The third of May came. For 
 the first time in near two months, 
 Ellen found in the afternoon she 
 
 could be spared awhile ; there J you ! Aren t you come in the 
 was no need to think twice what] very nick of time! How do you 
 she would do with her leisure, do? I am very glad to see you 
 
 corner. She stopped at the shed 
 door, and went through into the 
 loAver kitchen. 
 
 "Why, Miss Ellen, dear!" ex 
 claimed Margery "if that isn t 
 
 Perhaps Margery could tell her 
 something of Alice ! Hastily and 
 joyfully she exchanged herwork- 
 
 uncommon glad, to be sure. 
 What witch told you to come 
 here just now? Run in; run into 
 
 ing frock for a merino, put on I the parlour, and see what you ll 
 
 nice shoes and stockings, and ^-^ ^ " 
 
 ruffle again, and taking her bon- 
 
 find there. 
 
 "Has Alice come back?" cried 
 
 net and gloves to put on out of j Ellen. But Margery only laughed 
 doors , away she ran. Who can and said " Run in ! " 
 tell how pleasant it seemed, after] Up the steps, through the 
 so many weeks, to be able to j kitchen, and across the hall, 
 
 walk abroad again, and to walk to 
 the mountain ! Ellen snufFed the 
 sweet air, skipped on the green- 
 ays of grass 
 
 Ellen ran burst open the par 
 lour door and was in Alice s 
 
 arms, 
 room, 
 
 There were others in the 
 but Ellen did not seem to 
 
 sward, picked noseg* 
 
 and dandelions , and at last un-j know it, clinging to her, and 
 able to contain herself, set off! holding her in a fast, glad em- 
 to run. Fatigue soon brought | brace , till Alice bade her look 
 this to a stop; then she walked up, and attend to somebody else, 
 more leisurely on, enjoying. It And then she was seized round 
 was a lovely spring day. Ellen s ! the neck by little Ellen Chaun- 
 eyes were gladdened by it; she cey! and then came her mother, 
 felt thankful in her heart that and then Miss Sophia. The two 
 God had made everything so j children were overjoyed to see 
 beautiful; she thought it was i each other, while their joy was 
 pleasant to think He had made | touching to see, from the shade 
 them, pleasant to see in them \ of sorrow in the one, and of 
 everywhere so much of the wis- sympathy in the other. Ellen 
 dom, and power, and goodness, j was scarcely less glad to see kind 
 of Him she looked up to with joy | Mrs. Chauncey; Miss Sophia s 
 as her best friend. She felt quiet- ! greeting, too , was very aftectio- 
 ly happy, and sure He would take ] nate. But Ellen returned to Alice, 
 care of her. Then a thought of ; and rested herself in her lap, 
 Alice came into her head ; she j with one arm round her neck, 
 set off to run again, and kept it i the other hand being in little 
 up this time till she got to the! Ellen s grasp, 
 old house, and ran round the| "And now you are happy, I 
 
342 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 suppose?" said Miss Sophia, t failing in the eftortto controlher- 
 when they were thus placed. | self; she clasped Alice as if she 
 
 "Very," said Ellen, smiling. ! feared even then the separating 
 
 "Ah , but you ll be happier by- < hand. Alice bent her head down, 
 and-by," said Ellen Chauncey. and whispered words of comfort. 
 
 <; Hush, Ellen!] said Miss So- "Mamma!" said little Ellen 
 phia; "what curious things chil- Chauncey, under her breath, and 
 dren are ! You didn t expect to looking solemn to the last degree 
 find us all here, did you, Ellen \ "don t Ellen want to see her 
 Montgomery? " I father ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, Ma am," said! " She s afraid that he may take 
 Ellen, drawing Alice s cheek her away where she will not be 
 nearer for another kiss. jwith Alice any more; and you 
 
 "Wehavebutjustconie, Ellie," know she has no mother to go to." 
 said her sister. "I should not "Oh!" said Ellen, with a very 
 have been long in finding you enlightened face; "but he 
 out. My child, how thin you have i won t, will he? " 
 
 got?" 
 
 Oh , I ll grow fat again now ," 
 sa d Ellen. 
 
 How is Miss Fortune? " 
 Oh, she s up again and well." 
 
 Have you any reason to expect 
 your father home, Ellen," ~ i * iji 
 Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 " Yes, Ma am ; AuntFortune 
 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 El 
 len s brow. 
 
 Ellen hesitated coloured 
 coloured more and finally, 
 with a sudden motion, hid her 
 face against Alice. 
 
 "When did he sail, Ellie?" 
 asked Alice , gravely. 
 
 "In the Due d Or leans he said 
 he would " 
 
 " When?" 
 
 I hope not; I think not." 
 
 Cheered again, the little girl 
 drew near, and silently took one 
 of Ellen s hands. 
 
 "We shallnotbe parted, Ellie," 
 said Alice "you need not fear, 
 said! If your father takes you away 
 from your aunt Fortune , I think 
 it will be only 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 El 
 len Chauncey, pulling her hand 
 
 "I want you to show me some 
 thing; let s go down to the garden 
 
 come, exercise is good for 
 you." 
 
 "No, no," said her mother 
 smiling "Ellen has had exer 
 cise enough lately; you mustn t 
 take her down to thegardennow; 
 you would find nothing there. 
 
 "The fifth of April. Oh! I Come here!" 
 can t help it!" exclaimed Ellen, j A long whisper followed, which 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 343 
 
 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. " El 
 len thinks it is a greatbeauty, and 
 can t rest till you have seen it." 
 
 Ellen went accordingly to the 
 door. There, to be sure, was 
 Thomas before it, holding apony 
 bridled and saddled. He was cer 
 tainly a very pretty little crea 
 ture; brown all over except one 
 white forefoot; his coat shone, it 
 was so glossy; his limbs were 
 
 sent to a friend of Mr. Marsh- 
 
 "She 
 I should 
 
 11 be a very happy friend, 
 think, "said Ellen. 
 
 " That s what I said, " said El 
 len Chauncey , dancing up and 
 down "that s what I said. I 
 said you d be happier by-and- 
 by, didn t I?" 
 
 "I?" said Ellen, colouring. 
 
 "Yes, you you are the friend 
 it is for ; it s for you , it s for you ! 
 You are Grandpa s friend, aren t 
 you?" she repeated, springing 
 upon Ellen, and hugging her up 
 in an ecstacy of delight. 
 
 "But it isn t really for me, is 
 it?" said Ellen, now looking al 
 most pale " oh , Alice ! " 
 
 "Come, come," said Miss So 
 phia "what will Papa say if I 
 
 fine; his eye gentle and bright; tell him you received his present 
 
 his tail long enough to please the 
 children. He stood as quiet as a 
 lamb , whether Thomas held him 
 or not. 
 
 " Oh , what a beauty ! " said El 
 len "what alovely little horse!" 
 
 "Ain t he?" said Ellen Chaun 
 cey "and he goes so beautifully 
 besides , and never starts nor no 
 thing; and he is as good-natured 
 as a little dog." 
 
 "As a good-natured little dog, 
 
 so ? come , hold up your head ! 
 Put on your bonnet and try him 
 come , Ellen ! let s see you." 
 
 Ellen did not knoAv whether to 
 cry or laugh till she mounted 
 the pretty pony; that settled the 
 matter. Not Ellen Chauncey s 
 unspeakable delight 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 
 
 she means, Ellen," said Miss | recollected that the pony had tra- 
 Sophia "there are little dogs j veiled thirty miles that day, and 
 of very various character." I must be tired. Ellen took not an- 
 
 "Well, he looks good-natured," j other turn after that. She jumped 
 saidEllen. "What a pretty head! ! down, and begged Thomas to 
 and what a beautiful new side-: take the tenderest care of him; 
 saddle , and all ! I never saw such ! patted his neck ; ran into the kit- 
 a dear little horse in my life. Is it | chen to beg of Margery a piece of 
 yours , Alice ? " bread to give him from her hand ; 
 
 "No," said Alice, "it is a pre-j examined the new stirrup and 
 
344 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 housings, and the pony all over a I "But why don t you call him 
 dozen times; and after watching that?" said Ellen Chauncey; 
 him as Thomas led him off, till he ! " George is a very pretty name 
 was out of sight, finally came j I like that. I should call him 
 back into the house with a face of , Uncle George. " 
 marvellous contentment. She! "Oh, I couldn t!" said Ellen 
 tried to fashion some message of j "I couldn t call him so: I 
 thanks for the kind giver of the ; shouldn t like it at all." 
 pony; but she wanted to express "George Washington?" said 
 so much that no words would do. Mrs. Chauncey. 
 Mrs. Chauncey, however, smiled, I " No, indeed ! " said Ellen. " I 
 and assured her she knew exactly | guess I wouldn t! " 
 what to say. "Why, is it too good, or not 
 
 That pony has been destined good enough?" said Miss Sophia, 
 for you, Ellen," she said, "this| "Too good! A great deal too 
 year and more; but my father; good for ahorse. I wouldn t for 
 waited to have him thoroughly j anything." 
 
 well broken. You need not be| "How would Brandywine do, 
 afraid of him ! he is perfectly then, since you are so patriotic? " 
 gentle and well-trained; if hehad , saidMiss Sophia, lookingamused. 
 not been sure of that, my father j "What is patriotic? " said 
 would never have sent him ! Ellen. 
 
 though Mr. John is making such 
 a horsewoman of you." 
 
 "I wish I could thank him," 
 said Ellen, "but I don t know 
 
 J 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 
 
 
 how." 
 
 j.ivti.^.AV, W M/A VA J^JJ.V>AJ.^ JLJ U. l> J 
 
 "What will you call him, won t call him Brandy wine. Why. 
 Ellen?" said Miss Sophia. "My Miss Sophia?" 
 father has dubbed him George | "No, I wouldn t either," said 
 Marshman- *-"- - , .... .. 
 
 like .___, 
 favourite 
 
 er has dubbed him George | "No, I wouldn t either," said 
 shman; he says you will i Ellen Chauncey; "it isn t a 
 that , as my brother is such a pretty name. Call him Seraphine ! 
 urite of yours." like Miss Angell s pony - 
 
 " " 
 
 He didn t really, did he?" 
 said Ellen, looking from Sophia 
 
 to Alice. "I needn t call him 
 
 that, need I?" j "call himBenedict Arnold, Ellen; 
 
 that s pretty." 
 
 "No, no Seraphine! non- 
 sense!" said Miss Sophia; 
 
 , ca menec rno, en; 
 
 j Not unless you like," said ! and then it will be a relief to your 
 Miss Sophia, laughing " you j mind to whip him." 
 may change it, but what will you "Whip him!" said Ellen; "I 
 call him?" don t want to whip him, I am 
 
 "I don t know," said Ellen, sure; and I should be afraid too, 
 very gravely "he must have a besides." 
 name, to be sure." "Hasn t John taught you that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 345 
 
 lesson , yet? " said the young no fancy for giving up, he carried 
 lady; "he is perfect in it him- j his point partly by manage- 
 self. Do you remember, Alice, ment, partly, I confess, by a judi- 
 the chastising he gave that fine cious use of the whip and spur; 
 black horse of ours we called the but there was no such furious 
 Black Prince a beautiful flagellation as Sophia seems to 
 creature he was more than a ! mean, and which a good horse- 
 year ago ? My conscience ! he ; man would scarce be guilty of." 
 frightened me to death." "A very determined use, " 
 
 said Miss Sophia. " 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?" 
 
 "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 j "Then he did right?" said 
 
 of John or the horse? 
 Ellen s eye turned to Alice. 
 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Perfectly right except in 
 
 "My dear Ellen," said Alice, < mounting the horse at all, which 
 smiling, though she spoke seri-|I never wished him to do. No 
 ously "it Avas necessary; it one in the place would ride him." 
 sometimes is necessary to do "He carried John beautifully 
 such things. You do not suppose all the day after that, though," 
 John would do it cruelly or un- said Miss Sophia, "and I dare 
 
 necessarily?" 
 
 Ellen s face 
 siderably. 
 
 shortened con- 
 
 say he might have ridden him to 
 the end of the chapter if you 
 
 would have let papa give him to 
 
 But what had the horse been him. But he was of no use to 
 doing?" anybody else. Howard couldn t 
 
 "He had not been doing any- j manage him I suppose he was 
 thing; he would not do that, too lazy. Papa was delighted 
 was the trouble; he was as ob- enough that day to have given 
 stinate as a mule." John anything. And I can tell 
 
 "My dear Ellen," said Alice, you, Black Prince the second is 
 "it was no such terrible matter j spirited enough; I am afraid you 
 as Sophia s words have made you won t like him." 
 believe. It was a clear case of "John has a present of ahorse, 
 
 obstinacy. The horse was re 
 solved to have his own way, and 
 not to do what his rider required 
 of him; it was necessary that 
 either the horse or the man 
 .should give up ; and as John has 
 
 too, Ellen," said Alice. 
 
 ; Has he? from Mr. Marsh- 
 
 man t 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I m very glad! Oh, what 
 rides we can take now , can t we, 
 
346 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Alice? We shan 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." 
 
 Is his name Black Prince?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 Ellen began to consider the 
 possibility of calling her pony 
 the Brown Princess, or by some 
 similiar title the name of 
 John s two chargers seeming the 
 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 common plea- 
 
 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 colour; 
 so how will that do ? " 
 
 It was soon decided that it 
 would do very well. It was 
 simple, descriptive, and not com 
 mon: Ellen made up her mind 
 that The Brownie should be his 
 name. No sooner given, it be 
 gan to grow dear. Ellen s face 
 
 sure, in any sense of the term." I quitted its look of anxious gra- 
 They went back to the subject!^, and came out into the 
 of the name, which Ellen pon 
 dered 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 Jum 
 per 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 
 
 broadest and fullest satisfaction. 
 She never showed joy boisterous 
 ly; 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, how 
 ever, it would not do to stay; 
 Miss Fortune was but just got 
 well, and perhaps already think 
 ing herself ill-used. She put on 
 berthings. 
 
 "Are you going to take your 
 
 Eony home with you?" said Miss 
 ophia. 
 
 " 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 
 
THE WIDE, "WIDE WORLD. 347 
 
 more care of his legs than of and bridle 1 ; you never saw any- 
 your own," said Miss Sophia. thing so beautiful, Mr. Van 
 
 "But you 11 be here to-morrow! Brunt; he is all brown, with 
 early, Ellie?" lone white fore -foot, and I ve 
 
 "Oh, won t I!" exclaimed named him The Brownie; and 
 Ellen, as she sprang to Alice s; oh, Mr. Van Brunt! do you think 
 ne ck "as early as I can, at i Aunt Fortune will let him come 
 least; I don t know when Aunt here?" 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt chipped away 
 at his pole, looking very good- 
 
 Fortune will have done with me." 
 The way home seemed as no 
 
 thing. If she was tired, she did : humoured. 
 
 not know it. The Brownie! the| "Because you know I couldn t 
 Brownie! the thought of him shave half the good of him if he 
 carried her as cleverly over the | had to stay away from me up 
 ground as his very back would j on the mountain. I shall want 
 have done. She came running! to ride him every day. Do you 
 into the chip-yard. think Aunt Fortune will let him 
 
 "Hollo!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, be kept here, Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 who was standing under thej "I guess she will," said Mr. 
 ipple-tree, cutting a piece of I Van Brunt ,_ soberly; ^and^ his 
 
 wood for the tongue of the ox- 
 
 tone said to Ellen, "/ will, if she 
 
 don t. V 
 
 " Then will you ask her , and 
 see about it, if you please, Mr. 
 
 cart, which had been broken 
 
 "I m glad to see you can run. 
 
 I was afeard you d hardly be 
 
 able to stand by this time; but! Van Brunt? I d rather you 
 
 there you come like a young j would. And you won t have him 
 
 deer!" I put to plough or anything, will 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said you, Mr. Van Brunt? Miss 
 Ellen, coming close up to him, Sophia says it would spoil him." 
 and speaking in an undertone "I 11 plough myself first," said 
 "you don t know what a present ! Mr. Van Brunt, with his half- 
 I have had! What do you think, I smile "there shan t be a hair 
 Mr. Marshman has sent me from of his coat turned the wrong 
 Ventnor?" way. I ll see to him as if he 
 
 "Couldn t guess, 3 said Mr. was a prince." 
 Van Brunt, resting the end of "Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Van 
 his pole on the log, and chipping Brunt! How good you are ! Then 
 at it with his hatchet "never -I shall not speak about him at 
 guessed anything in my life all till you do , remember. I am 
 what is it?" very much obliged to you, Mr. 
 
 "He has sent me the most Van Brunt!" 
 
 beautiful little horse you everj Ellen ran in. She got a chi- 
 saw! for my own for me to ding for her long stay, but it fell 
 ride; and a new beautiful saddle; upon ears that could not hear. 
 
348 
 
 THE WIDE, WlbE WORLD. 
 
 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 no 
 thing now-a-days." 
 
 " You might if you d keep your 
 ears open, mother. What news. \ 
 Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 
 "Why, here s Ellen s got a 
 splendid little horse sent her 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 11 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 suppose?" saidj 
 Miss Fortune. Her look said, "If j 
 you think I am coming round, 
 you are mistaken." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Van 
 Brunt, slowly "I s pose he 11 
 eat grass in the meadow, and 
 there 11 be a place fixed for him 
 in the stables." 
 
 "Not in my stables," said the 
 lady, shortly. 
 
 " No in mine ," said Mr. Van 
 Brunt, half - smiling ; "and I ll 
 settle with you about it by-and- 
 by when we square our ac 
 counts." 
 
 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 pos 
 session of meadow and stables, 
 to his mistress s unbounded joy. 
 
 Anybody that knew Mr. Van 
 Brunt would have been surprised 
 to hear what he said that morn 
 ing; 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 couldn t 
 have asked more careful kind 
 ness for her favourite than the 
 Brownie had from every man and 
 boy about the farm. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 Timothy and his master. 
 CAPTAIN MONTGOMERY did not 
 come the next week, nor the 
 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 
 whatever became of her, she 
 never reached port. It remained 
 

 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 349 
 
 a doubt whether Captain Mont 
 gomery had actually gone in her; 
 and Ellen had many weeks of 
 anxious watching, first for him 
 self and then for news of him, 
 in case he were still in France. 
 
 intents 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 
 
 None ever came. Anxiety gradu- j her sole guardian and owner, 
 ally faded into certainty; and by j However, she could hardly realize 
 midsummer, no doubt of the , that, with Alice and John so near 
 truth remained in any mind. If j at hand. Without reasoning much 
 Captain Montgomery had been ! about it, she felt tolerably secure 
 alive, he would certainly have! that they would take care of her 
 written, if not before, on learn- interests, and make good their 
 ing the fate of the vessel in which | claim to interfere if ever need 
 he had told his friends to expect were. 
 
 him home. Ellen and her little horse grew 
 
 Ellen rather felt that she was 1 more and more fond of each other. 
 
 J^lICH XclLilCl J.C1L 111(1 L O11C W dO l 111U1 U aiJLU. 111UHJ AU11U. \J J. CtUJll U L1IC1 . 
 
 an orphan, than that she had lostiThis friendship , no doubt, was a 
 her father. She had never learned 
 to love him , he had never given 
 her much cause. Comparatively 
 
 comfort to the Brownie; but to 
 his mistress it made a large part 
 of the pleasure of her every-day 
 
 1 * (* m * j 1 " 1 1 1 1 j 
 
 a small portion of her life had life. .To visit him was her delight, 
 been passed in his society, and at all hours, early and late ; and 
 she looked back to it as the least; it is to the Brownie s credit that 
 agreeable of all; and it had not he always seemed as glad to see 
 been possible for her to expect her as she was to see him. At any 
 with pleasure his return to Ame- j time Ellen s voice would bring 
 rica, and visit to Thirl wall she j him from the far end of the mea- 
 dreadedit. Life had nothing now ; do w where he was allowed to 
 worse for her than a separation | run. He would come trotting up 
 from Alice and John Humphreys ; : at her call, and stand to have her 
 she feared her father might take [ scratch his forehead or pat him 
 her away, and put her in some and talk to him; and though the 
 dreadful boarding-school, or j Brownie could not answer her 
 carry her about the world where- ! speeches , he certainly seemed to 
 ever he went, a wretched wan- hear them with pleasure. Then 
 derer from everything good and throwing up his head he would 
 pleasant. The knowledge of his;, bound off, take a turn in the field, 
 death had less pain for her than; and come back again to stand as 
 the removal of this fear brought still as a lamb so long as she 
 relief. ! stayed there herself. Now and 
 
 Ellen felt sometimes, soberly: then, when she had a little more 
 and sadly, that she was thrown time, she would cross the fence 
 upon the wide world now. To all; and take a walk with him; and 
 
350 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 there, with his nose just at her 
 elbow, Avherever 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 
 Ellen loved him 
 
 dark gingham; and it was "the 
 admiration of the country to see 
 her trotting or cantering by, all 
 alone, and always looking happy. 
 Ellen soon found that if the 
 Brownie was to do her much 
 good, she must learn to saddle 
 and bridle him herself. This was 
 very awkward at first, but there 
 was no help for it. Mr. Van Brunt 
 showed her how to manage, and 
 after aAvhile it became quite easy. 
 She 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 awajr on the docile and 
 spirited little animal, over the 
 roads, through the lanes, up and 
 she wanted to do with it, and I down the hills, her horse her 
 
 up directly, 
 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 
 sources of supply. Once she had 
 begged from Jenny Plitchcock a 
 waste bit that she was going to 
 throw away; Jenny found what 
 
 after that, many a basket of 
 apples and many apiece of cold 
 short-cake 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 some 
 thing to give him. Mr. Marsh- 
 man did not knowwhathappincss 
 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 
 
 only companion, but having the 
 most perfect understanding with 
 him, both Ellen and the Brownie 
 cast care to the winds. "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 re 
 ward 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. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 351 
 
 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 every 
 body s way; she was not watched 
 and suspected ; her aunt treated 
 
 " There was a quilting party 
 gathered that afternoon at Mrs. 
 Van Brunt s house. 
 
 /There is no doubt of that, 
 neighbour," said Mrs. Yawse; 
 "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; 
 her, workin 
 
 you 11 never catch 
 at home or riding 
 
 her as one of the family , and a along on that handsome little 
 
 person to be depended on. It 
 was a very great comfort to little 
 
 Ellen s life, 
 owned that 
 
 Miss Fortune even 
 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 oilionesty. Ellen now went 
 
 critter of her n , that she han 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 Lawson. 
 
 "/ ve seen her look sorrowful, 
 though," said Sarah Lowndes; 
 
 out and came in without feeling j "I Ve been up at the house when 
 she was an alien. And though Miss Fortune was bustling every- 
 
 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 stu- 
 
 body 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 
 
 dies; and was generally willing, ! face she d go round, and not 
 when the work was pretty well: say a word that wasn t just so; 
 done up , that she should saddle i you d a thought her bread was 
 the Brownie , and be off to Alice all spread with honey, and every - 
 or Mrs. Vawse. body knows it ain t. I don t see 
 
 Though Ellen was happy, it how she could do it, for my part: 
 was a sober kind of happiness I know /couldn t." 
 the sun shining behind a cloud.] "Ah, neighbour," said Mrs. 
 And if others thought her so, it Vawse, "Ellen looks higher than 
 was not because she laughed to please her aunt; she tries to 
 loudly, or wore a merry face. please her God; and one can bear 
 
 "I can t help but think," said people s words or looks, when 
 Mrs. Van Brunt, "that that child one is pleasing Him. She is a 
 has something more to make her dear child ! " 
 happy than what she gets in this | "And there s Brahm," said 
 world." I Mrs. Van Brunt; "he thinks the 
 
352 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 
 child, I ve no idee he could set 
 her up more than he does." 
 
 thing. Eun and drive him into 
 the barnyard , can t you? " 
 
 ButEllen 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 11 have every bit of 
 
 "Very well!" said Nancy, 
 coming up "good reason! 
 
 Ellen don t set Mm up any , does | the corn eaten up in five minutes ! 
 she? I wish you d just seen her Where s Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 once, the time when Miss For- 1 "I heard him say he was going 
 tune was a-bed the way she d home till noon," said Ellen, 
 look out for him! Mr. Van Brunt s| "And SamLarkens is gone to 
 as good as at home in that house, | the mill and Johnny Low is 
 sure enough; whoever s down- laid up with the shakes. Very 
 ""*"""" " careless of Mr. Van Brunt! " said 
 
 Miss Fortune, drawing her arms 
 put of the cheese-tub, and wring 
 ing off the whey "I wish he d 
 mind his own oxen. There was 
 no business to be a low place in 
 
 stairs. 
 
 "Bless her dear little heart!" 
 said his mother. 
 
 A good name is better than 
 
 precious ointment." 
 
 August had come, and John, 
 
 was daily expected home. One! the fence. Well, come along! 
 morning Miss Fortune was in the j you ain t afraid with me, I sup- 
 lower kitchen, up to the elbows pose." 
 
 in making a rich fall cheese; El- Ellen followed, at a respectful 
 len was busy upstairs, Avhen her i distance. Miss Fortune, how- 
 aunt shouted to her to "come and! ever, feared the face of neither 
 see what was all that splashing i man nor beast; she pulled up a 
 and crashing in the garden." El- bean pole, and made such a show 
 len ran out. of fight, that Timothy, after 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Fortune !" said she looking at her a little, fairly 
 
 C rP * >tt It t I. -I . 1 1 ^ 
 
 "Timothy has broken down 
 the fence , and got in." 
 
 " Timothy! " said Miss Fortune 
 
 "what Timothy?" 
 
 " Why, Timothy, the near ox," 
 said Ellen, laughing; "he has 
 knocked down the fence over 
 
 there where 
 know." 
 
 it was low, you 
 
 " The near ox?" said Miss For 
 tune "I wish he warn t quite, 
 
 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 barnyard she could not. 
 
 "You ain t worth a straw, El 
 len!" said she, when she came 
 back; "couldn t you ha headed 
 him, and driv him into the barn 
 yard? Now, that plaguy beast 
 
 so near this time. Look! he 11 1 will just be back again by the 
 be at the corn , and over every- j time I get well to work. He han t 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 353 
 
 done much mischief yet there s I VanBrunt in the garden or about 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt s salary he s i 
 a pretty mess of I in 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 gar 
 den every minute, if it was full of 
 Timothys ; and youd be scared if 
 a mosquito flew at you; you had 
 better go right off for Mr. Van 
 
 made \ the barn. She went on to the 
 
 Brunt, 
 home 
 
 and fetch him strai 
 serve him right! he 
 
 no business to leave things so. 
 Eun along, and don t let the 
 grass grow under your feet! " 
 
 Ellen wisely thought her po 
 ny s feet would do the business 
 quicker. She ran and put on her 
 gingham dress , and saddled and 
 bridled the Brownie in three mi 
 nutes; 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 g^ate. 
 
 The weather was tine , and El 
 len thought with herself, 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 behaviour. To ride at 
 that time was particularly plea 
 sant 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. 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 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 barnyard. 
 
 "How d ye do, Nancy?" said 
 Ellen; . "where s Mr. Van 
 Brunt?" 
 
 "Goodness, Ellen! what do 
 you Avant?" 
 
 "I want Mr. VanBrunt 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 
 trapdoor, and broke his leg." 
 
 Oh, Nancy!" screamed El 
 len "he hasn t! How could 
 he?" 
 
 "Why, easy enough, if he 
 didn t look where he was going 
 there s so much hay on the 
 floor. But it s a pretty bad place 
 to fall." 
 
 "How do you know his leg is 
 broken?" 
 
 " Cause he says so, and any 
 body with eyes can see it must 
 be. I m going over to Hitch 
 cock s to get somebody to come 
 and help in with him; for you 
 know me and Mrs. Van Brunt 
 ain t Samsons." 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Van Brunt?" 
 
 " She s out there, in a terrible 
 to-do." 
 
 Nancy sped on to the Hitch 
 cock s; and, greatly frightened 
 23 
 
354 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and distressed, Ellen ran over to "Dr. Gibson, he said; but he s 
 the barn, trembling like an aspen, away off to Thirlwall; and he s 
 Mr. Van Brunt was lying in the ! been lying here all the morning 
 lower floor, just where he had I already! nobody found him 
 fallen, one leg doubled under he couldn t make us hear. Oh, 
 him in such a way as left no isn t it dreadful?" 
 
 doubt it must be broken. He had 
 lain there some time before any 
 one found him ; and on trying to 
 
 so, dear Mrs. 
 
 "Oh, don t cry 
 
 Van Brunt," said Ellen, pressing 
 her cheek to the poor old lady s 
 
 \JH\j i \J LA JJ.VA JJ.1J.AJ. ^ CQUAA \J1-L ljJ.yj.AICl W I UVJL VXAVVJC^ UV l>ll.\j f/UV/A. V/l^iACtVAV O. 
 
 change his position, when he saw "he ll be better he will! 
 his mother s distress, he had I ve got the Brownie here and 
 fainted from pain. She sat by, I 11 ride over to Mrs. Hitchcock s 
 weeping most bitterly. Ellen! and get somebody to go right 
 could bear but one look at Mr. | away for the doctor. I won t be 
 Van Brunt that one sickened long we 11 have him here in a 
 
 her. She went up to his poor mo 
 ther, and, getting down on her 
 knees by her side , put both arms 
 round her neck. 
 
 "Don t cry so, c dear Mrs. Van 
 Brunt" (Ellen was crying so, she 
 could hardly speak herself), 
 "pray don t do so! he 11 be 
 better oh , what shall we do? " 
 
 "Oh, ain t it dreadful!" said 
 poor Mrs. Van Brunt; "oh, 
 Brahm, Brahm! my son, my 
 son! the best son that 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! 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, 
 there s nobody to send. 
 
 and 
 Oh! 
 
 he 11 die ! Oh ! my dear Brahm ! 
 I wish it was me ! " 
 
 "What doctor?" said Ellen 
 "I 11 find somebody to go what 
 doctor?" 
 
 little while ! don t feel so bad ! " 
 
 "You re a dear blessed dar 
 ling!" said the old lady, hugging 
 and kissing her "if ever there 
 was one. Make haste, dear, if 
 you 1 o ve him ! he loves you." 
 
 Ellen stayed but to give her 
 another kiss. Trembling 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. Hitch 
 cock 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 do came to her 
 help. She straightened herself, 
 gathered up her reins, and by the 
 time she reached Mrs. Hitch 
 cock s, was looking calm again, 
 though very sad and very earnest, 
 She did not alight, but stopped 
 before the door, and called 
 Jenny. Jenny came out, ex 
 pressing her pleasure. 
 "Dear Jenny," said Ellen < 
 
5 
 
 "isn t there somebody 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 , ploughing, 
 and pa, and June, and Black 
 Bill have gone over, as I told 
 you; but 1 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, be 
 sides 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 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 355 
 
 were strangers to her she could 
 not make up her mind to ask such 
 a favour of them. Her friends 
 were too far out of the way. 
 
 "I ll go myself!" she said, 
 suddenly. "Tell em, dear Jenny, 
 will you, that I have gone for 
 Dr. Gibson, and that I ll 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. Nevermind." 
 
 "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, 
 herself: 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 
 hesitate. "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 > 
 23* 
 
356 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 God will take care of me." EllenlEllen, as she went; "there will 
 earnestly asked him to do so;jbe no sickness, no pain, no 
 and after that she felt pretty I sorrow ; but Mr. Van Brunt I 
 easy. "Now, dear Brownie," said: wonder if he is fit to go to 
 she, patting his neck , "you and heaven?" This was a new matter 
 I have work to do to-day, behave of thought and uneasiness, not 
 like a good little horse as you now for the first time, in Ellen s 
 are." The Brownie answered; mind; and so the time passed, 
 with a cheerful kind of neigh, as j till she crossed the bridge over 
 much as to say, Never fear me ! the little river, and saw the 
 
 houses of Thirlwall 
 
 stretching 
 Then she 
 
 They trotted on nicely. 
 
 But nothing could help that away in the distance, 
 being a disagreeable ride. Do i felt comfortable, 
 what she would , Ellen felt a little | Long before, she had be- 
 afraid when she found herself on i thought her that she did not 
 a long piece of road where she | know where to find Dr. Gibson, 
 had never been alone before, and had forgotten to ask Jenny. 
 There were not many houses on For one instant Ellen drew 
 the way; the few there were (bridle, but it was too far to go 
 looked strange. Ellen did not | back, and she recollected any- 
 know exactly where she was, or j body could tell her where the 
 how near the end of her journey; doctor lived. When she got to 
 it seemed a long one. She felt j Thirlwall , however, Ellen found 
 rather lonely; a little shy of that she did not like to ask any- 
 
 meeting people, and yet a little 
 unwilling to have the intervals 
 between them so very long. She 
 repeated to herself, "I am doing 
 
 body. She remembered her old 
 friend Mrs. Forbes, of the Star 
 Inn, and resolved she would go 
 
 there, in the first place. She 
 
 right God will take care of j rode slowly up the street, looking 
 me." Still there was a nervous I carefully till she came to the 
 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 cheering 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 
 
 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 , Sain , 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. 
 Yankee 
 
 Sam 
 look 
 
 gave her a long 
 and disappeared, 
 
 coming back again directly with 
 the landlady. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 357 
 
 "How d ye do, Mrs. Forbes?" 
 said Ellen, holding out her hand 5 
 " 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 
 
 flad to see you ! I must have a 
 iss. Bless you! I couldn t mis 
 take you in Jerusalem; but the 
 sun was in my eyes , in that way I 
 was a most blind. But ain t you 
 
 frown, though! Forget you? 
 guess I han t! There s one o 
 your friends wouldn t let me do 
 that in a hurry. If I han 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 something bet 
 ter than bread and milk this time. 
 Come! jump down." 
 
 "Oh, I can t, Mrs. Forbes," 
 said Ellen, "I m in a great hurry ; 
 Mr. Van Brunt has broken his- 
 leg, and I wantto find the doctor." 
 
 "Mr. Van Brunt!" cried the 
 landlady. "Broken his leg! The 
 land s sakes ! how did he do that? 
 he, tool" 
 
 "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 
 round 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 hap 
 pened it, darlin ? I m cur ous to 
 hear." 
 
 "I don t know, Mrs. Forbes," 
 said Ellen; "but, oh, where shall 
 1 1 find Dr. Gibson? Do tell me! 
 he ought to be there now; oh, 
 help me! where shalllgo forhim?" 
 "Well, I declare," said the 
 landlady, stepping back apace, 
 "I don t know as I can tell 
 there ain t no sort o likelihood 
 I that he s to hum at this time o 
 I day. Sam! you lazy feller , you 
 I han 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 Mis 
 Perriman s," said Sam, / Mis 
 Perriman was a-dyin , Jim Bar- 
 stow said." 
 
 "How long since?" said his 
 mistress. 
 
 But Sam shuffled and shuffled, 
 looked every way but at Ellen or 
 Mrs. Forbes , and " didn t know." 
 " Well, then," said Mrs. Forbes, 
 i turning to Ellen, "I don t know 
 ibut you might about as well go 
 ! down to the post-office ; but, if/ 
 was you, I d just get Dr. Marsh- 
 chalk instead. 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 
 something. I d get Dr. Marsh- 
 chalk; 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. 
 
358 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Forbes,! "Isn t this Mrs. Perriman s 
 "every one has their fancies; I j house?" 
 
 wouldn t let Dr. Gibson comej "You are in the right box, my 
 near me with a pair of tongs; but dear, and no mistake ," said the 
 anyhow, if you must have him, young man; "but then it ain t 
 your best way is to go right: Dr. Gibson s house, you know." 
 straight down to the post-office, I " Can you tell me , Sir, where I 
 and ask for him there, maybe lean find him?" 
 you ll catch him." "Can t, indeed; the doctor 
 
 "Thank you, Ma am," said never tells me where he is going, 
 Ellen; "where is the post-office?" and I never ask him. I am sorry 
 
 "It s that white -faced house; I didn t this morning, for your 
 down street," said the landlady, ! sake." 
 
 pointing with her finger where! The way, and the look, made 
 Ellen saw no lack of white-faced the words extremely disagree- 
 houses; "you see that big red able; and, furthermore, Ellen 
 store , with the man standing out : had an uncomfortable feeling 
 in front? the next white house! that neither was new to her. 
 below that is Mis Perriman s ; Where had she seen the man be- 
 just run right in and ask for Dr. j fore? she puzzled herself to 
 Gibson. Good-bye , dear I m think. Where but in a dream had 
 real sorry you can t come in j she seen that bold, ill-favoured 
 that first white house." face, that horrible smile, that 
 
 Glad to get free, Ellen rode sandy hair? She knew! It was 
 smartly down to the post-office. ; Mr. Saunders, the man who had 
 Nobody before the door; there | sold her the merino at St. Clare 
 was nothing for it but to get off andFleury s. She knew him; and 
 
 here and go in ; she did not know 
 the people either. " Never mind, 
 
 she was very sorry to see that he 
 knew her. All she desired now, 
 
 o ge 
 
 nie, like a good little horse as you away ; but on turning she saw 
 are!" | another man, older and respect- 
 
 No fear of the Brownie. He able-looking, whose face encou- 
 stood as if he did not mean to | raged her to ask again if Dr. Gib- 
 budge again in a century. At j son was there. He was not, the 
 first going in, Ellen saw nobody ! man said; he had been there and 
 in the post-office; presently, at; gone. 
 
 an opening in a kind of boxed-up j "Do you know where I should 
 place in one corner, a face looked be likely^to find him, Sir?" 
 out and asked what she wanted. 
 "Is Dr. Gibson here?" 
 "No," said the owner of the 
 face, with a disagreeable kind of 
 smile. 
 
 No, I don t," said he; "who 
 wants him?" 
 
 "I want to see him, Sir." 
 
 "For yourself?" 
 
 "No, Sir; Mr. Van Brunt has 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 359 
 
 broken his leg, and wants Dr.jdo just as well. I am very much 
 Gibson to come directly and set obliged to you, Sir." 
 it." He did not seem to hear her 
 
 " Mr. Van Brunt !" said he thanks; he was all eyes; and, 
 
 "Farmer Van Brunt that lives with his clerk, stoodlooking after 
 down towards the Cat s Back? I ; her till she was out of sight, 
 am very 
 happen?" 
 
 sorry! How did it 
 
 Poor Ellen found it a long way 
 up to the doctor s. The post- 
 Ellen told as shortly as pos- office was near the lower end of 
 sible , and again begged to know j the town , and the doctor s house 
 
 where she might look for Dr. 
 Gibson. 
 
 "Well," said he, "thebestplan 
 I can think of, will be for you 
 how did you come here?" 
 
 "I came on horseback, Sir." 
 Ah well the best plan 
 
 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 disheart- 
 
 will be for you to ride up to hisienedtoo. And there, all this time, 
 house; maybe he 11 have left was poor Mr. Van Brunt, lying 
 word there , and anyhow you can without a doctor ! She could not 
 leave word for him to come down bear to think of it. 
 
 She jumped down when she 
 
 as soon as he gets home. Do you 
 know where the doctor lives?" 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 " Come here," said he , pulling 
 
 it* 4- r\ -f Vi Q f\ f\m* ^Trrvn noti -f <_/<* if 
 
 came to the block she had been 
 told of, and easily found the 
 house where Dr. Gibson lived. 
 
 her to the door "you can t see it She knocked at the door. A 
 from here ; but you must ride up grayhaired woman , with a very 
 street till you have passed two ill-favoured countenance pre- 
 churches, one on the right hand ! sented herself. Ellen asked for 
 first, and then, a good piece be- j the doctor. 
 
 yond, you ll come to another red "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." 
 
 brick one on the left hand and 
 Dr. Gibson lives in the nextblock 
 but 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 
 han t the prettiest fit out in Thirl- j I guess he told me Babcock is 
 wall shall I help you? will you a considerable long way." 
 have a cheer? " Ellen thought a minute. 
 
 "No, I thank you, Sir; I 11 "Can you tell me where 
 bring him up to this step; it will j Dr. Marshchalk lives?" 
 
 " Where is he gone ? " 
 "He is gone to Babcock 
 one to attend a consummation, 
 
360 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "I guess you d better wait till 
 Dr. Gibson comes back, han t 
 you?" said the woman, coaxingly; 
 he 11 be along by-and-by. If 
 you 11 leave me your name , 1 11 
 give it to him." 
 
 "I cannot wait," said Ellen, 
 "I am in a dreadful hurry. Will 
 you be so good as to tell me where 
 Dr. Marshchalk lives?" 
 
 "Well if so be vou re in such 
 atakin youcan t wait you know 
 where Mis Forbes lives?" 
 
 "At the inn? the Star? 
 yes." 
 
 "He lives a few doors this side 
 o her n ; you 11 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. 
 
 Wherein the black Prince arrives 
 opportunely. 
 
 THE yellow door, as the old 
 woman had said, was not to be 
 mistaken. Again Ellen dismount 
 ed 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 11 be in 
 directly. Come in; is that 
 your horse? just kitch him to 
 the post there, so he won t run 
 away, and come right in. Who 
 did you 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 hand 
 some 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 followed 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 anybody to set 
 it; I have been going round and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 361 
 
 round for a doctor this ever so 
 
 warn t there nobody 
 
 long." 
 
 "Why, 
 
 to come but you, you poor lamb ? " 
 said Miss Janet. 
 
 "No, Ma am; nobody quick 
 enough ; and I had the Brownie 
 there , and so I came." 
 
 "Well, cheer up, dear! the 
 doctor will be here now, and 
 
 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 hungry. It was not 
 without pleasure that she saw her 
 i kind hostess arm herself with a 
 
 we 11 send him right off; he won t deep plate and tin dipper, and 
 be long about his dinner, I 11 carefully taking off the pot cover, 
 engage. Come and set in this ! so that no drops might fall on the 
 big cheer do! it 11 rest you; hearth, proceed to ladle out a 
 I see you re a most tired out, and I goodly supply of whatEllen knew 
 it ain t a wonder. There don t ! was that excellent country dish 
 that feel better? now I ll give j called pot-pie. Excellent it is 
 you a little sup of dinner, for j when well made, and that was 
 you won t want to swallow it at Miss Janet s. The pieces of 
 the rate Leander will his n. crust were white and light like 
 Dear! dear! to think of poor new bread; the very tit-bits of 
 
 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. 
 
 the meat she culled out forEllen ; 
 and the soup-gravy, poured over 
 all, would have met even Miss 
 Fortune s wishes, from its just 
 
 degree of richness and exact 
 seasoning. Smoking hot, it was 
 
 "Well, so I dare say," said placed before Ellen, on a little 
 Miss Janet; "but I don t know stand by her easy-chair, with 
 so much about him ; hows ever, I some nice bread and butter; and 
 he s got everybody s good word! presently Miss Janet poured her 
 as far as I know; he s a likely out a cup of tea; for," she said, 
 man." "Leander never could take his 
 
 The little room into which dinner without it." Ellen s appe- 
 Miss Janet had brought Ellen tite needed no silver fork. Tea 
 was very plainly furnished indeed, and pot-pie were never better 
 but as neat as hands could make: liked; yet Miss Janet s enjoyment 
 it. The carpet was as crumbless ; was perhaps greater still. She 
 andlintlessasif meals were never j sat talking and looking at her 
 taken there, nor work seen; and j little visitor with secret but 
 yet a little table ready set for immense satisfaction, 
 dinner forbade the one conclu-j "Have you heard what fine 
 sion, and a huge basket of: doings we re a-going to have 
 naperies in one corner showed; here by -and -by?" said she. 
 
362 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " The doctor s tired of me ; he s 
 going to get ajiiew housekeeper; 
 he s going to get married some 
 
 ^.f 4-1-*^,- ^ ^l n ^* ". * 
 
 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. Kobins; it s too bad. Well, 
 take good care of yourself, dar- 
 
 ; Yes, indeed he is to Jenny I ling; couldn t you stop till it s 
 Jenny Hitchcock; and a nice I cooler? well, come and see me 
 little wife she 11 make him. You re las soon as you can again, but 
 
 of these days." 
 "Is he?" sai 
 Jenny?" 
 
 UVoc, n -, 
 
 said Ellen. "Not to 
 
 a great friend of Jenny, I know. 
 "How soon?" said Ellen. 
 " Oh, not just yet by-and-by 
 
 don t come without some one else 
 along! Good-bye! I wish 1 could 
 keep you." 
 
 after we get a little smarted i She went to the door to see her 
 up, I guess; before a great | mount, and smiled and nodded 
 while. Don t you think he 11 be a j her off. 
 happy man?" | Ellen was greatly refreshed with 
 
 Ellen could not help wonder-! her rest and her dinner; it grie- 
 ing, as the doctor just then came i ved her that the Brownie had not 
 in and she looked up at his un- fared as well. All the refresh- 
 fortunate three - cornered face, ment that kind words and patting 
 whether Jenny would be a happy ; could give him, she gave; pro- 
 woman. But as people often do, i mised him the freshest of water, 
 she judged only from the outside ; j and the sweetest of hay, when he 
 Jenny had not made such a bad should reach home ; and begged 
 choice after all. him to keep up his spirits and 
 
 The doctor said he would go ! hold on for a little longer. It may 
 directly to Mr. Van Brunt after he be doubted whether the Brownie 
 had been over to Mrs. Sibnorth s; understood the full sense of her 
 it wouldn t be a minute. Ellen j words, but he probably knew 
 meant to ride back in his com- i what the kind tones and gentle 
 pany; and having finished her hand meant. He answered cheer- 
 dinner, waited now only for him. j fully; threw up his head and gave 
 But the one minute passed two a little neigh , as much as to say, 
 minutes ten twenty she j lie wasn t going to mind a few 
 waited impatiently, but he came | hours of sunshine; and trotted 
 not. I on as if he knew his face was to- 
 
 " I 11 tell you how it must be," wards home which no doubt he 
 said his sister, "he s gone offjdid. Luckily it was not a very 
 without his dinner, calculating to hot day; for August, it was re- 
 get it at Miss Hitchcock s he d markably cool and beautiful; in- 
 be glad of the chance. That si deed, there was little very hot 
 how it is, dear; and you 11 have j weather ever known in Thirlwall. 
 to ride home alone; I m real; Ellen s heartfelt easier, now that 
 sorry. S pose you stop till evening, j her business was done ; and when 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 363 
 
 she had left the town behind her, I Ellen was silent, 
 and was again in the fields, she "It s quite a long time since I 
 was less timid than she had been saw you last," said he "how 
 before; she was going towards have the merinoes worn?" 
 
 home; that makes a great dif- 
 
 Ellen could not bear to look at 
 
 ference; and every step was his face, and did not see the ex- 
 bringing her nearer. "lamgladlpression which went with these 
 I came, after all," she thought; | words ; yet she felt it. 
 " but I hope I shall never have to I " They have worn very well," 
 do such a thing again. But I am said she ; "but I want to get home 
 glad I came." 
 
 She had no more than crossed 
 the little bridge , however, when 
 
 very much please let me go." 
 "Not yet, not yet," said he 
 
 " oh no, not yet. I want to talk to 
 
 she saw what" brought her heart you; why, what are you in such a 
 into her mouth. It was Mr. Saun-j devil of a hurry for? I came out 
 ders, lolling under a tree. What | on purpose; do you think I am 
 could he have come there for, at going to have all my long waiting 
 
 that time of day? A vague feel- 
 ing crossed her mind, that if she 
 
 she 
 
 or nothing?" 
 
 Ellen did not 
 say, her heart 
 
 know what to 
 sprang with a 
 
 could only get past him 
 
 should pass a danger; she [nameless pang to the thought, 
 
 thought to ride by without seem- j if she ever got free from this! 
 
 ing to see him, and quietly gave j Meanwhile she was not free. 
 
 the Brownie a pat to make him "Whose horse is that you re 
 
 go faster. But as she drew near, 
 Mr. Saunders rose up, came to 
 the middle of the road, and taking 
 
 on?" 
 
 "Mine," said Ellen. 
 
 " Your n! that s a likely story. 
 
 hold of her bridle, checked her; I guess he ain t your n, and so 
 pony s pace so that he could walk you won t mind if I touch him up 
 alongside to Ellen s unspeak- a little; I want to see how well 
 
 able dismay. 
 
 "What s kept you so long?" 
 
 you can sit a horse." 
 
 Passing his arm through the 
 
 said he "I ve been looking out bridle as he said these words, Mr. 
 for you this great while. Had j Saunders led the pony down to 
 hard work to find the doctor? " the side of the road where grew a 
 
 "Won t you please to let go i clump of high bushes, and, with 
 my horse ? " said Ellen , her heart some trouble, cut off a long, stout 
 beating very fast "I am in a sapling. Ellen looked in every 
 great hurry to get home please direction while he was doing this, 
 don t keep me." despairing, as she looked, of aid 
 
 "Oh, I want to see you a little, "| from any quarter of the broad, 
 said Mr. Saunders "you ain t | quiet, open country. Oh, for 
 in such a hurry to get away from ; wings ! But she could not 1( 
 me as that comes to, are you?" | the Brownie if she had them. 
 
 leave 
 
364 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Returning to the middle of the I mane and hold on tight, and yon 
 road, Mr. Saunders amused him- j won t fall off; I want to see 
 self, as they walked along , with j him rear." 
 
 stripping off all the leaves and! "But you 11 give him bad 
 little twigs from his sapling, tricks !" said Ellen. "Oh, pray, 
 leaving it, when done, a very I don t do so! It s very bad for 
 good imitation of an ox-whip in him to be teased. I m afraid he 
 size and length, with a fine lash- ! will kick if you do so , and he d 
 like point. Ellen watched him in be ruined if he got a habit of 
 an ecstasy of apprehension, afraid kicking. Oh , please let us go ! " 
 alike to speak or to be silent. said she , with the most acute ac- 
 
 " There! what do you think cent of entreaty "I want to be 
 of that?" said he, giving it two: home." 
 
 or three switches in the air to try "You keep quiet," said Mr. 
 its suppleness and toughness; Saunders, coolly; "if he kicks, 
 "don t that look like a whip ?j I ll give him such a lathering as 
 Now we 11 see how he 11 go ! " | he never had yet; he won t do it 
 
 " Please don t do anything with ! but once. I ain t agoing to hurt 
 it," said Ellen, earnestly "I him, but I am agoing to make 
 never touch him with the whip him rear no , I won t I ll 
 he doesn t need it he isn t used ! make him leap over a rail,the first 
 to it pray, pray do not ! " j bar-place we come to that will 
 
 "Oh, we ll just tickle him a ; be prettier." 
 
 little with it," said Mr. Saunders, "Oh, you mustn t do that," 
 coolly "I want to see how well said Ellen "I ve not learned to 
 you ll sit him just make him leap yet I couldn t keep on 
 caper a little bit." j you musn t do that,if you please." 
 
 He accordingly applied thej "You just hold fast, and hold 
 switch lightly to the Brownie s your tongue. Catch hold of his 
 heels, enough to annoy, without \ ears , and you ll stick on fast 
 hurting him. The Brownie show- enough; if you can t, you may 
 ed signs of uneasiness , quitted get down, for I am going to make 
 his quiet pace, and took to little! him take the leap, whether you 
 starts and springs , and whisking Avill or no." 
 
 motions, most unpleasing to his I Ellen feared still more to get off 
 rider. I and leave the Brownie to her tor- 
 
 " Oh, do not!" cried Ellen, al- 1 mentor s mercy, than to stay 
 most beside herself "he s very [where she was, and take her 
 spirited, and I don t know what chance. She tried in vain, as well 
 he will do if you trouble him." as she could, to soothe her horse ; 
 
 "You let me take care of that," (the touches of the whip coming 
 said Mr. Saunders; "if he troubles now in one place, and now in 
 me, I 11 give it to him ! If he rears | another, and some of them pretty 
 up, ouly you catch hold of his j sharp, he began to grow very 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 365 
 
 frisky indeed ; and she began to | whip to force the horse to take 
 
 be very much frightened, for fear the spring. 
 
 she should suddenly be jerkedoff. uj tell ou l shall fall said 
 
 With a good deal of presence of Ellen, reining him back. "How 
 
 mind, though wrought up to a: can you be so cruel ! I want to 
 
 terrible pitch of excitement andi^ onome t" 
 
 fear, Ellen gave her best atten 
 
 tion to keeping her seat as the 
 
 ; Well, you ain t agoing home 
 
 Brownie sprang, and started, 1 ^ ^et off if you are afraid." 
 and jumped, to one side and the! But, though trembling in every 
 other; Mr. Saunders holding the!? erv . e | r m 1 J iead P 
 
 bridle as loose as possible , so as fancied the Brownie was safer so 
 to give him plenty of room. For - lon S as ? had . her on ^ ls back 
 some little time he amused him-j^e would not leave him She 
 self with this game, the horse Pleaded her best, which Mr. 
 growing more and more irritated, i Saunders heard as if it was amu- 
 At length a smart stroke of thei sm S an f ^i 1011 * makm ^ an ^ 
 whip upon his haunches, made, ans 7 er > kept the horse capering 
 the Brownie spring in away that m front of the bars, pretending 
 brought Ellen s heart into her every minute he was coing to 
 mouth and almost threw her off. ^ip him up to take the leap. 
 
 "Oh, don t!" cried Ellen, Hls ob J?^ ct however, was merely 
 bursting into tears for the first i* gratify the smallest of minds 
 time she had with great effort b ? teasing a child he had a spite 
 commanded them backuntil now; j against; he had no intention to 
 "poor Brownie! - How can breaking her bones by a fall 
 youf Oh, please let us go! from her horse ; so m time he had 
 please let us go I " 
 
 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 remonstrance and plead 
 ing with Mr. Saunders that she 
 
 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 gentleman 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. / 
 
 knew how to make. He paid her! paid him off, to my heart s con- 
 no sort of attention. He led the tent. I gave the old fellow a les- 
 Brownie to the side of the road, son to behave in future. I forgive 
 let down all the bars but the lower j him now entirely. By the way, 
 two, let go the bridle, and stood | I ve a little account to settle with 
 a little off, prepared with his j you -didn t you ask Mr, Per- 
 
366 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 riman 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 agoing to punish 
 you for it, somehow or nether*, 
 but it ain t pretty to quarrel with 
 ladies, so Brownie and me 11 
 settle it together. You won t mind 
 that, I dare say." 
 
 "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 Brow 
 nie 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 5 "poor 
 
 Brownie ! you shan t do it. He 
 hasn t done any harm, nor I either; 
 you are a bad man ! " 
 
 " Get off! " repeated Mr. Saun 
 ders. 
 
 "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 11 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 11 give it to him now! If he 
 hasn t been used to a whip he ll 
 I know pretty well what it means 
 by the timel 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 behaviour 
 to Ellen in the store at New York, 
 and the measures taken bv the 
 old gentleman who had befriend 
 ed her, had been the cause of his 
 dismissal from the employ of 
 Messrs. St. Clair and Fleury. 
 Two or 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 gentle 
 man had lived in his memory as 
 objects of 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 promi 
 sed himself revenge, such revenge 
 as only the meanest and most 
 cowardly spirit could have taken 
 pleasure in. His best way of dis- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 367 
 
 tressing Ellen, he found, was; rage for the time overcame cowar- 
 through her horse ; he had almost j dice. 
 
 satisfied himself; but very natu- 1 "Take your hand off the 
 rally his feeling of spite had bridle ! " with a slight touch of 
 grown stronger and blunter with j the riding- whip upon the hand in 
 indulgence, and he meant to wind 1 question. 
 
 up with such a treatment of her | "Not for you, brother," said 
 pony, real or seeming, as he knew j Mr. Saunders, sneeringly; 
 would give great pain to the!" I ll walk with any lady I ve a 
 pony s mistress. He was prevent- 1 mind to. Look out for yourself!" 
 ed. "We will dispense with your 
 
 As they went slowly along, El- ; further attendance ," said John, 
 len still clasping the Brownie s j coolly. "Do you hear me? Do as 
 neck, and resolved to clingto him I order you ! " 
 to the last, Mr. Saunders making j The speaker did not put him- 
 him caper in a way very uncom- self in a passion, and Mr. Saun- 
 fortable to her, one was too busy, ; ders, accustomed for his own part 
 and the other too deafened byjto make bluster serve instead of 
 fear, to notice the sound of fast- j prowess, despised a command so 
 approaching hoofs behind them. calmly given. Ellen, who knew 
 It happened that John Hum-! the voice, and still better could 
 phreys had passed the night at read the eye , drew conclusions 
 Ventnor; and having an errand very different. She was almost 
 to do for a friend at Thirlwall, breathless with terror. Saunders 
 had taken that road, Avhich led was enraged and mortified at an 
 him but a few miles out of his interference that promised to 
 way, and was now at full speed baffle him; he was a stout young 
 on his way home. He had never man, and judged himself the 
 made theBrownie s acquaintance, ! stronger of the two ; and tookno- 
 and did not recognise Ellen as tice, besides, that the stranger 
 he came up ; but in passing; them, had nothing in his hand but a 
 some strange notion crossing his \ slight riding-whip. He answered 
 mind he wheeled his horse round very insolently, and with an oath ; 
 directly in front of the astonished and John saw that he was taking 
 pair. Ellen quitted her pony s the bridle in his left hand and 
 neck, and stretching out both shifting his sapling whip so as to 
 arms towards him, exclaimed, al- : bring the club end of it upper 
 most shrieked, "Oh, John! John! | most. The next instant he aimed 
 send him away ! make him let me a furious blow at his adversary s 
 
 go!" 
 
 "What are you about, Sir?" 
 said the new comer, sternly. 
 
 "It s none of your business! " 
 
 horse. The quick eye and hand 
 of the rider disappointed that 
 with a sudden swerve. In another 
 moment and Pollen hardly saw 
 
 answered Mr. Saunders , in whom how, it was so quick John had 
 
368 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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. 
 
 "Eide on , Ellen ! " said her de 
 liverer. 
 
 She obeyed. He stayed a mo 
 ment to say to his fallen adver 
 sary a few words of pointed warn 
 ing as to ever repeating his of 
 fence; then remounted and spur 
 red 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 convulsive 
 sobs ; she could scarce with great 
 effort keep from crying out aloud. 
 
 "Ellie!" said her adopted bro 
 ther , 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 ner 
 vous 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 Thirl- 
 wall 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 Avas 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 hadnotbeenfor 
 that, I should not have gone to 
 Mr. Van Brunt s and then 
 again, after that I thought , if he 
 only hadn t!" 
 
 "Little things often draw after 
 them long trains of circumstan 
 ces," 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, certain 
 ly," 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 trustingyou 
 even there." 
 
 "Of the Brownie?" said Ellen 
 "oh, he 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 doyoulike 
 mine?" said he. 
 
 "Is that your new one? Oh, 
 what a beauty ! Oh me , what a 
 beauty! I didn t look at him be- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 369 
 
 fore. Oh, I like him very much! j amusement, he rode round her 
 he s handsomer than the Brownie j two or three times, to view her 
 do you like him?" | horse and show her his own; com- 
 
 "Very well! this is the first: mended the Brownie; praised her 
 trial I have made of him. I was at | bridle hand ; corrected several 
 Mr. Marshman s last night, and j things about her riding; and 
 they detained me this morning, by degrees engaged her in very 
 
 or I should have been here much 
 earlier. I am very well satisfied 
 with him, so far." 
 
 "And if you had not been de 
 tained ! " said Ellen. 
 
 "Yes, Ellie I should not 
 have fretted at my late breakfast 
 and having to try Mr. Marshman s 
 favourite 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." 
 
 animated conversation. Ellen 
 roused up; the colour came back 
 to her cheeks ; and when they 
 reached home, and rode round 
 to the glass door, she looked al 
 most like herself. 
 
 She sprang oif 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 
 
 "Is his name the Black Prince?" the lawn. Something was the 
 said Ellen, returning to the horse, matter; for she stood with swim- 
 
 "Yes, I believe so; but you ming eyes and a trembling lip, 
 shall change it, Ellie, if you can rubbing her stirrup, which really 
 find one you like better."^ needed no polishing, and forget- 
 
 "Oh, I cannot! I like that j ting the tiredhorses, which would 
 very much. How beautiful he is ! have had her sympathy at any 
 
 Is he good?" 
 
 I Hope so," said John 
 
 smiling 
 
 other time. What was the matter? 
 Only that Mr. John had for- 
 
 JL J-IWJV^ UV/2 U<*X\-i. tf V/ AJ-i-L^ WAAAiAJii^ 
 
 "if he is not, I shall be at the j gotten the kiss he always gave 
 pains to make him so. We are her on going or coming. Ellen 
 hardly acquainted yet." was jealous of it as a pledge of 
 
 Ellen looked doubtfully at the sistership , and could not want it; 
 black horse and his rider, and and though she tried as hard as 
 patting the Brownie s neck , ob- ; she could to get her face in order, 
 served with great satisfaction | so that she might go in and meet 
 that lie was very good. j them, somehoAv it seemed to take 
 
 John had been riding very : a great while. She was still busy 
 slowly on Ellen s account; they j with her stirrup, when she sudden- 
 now mended their pace. He saw, ly felt two hands on her shoulders, 
 however, that she still looked mi- j and looking up, received the very 
 serably, and exerted himself to j kiss the want of which she had 
 turn her thoughts from every- been lamenting. But John saw 
 thing disagreeable. Much to her the tears in her eyes, and asked 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 24 
 
370 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 shoul 
 ders , 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. "Hun 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, trans 
 ferred her to bed, thinking, with 
 good reason , that a long sleep 
 would be the best thing for her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Halcyon Days. 
 
 WHEN Ellen came out of 
 Alice s room again, it was late in 
 the afternoon. The sun was so 
 low that the shadow of the house 
 had crossed the narrow 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 forefeet 
 doubled under his breast, watch 
 
 ing, 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 
 Margery 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 he won t ask for 
 my last drawing to-night; I want 
 to fix the top of that tree before 
 he sees it." 
 
 "Fix the top of your tree , you 
 little Yankee!" said Alice; - 
 "what do you think John would 
 say to that? wnfix 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 doesn t mind that, Ellie. 
 He 11 be home presently." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD . 
 
 371 
 
 "How nice those peaches 
 look! they are as good as straw 
 berries 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; 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 de-* 
 clared she did not want her, and 
 she might stay as long as she 
 pleased. This was all that was 
 needed to complete Ellen s feli 
 city. 
 
 "Wasn t your poor horse too 
 tired to go out again this after 
 noon, Mr. John?" 
 
 "I did not ride him, Ellie; I 
 took yours." 
 
 ; The Brownie ! did you? 
 
 "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 practising you at the 
 bar, I wished to make sure, in 
 the first place, that he knew his 
 lesson." 
 
 "Well, how did he do?" 
 
 "Perfectly well I believe he 
 is a good little fellow. I wanted 
 to satisfy myself if he was fit to 
 be trusted with you ; and I rather 
 think Mr. Marshman has taken 
 care of that." 
 
 The whole wall of trees was 
 in shadow when the little family 
 sat down to table ; but there was 
 still the sunlit 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 
 rasshopper, and tree-toad and 
 katydid, and nameless other 
 songsters, kept up a concert 
 nature s own in delicious har- 
 
 I m very glad! How did you mony with woods and flowers, 
 like him? But perhaps lie was land summer breezes and evening 
 tired a little, and you couldn t lig-ht. Ellen s cup of enioyment 
 
 4-^11 c,~ ,~~\\ 4-~ J_ " __ T7_.-..r 
 
 tell so well to-day. 
 
 was runnig over. From one 
 
 "He was not tired with any j beautiful thing to another her 
 work you had given him, Ellie; eye wandered from one joy to 
 - perhaps he may be a little, | another her thoughts went till 
 now." I her full heart fixed on the God 
 
 24* 
 
372 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 who had made and given them When tea was over, and Mar- 
 all, and that Redeemer whose gery had withdrawn the things, 
 blood had been their purchase- 1 and taken away the table, they 
 money. From the dear friends j still lingered in their places. It 
 beside her, the best loved she; was far too pleasant to go in. Mr. 
 had in the world , she thought of Humphreys moved his chair to 
 the one dearer, yet from whom | the side of the house, and throw- 
 death had separated her; yet! ing a handkerchief over his head 
 living still and to whom death j to defend him from the musqui- 
 would restore her, thanks to; toes, a few of which were buzzing 
 Him who had burst the bonds of about, he either listened, me- 
 death, and broken the gates of ( ditated, or slept; most probably 
 the grave , and made a way for one of the two latter, for the con- 
 
 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 1 am," said Ellen, smiling 
 
 versatipn was not very loud nor 
 very lively, it was happiness 
 enough merely to breathe so near 
 each other. The sun left the dis 
 tant fields and hills ; soft twilight 
 
 stole through the woods, down 
 
 a very bright smile. j the gap , and over the plain ; the 
 
 "What are you thinking grass lost its green; the wall of 
 
 about?" 
 
 But John saw it would not do 
 to press his question. 
 
 trees grew dark and dusky; and 
 very faint and dim showed the 
 picture that was so bright a little 
 
 You remind me," said he, while ago. As they sat quite 
 "of some old fairy story that my j silent, listening to what nature 
 childish ears received, in which! had to say to them, or letting 
 the fountains of the sweet and | fancy and memory take their 
 bitter waters of life were said to : way, the silence was broken 
 stand very near each other, and; hardly broken by the distinct 
 to mingle their streams but a! far- off cry of a whip-poor-will, 
 little way from their source. Alice grasped her brother s arm, 
 Your tears and smiles seem to be and they remained motionless, 
 brothers and sisters ; whenever : while it came nearer, nearer, then 
 we see one we may be sure the quite near, with its clear, wild, 
 other is not far off." I shrill, melancholy note sounding 
 
 "My dear Jack," said Alice, j close by them again and again 
 laughing "what an unhappy! strangely, plaintively then 
 simile! Are brothers and sisters leaving the lawn, it was heard 
 always found like that?" further and further off, till the 
 
 "I wish they were," said John, last faint "whip-poor-will," in 
 sighing and smiling; "but imyi the far distance, ended its pretty 
 last words had nothing to do with ; interlude. It was almost too dark 
 my simile, as you call it." | to read faces, but the eyes of the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 373 
 
 brother and sister had sought I " We are thinking of it, Papa, 
 each other, remained fixed till said Alice, cheerfully, 
 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. 
 
 "Sometimes, John," said Alice, 
 "I am afraid Lhave one tie too 
 strong to this world. I cannot 
 bear as I ought to have you? 
 
 He went in, and was heard call 
 ing 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 hills that bordered the far 
 
 aAvay from me. 
 
 Her brother s lips were in 
 stantly pressed to her forehead. 
 
 "I may say to you, Alice, as! side of the plain, a white light, 
 Colonel Gardiner said to his spreading, and growing, and 
 wife, we have an eternity to j brightening, promised the moon, 
 spend together ! " and promised that she would rise 
 
 "I wonder," said Alice, after a 
 pause, "how those can bear to 
 love or be loved, whose affection 
 can see nothing but a blank 
 
 promise 
 
 very splendid; and even before 
 she came , began to throw a faint 
 lustre over the landscape. All 
 eyes were fastened and exclama- 
 
 beyond the grave." jtions burst, as the first silver 
 
 "Few people, I believe," sa idi edge showed itself, and the moon, 
 her brother, "would come exactly rapidly rising looked on them 
 under that description ; most flat- ! wlth her whole , broad , bright 
 ter themselves with a vague hope : ace: lighting up not only then- 
 faces and figures, but the wide 
 country view that was spread out 
 
 of reunion after death." 
 
 "But that is a miserable hope 
 very different from ours." 
 
 below, and touching most beauti- 
 
 a^T J-& j j i j fully the trees in the edge of the 
 
 / Very different, indeed! and * and faintly the lawn; while 
 
 miserable; for it can only de- f^ n f J t d . n dee 
 
 ceive ; but ours is sure < Them i and blacker ghad() than P 
 
 that sleep in Jesus will God bring 
 
 with him. " "Isn t that beautiful?" said 
 
 "Precious!" saidAlice. "How| Ellen - 
 
 exactly fitted to 1 every want and ! " Come round here , Ellie," 
 mood of the mind are the sweet : said John; "Alice may have you 
 Bible words ! " all the rest of the year , but when 
 
 "Well! 
 rousing 
 
 in! These musquitoes 
 
 eaten me up. Are you going to "When? said Ellen, 
 oif *v,,-. n ~;,v.i^ i 
 
 e words ! " all the rest or the year , but when 
 
 Well!" said Mr. Humphreys, I am at home you belong to me 
 ing himself " I am going ! What was your little head busied 
 These musquitoes have half; u P on a while ago ? " 
 
 sit there all night? 
 
 " When I asked you " 
 
374 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.- 
 
 " 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 Fa 
 ther s house are many mansions ; 
 and I was thinking that Mam 
 ma was there: and 1 thought 
 that we all " 
 
 Ellen could get no further. 
 
 " He that believeth in him, 
 shall not be ashamed, " said 
 John , softly. " This is the pro 
 mise 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, pre 
 sently " 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? " m 
 
 " 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 re- 
 ceiveth 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 righteousness, those that 
 remember thee in thy ways. 
 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 them is the 
 same yesterday, to-day, and for 
 ever. 
 
 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 steal 
 ing among the trees, here and 
 there, lit up a spot of ground 
 under their deep shadow. The 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 375 
 
 distant picture lay in mazy bright 
 ness. 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 hayfields, 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 places have 
 any notion of." 
 
 "But cannot rich people look 
 at the moon?" said Ellen. 
 
 "Yes, but the taste for pure 
 pleasures is commonly 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 any 
 thing 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 perplexed , and half- 
 laughing. "What do you mean, 
 
 yourself permanently for the fu- 
 ;ure." 
 
 " Was that man hurt this morn- 
 ng, John?" said his sister. 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 " 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 
 
 3," 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." 
 
 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." 
 
 ; But I wanted to ask some 
 thing ," said Ellen "oh what 
 is the reason the moon looks so 
 much larger when she first gets 
 up, than she does afterwards?" 
 
 "Whom are you asking? " 
 
 "You." 
 
 "And who is you? Here are 
 two people in the moonlight." 
 
 "Mr. John Humphreys, Alice s 
 brother , and that Thomas calls 
 the yxDung 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 enlarge 
 ment of my thumb ? " 
 
 He had drawn a small magni- 
 fying-glass from his pocket, and 
 held it between his hand and 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Why, it is not enlarged," said 
 Ellen "it is only magnified. 
 "Have the goodness to forget | "What do you mean by that?" 
 
376 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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, "lam 
 perfectly sure; there is nothing 
 in the world. There she is, right 
 lip there, looking straight down 
 upon us, and there is nothing 
 between." 
 
 "What is it that keeps up that 
 pleasant fluttering of leaves in 
 the wood?" 
 
 "Why, the wind." 
 
 "And what is the wind?" 
 
 "It is air air moving, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 "Exactly. Then there is some 
 thing between us and the moon?" 
 
 "The air? But, Mr. John, one 
 can see quite clearly through the 
 air; it doesn t make think 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." 
 
 "But how is it?" said Ellen. 
 "I don t understand." 
 
 "I cannot tell you to-night, 
 Ellie. 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 no 
 thing happens. Alice , you have 
 that little book of Conversations 
 on Natural Philosophy, 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 Kollin, 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 improve 
 ment too. 
 
 A good deal of time was given 
 to the riding lessons. John busied 
 himself one morning in prepa 
 ring 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 stand- 
 ng, and then running 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 
 ook at her going over it." Then 
 John made her ride without the 
 stirrup , and with her hands be- 
 lind her, while he, holding the 
 lorse by a long halter, made him 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 377 
 
 go round in a circle, slowly at 
 first, and afterwards trotting and 
 cantering, till Ellen felt almost 
 as secure on its back as in a 
 chair. It took a good many les 
 sons, however, to bring her to 
 this, and she trembled very much 
 atthe beginning. Herteacher was 
 careful and gentle, but deter 
 mined; and whatever he said she 
 did , tremble or no tremble ; and, 
 in general, loved her riding les 
 sons dearly. 
 
 JQrawin^ tpo , went on finely. 
 He began ~toTe~t hSr~a*raw things 
 from nature; and many a plea 
 sant 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 the 
 
 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 her on their 
 way back. She had a strong 
 motive for going in the pleasure 
 her presense always gave , both 
 to Mr. Van Brunt and his mother. 
 Sam Larkens had been to Thirl- 
 wall 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 expres 
 sions whenever she had Ellen s 
 ear; her son was not a man of 
 many words ; but Ellen knew his 
 
 house or barn in the distance, for face and manner well enough 
 Ellen to sketch; and while she! 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 "getting 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 that 
 ever was , for a man that has two 
 arms to be a-doing nothing, day- 
 
 drew and Alice worked, John 
 read aloud to them. Sometimes 
 he took a pencil too, and Alice 
 read; and often, often, pencils, 
 books, and work were all laid 
 down; and talk lively, serious, 
 earnest, always delightful took 
 the 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 evenbreakfastings, 
 which she thought pleasanter 
 still. 
 
378 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 after day. And what bothers me never heerd a man talk I liked to 
 
 is the wheat in that ten-acre lot, i hear so much." 
 
 that ought to be prostrated too, Ellen secretly resolved some- 
 
 and ain t, nor ain t like to be, as I thing should bring him; and went 
 
 know, unless the rain comes and on with a purpose she had had 
 
 does it. Sam and Johnny 11 make i for some time in her mind. 
 
 no headway at all with it I can "Wouldn t it be pleasant, 
 
 tell as well as if I see em. while you are lying t ere and 
 
 ; But Sam is good, isn t he? "| can do nothing wouldn t you 
 said Ellen. like to have me read something 
 
 "Sam s as good a boy as ever; to you, Mr. Van Brunt? /should 
 was; but then Johnny Low is like to, very much." 
 mischievous, you see, and he "It s just like you," said he, 
 gets Sam out of his tracks once gratefully "to think of that; 
 in a while. I never see a finer: but j wou id n t have you be 
 growth of wheat. I had a sight bothered with it." 
 rather cut and harvest the hull of j It wou ldn t, indeed. I should 
 it than to lie here and think of it 1 uk e jt very much." 
 getting spoiled. I m a most out! 
 o conceit o trap-doors, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen could not help smiling. 
 
 Wellj if you 
 
 * " T p.a.n t. sn 
 
 said 
 
 he "I can t say but it would be 
 a kind o comfort to keep that 
 
 "What can I do for you, Mr. grain out o my head a while. 
 Van Brunt?" | Seems to me I have cut and 
 
 "There ain t nothing," said ! housed it all three times over al- 
 he; "I wish there was. How j ready. Read just whatever you 
 are you coming along at home?" have a mind to. If you was to go 
 
 "I don t know," said Ellen over a last year s almanac it 
 "I am not there just now, you j would be as good as a fiddle to 
 know ; I am staying up with Miss j me." 
 
 Alice again." 
 
 I 11 do better for you than 
 
 "Oh, ay! while her brother s that, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, 
 at home. He s a splendid man, [ laughing in high glee at having 
 that young Mr. Humphreys , ain t gained her point. She had se- 
 he ? " cretly brought her Pilgrim s Pro- 
 
 " Oh , / knew that a great while 
 ago," said Ellen, the bright co 
 lour 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 getting on. I wish some 
 thing would bring t him again. I 
 
 gress with her, and now with mar 
 vellous satisfaction drew it forth. 
 "I han t been as much of a 
 reader as I had ought to," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt, as she opened 
 the book and turned to the first 
 page; "but, however, I under 
 stand my business pretty well; 
 and a man can t be everything 
 
5 
 
 to 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 trampling 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 dili 
 gent in her attendance 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 a little, some 
 times, 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, 
 and in the best way, and were too 
 short and simple 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 questions, to 
 end every reading with a chapter 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 379 
 
 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 
 the means; what was strong or 
 tender, 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 , longing 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 fa 
 vourite 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 dis 
 appointed. 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? " 
 
 "Oh, nevermind," said Ellen, 
 brushing her hand over her eyes 
 "it s no matter." 
 
 "Yes, but I want to know," 
 
380 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 said Mr. Van Brunt; "you Brunt. But Jesus Christ has died 
 sha n t have anything to vex you! for us, and if we ask him, he will 
 that / can help 5 what is it?" j forgive us, and wash away our 
 "It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt,"| sins, and teach us to love him, 
 said Ellen , bursting into tears and make us good, and take usto 
 again "only I thought you be with him in heaven. Oh! I 
 were asleep I I thought you wish you would ask him ! " she re- 
 didn t care enough about the peated, with an earnestness that 
 Bible to keep awake I want so went to his heart. "I don t be- 
 much that you should be a Chris- ! lieve any one can be very happy 
 * ; " " that doesn t love him." 
 
 tian ! 
 
 He half groaned, and turned 
 his head away. 
 
 "Is that what makes 
 
 you 
 
 happy? "said he. 
 
 " I have a great many things to 
 
 "What makes you wish that so 
 
 much?" said he, after a minute mak V me happy," said Ellen, 
 
 I soberly - but that is the great- 
 e est of all. It always makes me 
 happy to think of him, and it 
 makes everything else 
 
 . I am pretty tolerable sand times pleasanter. I 
 happy, said he; "as happy as you knew how it 
 
 "Because I want you to 
 happy," said Ellen "and 
 know you can t without." \ ms ^ s everything else a thou- 
 
 "Well, I am pretty tolerable sand times pleasanter. I wish 
 
 ,ppy said he; "as happy as knew how it ig Mr y au 
 
 most folks, I guess." i Brunt!" 
 
 " But I want you to be happy | R wag n t f Uttle and 
 when you die, too, said Ellen - . disturbed Ellen thought. 
 "I want to meet you in heaven. ., TT 11( ,, ., , ,, 
 
 " I hone I will o-o there sure- Wel1 ! said he at len S th ~ 
 
 " 
 
 the folks that thinks 
 themselves the best that is the 
 
 ly," said he, 
 
 the time comes~ .,, 
 
 Ellen was uneasily silent, not e j* always -if you am ; good, 
 knowing what to sav should like to know what good- 
 
 "I ain t as good as I ought to ?* { * T ^ s somebody that 
 be," said he presently, with a half thl ? ks ^ u be, said he a minute 
 sigh : - " I ain t good enough to or tw afterwards , as the horses 
 
 nrrofo noQvri /">rkrrTn o* Tr\ rno rroro 
 
 go to heaven I wish I was. You 
 are, I do believe." 
 
 "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 believe it or 
 not. Nobody is good, Mr. Van 
 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 381 
 
 was wrong." Her eyes watered and held the cotton, and, as soon 
 as she spoke. as it was done, set down again to 
 
 "He must have mighty sharp her drawing. Before ten minutes 
 eyes, then," said Mr. Van Brunt had passed, Margery came to set 
 "for it beats all my powers of the table for dinner; Ellen s 
 seeing things." papers and desk must move. 
 
 "And so he has," said Ellen, "Why, it is not dinner-time yet, 
 putting on her bonnet; "he al- j this great while , Margery," said 
 ways knows what I am thinking she "it isn t much after 
 of just as well as if I told him. ! twelve." 
 Good-bye ! " " No, Miss Ellen," said Marge- 
 
 " Good -bye," said he "I ry, under her breath, for John 
 han t forgotten what you ve been was in one corner of the room 
 saying, and I don t mean to." reading "but by-and-by I ll be 
 
 How full of sweet pleasure was busy with the chops and frying 
 the ride home! (the salsify, and I couldn t leave 
 
 The "something wrong," of j the kitchen if you ll let me 
 which Ellen had spoken, was have the table now." 
 this. The day before, it happen- j Ellen said no more, and moved 
 ed that Mr. John had broken her (her things to a stand before the 
 off from a very engaging book to j window, where she went on with 
 take her drawing lesson; and as her copying till dinner was ready, 
 he stooped down to give a touch | Whatever the reason was, how- 
 or two to the piece she was to ever, her pencil did not work 
 copy, he said, "I don t want you, smoothly: her eye did not see 
 to read any more of that, Ellie; it j true ; and she lacked her usual 
 is not a good book for you." steady patience. The next morn- 
 Ellen did not for a moment ques- ing, after an hour and more s 
 tion that he was right, nor wish work and much painstaking, the 
 to disobey ; but she had become drawing was finished. Ellen had 
 very much interested , and was a quite forgotten her yesterday s 
 good deal annoyed at having trouble. But when John came to 
 such a sudden stop put to her review her drawing, he found 
 
 several faults with it; pointed 
 put 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 
 
 annoyed again at the interrup- happened yesterday. She was 
 tion; the harpstringsj were jar-j vexed again, though she did her 
 ringyet, and gave fresh discord best not to show it; she stood 
 at every touch. She had , how- quietly and heard what he had to 
 ever, no mind to let her vexation say. He then told her to get 
 be seen; she went immediately | ready for her .riding lesson. 
 
 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 
 
382 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Mayn t I just make this right j while the reproof coming from 
 first? said Ellen "it won t take him went to the quick, Ellen yet 
 me long." [joined with it no thought of 
 
 4 "_No," said he 5 "you have been j harshness or severity. She was 
 sitting long enough; I must break: completely subdued, however; 
 you off. The Brownie will be here the rest of the riding lesson had 
 
 to be given up, and for an hour 
 
 in ten minutes." 
 
 Ellen was impatiently eager to 
 
 Ellen s tears could not be stayed. 
 
 mend the bad places in her draw- 1 But it was , and John had meant 
 ing, and impatiently displeased j it should be, a strong check given 
 at being obliged to ride first.! to her besetting sin. It had a 
 Slowly and reluctantly she Aventj long and lasting effect, 
 to get ready ; John was already 
 gone ; she would not have moved 
 so leisurely if he had been any 
 where within seeing distance. As 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 "Prodigious!" 
 
 IN due time, Mr. Van Brunt was 
 on his legs again, much to every - 
 
 it was, she found it convenient to 
 
 quicken her movements, and was j body s joy , and much to the ad- 
 
 at the door ready as soon as he vantage of fields, fences, and 
 
 and the Brownie. She was soon 
 thoroughly engaged in the ma 
 nagement of herself and her 
 horse ; a little smart riding shook 
 all the ill-humour 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 neck of the 
 horse. Presently he looked 
 round to Ellen, and asked her, 
 with a smile, if she felt right 
 again. 
 
 "Why?" said Ellen, the crim 
 son of her cheeks mounting to 
 her forehead. But her eye sunk 
 immediately at the answering 
 glance of his. He then, in a very 
 few words , set the matter before 
 her, with such a happy mixture 
 of pointedness and kindness, that 
 
 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 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 , " be 
 fore hewill be through that be 
 fore he will be able to leave Don- 
 caster?" 
 "Next summer." 
 "And what will he do then?" 
 " Then he will be ordained." 
 "Ordained! whatisthat?" 
 "He will be solemnly set apart 
 for the work of the ministry, and 
 appointed to it by a number of 
 clergymen." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 383 
 
 much attached to old Mr. and 
 Mrs. Marshman, and Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey and her daughter ; the latter 
 of whom reckoned all the rest 
 of her young friends as nothing 
 compared with Ellen Mont 
 gomery. Ellen, in her opinion, 
 did everything 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. Sandford 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? 
 
 months Mr. Marshman was sure j But Ellen is so pleasant about it 
 to come for them, or Mr. Howard, [always; she never seems to think 
 or perhaps the carriage only with j she does better than I ; and she is 
 a letter; and it was bargained j always ready to help me, and 
 for, that Mr. Humphreys should! take ever so much time to show 
 follow to see them home. It was me how to do things ; she is so 
 not always that Ellen could go, j pleasant, isn t she, Mamma? I 
 but the disappointments were | know I have heard you say she is 
 seldom; she, too, had become j very polite." 
 quite domesticated at Ventnor, "She is certainly that," said 
 and was sincerely loved by the Mrs. Gillespie; "and there is a, 
 whole family. Many as were the grace in her politeness that can 
 times she had been there, it had \ only proceed from great natural 
 oddly happened that she had ; delicacy and refinement of cha- 
 iiever met her old friend of the racter. How she can have such 
 boat again ; but she was very , manners , living and working in 
 
 "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 Eng 
 land and Scotland, and see our 
 friends there; though I hardly 
 think John will do it, unless he 
 sees some further reason for go 
 ing. If he do not, he will probably 
 soon be called somewhere ; Mr. 
 Marshman wants him to come to 
 Randolph. 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 
 
384 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the way you say she does, Icon- when their backs are turned 
 
 fess is beyond my comprehen- 
 
 said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 
 sum." "She! oh, Aunt Matilda! she 
 
 " One would not readily forget wouldn t do the least thing they 
 the notion of good-breeding in don t like for the whole world. I 
 the society of Alice and John know she never reads a story 
 Humphreys," said Miss Sophia. when she is here, unless it is my 
 
 "And Mr. Humphreys," said Sunday books, without asking 
 Mrs. Chauncey. j Alice first." 
 
 > " There is no society about | "She is a most extraordinary 
 him," said Miss Sophia 5 "he don t child!" said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 say two dozen words a day." "She is a, good child," saidMrs. 
 
 "But she is not with them," Chauncey. 
 said Mrs. Gillespie. " Yes, Mamma, and thatis what 
 
 " She is with them a great deal, I wanted to say. I do not think 
 AuntMatilda," said Ellen Chaun- Ellen is so polite because she is 
 cey, "and they teach her every- so much with Alice and Mr. John, 
 thing, and she does learn! She but because she is so sweet and 
 must be very clever; don t you good. I don t think she could help 
 think she is , Mamma? Mamma, being polite." 
 she beats me entirely in speaking i " It is not that ," said Mrs. Gil- 
 French, and she knows all about lespie; "mere sweetness and 
 English history, and arithmetic! goodness would never give so 
 and did you ever hear her sing, ; much elegance of manner. As 
 Mamma?" I far as I have seen, Ellen Mont- 
 
 "I do not believe she beats ! gomery is ^perfectly well-behaved 
 you, as you call it, in generous | child." 
 
 estimation of others," saidMrs. j " That she is," said Mrs. Chaun - 
 Chauncey, smiling, and bending cey; "but neither would any cul- 
 forward to kiss her daughter; tivation or example be sufficient 
 "but what is the reason Ellen is for it without Ellen s thorough 
 so much better read in history 
 than you?" 
 
 I don t know, Mamma, unless 
 I wish I wasn t so fond of read 
 ing stories." 
 
 Ellen Montgomery is just as 
 
 good principle and great sweet 
 ness of temper." 
 
 " That s exactly what / think, 
 Mamma," said Ellen Chauncey. 
 
 Ellen s sweetness of temper 
 was not entirely born with her; it 
 
 fond of them, I 11 warrant," said ^vas one of the blessed fruits of 
 Miss Sophia. religion and discipline. Discipline 
 
 " Yes oh , I know she is fond lad not done with it yet. When 
 of them ; but then Alice and Mr. he winter came on, and the 
 John don t let her read them, ex- jnouse-work grew less, and with 
 cept now and then one. 5 [renewed vigour she was bending 
 
 "I fancy she does it, though, herself to improvement in all 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 385 
 
 sorts of ways, it unluckily came 
 into Miss Fortune s head, thai 
 some of Ellen s spare time mighi 
 be turned to account in a new 
 line. With this lady, to propose 
 and do were two things always 
 very near together. The very 
 next day Ellen was summoned to 
 help her down-stairs with the big 
 spinning-wheel. Most unsuspi 
 ciously, and with her accustomed 
 pleasantness, Ellen did it. But 
 when she was sent up again for 
 the rolls of wool, and Miss For 
 tune, 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 Miss 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 remonstrance, unless her dis 
 consolate face might be thought 
 one 5 she stood half a day at the 
 big spinning-wheel, fretting se 
 cretly, while Miss Fortune went 
 round with an inward chuckle 
 visible in her countenance, that 
 in spite of herself increased El 
 len 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 grie 
 vous trial. Ellen cried for a great 
 while when she got to her own 
 room, and a long hard struggle 
 was necessary before she could 
 resolve to do her duty. "To be 
 patient and quiet! . and spin 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 nobody knows how much yarn 
 and my poor history and philo 
 sophy 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 
 over-pressed, Ellen would ask 
 Miss Fortune to let her stop ; say 
 ing, as Alice had advised her, 
 that she wished to have her do 
 such and such things ; Miss For 
 tune 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 little spinner; 
 patience and gentleness grew with 
 the practice of them; this weari 
 some 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 plea 
 sant winter to her. 
 
 John s visit came as usual at 
 lie holidays, and was enjoyed 
 as usual; only that every one 
 seemed to Ellen more pleasant 
 than the last. The only other 
 event that broke the quiet course 
 of things (besides the journeys 
 ;o Yentnor) was the death of Mrs. 
 Van Brunt. This happened very 
 unexpectedly and after a short 
 llness, not far from the end of 
 January. Ellen was very sorry, 
 DO th for her own sake and Mr. 
 Van Brunt s, who she was sure 
 25 
 
386 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 felt much , though , according to salt , and she went eagerly out of 
 his general custom, he said no- the door with Mr. Van Brunt to a 
 thing. Ellen felt for him none new pleasure, 
 the less. She little thought what I They crossed two or three 
 an important bearing this event j meadows behind the barn, to a 
 would have upon her own future j low rocky hill covered with trees, 
 well-being. On the other side of this, they 
 
 The winter passed and the came to a fine field of spring 
 spring came. One fine, mild, wheat. Footsteps must not go 
 pleasant afternoon, early in May, I over the young grain. Ellen and 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt came into the 
 kitchen and asked Ellen if she 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt coasted carefully 
 round by the fence to another 
 
 wanted to go with him and see piece of rocky woodland, that 
 the sheep salted. Ellen was lay on the far side of the wheat- 
 seated at the table with a large field. It was a very fine after- 
 
 tin pan in her lap, and before 
 her a huge heap of white beans, 
 which she was picking over for 
 the Saturday s favourite dish of 
 pork and beans. She looked up 
 at him with a hopeless face. 
 " I should like to go very much 
 
 noon. The grass Avas green in 
 the meadow; the trees were 
 beginning 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 
 
 indeed , Mr. Van Brunt, but you j devoted to his salt-pan. His na- 
 seelcan t. All these to do!" tural taciturnity seemed greater 
 "Beans, eh?" said he, putting 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 throwing 
 little bits of it right and left, at 
 anything he saw that was big 
 enough to serve for a mark. 
 Ellen stopped him again, by 
 laughing at his wastefulness; 
 and so they came to the wood. 
 She left him then to do as he 
 liked, while she ran hither and 
 thither to search for flowers. It 
 was slow getting through the 
 wood. He was fain to stop and 
 wait for her. 
 "Aren t these lovely?" said 
 
 one or two into his mouth. 
 "Where s your aunt?" 
 
 "Here, Ma am!" said he 
 "can t you let this child go with 
 me? I want her along to help 
 feed the sheep." 
 
 To Ellen s astonishment, her 
 aunt called to her through the 
 closed door to "go along, and 
 
 the beans till she came 
 Joyfully Ellen obeyed. 
 
 leave 
 back. 
 
 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, 
 something had always prevented 
 her seeing the sheep fed with 
 
THE WIDE) "WIDE WORLD. 
 
 387 
 
 thought it must be out before 
 now the dear little thing ! 
 but I can t find any blood-root. 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 "I guess they re gone," said 
 Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 "I suppose they must," said 
 Ellen. "I am sorry; I like them 
 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 hap- 
 
 iVQ/l n/-v *!-<-* ,- ^ r*4- " n Csl 
 
 Ellen, as she came up with her j posture, discovered some cows- 
 hands full of anemones " and j lips to be scrambled for. Wild 
 look there s the liverwort. 1 1 columbine, the delicate cory- 
 
 dalis, and more uvularias, which 
 she called yellow bells, were 
 added to her handful, till it greAv 
 a very elegant bunch indeed. 
 Mr. Van Brunt looked compla 
 cently 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 
 
 pened so, that s a fact," said! the last piece of rocky wood- 
 Mr. Van Brunt; "I don t know land, 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 
 
 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 ; " t is kind o handsome ; 
 . stop, I ll find you some oak blos 
 soms directly. There s some 
 Solomon s seal do you want 
 
 some of that?" 
 
 Ellen sprang to it with ex 
 clamations of j oy , and , before j in a long train they came running 
 she could rise from her stooping along a narrow footpath, down. 
 
 again, the sheep set forward, am 
 
 25* 
 
388 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 towards where Mr. Van Brunt was 
 standing with his pan. The soft 
 tramp of a multitude of light 
 hoofs in another direction, turned 
 Ellen s eyes that way, and there 
 were two more single files of sheep 
 running down the hill from dif 
 ferent points in the woodland. 
 The pretty things came scamper 
 ing along, seeming in a great 
 hurry till they got very near; 
 then the whole multitude 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 sno\v ; or queen-cakes with 
 
 an immoderately thick frosting. 
 It was one scene of 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 conse 
 quence. 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 devour 
 ing of the salt. She was fixed 
 with pleasure, looking and lis 
 tening, 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 
 knew what salt was worth before. 
 How they do love it! Is it good 
 for them, Mr. Van Brunt?" 
 
 "Good for them!" said he 
 "to be sure it is good for them. 
 There ain t a critter that walks, 
 as I know, that it ain t good 
 **"*** cept chickens, and, it s 
 
 for 
 
 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 sociableuess. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 389 
 
 He was uncommonly silent, even "Why, no," said Ellen "she 
 for him, considering that he and never tells me anything 5 what 
 Ellen were alone together; and;isit?" 
 
 she wondered what had possessed "Why, the story is," said 
 him with a desire to cut down all j Mr. Van Brunt "at least I 
 the young saplings he came to i know, for I ve understood as 
 that were large enough for walk- much from herself, that I 
 ing-sticks. He did not want to believe she s going to be married 
 make any use of them that was i before long." 
 
 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 profound air; 
 " something is always happening 
 most years." 
 
 Ellen did not know what to make 
 of this philosophical remark. 
 
 "I am very glad nothing is 
 happening this year," said she; 
 "I think it is a great deal plea- 
 santer to have things go on 
 quietly." 
 
 " Oh, something might happen j 
 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 re as cute as a 
 razor ; 1 didn t say there was any 
 thing going to happen, did I?" 
 But is there ? " said Ellen. 
 
 "Han t }^our aunt said nothing 
 to you about it?" 
 
 : She ! " exclaimedEllen. " Mar 
 ried ! 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. 
 
 "Will it be soon, Mr. Van 
 Brunt?" 
 
 "Why, pretty soon as soon 
 as next week, I 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 tumbling 
 head over heels, they were in 
 such confusion. 
 
390 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD. 
 
 "The short and the long of it; absolutely speechless was iiot a 
 is," said Mr. Van Brunt, as they very uncommon thing, 
 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 11 contrive to pull 
 
 the cart along. I had just as lief j Alice, and eagerly poured out 
 
 tell you, Ellen, that all this was j the whole story, her walk and 
 
 CHAPTER XLI, 
 
 "The clouds return after the rain." 
 
 As soon as she could, Ellen 
 carried this wonderful news to 
 
 as good as settled a long spell 
 back afore ever you came to 
 Thhiwall; butl was never a-going 
 to leave my old mother without a 
 home, sol 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 barnyard , 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 dif 
 ference Ellen saw in them. Miss 
 Fortune and she shunned each 
 other s faces most carefully for a 
 long time Ellen felt it impos 
 sible 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 
 
 all. She was somewhat disap 
 pointed at the calmness of her 
 hearer. 
 
 "But you don t seem half so 
 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 anything of this be 
 fore? 
 
 "I did not know, but I sus 
 pected. I thought it was very 
 likely. I am very glad it is so." 
 
 " Glad ! are you glad? I am so 
 sorry. Why are you glad, Alice?" 
 
 " Why are you sorry, Ellie ? " 
 
 "Oh because I don t know 
 it seems so queer! I don t like 
 it at all. I am very sorry, in 
 deed." 
 
 "For your aunt s sake, or for 
 Mr. Van Brunt s sake? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean, do you think he or 
 she will be a loser by the bar 
 gain?" 
 
 " 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 391 
 
 Have you any reason to think 
 so, Ellie?" said Alice, smiling. 
 
 "I don t know I don t think 
 he seemed particularly glad." 
 
 "It will be safest to conclude 
 that Mr. Van Brunt knows his 
 own mind, my dear; and it is 
 certainly pleasantest for us to 
 hope 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, El- 
 lie?" 
 
 "Why, because I can tl I 
 couldn t do it, somehow. 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 shan t mind it after a while." 
 
 She sat for a few minutes , mu 
 sing over the possibility or im 
 possibility of ever forming her 
 lips to the words "Uncle Abra 
 ham," "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 coun- 
 ;enance, and tenderly asked 
 
 "What is the matter, dear 
 Alice? what are you thinking 
 about?" 
 
 "I am thinking, Ellie, how I 
 shall tell you something that will 
 
 ve you pain." 
 
 "Pain! you needn t be afraid 
 of giving me pain," said Ellen, 
 fondly, thro wing her arms around 
 ler. "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 El 
 len; "you need not be afraid to 
 tell me, dear Alice ; what is it? 
 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, "Whatisit? " 
 
 Alice fondly smoothed back 
 the hair from her brow, looking 
 herself somewhat anxiously and 
 somewhat sadly upon the uplifted 
 face. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 " Suppose Ellie," she said, at I Alice s face for tlie tokens of 
 
 length, "that you and I were 
 taking a journey together a 
 
 , dangerous journey 
 had a way of getting I 
 
 troublesome 
 
 and that/ 
 
 at once safe to the end ol"it; 
 
 would you be willing to let me 
 
 go , and you do without me for 
 
 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 
 exertion; and it had struck her 
 that the bright spots of colour in 
 Alice s face were just like what 
 
 the rest of the way ? " 
 
 "I would rather you should 
 
 take me with you,"saidEllen, in a j her mother s cheeks used to wear 
 kind of maze of wonder and fear ; jjin her last illness. These thoughts 
 "why, where are you going, ihad just come and gone; but 
 Alice?" {now, as she recalled them, and 
 
 "I think I am going home, El- [was forced to acknowledge the 
 
 lie 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, stupi- 
 
 fied. 
 
 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 El- 
 lie!" said Alice, pressing her 
 
 "It is your home, too, love, I j little sister to her bosom "it 
 trust and believe," said Alice, ! must be! We must say, The 
 tenderly; "we shall be together Lord s will be done; we must 
 
 at last. I am not sorry for my 
 self; 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 
 
 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 
 
 you mean? what do you mean? be! Alice saw this in her look, 
 I don t understand you what and again sadly stroked the hair 
 
 do you mean?" 
 
 Ellie 
 
 Do you not understand me, 
 
 IP ?" 
 
 "But, Alice! but Alice 
 
 and again 
 from her 
 
 sadly 
 brow. 
 
 "It must be, 
 
 Ellie," she repeated. 
 
 "But have you seen some 
 body? have you asked some- 
 
 dear Alice! what makes you body?" said Ellen 
 say so? is there anything the ^n^m-?" 
 
 matter with you? 
 
 "Do I look well, Ellie?" 
 With an eye sharpened 
 
 1o 
 
 painful keenness, Ellen sought in 
 
 some 
 
 "I have seen, and I have 
 asked," said Alice; "it was not 
 necessary, but I have done both. 
 They think as I do," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 393 
 
 Thirlwall doc-! saved them from this: and then 
 
 "But these 
 tors" 
 
 " Not them ; I did not apply to i 
 
 them. I saw an excellent phy- thou hadst been here ! when 
 sician at .Randolph , the last time j he saw their tears, and more, saw 
 I went to Ventnor." 
 
 the other, weeping, and falling at 
 his feet, and repeating, Lord, if 
 
 "And he said 
 
 "As I have told you." 
 
 Ellen s countenance fell fell. 
 
 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 
 
 and his hand 
 
 not 
 
 "It is easier for me to leave | strike 
 you than for you to be loft I ! spare; but his love shed tears for 
 know that, my dear little Ellie ! j them ! and he is just the same 
 You have no reason to be sorry: now." 
 forme I am sorry for you ; but Some drops fell from Alice s 
 
 the hand that is taking me away 
 is one that will touch neither of 
 us but to do us good*, I 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, whenever 
 stirred her eyes from Alice s. 
 
 "And might he not did it not 
 rest with a word of his lips, to 
 keep Lazarus from dying, and 
 save his sisters from all 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, 
 
 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 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 
 
 little as poor Martha and Mary \ misery was too much to bear, 
 could understand it. But had j Quite unable to contain herself, 
 he at all ceased to love tliem when j and umvilling to pain Alice more 
 he bade all that trouble come ?i than she could help, with a 
 Do you remember, Ellie oh, j smothered burst of feeling she 
 how beautiful those words are!; sprang away, out of the door, 
 when at last he arrived near; into the woods, where she would 
 the place, and first one sister! be unseen and unheard, 
 came to him with the touching I And there , in the first burst of 
 reminder that he might have j her agony, Ellen almost thought 
 
394 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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," sobbed Ellen, on 
 her neck, "aren t you mistaken? 
 maybe you are mistaken! " 
 
 "I am not mistaken, my dear 
 Ellie my ownEllie," said Alice s 
 clear, sweet voice "nor 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 going home 
 a little before you. Remember 
 what I was saying to you a while 
 ago. Will you tell Mr. Van Brunt 
 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 fulness of 
 heart got the better of every 
 thing else, and , unmindful of the 
 growing twilight, 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 Lazarus. 
 It came with singular power. Did 
 He love them so well? thought 
 Ellen, and is He looking down 
 upon us with the same tender 
 ness 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 during those few 
 minutes were that softened out 
 pouring 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 
 way from the gate , on the road, 
 she met Mr. Van Brunt. 
 
 "Why, I was beginning to get 
 scared about you," 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 395 
 
 he; "you han t been well! what 
 has happened? what ails you, 
 Ellen?" 
 
 In astonishment, and then in 
 alarm, he saw that she was 
 
 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 be- 
 
 unable to speak, and anxiously I fore 5 one of those cordials that 
 
 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 han t heerd 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 han t told me yet 
 what s the matter. Has anything 
 happened?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen; "don t ask 
 me she 11 tell you don t ask 
 
 me. 
 
 "I guess I ll go up the 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 any 
 how 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 she could not bear to 
 answer, and got to her own room. 
 
 none but the sorrowing drink. 
 On the love of Christ, as there 
 shown, little Ellen s heart fasten 
 ed ; and with that one sweetening 
 thought, amid all its deep sad 
 ness, her sleep that night might 
 have been envied by many a 
 luxurious roller in pleasure. 
 
 At Alice s wish, she immediate 
 ly took up her quarters at the 
 parsonage , to leave her no more. 
 But she could not see much diffe 
 rence in her from what she had 
 been for several weeks past; and 
 with the natural hopefulness of 
 childhood, her mind presently al 
 most refused to believe the ex 
 tremity of the evilwhichhadbeen 
 threatened. Alice herself 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 inclined 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 border 
 ing the other side of the lawn, 
 showed them in the most exqui 
 site and varied shades of colour. 
 Some had the tender green of the 
 
396 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 new leaf, some were in the red or I "Why should I not say so 
 
 between , and the evergreens are a great comfort to me. 
 
 standing dark as ever, setting off 
 the delicate hues of the surround 
 ing foliage. This was all softened 
 off in the distance ; the very light 
 of the spring was mild and tender 
 compared with that of other sea 
 sons ; and the air that stole round 
 the corner of the house and came 
 in at the open window 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, 
 
 "And what have you been to 
 me?" said Ellen, weeping bitterly. 
 
 "What I cannot be much long 
 er; and I want to 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 shall leave you in 
 good hands 1 have arranged 
 
 "thatitmustbe a very hard thing j for that, my dear little sister!" 
 
 4-~ i^^,,^ >u I^~,,^A,I \A The sorrowing child neither 
 
 knew nor cared what she meant, 
 but a mute caress answered the 
 spirit of Alice s words. 
 
 "Look up, Ellie look out 
 again. Lovely, lovely ! all that is ; 
 but 1 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. 
 
 to leave such a beautiful world. 
 Did you ever think so , Ellie?" 
 
 "1 don t know," said Ellen, 
 faintly "I don t remember." 
 
 "I used to think so," said Alice, 
 "but I do not now, Ellie ; my feel 
 ing 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 You believe that, Ellie ; you must 
 
 "I am afraid you cannot bear! not be so very sorry that I have 
 it." | gone to see it a little before you." 
 
 "Yes, I can. Sit here, and let 
 your head rest where it used to ; " 
 
 Ellen could say nothing. 
 After all, Ellie, it is not beau- 
 
 and Alice laid her cheek upon tiful things nor a beautiful world 
 Ellen s forehead: "you are a that make people happy it is 
 + ^^c^4.4.^ ^ ^^T^iKo" loving 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 
 
 dear Ellie. 
 say so 
 
 you ll kill me ! " exclaimed Ellen, 
 in great distress. 
 
 great comfort to me , 
 "Oh, Alice, don t 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 397 
 
 Saviour; I shall seehimandknow! so, dearEllie and I know John 
 him, without any of the clouds; will take care of you. And my 
 that come between here. I am place will not be empty. I am 
 often forgetting and displeasing very , very glad." 
 him now never serving him well! Ellen felt her place surely 
 nor loving him right. I shall be would be empty, but she could 
 giad to find myself Avhere all that not say so. 
 
 will be done with for ever. I shall \ "It was for this I was so glad 
 be like him! Why do you cry of your aunt s marriage, Ellie," 
 so, Ellie?" said Alice, tenderly. Alice soon went on. " I foresaw 
 "I can t help it, Alice." she might raise some difficulties 
 
 "It is only my love for you in my way hard to remove, per- 
 and for two more that could haps ; but now 1 have seen Mr. 
 make me wish to stay here no- 1 Van Brunt, and he has promised 
 thing else; and I give all that me that nothing shall hinder your 
 up, because I do not know what taking up your abode, and ma- 
 is best for you or myself. And king your home entirely here. 
 I look to meet you all again be- 1 Though I believe, Ellie, he would 
 fore long. Try to think of it as I truly have loved to have you in 
 do. Ellie." 
 
 But what shall I do without 
 
 his own house." 
 
 "I am sure he would," said 
 
 \ 
 
 Ellen "but oh, how much ra- 
 Youlther!" 
 
 you?" said poor Ellen. 
 
 "I will tell you, Ellie. 
 must come here and take my "He behaved very well about 
 
 place, and take care of those I jit the other morning in a very 
 -,-,-, n -i i i _/ i_ i __ j ___ . i . _ "i 
 
 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 
 I have managed all that. Will j be extremely sorry to let you go ; 
 
 leave behind; will you? and 
 they will take care of you." 
 
 "But," said Ellen, looking up 
 eagerly " Aunt Fortune " 
 
 you do it, Ellen? I shall feel easy 
 and happy about you, and far 
 easier and happier about my fa 
 ther, if I leave you established 
 
 but he assured me that nothing 
 over which he had any control 
 should stand in the way of your 
 good." 
 
 here, to be to him , as far as you j "He is very kind he is very 
 can. what I have been. Will you I good he is always so," said 
 
 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 
 
 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 mi 
 nutes , and Alice was looking out 
 of the window again. The sun 
 
 Alice, presently. "My father had set, and the colouring of all 
 be your father thiuk him i without was graver. Yet it was 
 
Y\JD 
 
 398 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 \ 
 
 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 and can leave you yes, both 
 
 "About the death of Laza 
 rus?" 
 
 "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 
 
 for I would see Jesus ! He who this kind of conversation , both 
 has taught me to love him, will for Ellen s sake and her own 
 not forsake me now. Goodness | pleasure. Meanwhile she made 
 and mercy have followed me all [ her go on with all her usual stu- 
 the days of my life , and I shall ! dies and duties ; and but forthese 
 dwell in the house of the Lord for talks Ellen would have scarce 
 ever. I thank him! Oh, I thank! known howto believe thatit could 
 
 him! 
 
 Alice s face did not belie her 
 
 be true which she feared. 
 
 The wedding of Miss Fortune 
 words, though her eyes shone! and Mr. Van Brunt was a very 
 through tears. i quiet one. It happened at far too 
 
 "Ellie, dear you must loveljbusy a time of year, and they 
 Him with all your heart , and live [were too cool calculators , and 
 constantly in his presence. I [looked upon their union in much 
 know if you do, he will make you Moo business-like a point of view, 
 happy, in any event. He can al- ifco dream of such a wild thing as 
 ways give more than he takes (a wedding-tour, or even resolve 
 away. Oh, how good he is! upon so troublesome a thing as a 
 and what wretched returns we wedding -party. Miss Fortune 
 make him! I was miserable when would not have left her cheese 
 John first went away to Don- ! and butter-making to see all the 
 caster; I did not know how to | New Yorks and Bostons that ever 
 bear it. But now, Ellie, I think I j were built ; and she would have 
 can see it has done me good, and ! scorned a trip to Randolph. And 
 I can even be thankful for it. All Mr. Van Brunt would as certain- 
 things are ours all things |ly have wished himself all the 
 the world, and life, and death while back among his furrows 
 too." and crops. So one day they were 
 
 "Alice," said Ellen, as well as quietly married at home, the Rev. 
 she could "you know what j Mr. Clark having been fetched 
 you were saying to me the other j from_Thirlwall for the purpose. 
 
 day?" 
 "About what, love?" 
 "That about you know 
 
 that chapter." 
 
 Mr. Van Brunt would have pre 
 ferred that Mr. Humphreys should 
 perform the ceremony; but Miss 
 Fortune was quite decided iu 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 399 
 
 favour of the Thiiiwall gentle 
 man, and of course lie it was. 
 
 The talk ran high all over the 
 country on the subject of this 
 
 marriage 
 
 and 
 
 opinions were 
 
 greatly divided; some congratu 
 lating Mr. Van Brunt on having 
 made himself one of the richest 
 landholders "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 I see 
 when he ain t yoked up. Why, 
 bless you! there han t been a 
 thing done on the farm this five 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 One less in the wide , wide world. 
 
 IT was impossible at first to 
 make Mr. Humphreys 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 for 
 getting herself. It was different 
 with Mr. Humphreys. He saw 
 much less of his daughter; and 
 when he was with her, it was im 
 possible for Alice, with all her 
 efforts , to speak to him as freely 
 
 year but just what he liked she j and plainly as she was in the 
 don t know it. I ve heerd her," habit of speaking to Ellen. The 
 
 said Sam chuckling "I ve 
 heerd her a-telling him how she 
 
 wanted this 
 
 thing 
 ~ ij 
 
 done and 
 
 t other, and he d just not say a 
 
 consequences were such as grie 
 ved her, but could not be helped. 
 As soon as it was known that 
 her health was failing, Sophia 
 
 word, and go and do it right Marshman came and took up her 
 t other way. It 11 be a wonder if abode at the parsonage. Ellen 
 somebody ain t considerably was almost sorry; it broke up in 
 startled in her calculations afore a measure the sweet and peaceful 
 summer s out." | way of life she and Alice had held 
 
400 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 together ever since her own co 
 ming. Miss Sophia could not 
 make a third in their conversa 
 tions. But as Alice s strength 
 grew less, and she needed more 
 attendance and help, it was plaiA 
 her friend s being there was a 
 happy thing for both Alice and 
 Ellen. Miss Sophia was active, 
 cheerful, untiring in her affec 
 tionate care , always pleasant in 
 manner and temper ; a very use 
 ful 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. 
 Yawse could, a great deal. 
 
 Alice had refused to write or 
 allow others to write to her bro 
 ther. She said he was just finish 
 ing his course of study at Don- 
 caster ; 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 re 
 luctantly 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 poor 
 parishioners. 
 
 "How are you to-day, my 
 daughter?" he asked, tenderly. 
 
 "Easy, Papa and happy," 
 said Alice. 
 
 " You are looking better ," said 
 he. "We shall have you well 
 again among us yet." 
 
 There was some sorrow for 
 him in Alice s smile, as shelooked 
 up at him and answered, "Yes, 
 Papa in the land where the in 
 habitant 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 blame 
 less 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 So 
 phia, "if one does the best one 
 can, it will be accepted?" 
 
 "It won t do to trust to that, 
 Sophia. God s law requires per 
 fection , and nothing less than 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 401 
 
 perfection will be received as 
 payment of its demand. If you 
 owe a hundred dollars, and your| 
 creditor will not hold you quits 
 for anything less than the whole! 
 sum, it is of no consequence! 
 whether you offer him ten or 
 twenty." 
 
 "Why, according to that," 
 said Miss Sophia, "it makes no 
 difference what kind of life one 
 leads." 
 
 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 trust." 
 
 "Well, I don t see what one is 
 to trust to," said Miss Sophia, 
 " if it isn t a good life." 
 
 "I will answer you," said 
 Alice, with a smile, in which 
 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. 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 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 you think of 
 Mrs.Vawse?" 
 
 "I don t know what to think 
 of her; she is wonderful to me; 
 she is past my comprehension 
 entirely. Don t make lier an ex 
 ample." 
 
 "No, religion has done that 
 for me. What do you think of 
 your brother?" 
 
 "George? lie 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 anything but happy." 
 
 " What have I to make me 
 so?" 
 
 Sophia was silent. Alice laid 
 her thin hand upon hers. 
 26 
 
402 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 re 
 ception 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 af 
 fection, her zeal, and her skill, 
 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 command. 
 Still her greatest comfort was 
 Ellen; her constant, thought 
 ful 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 plea 
 sant words and tone that many a 
 time came from a sinking heart; 
 they were Alice s daily and 
 nightly cordial. Ellen had learn 
 ed 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 heard 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 irregularities in 
 the course of the post-office made 
 it impossible to count with cer 
 tainty upon the exact time of 
 his arrival. Meanwhile, her fai 
 lure 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 remember, Ellie, in the 
 Pilgrim s Progress, when Chris 
 tiana and her companions were 
 sent for to go over the river? I 
 think the messenger has come 
 for me. You mustn t cry, love; 
 listen this is the token he 
 seems to bring me 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 403 
 
 Alice kissed her earnestly se 
 veral 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 watch 
 ed 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 listening 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 occu 
 pied when he was at home, di 
 rectly over the sitting-room, and 
 with pleasant windows towards 
 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 her 
 self on the threshold of [the glass 
 door, as if by watching there she 
 
 could be any nearer the know 
 ledge 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 even 
 ing near a year ago. Ellen s 
 thoughts went back to it. How 
 like and how unlike ! 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 scatter 
 ed. One was away; one a sor 
 rowful watcher alone in the moon 
 light; one waiting to be gone 
 where there is no need of moon 
 or stars for evermore. Ellen al 
 most 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 dis 
 tress. 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 flut 
 tering leaves ; the air was abso 
 lutely still. Ellen looked up again 
 at the moon and stars. They 
 shone calmly on, despite the re 
 proaches she cast upon them; 
 and as she still gazed up towards 
 them in their purity and stead 
 fastness, other thoughts began 
 to come into her head of that 
 which was more pure still, and 
 more steadfast. How long they 
 have been shining! thought El- 
 26* 
 
404 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOliLD, 
 
 len; going on just the same, 
 from night to night, and from 
 year to year as if they would 
 never come to an end. But they 
 will come to an end the time 
 ivill come when they will stop 
 shining, bright as they are; and 
 then, when they all are swept 
 away, then heaven will be only 
 begun; and 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 favourite hymn 
 of Alice s came to her remem 
 brance : 
 
 " Ye stars are but the shining dust 
 
 Of my divine abode; 
 The pavements of those heavenly courts 
 Where I shall sec 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 dark 
 ness ? 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 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 pre- 
 ciousness in all her throbbing 
 grief, there came to her car, 
 through the perfect stillness of 
 the night, the faint, far-off, not 
 to be mistaken sound of quick- 
 coming horses 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 in 
 tense 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 ques 
 tion that lips could not speak. 
 Ellen only pointed the way and 
 uttered the words, "up -stairs," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 405 
 
 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 
 Ids horse s step too well; she had 
 raised herself up , and stretched 
 out both arms towards him be 
 fore he entered. In another mo 
 ment they were round his neck, 
 and she was supported in his. 
 There was along, long silence. 
 
 "Are you happy, Alice?" whis 
 pered her brother. 
 
 "Perfectly. This was all I 
 wanted. Kiss me, dear John!" 
 
 As he did so again and again, 
 she felt his tears on her cheek, and 
 putup 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; ex 
 cept that some whispers were ex 
 changed too low for others to 
 hear, and once more she raised 
 her face to kiss him. A few mi 
 nutes after, those who could look 
 saw his colour 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 depart 
 ing spirit had left a ray of bright 
 ness on its earthly house; there 
 was a half -smile on the sweet 
 face, of most entire peace and 
 satisfaction. Her brother looked 
 for amoment 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 excitement , 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 sud 
 denly and completely sank down; 
 naturally, and happily, she lost 
 all sense of trouble in sleep. 
 
 When sleep at last left her, 
 and she stole downstairs into the 
 sitting-room in the morning, it 
 was rather early. Nobody was 
 stirring about the house but her 
 self. It seemed deserted; the old 
 sitting-room looked empty and 
 forlorn the stillness was op 
 pressive. Ellen could not bear 
 it. Softly opening the glass door, 
 she went out upon the lawn, 
 where everything was sparkling 
 in the early freshness of the sum 
 mer morning. How could it look 
 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 footpath that led up to the 
 place on the mountain John had 
 called the Bridge of the Nose. 
 Ellen took that path, often tra 
 velled and much loved by her; 
 and slowly, and with slow-drop 
 ping tears, made her way up 
 over moss wet with the dew, and 
 | the stones and rocks with which 
 [the rough way was strewn. She 
 
406 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 passed the place where Alice had 
 first found her she remember 
 ed it well; there was the very 
 stone beside 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 favourite 
 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 
 wiping away her tears, looked 
 abroad over the beautiful land 
 scape never more beautiful 
 than now. 
 
 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 be 
 tween 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 moun 
 tain 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. De- 
 liciously cool, both the air and 
 the light, though a warm day 
 was promised. The night had 
 swept away all the heat of yester 
 day. Now, the air was fresh with 
 the dew, and sweet from hayfield 
 and meadow ; and the birds were 
 singing merrily all around. There 
 was no answering 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 
 thought "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." 
 
HAf t< -< **& 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 407 
 
 "She is there now," thought 
 Ellen; "she is happy; why should 
 I be sorry for her? I am not ; but 
 oh ! I must be sorry for myself 
 Oh ! Alice ! dear Alice ! " 
 
 She wept; but then again came 
 sweeping over her mind the words 
 with which she was so familiar, 
 "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 look 
 ing 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 peal 
 ing up. 
 
 "One two!" 
 
 Ellen knew now! It went 
 through hervery heart. 
 
 It is the custom in the country 
 to toll the church bell upon oc- 
 
 another short pause. Then fol 
 lows the number of the years the 
 person has lived, tolled 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 
 succession, each one being per 
 mitted to die quite away before 
 another breaks upon the ear. 
 
 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 tolled 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 
 
 casion of the death of any one in ! my help." 
 the township or parish. A few How differently that sound 
 strokes are rung by way of draw- struck upon Ellen s ear! With 
 ing attention; these are fol-jan indescribable air of mingled 
 lowed, after, a little pause , by a tenderness, weariness, and sor- 
 single one, if the knell is for a row, she slowly rose from her 
 man, or two for a woman. Then | seat, and put both her arms 
 
408 
 
 TITE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 round the speaker s neck. Nei 
 ther said a word 5 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 bro 
 ther, softly, "how came you 
 here?" 
 
 " I don t know ," whispered El 
 len; "there was nobody 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 her head; she still 
 stood with her arm upon her bro 
 ther s shoulder; the eyes of both 
 were on the scene before them 
 the thoughts of neither. He pre 
 sently spoke again. 
 
 "Let us try to love our God 
 better, Ellie, the less we have left 
 to love in this world; that is 
 His 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 endear 
 ment, which almost broke Ellen s 
 heart again. Then taking her 
 hand, they went down the moun 
 tain together. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 Those that were left. 
 
 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 parsonage could not hold 
 so many; the two Mr. Marsh- 
 mans, therefore, with Major and 
 Mrs. Gillespie, made their quar 
 ters at Thirlwall. Margery s 
 hands were full enough with those 
 that were left. 
 
 In the afternoon, however, she 
 found time for a visit to the room 
 

 TTTH AVTDE, \VTD11 WOTTLD. 
 
 10!) 
 
 Ilie. room. She was standing 
 .-it the foot of the bed. ga/.ing 
 
 oil the s\\(Vl faee slu^ loved so 
 dearly, when Mrs. Chauneey and 
 Mrs. Vawse came up for the saint 1 
 purpose. All three stood some 
 lime in silence. 
 
 The lied was strewn with 
 flowers, somewhat singularly 
 disposed. Upon the pillow, and 
 upon and about the hands, which 
 were 1 olded oil the breast, were 
 scattered some of the rirh late 
 roses roses and rosebuds, 
 strewn with beautiful and pro 
 fuse 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 Hung there 
 without any attempt at arrange 
 ment. 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 1 heir fragrance. The delicate 
 white verbena, the pure fever 
 few, mignonette, sweet geranium, 
 white myrtle, the rich -scented 
 heliotrope, were mingled with 
 the late-blossoming damask and 
 purple roses; no yellow tiowers, 
 no purple, except those men 
 tioned; even the flaunting petu 
 nia, though white, had been left 
 out by the nice hand that had 
 culh-d them. JUit the arranging 
 of these beauties seemed to have 
 been little more than attempted; 
 though indeed it might be ques 
 tioned whet her the lines! art could 
 have bettered the effect of what 
 the overtasked hand of affection 
 
 had left half done. Mrs.rhauncev. 
 
 however, after a while, began 
 slowU to take a flower or two 
 from the foot, and place them on 
 other parts of the bed. 
 
 "Wdl Mrs. rhauncey 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, 1 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 a^ked. 
 
 "Miss Kllen. Ma am/ 
 -Where is KllenV" 
 M 1 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?" 
 
 "1 saw her, Ma am. Oh, will 
 1 ever forget it as long as 1 live!" 
 "Why?" said Mrs. Chauneey, 
 gently. 
 
 "It s a. thing one should have 
 seen, Ma am, to understand. 1 
 don t know as I can tell it well." 
 
 Seeing, however, that Mrs. 
 Chauncey still looked her wish, 
 Margery went on half under her 
 breath 
 
 "Why. Ma am, the way it was 
 I had come up to get some linen 
 outof the closet, for I had watched 
 my time; Mrs. Chauncey sees, 1 
 was afeard of finding Mr. John 
 
410 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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? " 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 
 
 softly upstairs 
 to catch sight of me just then, so 
 I had 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 
 
 little footstep coming 
 3. I didn t want her 
 
 have got the better of me entirely, 
 Ma am, when I see her come in 
 with a lapful 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 to 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 
 working 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 
 
^ 
 
 THE WIDlf, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 411 
 
 her sister, and that couldn t be a | made such a prayer! Oh," said 
 ^_.L j._ i j _t.~ > Margery, her tears falling fast at 
 
 going to tell you 
 been there five 
 
 sister to her no more ; and she s 
 without a sister now, to be sure, 
 poor child!" 
 
 "She has a brother, unless I 
 am mistaken," said Mrs. Chaun- 
 cey, when she could speak. 
 
 And that s just what I was 
 , Ma am. She had 
 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 
 
 the recollection, "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 MissEllen 
 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 brea the the whole time, 
 lest he would know I was there. 
 It was the beautifullest prayer I 
 did ever hear, or ever shall, how 
 ever." 
 
 "And how did Ellen behave?" 
 said Mrs. Chauncey. 
 
 "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 hands and the 
 pillow Miss Ellen hadn t put 
 more than half a dozen; I no 
 ticed 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 1 1 saw it all, Ellie , he 
 said ; and he said , it didn t want 
 finishing. I wondered how he 
 
 her, when he looked over and j should see it, but I suppose he 
 spied her on the other side of the did, however, /under stood it very 
 bed. I see his colour change ; and ! well. They went away downstairs 
 then his mouth took the look it! after that." 
 
 .always does whenever he sets 
 himself to do anything. He stood 
 a minute, and then he went round 
 
 "He is beautifully changed," 
 said Mrs. Yawse. 
 
 "I don t know, Ma am," said 
 
 and knelt down beside of her, and j Margery; "I ve heard that said 
 softly to ok away one of her hands afore, but I can t say as I ever 
 from under her face , and held it : could see it. He always was the 
 in both of his own, and then he ; same to me always the honour- 
 
412 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ablest, truest, noblest my hus 
 band 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 per- 
 fcctest 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." 
 
 "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. Hum 
 phreys 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 in 
 to Ellen s room. 
 
 "Miss Ellen, dear, you are 
 awake , aren t you? " 
 
 "Yes, Margery," said Ellen, 
 sitting upon the bed; come in. 
 What is it?" 
 
 "I came to ask Miss Ellen if 
 she could do me a great favour. 
 There s a strange gentleman 
 come, and nobody has seen him 
 yet, and it don t seem right. He 
 has been here this some time." 
 
 " Have you told Mr. John ? " 
 
 "No, Miss Ellen; he s in the 
 library with my master; 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; Mar 
 gery could hardly have asked her 
 to put a greater force upon her 
 self; she did not say so. 
 
 "You are sure he is there, Mar 
 gery?" 
 
 "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 11 do it, Margery." 
 
 She got up, slipped on her 
 shoes, and mechanically smooth 
 ing her hair, set off to the library. 
 On the way, she almost repented 
 her willingness to oblige Marge 
 ry; the errand was marvellously 
 disagreeable to her. She had ne 
 ver gone to that room except with 
 Alice never entered it uninvi 
 ted. She could hardly make up 
 her mind to knock at the door. 
 
TILE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 413 
 
 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 
 better, she heard some one move, 
 and John opened the door. With 
 out 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 mo 
 ments 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 loneli 
 ness?" 
 
 Ellen in vain struggled to speak 
 an articulate word ; it was impos 
 sible; she suddenly stooped 
 down and touched with her lips 
 the hand that lay on the arm of 
 the chair. He put the hand ten 
 derly upon her head. 
 
 "God bless you," said he, 
 "abundantly, for all the love you stood still by his side, though 
 showed her. Come if ymi will with a kind of feeling that it was 
 - and be, as far as a withered) not there the best place or time 
 heart will let you, all that she j for her old friend to recognise 
 wished. All is yours except! her. He was sitting by Mr. 
 what will be buried with her." | Humphreys , and for the present 
 
 Ellen was awed and pained very i quite occupied with him. Ellen 
 much. Notbecause the words and! thought nothing of what they 
 manner were sad and solemn; it \ were saying; with eyes eagerly 
 was the tone that distressed her. [fixed upon Mr. Marshman, she 
 There was no tearfulness in it; it | was reading memory s long story 
 trembled a little; it seemed to lover again. The same pleasant 
 come indeed from a withered .look and kind tone that she re- 
 
 heart. She shook with the effort 
 she made to control herself. John 
 asked her presently what she had 
 come for. 
 
 "A gentleman," said Ellen 
 "there s a gentleman, a 
 stranger." 
 
 He went immediately out to 
 see him, leaving her standing- 
 there. Ellen did not know whe 
 ther to go too, or stay; she 
 thought , from his not taking her 
 with him, he Avished her to stay; 
 she stood doubtfully. 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 Marshman. 
 
 Mr. Humphreys rose up to 
 meet him, and the two gentlemen 
 shook hands in silence. Ellen 
 had at first shrunk out of the 
 
 to the other side of the 
 room, and now, when she saw an 
 
 way, 
 
 she 
 
 opportunity, she was going to 
 make her escape; but John 
 gently detained her: and she 
 
414 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 membered so well came to com 
 fort her in her first sorrow the 
 old way of speaking, and even of 
 moving an arm or hand the fa 
 miliar figure and face ; how they 
 took Ellen s thoughts back to 
 the deck of the steamboat, the 
 hymns, the talks! the love and 
 
 the sorrow of that time mixed 
 with the sorrow now; and the 
 sense that the very hand that 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. 
 
 kindness that led and persuaded I Marshman s hand when she 
 her so faithfully and effectually \ hastily withdrew her own , and 
 to do her duty _it was all pre- 1 gave way to an overwhelming 
 
 sent again; and Ellen gazed at 
 him as at a picture of the past, 
 forgetting for the moment every 
 thing else. The same love and 
 kindness were endeavouring now 
 to say something for Mr. Hum 
 phrey s relief; it was a hard task. 
 The old gentleman heard and 
 
 )urst of sorrow. It was infec 
 tious. There was such an utter 
 absence of all bitterness or hard 
 ness in the tone of this grief; 
 there was so touching an expres 
 sion of submission mingled with 
 it , that even Mr. Humphreys was 
 overcome. Ellen was not the 
 
 answered, for the most part [only subdued weeper there not 
 briefly, but so as to show that j the only one whose tears came 
 his friend laboured in vain; the j from a broken-up heart. For a 
 bitterness and hardness of grief j few minutes the silence of stifled 
 were.unallayed yet. It was not j sobs was in the room, till Ellen 
 till John made some slight re- 1 recovered enough to make her 
 mark, that Mr. Marshman turned; escape, and then the colour of 
 his head that way; he looked for I sorrow was lightened, in one 
 a moment in some surprise, and j breast at least, 
 then said, his countenance "Brother," said Mr. Hum- 
 
 lightening, " Is that Ellen Mont- j phreys , "I can hear you 
 gomery?" better than I could a little 
 
 now 
 while 
 
 remembered grasp of it, and metjlias given me a lesson." 
 the old look, the thought ofj Ellen did not know what had 
 which she had treasured up for; passed around her, nor what had 
 years it was too much. Back i followed her quitting the room, 
 as in a flood to her heart seemed ! But she thought when John came 
 
 to come at once all the thoughts 
 and feelings of the time since 
 then; the difference of this 
 
 to the tea-table he looked re 
 lieved. If his general kindness 
 and tenderness of manner to- 
 
 meeting from the joyful one she wards herself could have been 
 had so often pictured to herself ; greater than usual, she might 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 415 
 
 have thought it was that night; 
 but she only thought he felt 
 
 better. 
 Mr. Marshman was 
 
 not per 
 
 mitted to leave the house. He 
 was a great comfort to every 
 body. 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, ex 
 cept Mr. Humphreys, were ga 
 thered together at this time ; and 
 his grave, cheerful, and un 
 ceasing kindness, made that by 
 far the most comfortable meal 
 that had been taken. It was ex 
 ceeding grateful to Ellen to see 
 and hear him , from the old re 
 membrance as well as the pre 
 sent effect. And he had not for 
 gotten his old kindness for her; 
 
 hear you sing a hymn do you 
 think you could?" 
 
 Ellen looked up with a peculiar 
 mixture of uncertainty and reso 
 lution 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 you think you can ? " 
 
 "No I will try," she re 
 peated. 
 
 As she went along the hall she 
 said and resolved 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 
 
 she saw it in his look, his words, j went away himself to a little 
 his voice, shown in every way; distance, where he remained per- 
 andthe feeling that she had got fectly still. She covered her face 
 her old friend again , and should | with her hands for a minute , and 
 never lose him, now gave her 
 more deep pleasure than any 
 thing else could possibly have 
 done at that time. His own fa- 
 
 prayed for strength; she was 
 afraid to try. 
 
 Alice and her brother were re 
 markable for beauty of voice and 
 
 mily , too , had not seen him for a j utterance. The latter, Ellen had 
 long time, so his presence was in part caught from them; in the 
 matter of general satisfaction. former she thought herself 
 
 Later in the evening, Ellen greatly inferior. Perhaps she 
 was sitting beside him on the j underrated herself: her voice, 
 sofa, looking and listening he j though not indeed powerful, was 
 was like a piece of old music to ( low and sweet, and very clear; 
 her when John came to the and the entire simplicity and 
 back of the sofa and said he ; feeling with which she sang 
 wanted to speak to her. She hymns , was more effectual than 
 went with him to the other side any higher qualities of tone and 
 of the room. | compass. She had been very 
 
 "Ellie," said he, in a low voice, ] much accustomed to sing with 
 "I think my father would like to \ Alice, who excelled in beautiful 
 
41G 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 truth and simplicity of expres 
 sion; 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 tremble in her voice 
 ceased, as she went on 
 
 " It makes the wounded spirit whole, 
 
 And calms the troubled breast! 
 T is manna to the hungry soul, 
 And to the weary, rest. 
 
 "By Him my prayers acceptance gain, 
 
 Although with sin deiiled; 
 Satan accuses me in vain, 
 And I am owu d a child. 
 
 Weak is the effort of my heart, 
 And cold my warmest thought 
 
 But when I see thee as thou art, 
 I 11 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 mo 
 ther s favourite, " T is my hap 
 piness 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, 
 T is thy Saviour, hear his word; 
 Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee : 
 Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me? 
 
 u I deliver d thee when bound, 
 And when bleeding heal d thy wound; 
 Sought thee wandering, set thee right 
 Turn d 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. 
 
 " Mine is an unchanging love; 
 Higher than the heights above, 
 Deeper than the depths beneath, 
 Free and faithful, strong as death. 
 
 " Thou shalt see my glory soon , 
 When the work of life is done , 
 Partner of my throne shalt be 
 Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me? 
 
 " Lord, it is my chief complaint 
 That my love is weak and faint ; 
 Yet I love thee and adore 
 Oh for grace to love thee more !" 
 
 Ellen s task wasnolongerpain- 
 ful, but most delightful. 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 an 
 other standing by the mantel 
 piece. The room was profoundly 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 417 
 
 still, except when she was sing- Still silence " silence that 
 ing. The choice of hymns gave spoke ! " Ellen did not know what 
 her the greatest trouble. She it said, except that her hearers 
 thought of "Jerusalem, my j did not wish her to stop. Her 
 happy home;" but it would not I next was a very favourite hymn 
 do ; she and Alice had too often! of them all 
 
 sung it in strains of joy. Happily 
 came to her mind the beautiful 
 
 "How firm a foundation, ye saints of 
 the Lord," &c. 
 
 "What are these in bright array?" &c. 
 
 Ellen had allowed her thoughts 
 to travel top far along with the 
 words, for in the last lines her 
 
 fehe went through all the seven voice was unsteady and faint, 
 long verses. Still when Ellen! She was fain to make a longer 
 paused at the end of this, the pause than usual to recover her- 
 
 breathless silence seemed to in 
 vite her to go on. She waited a 
 minute to gather breath. The 
 blessed words had gone down 
 into her very heart ; did they ever 
 
 self. But in vain; the tender 
 nerve was touched; there was no 
 
 , Humphreys 
 
 stilling its quivering. 
 "Ellen!" said Mr. 
 
 , then, after a few minutes. She 
 
 seem half so sweet before? She i rose and went to the sofa. He 
 was cheered and strengthened,! folded her close to his breast, 
 and thought she could go through. "Thank you, my child," he 
 with the next hymn, though it said, presently "youhave been 
 had been much loved and often ; a comfort to me. Nothing but a 
 used, both by her mother and 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! 
 
 sol will!" 
 
 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, my Saviour, hide, 
 Till the storm of life be past 
 Safe into the haven guide, 
 Oh, receive my soul at last! 
 
 " Other refuge have I none, 
 Hangs my helpless soul on thee 
 Leave, ah! leave me not alone! 
 Still support and comfort me. 
 All my trust on thee is stay d, 
 All my help from thee I bring; 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 Beneath the shadow of thy wing. 
 
 " Thou, Christ, art all I want; 
 More than all in thee I find; 
 Eaise the fallen, cheer the faint, 
 Heal the sick , and lead the blind. 
 Just and holy is thy name , 
 I am all unrighteousness; 
 Vile and full of sin I am, 
 Thou art full of truth and grace. 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 . CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 The little spirit that haunted the big- 
 house. 
 
 THE whole Marshman family 
 returned to Ventnor immediately 
 after the funeral, Mr. George ex- 
 cepted; he stayed with Mr. 
 Humphreys over the Sabbath, 
 and preached for him, and, much 
 | to every one s pleasure , lingered 
 27 
 
418 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 still a day or two longer , then he I miserably. She had , however, 
 was obliged to leave them. John! the best" possible companion in 
 also must go back to Doncasterjher old Swiss friend. Her good 
 for a few weeks; he would not sense, her steady cheerfulness, 
 be able to get home again before her firm principle , were always 
 the early part of August. For the awake for Ellen s good ever 
 month between, and as much I ready to comfort her, to cheer 
 longer, indeed, as possible, Mrs. j her, to prevent her from giving 
 Marshman wished to have Ellen j undue way to sorrow, to urge her 
 at Ventnor; assuring her that it. to useful exertion. Affection and 
 was to be her home always when- gratitude to the living and the 
 ever she chose to make it so. At dead , gave powerful aid to these 
 first, neither Mrs. Marshman nor efforts. Ellen rose up in the 
 her daughters would take any morning, and lay down at night, 
 denial; and old Mr. Marshman, witli the present pressing wish to 
 was fixed upon it. But Ellen: do and be, for the ease and corn- 
 begged with tears that she might fort of her adopted father and 
 stay at home and begin at once, ; brother, all that it was possible 
 as far as she could, to take Alice s; for her. Very soon, so soon as 
 place. Her kind friends insisted l she could rouse herself to any- 
 that it would do her harm to be, thing, she began to turn over in 
 left alone for so long at such a! her rnind all manner of ways and 
 season. Mr. Humphreys in the j means for this end. And in gene- 
 best of times kept very much to ral, whatever Alice would have 
 himself, and now he would more wished, what John did wish, was 
 than ever; she would be very j law to her. 
 
 lonely. "But hoAv lonely lie will) "Margery," said Ellen, one 
 be if I go away ! " said Ellen "II day , "1 wish you would tell me 
 can t go." Fin ding that her heart, all the things Alice used to do; 
 was set upon it, and that it would so that I may begin to do them, 
 be a real grief to her to go to you know, as soon as I can." 
 
 last joined to " What things, Miss Ellen?" 
 
 Ventnor, John at 
 excuse her; and he made an. ar 
 rangement with Mrs. Vawse in- 
 
 I mean the things she used to 
 do about the house, or to help 
 
 stead, that she should come and you don tyouknow? allsorts 
 stay with Ellen at the parsonage ; of things. I want to know them, 
 till he came back. This gave, all, so that I may do them as she 
 Ellen great satisfaction ; and her ! did. I want to very much." 
 kind Ventnor friends were obliged "Oh, Miss Ellen, dear," said 
 
 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 
 
 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," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 419 
 
 said Ellen; "don t you know | want you to : I didn t mention it 
 how I used to do at Aunt For- for that, but you was wishing me 
 tune s ? Now , tell me , please, to tell you I don t want you to 
 dear Margery! If I can t do it, I trouble your dear little head 
 won t, you know." about such work. It was more 
 
 "Oh, Miss Ellen, she used to : the though tfulness that cared 
 see to various things about the; about me than the help of all she 
 house I don t know as I can ! could do , though that wasn t a 
 tell em all directly; some was j little I 11 get along well 
 to help me, and some to please [ enough." 
 
 her father, or Mr. John, if he was! "But I should like to it would 
 at home; she thought of every make me happier; and don t you 
 one else before herself, sure j think / want to help you too, 
 enough." | Margery?" 
 
 "Well, what, Margery? what] "The Lord bless you, Miss 
 were they? Tell me all you can i Ellen ! " said Margery, in a sort of 
 remember." (desperation, setting down one 
 
 "Why, Miss Ellen for one j iron and taking up another; 
 thing she used to go into the ] " don t talk in that way, or you 11 
 library every morning to put it in upset me entirely. I ain t a bit 
 order, and dust the books and | better than a child," said she, her 
 papers and things; in fact, she tears falling fast on the sheet she 
 
 took the charge of that room en 
 tirely: 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 
 
 was hurriedly ironing. 
 
 "What else, dear Margery?" 
 said Ellen, presently. "Tell me 
 what else?" 
 
 "Well, Miss Ellen," said Mar 
 gery, dashing away the water 
 
 fvrm aiTnAi* &\T* ^ alia iicprl ir\ 
 
 be a difficulty in the way of her from either eye, "she used to 
 
 taking this part of Alice s daily 
 duties; she did not feel that she 
 had the freedom of the library. 
 And then," said Margery, 
 
 look over the clothes when they 
 went up from the wash; and put 
 them away; and mend them if 
 there was any places wanted 
 
 " she used to skim the cream for i mending." 
 
 me, most mornings, when I d be "I m afraid I don t know how 
 
 busy ; and wash up the breakfast to manage that," said Ellen, very 
 
 things 
 
 "Oh, I forgot all about the 
 breakfast things!" exclaimed 
 Ellen "how could I! I ]11 do 
 them, to be sure, after this. I 
 never thought of them, Margery. 
 And I ll skim the cream too." 
 
 "Dear Miss Ellen, I wouldn t 
 
 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." 
 
 "Ah, well, but she did, how 
 ever," said Margery, searching in 
 
 her basket of 
 
 clothes for some 
 27* 
 
420 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 particular 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 rentis 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 learnt of in the first place, 
 but I ain t certain. Anyhow, she s 
 a first-rate hand." 
 
 "Then I 11 gether 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 recol 
 lect 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 
 thing for the master when I 
 wouldn t have the time to do the 
 same myself; and I can t tell 
 one can t think of those things 
 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?" 
 
 Margery could only throw down 
 her holder to return most affec 
 tionately 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 readi 
 ly agreed to do her best in the 
 matter. So some old clothes were 
 j looked up; pieces of linen, cot 
 ton, 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 making vain endea 
 vours to arrange a large linen 
 patch properly, till her cheeks 
 were burning with excitement; 
 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 suc 
 cess. Ellen could not rest satis 
 fied 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 
 began to do it for Margery. She 
 at once also took upon herself the 
 care of the parlour cupboard and 
 all the things in it, which she well 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 421 
 
 knew had been Alice s office; 
 and, thanks to Miss Fortune s 
 training, 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 might be able to put 
 them away; and she studied the 
 shelves of the linen closet, and 
 the chests of drawers in Mr. Hum 
 phreys 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 ask 
 ing, nothing could have been 
 more impossible. Even when he 
 was out of the house , out by the 
 hour, Ellen never thought of go 
 ing where she had not been ex 
 pressly permitted to go. 
 
 When Mr. Van Brunt informed 
 his wife of Ellen s purpose to de 
 sert 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 be 
 come the adopted child of the 
 house. For a while her words of 
 displeasure were poured forth in 
 a torrent; Mr. Van Brunt mean 
 time sayingvery little, and stand 
 ing by like a steadfast rock that 
 the waves dashed past, not upon. 
 She declared this was the "cap- 
 sheaf of Miss Humphrey s 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 ho more business to go and 
 give herself away than one of her 
 oxen; and they would find it out, 
 she guessed, pretty quick; Mr. 
 John .and all; she d have her 
 back in no time!" What 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, ap 
 palled by the serenity of his 
 manner, she left indignation on 
 one side for the present, and be 
 gan to argue the matter. But Mr. 
 Van Brunt coolly said he had 
 promised: she might get as many 
 helps 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 king, lords, and com 
 mons." A most extraordinary ex 
 pletive for a good republican 
 which Mr. Van Brunt had pro 
 bably inherited from his father 
 and grandfather. What can waves 
 do against a rock? Miss Fortune 
 disdained a struggle which must 
 end in her own confusion, and 
 wisely kept her chagrin to her- 
 
422 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 self; never even approaching the j fore he reached home, and her 
 subject afterwards, with him or! anxious watch of hope and fear 
 any other person. Ellen had left j for the sound of his horse s feet 
 the whole matter to Mr. Van i grew very painful. She busied 
 Brunt, expecting a storm, and i herself with setting the tea-table; 
 
 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 household duties ; 
 in everything else the want of him 
 was felt. Study flagged; though, 
 knowing what his wish would be, 
 and what her duty was, she faith 
 fully tried to go on with it. She 
 had no heart for riding or walk 
 ing by herself. She was lonely; 
 she was sorrowful; she was weary; 
 allMrs.Vawse s pleasant society 
 was not worth the mere know 
 ledge that lie 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 feel 
 ing had changed; it did not look 
 the bright day she had expected 
 it would. Up to that time she had 
 thought only of herself; now she 
 remembered what sort of a co 
 rning home this must be to him; 
 and she dreaded almost as much 
 as she wished for the moment of 
 his arrival. Mrs. Vawse was sur 
 prised to see that her face was 
 sadder that day than it had been 
 for many past; she could not 
 understand it. Ellen did not ex 
 plain. It was late in the day be- 
 
 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 feel 
 ing had judged 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 re 
 spected and esteemed on all 
 sides, it was felt a relief by every 
 one of the family when she 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 disappoint 
 ed her the first few days after 
 John s return, gave place to a 
 softened gravity ; and the house 
 hold fell again into all its old 
 ways ; only that upon every brow 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 423 
 
 there was a chastened air of sor- ; Humphreys would let me go into 
 row in everything that was said ; his study every day when he is 
 a tone of remembrance, and that out, to put it in order and 
 a little figure was going about; the books?" 
 where Alice s used to move as "Certainly. But why does not 
 mistress of the house. Margery do it? " 
 
 Thanks to her brother, that "She does, I believe, but she 
 little figure was an exceeding never used to; and I should like 
 busy one. She had in the first i to do it very much if I was sure 
 place her household duties, in he would not dislike it. Iwoul 
 discharging which she was per- j be careful not to disturb any- 
 fectly untiring. From the cream i thing ; I would leave everything 
 skimmed for Margery, and the just as I found it." 
 cups of coffee poured out every "You may go when you 
 morning for Mr. Humphreys and please, and do what you please 
 
 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 slacken 
 ed. 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 plen 
 ty for both her and himself to do. 
 Not that they ever forgot, or 
 tried to forget Alice ; on the con 
 trary, they sought to remember 
 her, humbly, calmly, hopefully, 
 
 there, Ellie. 
 
 "But I don t like to I 
 couldn t without speaking to him 
 first; I should be afraid he would 
 come back and find me there, 
 and he might think I hadn t had 
 
 leave." 
 
 him 
 muster 
 
 And you wish me to speak to 
 
 is that it? 
 resolution 
 
 that, Ellen?" 
 
 Cannot you 
 enough for 
 
 Ellen was satisfied, for she 
 knew by his tone he would do 
 what she wanted. 
 
 "Father," said John, the next 
 morning at breakfast, "Ellen 
 wishes to take upon herself the 
 daily care of your study ; but 
 she is afraid to venture without 
 
 thankfully! By diligent per- 
 formance of duty, by Christian i being assured it will please yoi 
 faith, by conversation and to see her there." 
 prayer, they strove to do this; The old gentleman 
 and after a time succeeded. * 
 Sober that winter was, but it 
 was very far from being an un 
 happy one. 
 
 "John," said Ellen, one day, 
 some time after Mrs. Vawse had 
 left them, "do you think Mr. 
 
 laid his 
 hand affectionately on Ellens 
 head, and told her she was 
 welcome to come and go when 
 she would the whole house 
 was hers. 
 
 The grave kindness and ten 
 derness of the tone and action 
 
424 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 press 
 ed 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 never heard Margery tell 
 her husband, which she often 
 did with great affection, that 
 "that blessed child was the light 
 of the house." And those who 
 felt it the most said nothing. 
 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 rare 
 ly, kissed her forehead, that he 
 loved her and loved to see her] 
 about, and that her wish of I 
 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 com 
 fort 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 
 he reposed on the gentle look 
 of affection, the pleasant voice, 
 the watchful thoughtfulness that 
 never left anything undone that 
 she could do for his pleasure. 
 Perhaps he did not know it him 
 self. She was not sure he even 
 noticed many of the little things 
 she daily did or tried to do for 
 him. Always silent and re 
 served, he was more so now than 
 ever; she saw him little, and 
 very seldom long at a time, un 
 less 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 
 herself he would make his study ; 
 and for that he had taken the 
 sitting-room. This was Ellen s 
 study too , so she was constantly 
 with him; and of the quietest 
 she thought her movements 
 would have to be. 
 
 "What are you stepping so 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 425 
 
 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. 
 
 One day Margery came into 
 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 
 
 Step as you please, and do not he is ashamed to trouble you so 
 shut the doors carefully. I see much." 
 
 you and hear you, but without 
 any disturbance." 
 
 Ellen found it was so. But she 
 was an exception 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 
 
 Ellen was reading, comfort 
 ably ensconced in the corner of 
 the wide sofa. She gave a glance, 
 a most ungratified one, at the 
 very original document in Mar 
 gery s hand. Unpromising it 
 certainly looked. 
 
 "Another! Dear me! I 
 wonder if there isn t somebody 
 
 UMVJ T AJ.WJCV/ T V^-L X-LV^ -L-L-Li^ AJ. II *J \J \A. \J U. ^ | ? V AJ. Vi. Vv i J.X Lillt/AV^ J.O-IA U O \J AAJ. V> k/ \J\JL J 
 
 that he saw and heard her; else he could get to do it for him, 
 and equally sure, that if any- Margery? I think I have had 
 thing were not right , she should ; my share. You don t know what 
 sooner or later hear of it. But a piece of work it is to copy out 
 this was a censorship Ellen ra- one of those scrawls. It takes 
 ther loved than feared. In the j me ever so long, in the first 
 first place, she was never mis- place, to find what he has written, 
 understood; in the second, how- and then to put it so that any 
 ever ironical and severe he might : one else can make sense of it 
 be to others and Ellen knew I ve got about enough of it. 
 he could be both when there was [Don t you suppose he could find 
 occasion he never was either plenty of other people to do it for 
 to her. With great plainness al- ! him? " 
 
 ways, but with an equally happy "I don t know, Miss Ellen; I 
 choice of time and manner, he suppose he could." 
 either said or looked what hej "Then ask him, do; won t you, 
 wished her to understand. This Margery? I m so tired of it! and 
 happened , indeed , only about ! this is the third one ; and I ve got 
 comparative trifles ; to have se- j something else to do. Ask him if 
 riously displeased him Ellen there isn t somebody^ else he can 
 would have thought the last get to do it; if there isn t, I will; 
 great evil that could fall upon tell him I am busy." 
 her in this world. Margery withdrew, and Ellen 
 
426 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 buried herself again in her book. | obliged her to stop till she could 
 Anthony Fox was a poor Irish- clear them. It was clone, and she 
 man, whose uncouth attempts at carried it out to the kitchen her- 
 a letter Ellen had once offered to self. 
 
 write out and make straight forj The poor man s thanks were 
 him, ^ upon hearing Margery tell very warm; but that was not 
 of his lamenting that he could what Ellen wanted. She could 
 not make one fit to send home to not rest till she had got another 
 his mother. j word from her brother. He was 
 
 Presently Margery came in busy; she dared not speak to 
 again , stopping this time at the him ; she sat fidgeting and un- 
 table, which Mr. John had pushed easy in the corner of the sofa till 
 to the far side of the room, to get it was time to get ready for 
 away from the fire. riding. She had plenty of time 
 
 J I beg your pardon, Sir," she to make up her mind about the 
 said; "I am ashamed to be so right and the wrong of her own 
 troublesome but this Irish conduct. 
 
 body, this Anthony ^ Fox, has| During the ride he was just as 
 begged me, and I didn t know usual, and she began to think he 
 how to refuse him, to come in and did not mean to say anything 
 ask for a sheet of paper and a more on the matter. Pleasant 
 pen for him , Sir he wants to talk and pleasant exercise had 
 copy a letter if Mr. John would almost driven it out of her head, 
 be so good; a quill pen, Sir, if when as they were walking their 
 you please; he cannot write with horses over a level place, he sud- 
 any other." denly began 
 
 " No," said John, coolly. " El- " By-the-bye, you are too busy, 
 len will do it." Ellie," said he. " Which of your 
 
 Margery looked in some doubt studies shall we cut off?" 
 from the table to the sofa, butj "Please, Mr. John," said Ellen, 
 Ellen instantly rose up , and with blushing , " don t say anything 
 a burning cheek came forward about that! I was not studying 
 and took the paperfrom the hand | at all I was just amusing my- 
 where Margery still held it. self with a book I was only 
 
 " Ask him to wait a little while, 
 Margery," she said, hurriedly; 
 
 "I 11 do it as soon as I can tell] were too busy, Ellie. 
 him in half an hour." Ellen s eyes filled. 
 
 It was not a very easy nor] "I was wrong," she said "I 
 quick job. Ellen worked at it knew it at the time at least, 
 patiently, and finished it well byjas soon as you spoke I knew it; 
 the end of the half-hour; though and a little before ; I was very 
 with a burning cheek still ; and a | wrong ! " 
 dimness over her eyes frequently) And his keen eye saw that the 
 
 selfish and lazy." 
 "Only I would rather you 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 confession was not out of compli- 1 hurried through 
 ment to him merely ; it came from j load. Carefully 
 the heart. 
 
 "You are right now," he said, 
 
 "But how are your 
 
 smiling, 
 reins?" 
 
 Ellen s heart was at rest again. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot them," said she, 
 gaily; "I was thinking of some 
 thing else." 
 
 "You must not talk when you 
 are riding, unless you can con 
 trive to manage two things at 
 once ; and no more lose com 
 mand of your horse than you 
 would of yourself." 
 
 Ellen s eye met his, with all the 
 contrition, affection, and in 
 genuousness 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 geogra 
 and was tolerab 
 both English and American his 
 tory ; the way was cleared for the 
 course of improvement in which 
 her brother s hand led and helped 
 her. He put her into Latin ; car 
 ried on the study of natural phi 
 losophy they had begun the year 
 before, and which with his in 
 structions was perfectly delight 
 ful to Ellen; he gave her some 
 works of stronger reading than 
 she had yet tried, besides histo 
 ries in French and English, and 
 higher branches of arithmetic. 
 These things were not crowded 
 together so as to fatigue, nor 
 
 raphy admirably, 
 ably at home in 
 
 427 
 
 so as to over- 
 and thoroughly 
 
 she was obliged to put her mind 
 through every subject they en 
 tered upon ; and just at that 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. 
 Especially two or three new Eng 
 lish periodicals, which John sent 
 for on purpose for her, were 
 mines of pleasure to Ellen.. There 
 Avas 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, Pollen 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 pre 
 sent were out of view, and Ellen s 
 face was dreamingly happy. 
 
 It was well there was always 
 somebody by, who , whatever he 
 might himself be doing, never 
 lost sight of her. If ever Ellen 
 was in danger of bending too 
 long over her studies, or in 
 dulging 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 walk 
 ing, or to recite some lesson (and 
 their recitations were very lively 
 things), or to read aloud, or to 
 
428 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 think 
 ing 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 sorrowful. 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 
 language, in both which he ex 
 celled himself, and was determin 
 ed 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 re 
 spective riders, might be seen 
 abroad in the country, far and 
 wide. In the course of their rides, 
 Ellen s horsemanship was dili 
 gently perfected. Very often 
 their turning -place was on the 
 top of the Oat s Back, and the 
 horses had a rest and Mrs. Vawse 
 a visit before they ;went down 
 again. They had long walks, too, 
 by hill and dale 5 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 on 
 Saturday morning, and perhaps 
 ended with Sunday night; for all 
 Monday was hope and expecta 
 tion. Even Saturday she had not 
 much time to mope; that was the 
 day for her great week s mend 
 ing. 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 of the week, 
 kept ticking an ungracious re 
 minder 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 per 
 haps Margery would softly open 
 the door and come in. 
 
 "Miss Ellen, dear, you re lone 
 some enough; isn t there some 
 thing I can do for you? I can t 
 rest for thinking of your being 
 here all by yourself." 
 
 "Oh, never mind, Margery," 
 said Ellen, smiling "I am do 
 ing 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?" 
 
5 
 
 " It s beautiful , Miss Ellen ! 1 1 
 can t make out how you ve learn- 
 ed so ejuick. I 11 tell Mr. John | 
 some time who does these things j 
 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 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 walk 
 ing so , to be sure ! How do you 
 manage, Miss Ellen, with him 
 making his study here? don t you 
 have to keep uncommon quiet?" 
 
 "No," saidEllen "no quieter 
 than I like. I 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 5 he used to 
 be very particular in old times; 
 he didn t like to have anybody 
 round when he was busy; but I 
 am glad he has 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." 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 429 
 
 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 presence when 
 he would rather have been with 
 out it. But she thought of it only 
 a minute ; she was sure, when she 
 recollected herself, that however 
 it happened, she was no hin 
 drance 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 
 disturbance. Besides, he had 
 said so , and that Avas enough. 
 
 Saturday evening she general 
 ly contrived to busy herself in 
 her books. But when Sunday 
 morning came , with its calmness: 
 and brightness when the busi 
 ness 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 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 
 
430 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to Ellen s heart! And Mr. Hum- motive she had, soon enabled 
 
 phreys 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 when 
 ever they could , _ unseen. Time o f Alice s pleasant comments and 
 
 Ellen to remember and repeat 
 faithfully the greater part of 
 Mr. Humphreys morning sermon. 
 Beading the Bible to Mrs. Block- 
 son was easy she had often 
 done that; and to repair the loss 
 
 softened this feeling. 
 While Mr. Humphreys went on 
 
 explanations, she bethought her 
 of her Pilgrim s Progress. To her 
 
 to his second service in the vil- delight the old woman heard it 
 lage beyond, Ellen stayed at greedily, and seemed to take 
 Carra-carra, and tried to teach | great comfort in it; often refer- 
 a Sunday-school. She deter- ring to what Ellen had read be- 
 mined, as far as she could, to fore, and begging to hear such 
 supply beyond the home circle a piece over again. Ellen gene- 
 the loss that was not felt only rally went home pretty thorough- 
 there. She was able, however, ly tired, yet feeling happy; the 
 to gather together but her own pleasure of doing good still far 
 
 four children, whom she had con 
 stantly taught from the begin 
 ning, and two others. The rest 
 
 overbalanced the pains. 
 
 Sunday evening was another 
 lonely time; Ellen spent it as 
 
 were scattered. After her lunch, best she could. Sometimes with 
 which, having no companion but! her Bible and prayer, and then 
 Margery, was now a short one, she ceased to be lonely: some- 
 Ellen went next to the two old times with so many pleasant 
 women that Alice had been ac- 1 thoughts that had sprung up out 
 customed to attend for the pur- of the employments of the morn- 
 pose of reading, and what Ellen ing, that she could not be sor- 
 jcalled preaching. These poor rowful; sometimes she could riot 
 old people had sadly lamented help being both. In any case, 
 the loss of the faithful friend | she was very apt, when the 
 whose place they never expected! darkness fell, to take to singing 
 to see supplied in this world, and hymns ; and it grew to be a habit 
 whose kindness had constantly with Mr. Humphreys, when he 
 sweetened their lives with one heard her, to come out of his 
 great pleasure a week. Ellen felt study and lie down upon the sofa 
 
 afraid to take so much upon her 
 self 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 
 
 and listen, suffering no light in 
 the room but that of the fire. 
 Ellen never was better pleased 
 than when her Sunday evenings 
 were spent so. She sang with 
 wonderful pleasure when she 
 sang for him; and she made it 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 431 
 
 her business to fill her memory the horse was almost always left 
 with all the beautiful hymns she at the further door. Back then 
 ever knew or could find, or that j she came from India or the Nile; 
 he liked particularly. | down went the book; Ellen had 
 
 With the first opening of her no more thought but for what 
 eyes on Monday morning came was before her. 
 the thought, "John will be at For the rest of that evening 
 home to-day ! " That was enough the measure of Ellen s happiness 
 to carryEllen pleasantly through j was full. It did not matter whe- 
 whatever the day might bring, ither John were in a talkative or a 
 She generally kept her mending ! thoughtful mood; whether he 
 of stockings for Monday mom- 1 spoke to her and looked at her or 
 ing, because with that thought! not; it was pleasure enough to 
 in her head she did not mind any- 1 feel that he was there. She was 
 thing. She had no visits from perfectly satisfied merely to sit 
 Margery on Monday ; but Ellen j down near him, though she did not 
 sang over her work, sprang about i get a word by the hour together, 
 with happy energy, and studied 
 her hardest; for John, in what 
 he expected her to do, made no 
 calculations for work of which 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 The Guardian Angel. 
 
 ONE Monday evening, John 
 he knew nothing. lie was never! being tired, was resting in the 
 at home till late in the day; and | corner of the sofa. The silence 
 when Ellen had done all she had had lasted a long time. Ellen, 
 to do, and set the supper -table! thought so; and standing near, 
 with punctilious care , and a face she by -and -by put her hand 
 of busy happiness it would have \ gently into one of his , which he 
 been a pleasure to see if there was thoughtfully passing through 
 had been any one to look at it, the locks of his hair. Her hand 
 she would take what happened was clasped immediately, and, 
 to be the favourite book, and ; quitting his abstracted look, he 
 plant herself near the glass door, ! asked what she had been doing 
 like a very epicure, to enjoy both that day. Ellen s thoughts went 
 the present and the future at; back to toes of stockings and a 
 once. Even then, the present! long rent in her dress; she 
 often made her forget the future ; | merely answered , smiling , that 
 
 she would be lost in her book, 
 
 she had been busy. 
 
 perhaps hunting the elephant in " Too busy, I m afraid. Come 
 India, orfightingNelson s battles round here, and sit down. What 
 over again; and the first news have you been busy about?" 
 she would have of what she had j Ellen never thought of trying 
 set herself there to watch for, | to evade a question of his. She 
 would be the click of the door- ! coloured and hesitated. He did 
 lock or a tap on the glass, for j not press it any further. 
 
432 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 hasnt it been asked this 
 great while?" 
 
 "I didn 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." 
 
 J l don t know about that," 
 said he, smiling 5 "my memory 
 rather seems to say that you ask 
 things pretty often." 
 
 "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 con 
 cerned." 
 
 "Well, "said Ellen, "I wished 
 very much I was going to ask 
 if you would have any ob 
 jection 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 
 iatMs? Hebrew?" 
 
 "Short-hand." 
 
 "And is that all? I cannot un 
 derstand 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 consideration 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,"saidEllen, laughing, 
 "I don t mean that; but I think I 
 would rather not." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh I have some reasons." 
 
 " You must give me very good 
 ones , or I think I shall overrule 
 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 knowhow muchlmissyou," 
 said she , with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " That is what I was afraid of! 
 Your reasons make against you, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 433 
 
 "I hope not; I don t think they "Oh, no!" said Ellen, " don t 
 
 ought." 
 
 think of me. I don t mind it, in- 
 
 "But, Ellie, I am very sure my deed. I do not always feel so 
 father would rather miss you ; sometimes but 1 get along very 
 once or twice than have you want | well 5 and I would rather stay 
 what would be good for you." (here, indeed I would. lamalways 
 
 "I know that! I am sure of happy as soon as Monday morn- 
 that; but that don t alter my ing; comes." 
 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 al 
 
 ready, 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 
 
 the 
 
 tone in which these words were 
 spoken; she answered "Dif 
 ferent things." 
 
 "The best remedy for it is 
 
 He rose up suddenly, and be 
 gan 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 mi 
 nutes, and then stopped his 
 walk. 
 
 "There is something wrong, 
 then, with you, Ellie," he said, 
 gently. "How has itbeen 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 
 
 prayer. In seeking the face of not readily find Him. How is it 
 our best Friend we forget the daily, Ellie? is seeking his face 
 loss of others. That is what I try, your first concern? do you give a 
 Ellie , when I feel alone ; do you I sufficient time faithfully to your 
 
 ^.^i^-O" r.iJl,^ ^^1 TJI Ul ^ ,.,~/3 ~, .~Q 
 
 try it? " said he, softly. 
 
 Ellen looked up ; she could not 
 well speak at that moment. 
 
 " There is an antidote in that 
 
 Bible and prayer? 
 
 Ellen shook her head; no words 
 were possible. He took up his 
 walk again. The silence had last- 
 
 for every trouble. You know I ed a length of time , and he was 
 who said, He that cometh to me still walking, when Ellen came to 
 shall never hunger, and he that! his side and laid her hand on his 
 believeth on me shall never arm. 
 
 thirst. " "Have you settled that ques- 
 
 " It troubles me," said he, after jtion with your conscience, Ellie?" 
 a pause, "to leave you so much { She weepingly answered, 
 
 alone , I don t know that it were 
 not best to take you with me 
 every week," 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 " Yes. " They walked a few turns 
 up and down. 
 "Will you promise me, Ellen, 
 
434 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 j 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 smiling 
 ly told her to get all her private 
 affairs arranged, and to let her 
 friends know they need not ex 
 pect 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 no 
 thing in the way of objecting, 
 and, now that the decision was 
 taken from her, was really very 
 glad to go. She arranged every 
 thing, 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 for 
 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 good deal pleasanter, for 
 once, than sitting alone in the 
 parlour at home with her work- 
 basket. Those days of solitary 
 duty, however, had prepared her 
 for the pleasure of this one ; El 
 len knew that, and was ready 
 to be thankful for everything. 
 
 Throughout the whole way, whe 
 ther the eye and mind silently in 
 dulged in roving, or still better- 
 loved talk interrupted that, as it 
 often did, Ellen was in a state of 
 most unmixed and unruffled satis 
 faction. John had not the sligh 
 test reason to doubt the correct 
 ness of his judgment in bringing 
 her. He went in but a moment at 
 Ventnor, and leaving her there, 
 proceeded himself to Kandolph. 
 
 Ellen was received ais 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. Chaun- 
 cey treated her as if shehadbeen 
 their own child. Ellen Chauncey 
 overwhelmed her with joyful ca 
 resses, and could scarcely let her 
 out of her arms by night or by 
 day. She was more than ever 
 Mr. Marshman s pet; but, indeed, 
 she was well petted by all the fa 
 mily. 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 carriage was ordered in the 
 afternoon also ; and Mrs. Chaun 
 cey 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. "/am. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 435 
 
 Keep away, Ellen Chauncey 
 you 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 So 
 phia was not sleepy, and it soon 
 appeared had no intention of be 
 ing silent herself. 
 
 "Well, how do you like your 
 brother in the pulpit?" she be 
 gan. 
 
 "I like him anywhere, Ma am," 
 said Ellen, smiling a very unequi 
 vocal 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 Vent- 
 nor, unless sometimes he may 
 stop for a minute at the door." 
 
 "He said he would come here 
 
 "I believe you will grow to be 
 as sober as the rest of them," said 
 she. "How does Mr. John be 
 have?" 
 
 Ellen turned so indubitably 
 curious a look upon her at this, 
 that Miss Sophia half -laughed 
 and went on 
 
 "Mr. Humphreys was not al 
 ways 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 fa 
 milies had been always very in 
 timate in England, and it was 
 kept up after he came away. He 
 was a particular friend of an 
 elder brother of Mr. Humphreys ; 
 
 to-night," said Ellen. his estate and my grandfather s 
 
 Amazing condescending of lay very near each other; and 
 
 him! However, he isn t like any 
 body else ; I suppose we must not 
 judge him by common rules. 
 
 besides , there were other things 
 that drew them to each other 
 he married my aunt, for one. 
 
 How is Mr. Humphreys, Ellen?" My father made several journeys 
 "I don t know, Ma am," said back and forth in the course of 
 Ellen; "it is hard to tell; he years, and so kept up his attach- 
 doesn t say much. I think he isjment to the whole family, you 
 rather more cheerful, if anything, j know; and he became very desi- 
 than I expected he would be." jrous to get Mr. Humphreys over 
 "And how do you get along here this Mr. Humphreys , you 
 there, poor child! with only two! know. He was the younger bro- 
 such grave people about you? " | ther younger brothers in Eng- 
 "I get along very well, Ma am," ! land have generally little or no- 
 saidEllen, with what Miss Sophia | thing; but you don t know any- 
 thought a somewhat curious thingaboutthat, Ellen. //<? hadn t 
 smile, ; any thin 
 
 28* 
 
 then but his living, and 
 
436 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 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 ; everybody knows it. 
 Some things made Mr.Humphrey s 
 as willing to leave England about 
 that time as my 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 deli- 
 
 went and buried himself at 
 Carra-carra. That was a little 
 after we came here." 
 
 How much all this interested 
 Ellen! She was glad, however, 
 whenMiss Sophia seemed to have 
 talked herself out, for she wanted 
 very much to think over John s 
 sermon. And as Miss Sophia 
 heavily 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 ex 
 ceedingly to hear what her bro 
 ther and the older members of 
 the family were talking about 
 animated , delightful conversa 
 tion she was sure Ellen Chaun- 
 cey 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 
 
 cate health about Mr. Humphreys j found means to draw both her 
 nor Mr. John not the slightest! and herself near the larger group. 
 
 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 
 
 But they seemed to have got 
 through what they were talking 
 about; there was a lull. Ellen 
 waited, and hopedthey would be 
 gin again. 
 
 "You had a full church this 
 afternoon, Mr. John," said Miss 
 Sophia. 
 
 He bowed gravely. 
 
 "Did you know whom you had 
 among your auditors? the and 
 were there ;" naming some dis- 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 437 
 
 tinguished strangers in the neigh 
 bourhood. 
 
 "I think I saw them." 
 
 "You * think you did! Is that 
 an excess of pride or an excess 
 do modesty? Now, do be a 
 reasonable creature, and confess 
 that you are not insensible to the 
 pleasure and honour of address 
 ing 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 interested in an old 
 woman that sat at the foot of the 
 pulpit-stairs." 
 
 "That old thing!" said Miss 
 Sophia. 
 
 "I saw her," said Mrs. Chaun- 
 cev i "poor old creature! she 
 seemed most deeply attentive 
 when I looked at her." 
 
 "I 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," con 
 tinued Miss Sophia, "that youj 
 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 
 insignificance." 
 
 "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 mo 
 next," said the younglady, laugh 
 ing, "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 
 concerned." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 " Do you remember whatLouis 
 the Fourteenth said to Massillon ? 
 Mon pere, j ai entendu plu- 
 sieurs grands orateurs dans ma 
 chapelle ; j en ai e te fort content: 
 pour vous, toutes les fois que je 
 vous ai entendu , j ai ete tres me- 
 content de moi-meme!" 
 
 Ellen smiled. Miss Sophia was 
 silent for an instant. 
 
 " Then you really mean to be 
 understood, that provided you 
 fail in 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 in lieu of told 
 gold. It gives me small gratifica 
 tion, Miss Sophia very small 
 indeed to see the bowing heads 
 of the grain that yet my sickle 
 cannot reach." 
 
 "I agree with you most hearti 
 ly," 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 sorrow 
 fully, Ellen entered the sleigh 
 again, and they set off home 
 wards. 
 
438 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 What a sober little piece that natural to her, I suppose; she can 
 
 said Mr. Howard. 
 ; 0h! sober!" cried 
 
 Ellen 
 
 Chauncey; "that is because 
 you don t know her, Uncle How 
 ard. She is the cheerfullest, 
 happiest girl that I ever saw 
 
 "Except Ellen Chauncey al 
 ways," said her uncle. 
 
 " She is a singular child ," said 
 Mrs. Glillespie. "She is grave, 
 certainly, but she don t look 
 rnoped at all, and I should think 
 she would be, to death." 
 
 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, Ma 
 tilda, when John Humphreys 
 came in? you were talking to her 
 at the moment; I saw her before 
 the door was opened; 1 saw the 
 colour come, and her eyes 
 sparkle, but she did not look to 
 wards him for an instant, till you 
 had finished what you were say 
 
 ing to her, and she had given, as 
 
 she always does, her modest, 
 "There s not a bit of moping . t j th h ^ 
 
 ;," said Miss Sophia. !^ ent ^^ ag an arrow ^ 
 
 about her, 
 
 " 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; he has 
 something of the same look him 
 self." 
 
 "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 an 
 other?" 
 
 "And besides," said Ellen 
 
 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, laughing. "What 
 do you think she said to me 
 yesterday? I was talking to her, 
 and getting rather communica 
 tive on the subject of my neigh 
 bours affairs; and she asked me 
 gravely the little monkey! if 
 
 Chauncey, "she has reason to I was sure they would like her to 
 look sober, I am sure." hear it? I felt quite rebuked, 
 
 "She is a fascinating child," though I didn t choose to let her 
 said Mrs. Gillespie. "I cannot know as much." 
 
 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 
 
 "I wish Mr. John Avould bring 
 her every week," said Ellen 
 Chauncey, sighing ; " it would be 
 too pleasant to have her." 
 
 Towards the end of the winter, 
 Mr. Humphreys began to propose 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 439 
 
 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 in 
 stitutions 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 thinking 
 he had more important duties at 
 home. This only cloud that rose 
 above Ellen ? horizon scattered 
 away. 
 
 One evening it was a Mon 
 day 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. Some 
 body else, however, had not for 
 gotten it. The two minutes were 
 not ended, when a hand came be 
 tween her and the page, and 
 quietly drew the book away. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon!" 
 cried Ellen, starting up. "I en 
 tirely 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 myself so nicely on the 
 sofa with my books; and it 
 Looked cold and disagreeable 
 out of doors." 
 
 "Since when have you ceased 
 ;o be a fixture?" 
 
 "What! oh," said Ellen, 
 aughing, "how shall I ever get 
 rid of that troublesome word? 
 What shall I say? I had ar- 
 anged myself, established 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 minutes 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 anymore, 
 Ellie." 
 
 The tone, in which there was a 
 great deal both of love and de 
 cision, wound round Ellen s heart, 
 and constrained her to answer 
 immediately 
 
 "I will not I will not." 
 
 "Never parley with conscience ; 
 it is a dangerous habit." 
 
 "But then it was only " 
 
 "About trifles, I grant you; 
 but the habit is no trifle. There 
 will not be a just firmness of 
 mind and steadfastness of action 
 
440 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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. * / will not 
 means something; 1 1 will try 1 i 
 very apt to come to nothing, ] 
 will keep thy precepts with my 
 whole heart! not I will try. 
 Your ^ reliance is precisely the 
 same in either case." 
 
 <; I will not, John," said Ellen, 
 smiling. 
 
 "What were you poring over 
 so intently a while ago ? " 
 
 "It was an old magazne 
 Blackwootfs Magazine, I believe 
 is the name of it; I found two 
 great piles of them in a closet 
 upstairs the other day; and 
 brought this one down." 
 
 " This is the first that you have 
 read?" 
 
 " Yes ; I got very much inter 
 ested 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 th 
 it, _of course," said E 
 a little smothered sigh of regret, 
 however "if you wish it." 
 "I do wish it, Ellie." 
 "Very well I 11 let them 
 alone, then. I have enough other 
 reading; I don t know how I hap 
 pened to take that one up; be 
 cause I saw it there , I suppose." 
 
 "Have you finished Nelson 
 yet?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! I finished it Sa 
 turday night. Oh , I like it very 
 
 that I will do 
 said Ellen with 
 
 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 blind 
 ed 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 esti 
 mate of his character." 
 
 "0 me!" said Ellen. "Well 
 but I don t know whether I can 
 
 ive you a cool estimate of him 
 however, I 11 try. I cannot think 
 coolly of him now, just after Tra 
 falgar. 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 
 Deen on the spot, and in the cir 
 cumstances of the actors. I be- 
 ieve you and I must leave the 
 question of Trafalgar to more 
 nautical heads." 
 
 "How pleasant this moonlight 
 
 ! " said Ellen. 
 
 "What makes it pleasant?" 
 
 "What makes it pleasant! I 
 don t know; I never thought of 
 ,uch a thing. It is made to be 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 441 
 
 pleasant I can t tell wliy; 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 
 brightness 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 strug 
 gling 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 trying to divide 
 one of these same white rays 
 of light into the many various- 
 coloured ones that go to form it; 
 and not by any means so easy 
 a task." 
 
 "Then it was no wonder I 
 couldn t answer," said Ellen. 
 
 "No; you are hardly a full- 
 grown philosopher yet, Ellie." 
 
 " The moonlight is so calm and 
 quiet," Ellen observed, admi 
 ringly. 
 
 "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 association has given 
 the moon herself the same cha 
 racter. 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 
 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 al 
 ways 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 ! " 
 "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 mo 
 ther used to sing I cannot hear 
 
442 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 it now without being carried 
 swiftly back to my boyish days 
 to the very spirit of the time; I 
 feel myself spring over the green 
 sward as I did then." 
 
 " Oh , I know that is true," said 
 Ellen. "The camellia thewhite 
 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. 
 1 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 
 
 take them in!" 
 
 "And in that way you would 
 heap associations upon associa 
 
 tions?" 
 "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. 
 Cannot you?" 
 
 "I don t know; I only think of 
 themselves; except sometimes 
 they make me think of Alice." 
 You know, from any works 
 
 the mind and character of their 
 author?" 
 
 "From their writings, I know 
 you can," said Ellen; "from what 
 other works?" 
 
 "From any which are not me 
 chanical ; from any in Avhich 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 exceed 
 ingly for his cleverness and per 
 severance; but what other works? 
 I can t think of any." 
 
 "There is the lighthouse, 
 that is one thing. AVhat 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? ; 
 
 had but the eye and the ear to f t ** i Well , women s works ; lean- 
 not help forming some notion of a 
 lady s mind and character from 
 
 we may form some judgment of) will show itself." 
 
 the way she dresses herself." 
 
 "Can you? do you?" 
 
 " 1 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. As the mind is, so it 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 443 
 
 "But we have got a great way 
 from the flowers," said Ellen. 
 You shall bring me some to- 
 
 Icaves upon the spirit, when it is 
 just what it ought to be." 
 
 My Mr. Mar shman ! " exclaim- 
 
 morrow, Ellie , and we will read ed Ellen, 
 them together." John smiled again. " I thought 
 
 "There are plenty over there of him, Ellie. And I thought, 
 now," said Ellen, looking towards also , of Cowper s lines: 
 the little flower-stand, which was . When one wno holds communion with 
 as full and as flourishing as ever ; ( the skies 
 
 "but we couldn t see them well Has mrd his . urn where thoso pure 
 
 , ,. ,. i, 5 , waters rise, 
 
 by tnis ilgnt. Descends and dwells among us meaner 
 
 "A bunch of flowers seems to 
 bring me very near the hand that 
 
 tilings, 
 
 It is as if an angel shook his wings ! " 
 
 made them. They are the work Ellen was silent a minute from 
 of His fingers ; and I cannot con- pleasure. 
 
 sider them without being j oyfully j " Well , I have got an associa- 
 assured of the glory and loveli- tion now with the daphne ! " she 
 ness of their Creator. It is written said, joyously; and presently 
 as plainly tome in their delicate added, sighing, "How much you 
 painting, and sweet breath, and j see in everything, that I do not 
 curious structure , as in the very j see at all ! " 
 
 pages of the Bible; though, no ! "Time, Ellie," said John; 
 coubt , without the Bible I could : " there must be time for that. It 
 not read the flowers." j will come. Time is cried out 
 
 " I never thoughtmuch of that," upon as a great thief; it is 
 said Ellen. "And then, you find; 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 travelled on 
 little way from this speech, 
 
 particular lessons in particular 
 ilowers?" 
 
 "Sometimes." 
 
 "Oh, come here!" said Ellen, 
 pulling him towards the flower- 
 
 stand, "and tell me what this and then came a sigh, of some 
 daphne is like, you need not burden, as it seemed; and her 
 see that, only smell it, that s face was softly laid against the 
 enough ; do, John , and tell me arm she held. 
 ,,,i_^^i:i_i "Let us leave all that to God," 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 Christian society sometimes j to that one source of happiness 
 
444 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 that can never be dried up ; it is 
 not safe to count upon anything 
 else. 
 
 "It is not wonderful," said 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 "Something turns up." 
 
 THE rest of the winter, or 
 rather the early part of the 
 
 Ellen, in a tremulous voice, "if i spring, passed happily away. 
 * . March, at Thirlwall, seemed 
 
 It is not wonderful, Ellie, jmore to belong to the former 
 nor wrong. But we, who look! than the latter. Then spring 
 
 -.-.-^ 4-^ ^ ! _ ~n i -i t i .4- <-? 
 
 up to God as pur Father who 
 rejoice in Christ our Saviour 
 
 came in good earnest: April and 
 May brought warm days and 
 
 we are happy, whatever beside wild flowers. Ellen refreshed 
 we may gain or lose. Let us herself and adorned the room 
 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 our 
 selves in our Father s hand. 
 
 with quantities of them: and, as 
 soon as might 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 
 
 The joy of the knowledge of j new plants and seeds, and roots, 
 Christ; the joy^ the world cannot; and was always ready to give 
 intermeddle with, the peace it her his help in any operations or 
 cannot take away ! Let us make press of business that called for 
 that our own, Ellie; and, for the it. But, for the most part, Ellen 
 
 rest, put away all anxious care 
 about what we cannot control." 
 
 Ellen s hand, however, did 
 not just then lie quite so lightly 
 
 hoed and raked and trans 
 planted, and sowed seeds, while 
 he walked or read ; often giving 
 \his counsel, indeed, asked and 
 
 on his arm as it did a few minutes i unasked, and always coming 
 ago he could feel that and | between her and any difficult or 
 could see the glitter of one or heavy job. The hours thus spent 
 two tears in the moonlight as j were to Ellen hours of unmixed 
 they fell. The hand was fondly j delight. When he did not choose 
 taken in his; and, as they slowly j to go himself, he sent Thomas 
 paced up and down, he went on, with her, as the garden was some 
 in low tones of kindness and, little distance down the moun- 
 cheerfulness, with his pleasant; tain, away from the house and 
 talk, till she was too happy in from everybody he never al- 
 the present to be anxious about ] lowed her to go there alone. 
 
 the future looked up again 
 brightly into his face , and ques 
 tion and answers came as gaily as 
 ever. 
 
 As if to verify Mr. Van Brunt s 
 remark, that "something is al 
 ways happening most years," 
 about the middle of May there 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 445 
 
 came letters that, after all, de 
 termined John s going abroad. 
 
 strengthen and cheer her mind 
 in view of his long absence. The 
 
 The sudden death of two rela- memory of those hours never 
 tives, one after the other, had ~ 
 left the family estate to Mr. 
 
 Humphreys ; it required the per 
 sonal attendance either of him 
 self 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 fulfil 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 
 anything 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 
 
 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 arrange 
 ment that Mr. George Marshman 
 would be at home. The churches 
 John had been serving were be 
 come 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 ecstatics. And it was 
 
 as about all others, she should | further promised that the sum- 
 keep up a constant communica- mer should not pass without as 
 tion with him by letter. He re- many visits on both sides as 
 quested Mrs. Chauncey to see could well be brought about, 
 that she wanted nothing, and to Ellen had the comfort, at the 
 act as her general guardian in all : last, of hearing John say that 
 minor things, respecting which she had behaved unexception- 
 Mr. Humphreys could be ex- ably well where he knew it was 
 peeted to take no thought what- difficult for her to behave well at 
 ever. And what Ellen thanked all. That was a comfort, from 
 him for most of all, he found him, whose notions of unexcep- 
 time for all his wonted rides, and | tionable behaviour, she knew, 
 she thought more than his wont- were remarkably high. But the 
 ed talks with her; endeavouring, ! parting , after all, was a dread- 
 as he well knew how, both to [fully hard matter; though soften- 
 
446 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ed as much as it could be at the 
 time, and rendered very sweet 
 to Ellen s memory by the tender 
 ness, gentleness, and kindness 
 with which her brother , without 
 checking, soothed her grief. He 
 
 your fingers to a file now-a-days 
 do you?" 
 
 "A file!" said Ellen. 
 
 "You han t forgot what it 
 means, I s pose," said Nancy, 
 somewhat scornfully 
 
 cause 
 
 was to go early in the morning ; i if you think I m a-g"oing to swal- 
 and he made Ellen take leave of! low that, you re mistaken. I ve 
 him the night before; but he was i seen you file off tables down 
 in no hurry to send her away; j yonder a few times, han t I?" 
 and when at length he told her it "Oh, I remember now," said 
 was very late, and she rose up to i Ellen, smiling; "it is so long 
 go , he went with her to the very I since I heard the word, that 
 loor of her room, and there bade I didn t know what you meant. 
 
 her good night. 
 How the next 
 
 days passed 
 
 Ellen hardly knew; they were 
 unspeakably long. 
 
 Not a week after, one morn 
 ing , Nancy Vawse came into the 
 kitchen, and asked in her blunt 
 fashion 
 
 "Is Ellen Montgomery at 
 home?" 
 
 " I believe Miss Ellen is in the 
 parlour," said Margery, drily. 
 
 " I want to speak to her." 
 
 Margery silently went across 
 the hall to the sitting-room. 
 
 Miss Ellen, dear," she said, 
 
 Margery calls it a dish-cloth, or 
 floor-cloth , or something else." 
 
 "Well, you don t touch one 
 now-a-days, do you?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen; "I have 
 other things to do." 
 
 "Well, I guess you have. 
 You ve got enough of books 
 now, for once, han 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 roving eye looked 
 
 softlv, " here is that Nancy girl \ a little as if she felt herself out of 
 wanting to speak with you will her sphere. "I didn t know as you 
 you please to see her ? " 
 
 Ellen eagerly desired Margery 
 
 would care to see me now." 
 
 "I am very sorry you should 
 
 to let her in; by no means dis-j think so, Nancy; I would be as 
 pleased to have some interruption glad to see you as ever. I have 
 to the sorrowful thoughts she | not forgotten all your old kind- 
 could not banish. She received j ness to me when Aunt Fortune 
 
 Nancy very kindly. 
 
 "Well, I declare, Ellen!" said 
 that young lady, whose wandering 
 
 was sick." 
 
 You Ve forgotten all that 
 went before that, I s pose," said 
 
 eye was upon every thing but Ellen j Nancy, with a half-laugh. " You 
 herself "ain t you as fine as albeat all! Most folks remember 
 fiddle! I guess you never touch ! and forget just t other way 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 447 
 
 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 11 trust you ! Now 
 listen. It don t look like any 
 thing, does it?" 
 
 " Why, no," said Ellen, laugh 
 
 ing; "you 
 
 hold 
 
 your apron so 
 
 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? 
 \Vhat 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 11 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 some 
 thing 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 | in a while not very often, mind 
 for you, and nowyou must go and you, but when he takes a fancy 
 make a fuss. What hurt would it s fun to see! 0, 1 can get along 
 
 loose, that I cannot see any 
 thing." 
 
 "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 
 
 fo on quieter than they do, Ellen, 
 declare 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 think I am going to 
 speak to Um 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," 
 "I ever did see. 
 
 said Nancy, 
 The way he 
 
 walks through her notions once 
 
 it do you to promise? it s 
 nobody s business but yours and 
 mine, and somebody else s that 
 
 there first-rate, now. You d have 
 a royal time, Ellen." 
 
 " Well , Nancy your story ? " 
 
448 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "Don t you be in a hurry. I am 
 
 foing to take my time. Well, 
 Ve been there this six weeks, 
 doing all sorts of things, you 
 know taking your place, Ellen 
 don t you wish you was back 
 in it? Well, a couple of weeks 
 since, Mrs. Van took it into her 
 head she would have up the 
 
 waggon, and go to^ Thirl wall, to I he scorning round, Ellen. But 
 get herself somethings a queer do hold up your head and listen 
 start for her 5 but, at any rate, to me! I can t talk to you when 
 Van Brunt brought up the! you lie with your head in the 
 waggon, and in she got, and off (cushion like that. I ha n t more 
 
 "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 
 
 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 given 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 
 nave 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 ! found it? 
 
 than begun my story yet." 
 
 "Well, goon," 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 
 
 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." 
 
 "How can I tell? I don t 
 know." 
 
 "You ll be angry with me 
 when I tell you." 
 
 Ellen was silent. 
 
 "If it was anybody else," said 
 Nancy, "I d ha seen em shot 
 
 "The other night she was afore I d ha done it, or told of it 
 mourning and lamenting at a either; but you airi t like any- 
 great rate because she hadn t ibody^ else. Look here!" said she, 
 you to read to her ; and what do tapping her apron gently with 
 you think he does, but goes and | one finger, and slowly markin 
 
 takes the book, and sits down and 
 reads to her himself! You should 
 have seen Mrs. Van s face ! " 
 "What book?" said Ellen. 
 
 off each word "this come 
 out of your aunt s box 
 
 in the closet upstairs 
 
 in her room." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 449 
 
 "Nancy! " to see if there was any more for 
 
 "Ay, Nancy! there it is. Now I you, but there warn t. There 
 you look ! Twon t alter it, Ellen ; i it is ! " 
 
 And she tossed the package 
 into Ellen s lap. Ellen s head 
 swam. 
 
 that s where it was, if you look 
 till tea-time." 
 
 " But how came you there? " 
 
 " Cause I wanted to amuse my 
 self , 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 han 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 you may put 
 it back again, if you have a mind. 
 I should like to see you! Why, 
 you don t know what I found." 
 
 "Well, what did you find?" 
 
 " The box was very 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, 
 bottom was some 
 
 At the very 
 letters and 
 
 papers, and there staring right 
 in my face the first thing I see 
 was Miss Ellen Montgomery. " 
 
 "Oh, Nancy!" screamed El 
 len " a letter for me ?" 
 
 "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 agoing to 
 take the care of it any more-, so 1 
 ust took it up and put it in the 
 
 "Well, good-bye!" said 
 Nancy, rising; "I may go 
 now, I suppose, and no thanks 
 tome." 
 
 " Yes , I do I do thank you 
 very much, Nancy!" cried Ellen, 
 starting up and taking her by the 
 hand "I do thank you 
 though it wasn t right; but 
 oh! how could she! how could 
 she!" 
 
 "Dear me!" said Nancy; "to 
 ask that of Mrs. Van ! she could 
 dp anything. WJiy she did it 
 ain t so easy to tell." 
 
 Ellen, bewildered, scarcely 
 knew, only felt, that Nancy had 
 
 gone 
 
 The outer cover of her 
 the seal of which was 
 broken , contained three letters ; 
 two addressed to Ellen, in her 
 father s hand, the third to an 
 other person. The seals of 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 be 
 loved character of which she 
 never thought to have seen an 
 other 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 
 
 bosom of my frock while I looked much too fast for eyes to do their 
 The Wide, Wide World. 29 
 
450 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 permitted me to see your j is done away. She will take you 
 face again in this world. I look to her heart, to the place I once 
 
 j T 11T 1 * t f*11 1 T T 1 1 / Tl 
 
 wrote to her after I reached 
 America. She was dead to me. 
 I do not say that I did not de 
 serve 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 
 
 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 in that 
 hand that has led me , and I be 
 lieve 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 dis- 
 
 filled , and I believe fill yet. She 
 longs to have you, and to have 
 you as entirely her own, in all 
 respects 5 and to this, in consi 
 deration 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 childhood 
 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 very first opportunity of 
 proper persons going to Scot 
 
 land, who will be 
 
 pleased and grieved my mother j take charge of you. 
 
 greatly that I too, who had al 
 ways been her favourite child, 
 should leave her for an American 
 home. And when I persisted , in 
 spite of all that entreaties and 
 authority could urge, she said 
 she forgave me for destroyingall 
 her prospects of happiness, 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 
 
 willing to 
 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 any 
 thing, they are the richer. My 
 love and gratitude to them can 
 not " 
 
 The writer had failed here; 
 and what there was of the letter 
 had evidently been written at 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 451 
 
 different times. Captain Montgo 
 mery s was to the same purpose. 
 He directed Ellen to embrace the 
 first opportunity of suitable guar 
 dians, to cross the Atlantic, and 
 repair to No. , G eorgestreet, 
 Edinburgh; said that Miss For 
 tune 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 de 
 liver to Mrs. Lindsay, her grand 
 mother. 
 
 Ellen felt as if her head would 
 split. She took up that letter, 
 gazed at the strange name and 
 direction which had taken such 
 new and startling interest for 
 her, wondered over the thought 
 of what she was ordered to do 
 with it, marvelled what sort of 
 fingers they were which would 
 open it, or whether it would ever 
 be opened; and finally, in a per 
 fect 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 moun 
 tain 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 her 
 self, 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 exceedingly sorry 
 to be obliged to obey the direc 
 tions in the letters. But must she 
 obey them? 
 
 "I have promised Alice," 
 thought Ellen "I have pro 
 mised 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 
 
 29* 
 
452 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 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 despair; 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 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 circum 
 stances, 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 honourable 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 despatch 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 Mont 
 gomery s movements were ex 
 tremely uncertain ; and, in obe 
 dience 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, pro 
 mising 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 doubts of ever being re 
 paid: she instantly determined, 
 that if she had once been a fool 
 in lending 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 transac 
 tion. There they lay till Nancy 
 found them. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 453 
 
 have picked up wonderfully; 
 hadn t heard her speak so 1 
 
 Early next morning, after 
 breakfast, Ellen came into the 
 kitchen , and begged Margery to 
 ask Thomas to bring the Brownie 
 to the door. Surprised at the 
 energy in her tone and manner, 
 Margery gave the message , and 
 added, that Miss Ellen seemed to 
 
 she 
 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 Tho 
 mas Grimes in waiting. 
 
 "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, MissEllen 
 (Thomas touched his hat) 
 but Mr. John left particular or 
 ders that I was to go with Miss 
 Ellen whenever it pleased her to 
 ride; never failing." 
 
 "Did he? 5 ; said Ellen; "but 
 is it convenient for you now, 
 Thomas? 1 want to go as far as 
 Mrs. Yawse s 
 
 "It s always convenient, Miss 
 Ellen always ; Miss Ellen need 
 
 Ellen had spread out all her diffi- 
 ulties before her and given her 
 the letters to read. Mrs. Vawse 
 readily promised to speak on the 
 subject to no one without Ellen 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. Yawse ," 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 
 sank it in her hands. 
 
 "Cela vous donne beaucoup de 
 chagrin je le vois bien," said 
 the old lady, tenderly. (Their 
 conversations were always in 
 Mrs. Yawse s tongue.) 
 
 "But," said Ellen, presently, 
 lifting her head again (there were 
 no tears) "I cannot go without 
 money." 
 
 " That can be obtained without 
 any difficulty." 
 
 "From whom? I cannot ask 
 Aunt Fortune for it, Mrs. Yawse ; 
 I could not do it." 
 
 not think of that at all; I am 
 always ready." 
 
 Ellen mounted upon 
 
 Brownie , sighing for the want of Mr. Humphreys." 
 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. Yawse s; 
 and soon, finding her alone, : to give me the money, Mrs. 
 
 "There is no difficulty about 
 the the money. Show your letters to 
 Humphreys." 
 
 Oh, I cannot!" said Ellen, 
 covering her face again. 
 
 Will you let me do it ? I will 
 speak to him if you permit me." 
 " But what use ? lie ought not 
 
454 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Vawse. It would not be right; j that is not a good time to go, and 
 and to show him the letters \ then comes winter. " 
 
 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." 
 
 "My dear Ellen," said Mrs. 
 Yawse, sorrowfully, "I must 
 drive you from your last hope. 
 Don t you know that Mrs. Gil- 
 
 .111 Lilt; gl CctLeSL piect&U-lC. A^V/JLI u JVUL j.xjj.\j r iiuoiu -LT-I..L o . xjij-i.- 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Yawse!" said les P ie is g in g abroad with all 
 Ellen, bursting into tears; "hej her family? next month, I 
 would never be pleased to send! tnmk - 
 
 me away from him ! I know I Ellen grew pale for a minute, 
 
 Oh, an d sat holding bitter counsel 
 with her own heart. Mrs. Yawse 
 hardly knew what to say next. 
 
 "Youneednotfeel uneasy about 
 your journeying expenses," she 
 remarked, after a pause; "you 
 can easily repay them if you wish, 
 when you reach your friends in 
 
 know he would miss me. 
 what shall I do ! " 
 
 "No 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," ex 
 claimed Ellen from the bottom of 
 her heart, "those letters had 
 never been found!" 
 
 "Nay, Ellen, that is not right." 
 
 "But I promised Alice, Mrs. 
 Yawse ; ought I to go away and 
 leave him? Oh, Mrs. Yawse, 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, regard 
 less of the caresses and soothing 
 words which her old friend la 
 vished upon her. 
 
 "There is one thing," said she 
 at last, raising her head ; "I don t 
 know of anybody going to Scot 
 land, and I am not likely to ; and 
 if I only do not before autumn 
 
 Scotland. 
 Ellen did not hear her. 
 
 She 
 
 looked up with an odd expression 
 of determination in her face, 
 determination taking its stand 
 upon difficulties. 
 
 "I shan t stay there, Mrs. 
 Yawse , 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 myself, Mrs. Yawse, 
 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, 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 455 
 
 God will be your friend is not will try to hope that you will gain 
 that enough? and all things more than I lose. As the Lord 
 shall work for your good. You pleases! If I am bereaved of my 
 do not know what you will wish children, I am bereaved." 
 when the time comes you speak "Mrs Gillespie," he said, after 
 of. You do not know what new ; a pause , " is about going to Eng 
 land I know not how soon, it 
 
 friends you may find to love." 
 Ellen had in her own heart the 
 
 will be best for you to see her at 
 
 warrant for what she had said, | once, and make all arrangements 
 and what she saw by her smile j that may be necessary. I will go 
 Mrs. Vawse doubted ; but she j with you to-morrow to Ventnor, 
 disdained to assert what she if the day be a good one." 
 could bring nothing to prove.) There was something Ellen 
 She took a sorrowful leave of longed to say, but it was impos- 
 her old friend, and returned sible to get it out she could not 
 home. utter a word. She had pressed 
 
 After dinner, when Mr. Hum- j her hands upon her face to try to 
 
 Ehreys was about going back to keep herself quiet , but Mr. Hum- 
 is study, Ellen timidly stopped jphreys could see the deep crim- 
 him and gave him her letters, and j son flushing to the very roots of 
 asked him to look at them some; her hair. He drew her close 
 time when he had leisure. She j within his arms for a moment, 
 told him also where they were j kissed her forehead, Ellen felt it 
 found and how long they had : was sadly, and went away. It was 
 lain there, and that Mrs. Vawse well she did not hear him sigh as 
 had said she ought to show them he went back along the hall it 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
 and sat down by her on the sofa, undertook the charge of her, and 
 and took her hand. promised to deliver her safely to 
 
 ; What is your wish in this j her friends in Scotland. It was 
 matter , my child? " he said, arranged that she should go back 
 
 . ,rl sil-* siyk-M-fiillv-r 4-S\ T 1 V* i -M! wr r* 1 1 4- r\ irtr\ O IT- f\ V f\ ** Q/IlOTICi* 
 
 gravely and cheerfully. 
 Ellen s look answered that, 
 will do whatever you say I 
 
 to Thirlwall to make her adieus ; 
 and that, in a week or two, a car- 
 riage should be sent to bring her 
 
 must, Sir," she said, faintly. to Ventnor, where her prepara- 
 "I dare not ask myself what I tions for the journey should be 
 would wish , Ellen ; the matter is j made , and whence the whole 
 taken out of our hands. You must party would set off. 
 do your parents will, my child. I| "So you are going to be a 
 
456 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Scotchwoman, after all, Ellen," ! privately agreed with Ellen 
 said Miss Sophia. Chauncey that the Brownie 
 
 "I had a great deal rather be should be sent to her to keep and 
 an American, Miss Sophia." I use as her own, till Ms mistress 
 
 " Why, Hutchinson will tell j should come lack both children 
 you," said the young lady, " that i being entirely of opinion that the 
 it is infinitely more desirable to arrangement was a most unex- 
 be a Scotchwoman than that." ceptionable one. 
 
 Ellen s face, however, looked j It was not forgotten that the 
 
 so little inclined to be merry, 
 that she took up the subject in 
 
 another tone. 
 Seriously, 
 
 do you know," 
 
 lapse of three years since the 
 date of the letters, left some un 
 certainty as to the present state 
 of affairs among Ellen s friends 
 
 said she, "I have been thinking in Scotland; but this doubt was 
 it is a very happy thing for you. \ not thought sufficient to justify 
 I don t know what would be come her lettingpass so excellent an op- 
 of you alone in that great par- iportunity of making the journey; 
 sonage-house. You would mope \ especially as Captain Montgo- 
 h in a little while, i mery s letter spoke of an uncle, 
 
 yourself to death in a little 
 especially now that Mr. John is 
 
 gone. 
 
 He will be back," said Ellen. 
 
 to whom, equally with her grand 
 mother, Ellen was to be consign 
 ed. In case circumstances would 
 
 "Yes; but what if he is? he j permit it, Mrs. Gillespie engaged 
 can t stay at Thirlwall , child j to keep Ellen with her, and bring 
 he can t live thirty miles from his her home to America when she 
 church, you know did you herself should return, 
 think he would? They think all And in little more than a month 
 the world of him already. I ex- 1 they were gone ; adieus and pre- 
 pect they 11 barely put up with , parations and all were over. El- 
 Mr. George while he is gone ; | ten s parting with Mrs.Vawse was 
 they will want Mr. John all to | very tender and very sad ; with 
 themselves when he comes back, Mr. Van Brunt, extremely and 
 you may rely on that. What are gratefully affectionate on both 
 you thinking of, child?" | sides with her aunt, constrain- 
 
 ^F or Ellen s eyes were sparklin 
 with two or three thoughts, whic 
 Miss Sophia could not read. 
 
 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 So 
 phia s discouraging talk, Ellen 
 
 ed and brief; with Margery 
 very sorrowful indeed. But El 
 len s longest and most lingering 
 
 adieu was to Captain Parry , the 
 old gray cat. For one whole even 
 ing 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 457 
 
 few that were wept for him. Since lean do for you when you are 
 Alice s death Parry had transfer- ! gone?" 
 
 red his entire confidence andi "Oh, yes, dear Nancy," said 
 esteem to Ellen; whether from Ellen , weeping "if you would 
 feeling a want, or because love only take care of your dear 
 and tenderness had taught her grandmother. She is left alone 
 the touch and the tone that were now. If you would only take care 
 fitted to win his regard. Only of her, and read your Bible , and 
 John shared it. Ellen was his be good, Nancy oh, Nancy, 
 chief favourite and almost con- j Nancy ! do , do ! " 
 stant companion. And bitterer | They kissed each other, and 
 tears Ellen shed at no time than; Nancy went away fairly crying, 
 that evening before she wentj Mrs. Marshman s own woman, 
 away, over the old cat. She could a steady , excellent person , had 
 not distress kitty with her distress, come in the carriage for Ellen, 
 nor weary him with the calls upon And the next morning, early after 
 his sympathy, though, indeed, it breakfast, when everything else 
 is true that he sundry times j was ready, she went into Mr. 
 poked his nose up wonderingly; Humphrey s study to bid the last 
 and caressingly in her face. She | dreaded good-bye. She thought 
 had no remonstrance or interrup- j her obedience was costing her 
 tion to fear: and taking pussy as | dear. 
 
 the emblem and representative of j It was nearly a silent parting, 
 the whole household, Ellen wept He held her a long time in his 
 them all over him ; with a tender- j arms ; and there Ellen bitterly 
 ness and a bitterness that were thought her place ought to be. 
 somehow intensified by the sight i" What have I to dp to seek new 
 of the gray coat and white paws, ; relations?" she said to herself, 
 and kindly face of her uncon-j But she was speechless; till gen- 
 scious old brute friend. tly relaxing his hold , he tenderly 
 
 The old people at Carra-carra : smoothed back her disordered 
 were taken leave of; the Brownie hair, and kissing her, said a very 
 too with great difficulty. And, few grave words of blessing and 
 
 only soul in town I care about. I spoken, 
 wish I d thrown them letters inj "Sir," said she, falling on her 
 the fire after all! Who d ha knees before him, and looking up 
 thought it? " in his face "this don t alter 
 
 Ellen could not help in her you do not take back what you 
 heart echoing the wish. 
 
 "I m real sorry, Ellen," she re 
 peated, "Ain t there something I 
 
 said, do you? 
 
 "What sthatI said, my child?" 
 " That," said Ellen , hiding her 
 
458 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 face in her hands on his knee, j" best- bred child in the world." 
 and scarce able to speak with i "Best-hearted, too, I think," said 
 great effort "that which you! the Major; and even Mrs. Gilles- 
 said when I first came that pie owned that there was some- 
 which you said about " | thing more than good -breeding 
 "About what, my dear child? "I in Ellen s politeness. She had 
 "My going away don t change I good trial of it; Mrs. Gillespie 
 anything, does it, Sir? Mayn t Lwas much longer ailing than any 
 come back , if ever I can ? " 
 
 He raised her up and drew her 
 
 of the party ; and when Ellen got 
 well , it was her great pleasure to 
 
 close to his bosom again, devote herself to the service of 
 
 "My dear little daughter," said, the only member of the Marsh- 
 he, "you cannot be so glad to | man family now within her reach, 
 come back as my arms and my She could never do too much, 
 heart will be to receive you. I j She watched by her, read to her, 
 scarce dare hope to see that day, \ was quick to see and perform all 
 but all in this house is yours, dear | the little offices of attention and 
 Ellen, as well when in Scotland j kindness where a servant s hand 
 as here. I take back nothing, my ^is not so acceptable; and withal 
 daughter. Nothing is changed." j never was in the way nor put her- 
 A word or two more of affection j self forward. Mrs. Gillespie s own 
 and blessing, which Ellen was; daughter was much less helpful, 
 utterly unable to answer in any I Both she and William , however, 
 way and she went to the car- j had long since forgotten the old 
 riage ; with one drop of cordial in grudge, and treated Ellen as well 
 her heart, that she fed upon a as they did anybody rather 
 long while. "He called me his ; better. Major Gillespie was atten- 
 daughter! he never said that;tive and kind as possible to the 
 before, since Alice died! Oh! so gentle, well -behaved little body 
 I will be as long as I live, if I find that was always at his wife s pil- 
 fifty new relations. But what good low; and even Lester, the maid, 
 will a daughter three thousand told one of her friends "she was 
 
 such a sweet little lady, that it 
 was a pleasure and gratification 
 to do anything for her." Lester 
 acted this out ; and in her kindly 
 THE voyage was peaceful and i disposition Ellen found very sub- 
 prosperous ; in due time the whole stantial comfort and benefit 
 Earty found themselves safe in ; throughout the voyage, 
 ondon. Ever since they set out, | Mrs.Gillespie told her husband 
 Ellen had been constantly gain- jshe should be rejoiced if itturned 
 ing on Mrs. Gillespie s good-will; out that they might keep Ellen 
 the Major hardly saw her but she j with them and carry her back to 
 had something to say about that j America ; she only wished it were 
 
 miles off do him?" 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 The wide world grown wider. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 459 
 
 not for Mr. Humphreys , but her- 1 handsomely and agreeably, two 
 self. As their destination was not things that do not always go 
 now Scotland, but Paris, it was together. You meet a plea- 
 proposed to write to Ellen s 
 
 friends to ascertain whether any 
 change had occurred, or whether 
 they still wished to receive her. 
 This, however, was rendered 
 unnecessary. They were scarcely 
 established in their hotel, when a 
 gentleman from Edinburgh, an 
 intimate friend of the Ventnor 
 family, and whom Ellen herself 
 had more than once met there, 
 came to see them. Mrs. Gillespie 
 bethought herself to make inqui 
 ries of him. 
 
 " Do you happen to know a fa 
 mily of Lindsays, in George- 
 street, Mr.Dundas?" 
 
 "Lindsays? yes, perfectly well. 
 Do you know them?" 
 
 "No; but I am very much in 
 terested 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.Lind 
 
 indsay is a wid 
 ower 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 excellent people ex 
 cellent family wealthy beau 
 tiful country-seat on the south 
 bank of the Esk, some miles out 
 of Edinburgh. I was down there 
 two weeks ago entertain mos 
 
 
 santer circle nowhere than at 
 Lindsay s." 
 
 "And that is the whole family?" 
 said Mrs. Gillespie. 
 
 " That is all. There were two 
 daughters married to Americans 
 some dozen or so years ago. Mrs. 
 Lindsay took it very hard ^be 
 lieve, but she bore up, and bears 
 upnow,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. 
 
460 
 
 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 prospect 
 opening before them." 
 
 "You forget what I leave, Mrs. 
 Gillespie." 
 
 " So will you, my love, in a few 
 days; though I love you for re 
 membering 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 Marianne ; " I wonderj 
 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 nevei- 
 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 mounting 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 re 
 fuged itself. One was a peculiar 
 assurance that whatever her 
 brother pleased, nothing could 
 hinder him from accomplishing; 
 the other, a like confidence that 
 it would not please him to leave 
 
 his little sister unlocked after. 
 But all began to grow misty, and 
 it seemed nowas if Scotland must 
 henceforth be the limit of her 
 horizon. 
 
 Leaving their children at a re 
 lation s house, Major and Mrs. 
 Gillespie accompanied her to the 
 north. They travelled post, and 
 arriving in the evening at Edin 
 burgh, put up at an 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 nbble view from their 
 parlour windows ; while they were 
 eagerly conversing together, 
 Ellen sat alone at the other win- 
 do w,looking out up on the curious 
 Old Town. There was all the 
 fascination of novelty and beauty 
 about that singular picturesque 
 mass of buildings , in its sober 
 colouring , growing more sober 
 as the twilight fell; and just be 
 fore outlines were lost in the 
 dusk, lights began feebly to 
 twinkle here and there, and grew 
 brighter and more as the night 
 came on, till their brilliant multi 
 tude 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, feel 
 ing strangely that she was in the 
 midst of new scenes, indeed, 
 entering upon a new stage of life ; 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 461 
 
 and having some difficulty to per 
 suade herself that she was really 
 Ellen Montgomery. The scene of 
 extreme beauty before her seem 
 ed rather to increase the confu 
 sion and sadness of her mind. 
 
 Gillespie, kindly; "and yet she 
 must be all three." 
 
 Ellen was all three. But she 
 had the rest of a Cjuiet mind. 
 
 In the same quiet mind, a little 
 fluttered and anxious now, she 
 
 Happily, joyfully, Ellen remem- set out in the carriage the next 
 bered, as she sat gazing over the morning with her kind friends to 
 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 assu 
 rance. " I am the good shepherd, 
 and know my sheep, and am 
 known of mine ; " and she looked 
 
 y were in a hurry to be there, 
 Mrs. Gillespie judged that the 
 
 No. , George-street. It was 
 their intention, after leaving her, 
 to go straight on to England. 
 The 
 and 
 
 presence 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 Tyne. The 
 
 up into the clear sky (tltat at least direction was obtained, and the 
 was homelike) in tearful thank- j horses heads turned that way. 
 fulness, and with earnest prayer After a drive of some length, 
 that she might be kept from | through what kind of a country 
 evil. Ellen guessed she might I Ellen could hardly have told, 
 
 have special need to offer that 
 prayer. And as again her eye 
 wandered over the singular bright 
 
 they arrived at the place. 
 
 It was beautifully situated; 
 and through well-kept grounds 
 
 spectacle , that kept reminding j they drove up to a large_, gather 
 
 her she 
 
 strange ^ 
 
 leaned upon 
 
 tence "This God is our God! Ellen took a kind leave of Mrs. 
 
 for ever and ever, He will be our Gillespie, shook hands with the 
 
 guide even unto death. 
 
 She was called from her win 
 dow to supper. 
 
 . "Why, how well you look!" 
 said Mrs. Gillespie; "I expected 
 
 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 
 
 you would have been half tired I after the retreating carriage 
 to death. Doesn t she look well?" one swift thought went to her ad- 
 "As if she were neither tired, opted father and brother far away 
 hungry, nor sleepy," said Major| one to her Friend in heaven 
 
462 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and Ellen quietly turned to the to come with her. This, then, 
 servant and asked for Mrs must be Lady Keith, but no 
 Lindsay. sign of recognition. Ellen 
 
 She was shown into a large wondered, as her trembling feet 
 room, where nobody was, and; carried her upstairs, and to the 
 sat down, with a beating heart, door of a room where the lady 
 while the servant went upstairs; motioned her to enter; she did 
 looking with a strange feeling | not follow herself, 
 upon what was to be her future i A large pleasant dressing- 
 home. The house was handsome, j room, but Ellen saw nothing 
 comfortably, luxuriously furnish- ! but the dignified figure and 
 ed, but without any attempt at searching glance of a lady in 
 display. Things rather old-fa- black , standing in the middle of 
 shioned than otherwise; plain, i the floor. At the look which in- 
 even homely, in some instances; stantly followed her entering, 
 yet evidently there was no spa- however, Ellen sprang forward, 
 ring of money in any line of use and was received in arms that 
 or comfort; nor were reading folded her as fondly and as close- 
 and writing, painting and music, j ly as ever those of her own nio- 
 strangers there. Unconsciously |ther had done. Without releasing 
 acting upon her brother s prin- j her from their clasp , Mrs. Lind- 
 
 1 P 1 ./* T f it t t II 
 
 ciple of judging of people from 
 their works, Ellen, from what she 
 saw gathered around her, formed 
 a favourable opinion of her rela 
 tions, without thinking of it, for 
 indeed she was thinking of some 
 thing else. 
 A lady presently entered, and 
 
 say presently sat down , and pla 
 cing Ellen on her lap, and for a 
 long time without speaking a 
 word, she overwhelmed her with 
 caresses caresses often inter 
 rupted with passionate bursts of 
 tears. Ellen herself cried hearti 
 ly for company, though Mrs. 
 
 said that Mrs. Lindsay was not j Lindsay little guessed why. A- 
 very well. Seeing Ellen s very [long with the joy and tenderness 
 hesitatinglook, she added, "Shall arising from the finding a rela- 
 Icarryher anymessageforyou?"!tion that so much loved and va- 
 This lady was well-looking and ; lued her, and along with the sym- 
 well-dressed; but somehow there pathy that entered into Mrs. 
 was something in her face or Lindsay s thoughts , there mixed 
 manner that encouraged Ellen to other feelings. She began to 
 an explanation ; she could make j know, as if by instinct, what kind 
 
 none. She silently gave her her 
 father s letter, with which the lady 
 left the room. 
 
 In a minute or two she return 
 ed, and said her mother would 
 see Ellen upstairs, and asked her 
 
 of a person her grandmother was. 
 The clasp of the arms that were 
 about her said as plainly as pos 
 sible , " I will never let you go ! " 
 Ellen felt it. ^ She did not know, 
 in her confusion, whether she was 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 463 
 
 most glad or most sorry, and this 
 uncertainty mightily helped the 
 flow of her tears. 
 
 not be parted with. She was not 
 satisfied till she had drawn Ellen s 
 head fairly to rest on her breast, 
 
 When this scene had lasted and then her caressinghand often 
 some time, Mrs. Lindsay began touched her cheek, or smoothed 
 
 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 ta 
 king the fair little face in both 
 her hands, she looked at it and 
 pressed it to her own, as indeed 
 
 back her hair, softly now and 
 then asking slight questions 
 about her voyage and journey, 
 till, exhausted from excitement 
 more than fatigue, Ellen fell a- 
 sleep. 
 
 Her grandmother was beside 
 her when she awoke , and busied 
 
 something most dearly^ prized j herself, with evident delight, in 
 and valued. Then saying, "I I helping her to get off her travell- 
 must lie down; come in here, ing clothes, and put on others, 
 love," she led her into the next jand then she took her down 
 
 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 precious child my 
 Ellen my own darling! why 
 did you stay away so long from 
 me, tell me?" 
 
 It was necessary to tell, and 
 
 stairs, and presented her to her 
 aunt. 
 
 Lady Keith had not been at 
 home, nor in Scotland, at the 
 time the letters passed between 
 Mrs. Montgomery and her mo 
 ther, and the result of that cor 
 respondence respecting Ellen 
 had been known to no one except 
 Mrs. Lindsay and her son. They 
 
 this could not be done without; had long given her up, the rather 
 revealing Miss Fortune s dis-j as they had seen in the papers the 
 graceful conduct. Ellen was [name of Captain Montgomery 
 sorry for that. She knew her mo- 1 among those lost in the ill-fated 
 ther s American match had been Due a Orleans. Lady Keith, there- 
 unpopular with her friends, and fore, had no suspicion who Ellen 
 now what notions this must give j might be. She received her affec- 
 them of one at least of the near;tionately, but Ellen did not get 
 connexions to whom it had intro- rid of her first impression. 
 
 duced her! She winced under 
 
 Her uncle she did not see until 
 
 what might be her grandmother s late in the day, when he came 
 thoughts. Mrs. Lindsay heard home. The evening was extreme- 
 her in absolute silence, and made ly fair, and having obtained per- 
 np comment, and at the end again mission, Ellen wandered out into 
 kissed her lips and cheeks, and the shrubbery, glad to be alone, 
 embracing her, Ellen felt, as aland glad, for a moment, to ex- 
 recovered treasure that would j change new faces for old 5 tha 
 
464 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 flowers were old friends to her, 
 and never had 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 favourite 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 re 
 quest from Mrs. Lindsay that she 
 would return to the house. Ellen 
 hurried in she guessed for 
 what and was sure as soon 
 as she opened the door, and saw 
 the figure of a gentleman sitting 
 before Mrs. Lindsay. Ellen re 
 membered well she was sent to 
 her uncle as well as her grand 
 mother, and she came forward 
 with a beating heart to Mrs. Lind 
 say s outstretched hand, which 
 presented her to this other ruler 
 of her destiny. He was very 
 different from Lady Keith her 
 anxious 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 sus 
 pense his look instantly soften 
 ed, 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 colour and down 
 cast 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 be 
 long to my uncle and grand 
 mother in good earnest, 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 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 -ac 
 quired treasure to disappoint 
 them; whether it could be that 
 there was nothing behind to belie 
 the first promise. Less keen ob 
 servers, 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 465 
 
 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. 
 Lindsay 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 
 inclined 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 Avould have found 
 it impossible to maintain her 
 ground. She understood this 
 from the first with her grand 
 mother; 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 re 
 gard 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 went on with the utmost 
 coolness in what she was doing, 
 which she carried through with 
 out 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 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 knew it would be the same with 
 him. When Mr. Lindsay clasped 
 jher to his bosom, Ellen felt it 
 was as Ms own; his eye always 
 seemed to repeat, " my own little 
 daughter;" and in his whole man 
 ner, 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 
 anything; but it gave rise to 
 sundry thoughts, however, 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 ac 
 cording 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 catechizing 
 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, &c. &c. No 
 comments whatever were made 
 on her answers , but a something 
 in her aunt s face and manner 
 induced Ellen to make her re 
 plies as brief, and to give her as 
 tittle information in them as she 
 could. She did not feel inclined 
 30 
 
466 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 to enlarge upon anything, or to j loose from all loyalty and fealty, 
 go at all further than the ques-lthat no good Briton has any 
 tions obliged her; and Lady j business to like?" 
 Keith ended without having j "You are not in earnest, 
 more than a very general notion uncle?" 
 of Ellen s way of life for three or "You are, I see," said he, look- 
 four years past. This conversa- ing amused. "Are you one of 
 tion was repeated to her grand- those that make a saint of 
 mother and uncle. 
 
 "To think," said the latter 
 
 the next morning at breakfast, was a great deal better than 
 "to think that the backwoods ! some saints. But I don t think 
 of America should have turned the Americans were rebels." 
 little 
 
 George Washington?" 
 "No," said Ellen, "I think he 
 
 us out 
 of" 
 
 such 
 
 specimen 
 
 " Of what, uncle?" said Ellen, 
 laughing. 
 
 Ah, I shall not tell you that," 
 
 said he. 
 
 " But it is extraordinary," said 
 
 "You are a little rebel your 
 self. Do you mean to say 
 the Americans were 
 
 you 
 
 think 
 
 right?" 
 
 "Do you mean to say you 
 link they were wrong, uncle?" 
 "I assure you," said he, "if I 
 
 Lady Keith, "how after living! had been in the English army, I 
 among a parcel of thick-headed, | should have fought them with all 
 and thicker -tongued Yankees, j my heart." 
 
 she should come out and speak "And if I had been in the 
 pure English in a clear voice; it American army, I would have 
 is an enigma to me." j fought you with all my heart, 
 
 " Take care , Catherine ," said i Uncle Lindsay." 
 Mr. Lindsay, laughing, "youj " Come, come," said he, laugh- 
 are touching Ellen s nationality ; ing ; "you fight! you don t look 
 look here," said he, drawing his j as if you would do battle with a 
 fingers down her cheek. j good-sized mosquito/ 
 
 "She must learn to have no 
 
 nationality but yours," said Lady 
 Keith , somewhat shortly. 
 
 Ellen s lips were open, but she 
 spoke not. 
 
 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 
 
 "It is well you have come out j well for you on the whole that 
 3m the Americans , you see, ! we did not meet. I don t know 
 
 from 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
THE WIDE , WIDE WORLD. 
 
 467 
 
 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 
 
 " I think that s all, about Ame 
 rica," 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 
 
 man 
 
 been as stout as your tongue, I over your books?" 
 
 don t know how I might have "A good deal, Sir, lately; not 
 
 come off in that same encounter." j so much before." 
 
 "I hope Ellen will get rid of "How was that?" 
 these strange notions about the "I couldn t, Sir. 
 Americans," said Lady Keith, 
 discontentedly. 
 
 "I hope not, Aunt Keith," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 J Where did you get thein?" 
 said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 "What, Sir?" 
 
 "These notions." 
 
 "In reading, Sir; reading dif 
 ferent 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?" 
 
 I had a great 
 any 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." 
 "I had to sweep and dust," 
 
 said Ellen, colouring, "and set 
 
 tables and wash and 
 
 wipe 
 
 dishes and churn and spin 
 and" 
 
 Ellen heard Lady Keith s look 
 in her, "Could you have con 
 ceived it!" 
 
 "What shall we do with her?" 
 
 "Two lives of Washington, and! said Mrs. Lindsay; "send her to 
 some in the Annual Register, andi school, or keep her at home?" 
 part of Graham s United States ;\ "Have you never been to 
 and one or two other little school, Ellen?" 
 things." "No, Sir; except for a very 
 
 But those gave you only one 
 side, Ellen; you should read the 
 English account of the matter." 
 
 "So I did, Sir; the Annual Re 
 gister gave me both sides; the 
 bills and messages were enough." 
 
 " What Annual Register?" 
 t "I don t know, Sir; it is Eng 
 lish; written by Burke, I believe." 
 
 "Upon my word! 
 else have you read? " 
 
 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 
 
 And what very well, unless " 
 
 " Unless what?" said her uncle, 
 30* 
 
468 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 shan t 
 let you off. Unless what?" 
 
 "I was going to say, unless 
 riding," said Ellen, colouring. 
 
 "Hiding! 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?" 
 
 "Not exactly, Sir?" said Ellen, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Well, but about your other 
 accomplishments. You do not 
 know anything of French , I sup 
 pose?" 
 
 "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 
 interpieted, "Worse and worse." 
 
 "One thing at least can be 
 mended ," observed Mr. Lindsay. 
 "She shall go to De Courcy s 
 riding- school as soon as we get 
 to Edinburgh." 
 
 "Indeed, uncle, I don t think 
 that will be necessary." 
 
 "Who taught you to ride, 
 Ellen? " asked Lady Keith. 
 
 " My brother." 
 
 "Humph! I fancy a few les 
 sons, will. do you no harm," she 
 remarked. 
 
 Ellen coloured and was silent. 
 
 " You know nothing of music, 
 of course?" 
 
 "I cannot play, uncle." 
 
 "Can you sing?" 
 
 "I can sing hymns." 
 
 " Sing hymns ! That s the only 
 fault I find with you , Ellen; 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 knowpreciselywhatl shall do 
 with you; I must do something! " 
 
 "Can you sing nothing but 
 hymns?" said La dy^ Keith. 
 
 "Yes, Ma am," said Ellen, with 
 some humour twinkling about 
 her eyes and mouth, "I can sing 
 Hail Columbia! V 
 
 "Absuxdl^&aW Lady Keith. 
 
 "Why, Ellen," said her uncle, 
 laughing, "I did not know you 
 could be so stubborn; I thought 
 you were made up of gentle 
 ness 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 grandmother. 
 
 "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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 469 
 
 "From my brother," saidEllen, 
 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 dis 
 liked to speak the loved names 
 in the hearing of ears to which 
 she knew they would be un 
 lovely. 
 
 "How was she so kind to 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, Sir! in everything I 
 cannot tell you; she was my 
 friend when I had only one be 
 side ; she did everything for me." 
 
 "And who was the other 
 friend ? Your aunt ? " 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "This brother?" 
 
 "No, Sir; that was before I 
 knew him." 
 
 "Who then?" 
 
 " His name was Mr. Van Brunt." 
 
 "Van Brunt! Humph! And 
 what was he ? " 
 
 "He was a farmer, Sir." 
 
 "A Dutch farmer, eh? How 
 came you to have anything to do 
 with him?" 
 
 "He managed my aunt s farm, 
 and was a great deal in the 
 house." 
 
 "He was? And what makes 
 you call this other your bro 
 ther?" 
 
 * 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 
 something this Dutchman! 
 What did he do for you? " 
 
 "A great deal, Sir." Ellen 
 would have said more, but a feel 
 ing in her throat stopped her. 
 
 "Now, just hear that, will 
 you?" said Lady Keith. "Just 
 think of her in that farmhouse, 
 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 " 
 
 "Where, Ellen?" 
 
 "At the other house, Sir." 
 
 " What house is that? " 
 
 "Where that lady and gentle 
 man 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 Grun- 
 ters." 
 
 " Oh , Aunt Keith ! " said Ellen, 
 "if you knew" But she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "Come, come," said Mr. Lind 
 say, taking her in his arms, "I 
 will not have that. Hush, my 
 
470 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 daughter. What is the matter, j herself, as she went to get ready; 
 Ellen?" "but there are some things he 
 
 But Ellen had with some diffi 
 culty contained herself 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, 
 
 cannot command; nor I neither 
 I am glad of that! Forget, in 
 deed! " 
 
 She could not help loving her 
 uncle ; for the lips that kissed her 
 were very kind as well as very 
 peremptory; and if the hand that 
 
 thoroughly roused, "Hove them I pressed her cheek was, 
 dearly ! and I ought to love them \ felt it was, the hand of p 
 
 as she 
 power, its 
 
 with all my heart. I cannot forget j touch was also exceeding fond. 
 them , and never shall ; and I can { And as she was no more inclined 
 never have better friends to dispute his will than he to per- 
 never! _it s impossible Oh, it s mitit, the harmony between them 
 
 impossible. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay said nothing at 
 first, except to soothe her; but 
 when she had wept herself into 
 quietness 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. 
 
 \TCT X 
 
 was perfect and unbroken. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 How old friends were invested with the 
 regalia. 
 
 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 smooth 
 ly on with them towards Edin- 
 
 you belong to me; your j burgh; almost pale in its sad- 
 iiame is not Montgomery any I ness. He lavished the tenderest 
 more, it is Lindsay; and I will j kindness upon her, and without 
 not have you call me uncle ; I \ going back by so much as a hint 
 am your father you are my to the subjects of the morning, 
 
 YForget that 
 lEllen yoi 
 
 little daughter, and must do pre 
 cisely what I tell you. Do you 
 understand me?" 
 
 He would have a "yes" from 
 her, and then added " Gro 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 
 herself, and obeyed him. 
 
 "I shall do precisely what he 
 tells me, of course," she said to 
 
 he exerted himself to direct her 
 attention to v the various objects 
 of note and interest they were 
 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. Lind 
 say had the satisfaction of seeing 
 her smile break again, her eye 
 brighten, and herhappy attention 
 fixing on the things he pointed 
 out to her, and many others that 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 471 
 
 she found for herself on the way, 
 his horses first of all. Mr. Lind 
 say might relax his efforts and 
 look on with secrettriumph ; Ellen 
 was in the full train of delighted 
 observation. 
 
 "You are easily pleased, El 
 len," he said, in answer to one 
 of her simple remarks of admira 
 tion. 
 
 "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 was 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 !" 
 
 " Drive to the Abbey ! So you 
 have read Scottish history, as 
 well as American, Ellen?" 
 
 "Not very much , Sir ; only the 
 
 Tales of a Grandfather yet. But 
 what made me say that, I have 
 read an account of Holyrood 
 House somewhere. Uncle " 
 
 "Ellen!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Sir; I for 
 got: it seems strange tome," 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 pre 
 tended, to I forget now what 
 king." 
 
 "David the First, the founder 
 oftheabbev? 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 vene 
 ration." 
 
 " Oh yes , Sir, I know the cross 
 was real; I mean, it was pre 
 tended 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 ; 1 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. 
 
472 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 : At that rate," said Mr. Lind 
 say, much amused, "if you are 
 
 vourite Eizzio, sitting there at 
 supper, and how that door, that 
 
 such a sceptic , you will take no j very door, had opened, and 
 comfort in anything at the ab-|Ruthven s ghastly figure, pale, 
 bey; you will not believe any- 1 and weak from illness, presented 
 thing is genuine." | itself, and then others ; the alarm 
 
 "I will believe what you tell; of the moment; how Rizzio knew 
 me, Sir." they were come for him, and fled 
 
 "Will you? I must be carefu 
 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, 
 went over the palace. 
 
 They 
 
 "Is this very old, Sir?" asked 
 
 Ellen. 
 
 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 wounds, before her 
 face ; and there, there ! no doubt, 
 his blood fell! 
 
 "You are tired; this doesn t 
 please you much," said Mr. Lind- 
 
 "Not very; it has been burnt, | say, noticing her grave look, 
 and demolished, and rebuilt, tilli " Oh, it pleases me very much," 
 nothing is left of the old abbey I said Ellen, starting up; "I do 
 of King David but the ruins of | not wonder she swore ven- 
 the chapel, which you shall seeigeance." 
 
 g-esently. The oldest part of the j "Who?" said Mr. Lindsay, 
 ouse is that we are going to see 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 de- 
 
 now, built by James the Fifth, 
 Mary s father, where her rooms 
 are." 
 
 At these rooms Ellen looked 
 with intense interest. She pored 
 
 over the old 
 needlework of 
 
 furniture , the 
 which she was 
 
 told was at least in part the work 
 of the beautiful Queen s own 
 fingers; gazed at the stains in 
 the floor of the bed-chamber, 
 said to be those of Rizzio s 
 blood; meditated over the trap 
 door in the passage by which the 
 conspirators had come up; and 
 finally sat down in the room , and 
 tried to realize the scene which 
 had once been acted there. She 
 tried to imagine the poor Queen, 
 and her attendant, and her fa- 
 
 tain your thoughts 
 
 " Oh yes , it is ," 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 sceptre, &c. 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 473 
 
 With this Ellen was wonder 
 fully 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 stolid monks paced 
 among them, where now the very 
 pavement was not. Strange it 
 seemed, and hard, to go back 
 and realize it; but in the midst 
 of this, the familiar face 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 another fit of 
 grave attention; but Mr. Lind 
 say, taught better, did not this 
 time mistake rapt interest for ab 
 sence 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 the Second to James the 
 Fourth." 
 
 "I don t know anything about 
 the popes ," said Ellen. " James ! 
 
 the Fourth! I forget what kind 
 of a king he was." 
 
 "He was a very good king; he 
 was the one that died at Flod- 
 den." 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 "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 an 
 swered 
 
 "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 be 
 longed to him with a vengeance. 
 It lies over yonder." 
 
 "Bannockburn! will you? and 
 
474 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Stirling Castle! Oh, how I should I all; the French were England s 
 like that!" enemies too, and helped us be- 
 
 t " Stirling Castle ," said Mr. | sides ; but I like the Scots a great 
 Lindsay, smiling at Ellen s deal better than the French. I 
 clasped hands of delight; " what j like them because they would be 
 do you know of Stirling Castle?" fvnn " 
 
 "From the history, you know, 
 Sir, and the Lord of the Isles j 
 
 " 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." 
 
 11 All! that would be a great 
 deal, Sir." 
 
 " Go on till I tell you to stop." 
 
 Ellen gave him a good part of ton?" 
 
 "You have an extraordinary 
 jtaste for freedom ! 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 favourite 
 Washington 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 Washing- 
 
 the battle, with the introduction 
 
 to it. 
 "You 
 
 have a good memory, 
 
 I should have to think to tell 
 you that, Sir." 
 
 " Very well, think, and answer 
 
 Ellen," he said, looking pleased, me." 
 
 "Because I like it, Sir; thatj "One reason, I suppose, is, 
 makes it easy to remember. I because he was an American," 
 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "That is not reason enough 
 
 much gratified. " I did not know for so reasonable a person as you 
 you liked anything on this side | are, Ellen; you must try again, 
 
 like the Scots people." 
 
 "Do you?" said Mr. Lindsay, 
 
 of the water, 
 them? 
 
 Why do you like 
 
 "Because they never would be 
 conquered by the English." 
 "So," said Mr. Lindsay, half- 
 nused and half -disappointed, 
 
 amusec 
 
 "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 laugh 
 ing, "I do not mean that at 
 
 or give up your preference." 
 
 "I like Bruce very much in 
 deed," saidEllen, musingly; "but 
 he did what he did OT 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 475 
 
 "He did? eh? What do you 
 think of the murder of Andre?" 
 
 "I think it was right," said 
 Ellen, firmly. 
 
 "Your reasons, my little rea- 
 soner?" 
 
 "If it had not been right, 
 Washington would not have 
 done it." 
 
 "Ha, ha! So at that rate you 
 may reconcile yourself to any 
 thing that chances to be done by 
 a favourite." 
 
 "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 judgment 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 com 
 pared 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 
 showing you Nelson ! " 
 
 "I used to like him very much, 
 Sir." 
 
 "And you do not now?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir, I do; I cannot help 
 liking him." 
 
 "That is to say, you would if 
 you could?" 
 
 "I don t think, Sir, I ought to 
 like a man merely for 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, youknow, Sir, he left 
 his wife ; and Lady Hamilton per 
 suaded him to do one or two 
 other very dishonourable things ; 
 it was a great pity ! " 
 
 " So you will not like any great 
 man that is not good as well. 
 What is your definition of a good 
 man, Ellen?" 
 
 "One who always does right 
 because it is right, no matter 
 whether it is convenient or not," . 
 said Ellen , after a little hesita- ; 
 tion. 
 
 "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 
 
476 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 all, Ellen, you might like Nel 
 son; those were only spots in the 
 sun." 
 
 "Yes, Sir; but can a man be 
 a truly great man who is not 
 master of himself? " 
 
 " That is an excellent remark." 
 " It is not mine, Sir," said Ellen, 
 blushing; "it was told me; I did 
 not find out all that about Nel 
 son, myself; I did not see it all 
 
 much. Plenty of books; old look 
 ing, comfortable furniture; plea 
 sant 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 
 it would not take long to make 
 her do so. She sat enjoying her 
 rest, and munching her biscuit 
 with great appetite and satis 
 faction, when Mr. Lindsay poured 
 
 ! 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, without 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 on, seemingly as before, 
 eating her biscuit, though she 
 
 no longer knew how it tasted. 
 
 y don t you drink your 
 
 Wl 
 
 wme, 
 
 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, whi 
 ther Mr. Lindsay led Ellen. C This command was not to be 
 
 She liked the looks of it ver3\ jdisobeyed. The blood rushed 
 
 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!" 
 
 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 coloured 
 
 again at this 
 
 exceedingly daring question, and 
 answered as well as she could, 
 that she had never been ac 
 customed to it, and would rather 
 
 not. 
 
 "It is of no sort of conse 
 quence what you have been ac- 
 
 her out a glass of sweet wine. customed to," said Mr. Lind- 
 
TML 
 
 T 
 
 :HE 
 
 WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 say. "You are to drink it all, 
 
 Ellen. 
 Ellen 
 
 dared not disobey. 
 
 477 
 
 trembling from head to f&ot: 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 liim, possibly! but 
 I could them , if it was necessary 
 
 and if it is necessary, I will! 
 
 I should have a 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 
 
 it seemed to her that it was to i displeased with me a great 
 set her hand and seal to the deal rather! But perhaps after 
 
 When biscuits and wine were 
 disposed of, Mr. Lindsay drew 
 her close to his side, and en 
 circling 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 
 will find something there; or 
 there are prints in those port 
 folios; or you can go over the 
 house and make yourself ac 
 quainted with your new home. 
 If you want anything, 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 
 
 deed of gift her father and mo 
 ther had made. But there was 
 no retreat it was spoken, and 
 Mr. Lindsay, folding her close 
 
 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 
 
 in his arms, kissed her again and again ! John will not leave me 
 again. here! But I don t see how in 
 
 "Never let me hear you call me j the world he can help it, for my 
 anything else, Ellen. You are ! father and my mother , and I my- 
 mine own now my own child ! self I know what he would tell 
 my own little daughter. You shall , me if he was here, and I 11 try to 
 do just what pleases me in every- do it. God will take care of me 
 thing, and let by-gones be by-! if I follow him: it is none of my 
 gones. And now lie down there j business." 
 and rest daughter; you arej Simply and heartily com- 
 
478 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 , Sir," she said, 
 it s mair than an 
 
 mending her interests to his "I cam in 
 keeping, Ellen tried to lay aside whispering 
 the care of herself. She went on I hour back, and she s been sleep- 
 musing; how very different and ing just like ababby ever syne; 
 how much greater her enjoyment she hasna stirred a finger. 0, 
 Avould have been that day if j Mr. Lindsay, it s a bonny bairn, 
 John had been with her! Mr. and a gude. What a blessing to 
 
 Lindsay, to be sure, had an 
 swered her questions with abun 
 dant kindness and sufficient 
 ability; but his answers did not, 
 as those of her brother often did, 
 skilfully draw her on from one 
 thing to another, till a train of 
 thought was opened, which at 
 the setting out she never dreamed 
 
 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 we el as if we 
 had a year auld acquentance; I 
 ken it by thae sweet mouth and 
 een, and by the look she gied 
 
 of; and along with the joy of|me when you tauld her, Sir, I 
 acquiring new knowledge, she j had been in the house near as 
 had the pleasure of discovering lang s yoursel. An look at her 
 new fields of it to be explored, ee now. There s heaven s peace 
 and the delight of the felt exer- within, I m a maist assured." 
 cise and enlargement of her own The kiss that wakened Ellen 
 powers, which were sure to be found her in the midst 
 actively called into play. Mr. dream. 
 
 in the midst of a 
 She thought that John 
 
 Lindsay told her what she asked, was a king of Scotland, and 
 and there left her. Ellen found standing before her in regal at- 
 herself growing melancholy over! tire. bhe offered him, she 
 the comparison she was drawing, thought, a glass of wine; but, 
 and wisely went to the book- raising the sword of state, silver 
 cases to divert her thoughts. I scabbard and all, he with a 
 Finding presently a history of j tremendous swing of it, dashed 
 Scotland, she took it down, re- the glass out of her hands; and 
 solving to refresh her memory then, as she stood abashed, he 
 on a subject which had gained j bent forward with one of his old 
 such new and strange interest 1 grave kind looks to kiss her. As 
 for her. Before long, however, j the kiss touched her lips, Ellen 
 
 fatigue and the wine she 
 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. 
 
 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 plea 
 sant nap," said Mr. Lindsay; 
 " you wake up smiling. Come 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 479 
 
 make haste I have left a friend no business to be uneasy. Two 
 in the carriage. Bring your book months ago , and I was quietly at 
 along, if you want it." jhome, and seemed to be fixed 
 
 The presence of the stranger, there for ever; and now, and 
 who was going down to spend without anything extraordinary 
 a day or two at "the Braes,", happening, here I am just as 
 prevented Ellen from having fixed. Yes, and before that, at 
 any talking to do. Comfortably j Aunt Fortune s, it didn t seem 
 placed in the corner of the front possible that I could ever get 
 seat of the barouche, leaning on | away from being her child; and 
 the elbow of the carriage, shej yet how easily all that was ma- 
 was left to her own musings. ! naged. And just so, in some way 
 She could hardly realize the j that I cannot imagine, things may 
 change in her circumstances, j open so as to let me out smoothly 
 The carriage rolling fast and: from this." She resolved to be 
 smoothly on the two gentlemen ! patient, and take thankfully what 
 opposite to her, one her father!; she at present had to enjoy; and 
 the strange, varied, beautiful in this mood of mind, the drive 
 scenes they were flitting by home was beautiful; and the 
 the long shadows made by the evening was happily absorbed in 
 descending sun the cool even- j the history of Scotland, 
 ing air Ellen , leaning back in | It was a grave question in the 
 the wide easy seat, felt as if she family that same evening, whe- 
 were in a dream. It was singu- ther Ellen should be sent to 
 larly pleasant ; she could not help ! school. Lady Keith was decided 
 but enjoy it all very much; and! in favour of it; her mother seem- 
 yet it seemed to her as if she ! ed doubtful ; Mr. Lindsay, who 
 were caught in a net from which had a vision of the little figure 
 she had no power to get free ; I lying asleep on his library sofa, 
 and she longed to clasp that hand j thought the room had never 
 that could, she thought, draw her | looked so cheerful before, and 
 whence and whither it pleased, had nearly made up his mind that 
 "But Mr. Lindsay, opposite! she should be its constant adorn- 
 I have called him my father ment the coming winter. Lady 
 I have given myself to him ," she Keith urged the school plan, 
 thought; "but I gave myself to "Not a boarding-school," said 
 somebody else first; I can t undo i Mrs. Lindsay; "I will not hear 
 that and I never will ! " Again ! of that." 
 
 shetriedtobequietandresignthel "No, but a day-school; it 
 care of herself to better wisdom j would do her a vast deal of good, 
 andgreater strength thanherown. !l am certain; her notions want ; 
 " This may all be arranged easily | shaking up very much. And I/ 
 in some way I could never dream never saw a child of her age so/ 
 of , * she said to herself; "I have j much a child." 
 
480 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD. 
 
 "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." 
 
 "It is a face of uncommon in 
 telligence ! " 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 dress 
 ed; she had been crying about 
 something, and her eyelashes 
 were wet still, and she had that 
 curious, grave, innocent look you 
 only see in infants; you might 
 1 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, 
 
 j laughing ; " she sat there looking 
 at her for an hour." 
 
 "She seems to me perfectly 
 
 Eentle and submissive ," said Mr. 
 indsay. 
 
 "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 colour once or twice 
 this morningwhen somethingwas 
 said that did not please her? " 
 
 "You can judge nothing from 
 that," said Mr. Lindsay; "she co 
 lours at everything. You should 
 have seen her to-day when I told 
 her I would take her to Bannock- 
 burn." 
 
 "Ah, she has got the right side 
 of you, brother; you Avill be able 
 to discern no faults in her pre 
 sently." 
 
 "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 pro 
 voked Avith 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. Lind 
 say found it very difficult to keep 
 to, and circumstances soon de 
 stroyed it entirely. Company 
 was constantly coming and going 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 481 
 
 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 carry 
 ing on, in French, a conversa 
 tion, in which the two foreigners 
 took part against their host. M. 
 Yillars began with talking about 
 Lafayette; from him they went 
 to the American revolution and 
 AVashington, and from them to 
 other patriots and other repub 
 lics , ancient and modern MM. 
 Villars andMuller taking the side 
 of freedom, and pressing Mr. 
 Lindsay hard with argument, au 
 thority, example, and historical 
 testimony. 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 sub 
 ject very interesting to her; for 
 America had been always a dar 
 ling theme ^Scottish struggles for 
 freedom were fresh in her mind; 
 her attention had long ago been 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 
 
 called to Switzerland and its his 
 tory 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- 
 humoured glances that were every 
 now and then given her by one 
 of the speakers. Not Mr. Lind 
 say, 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 conversation 
 that favoured her wishes, or foil 
 ed 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 free 
 dom was made sure , but for the 
 moment its name had escaped 
 him. 
 
 "Parmafoi," said M. Villars, 
 "il m a entierement passe !" 
 
 Mr. Lindsay would not or could 
 not help him out. But M. Muller 
 suddenly turned to Ellen, in 
 whose face he thought he saw a 
 look of intelligence, and begged 
 of her the missing name. 
 
 "Est-ce, Morgarten, Mon 
 sieur?" said Ellen, blushing. 
 
 " Morgarten ! c est c.a!" said 
 he, with a polite pleased bow of 
 thanks. Mr. Lindsay was little 
 j less astonished than the duke 
 of Argyle, when his gardener 
 31 
 
482 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 claimed to be the owner of aLatin 
 work on mathematics. 
 
 The conversation presently 
 took a new turn with M. Villars; 
 and M. Muller withdrawing from 
 it, addressed himself to Ellen. 
 He was apleasant-looking elderly 
 
 gentleman 5 she had never seen 
 im before that evening. 
 
 "You know French well, 
 then?" said he, speaking to her 
 in that tongue. 
 
 "I don t know, Sir," said Ellen, 
 modestly. 
 
 "And you have heard of the 
 Swiss mountaineers?" 
 
 "Oh yes, Sir; a great deal." 
 
 He opened his watch and 
 showed her in the back of it 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, he entered into 
 a long, and to her most delightful 
 conversation. 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 travelled. It would 
 have been hard to tell whether 
 the child had most pleasure in 
 receiving, or the man of deep 
 study and science most pleasure 
 in giving, all manner of informa 
 tion. He saw, he said, that she 
 was very fond of the heroes of 
 freedom, and asked if she had 
 
 ever heard of Andrew Hofer, the 
 Tyrolese peasant, who led on his 
 brethren in their noble endea 
 vours 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 interesting 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 themselves 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 executed, 
 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 sym 
 pathy of his auditor, whose 
 hanging colour, smiles, and 
 even tears, showed how well 
 she entered into the feelings of 
 the patriots in their struggle, 
 iriumph, and downfall; till, as 
 he finished, she was left full of 
 pity for them and hatred of Napo 
 leon. They talked of the Alps 
 again. M. Muller put his hand in 
 his pocket, and pulled out a little 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD, 
 
 483 
 
 painting in mosaic to show her, 
 which he said had been given him 
 that day. It was a beautiful piece 
 of pietra-durawork MontBlanc. 
 He assured 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 her if she would keep it 
 and sometimes wear it, "to re 
 member the Swiss, and to do him 
 a pleasure." 
 
 "Moi, Monsieur!" said Ellen, 
 colouring high with surprise and 
 pleasure, "je suis bien obligee; 
 mais, Monsieur, je ne saurais 
 vousremercier?" 
 
 He would count himself well 
 paid, he said, with a single touch 
 of her lips. 
 
 " Tenez, Monsieur! " said Ellen, 
 blushing, but smiling, and ten 
 dering 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 El 
 len 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 
 difficulty and some hesitation 
 still , murmured 
 
 "Ellen Lindsay." 
 
 "Lindsay! Are you the daugh 
 ter of my friend Mr. Lindsay? " 
 
 Again Ellen hesitated, in great 
 doubt how to answer, but finally, 
 not without starting tears, said 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 " Your memory is bad to-night," 
 said Mr. Lindsay in her ear; "you 
 had better go where you can 
 refresh it." 
 
 Ellen took this as a hint to 
 leave the room, which she did 
 immediately, not a little hurt at 
 the displeasure 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 gra 
 tifying Mr. Lindsay in a high 
 degree by the praises he bestowed 
 upon his daughter, her intelli 
 gence, 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 com 
 pliment and a great promise of 
 advantage to Ellen. He at once 
 
484 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 and with much pleasure accepted 
 it. So the question of school was 
 settled. 
 
 Ellen resolved the next morn 
 ing 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 acknowledgments when 
 you have not been in the wrong; 
 you are not bound to humble 
 yourself before unjust displea 
 sure." Pride pleaded powerfully. 
 But neither Ellen s heart nor her 
 conscience would permit 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 could not be happy 
 so. God gives grace to the 
 humble ; I will humble myself." 
 
 To have a chance for execu 
 ting this determination, she went 
 down-stairs a good deal earlier 
 than usual; she knew Mr. Lind 
 say 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 an 
 swer 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. Why did you not 
 say what you knew I wished you 
 to say?" 
 
 "I was afraid Ididn tknow 
 but he would think what wasn t 
 true." 
 
 "This 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 an 
 swer simply according to what I 
 have told you, without any ex 
 planation 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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 485 
 
 She answered again in the same ! spoken so low that his ears could 
 mute way. !but just catch it. Displeasure 
 
 He ceased to hold her at arm s | was entirely overcome. He press- 
 length, and sitting down in her ed her to his heart, kissing her 
 chair, drew her close to him, say- j with great tenderness, and would 
 ing more kindly jnot let her go from his arms till 
 
 "You must not displease me, he had seen her smile again; and 
 Ellen." j during all the day he was not 
 
 I had no thought of displea- willing to have her out of his 
 
 sing you, Sir," said Ellen, burst 
 ing into tears; "and I was very 
 
 sight. 
 It would have been easy that 
 
 sorry for it last night. I did not) morning for Ellen to have made 
 mean to disobey you ; I only hesi- 1 a breach between them that 
 tated." would not readily have been 
 
 "Hesitate no more. My com- (healed. One word of humility 
 mands may serve to remove the! had prevented it all, and fasten- 
 cause of it. You are my daugh- j ed her more firmly than ever in 
 ter , Ellen , and I am your father. Mr. Lindsay s affection. She met 
 Poor child," said he, for Ellen with nothing from him but tokens 
 was violently agitated: "I don t of great and tender fondness; 
 
 ik and 
 
 "it 
 
 believe I shall have much diffi 
 culty with you." 
 
 "If you will only not speak 
 look at me so," said Ellen; 
 makes me very unhappy." 
 
 "Hush!" said he, kissing her; 
 "do not give me occasion." 
 
 "I did not give you occasion, 
 Sir." 
 
 "Why, Ellen ! " said Mr. Lind 
 say, 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 argu- 
 menting." 
 
 "You shall," murmured Ellen. 
 "But do not be displeased with 
 me, father." 
 
 Ellen had schooled herself to 
 say that word; she knew it would 
 
 and Lady Keith told her mother 
 apart that there would be no do 
 ing anything Avith George; she 
 saw he was getting bewitched 
 with that child. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Thought is free. 
 
 IN a few weeks they moved to 
 Edinburgh, where arrangements 
 were speedily made for giving 
 Ellen every means of improve 
 ment that masters and mistresses, 
 books and instruments, could af 
 ford. 
 
 The house in George Street 
 was large and pleasant. To El 
 len s great jov, a pretty little 
 room opening from the first land 
 ing-place of the private staircase 
 was assigned for her special use 
 as a study and work-room, and 
 
 greatly please him; and she was j fitted up nicely for her with a 
 not mistaken, though it was; small bookcase, a practising 
 
486 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOELD. 
 
 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 drawing 
 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 bal 
 cony Ellen esteemed a very par 
 ticular treasure. With marvellous 
 satisfaction she arranged and ar 
 ranged 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 de 
 serve her pretty room by being 
 very busy there. It was hers 
 alone, open indeed to her friends 
 when they chose to keep her com 
 pany; but lessons were taken 
 elsewhere in the library, or 
 the music-room, or more fre 
 quently her grandmother s dress 
 ing-room. Wherever, or what 
 ever, 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 over 
 topped byit Ellen felt, however, 
 that all their hearts were set upon 
 her , felt it gratefully, and deter 
 mined she would give them all 
 the pleasure she possibly could. 
 Her love for other friends, friends 
 
 | that they knewno thing of, Ameri- 
 : can friends, was, she knew, the 
 ! sore point with them; she re- 
 | solved not to speak of those 
 ; friends, nor allude to them, 
 j especially in any way that should 
 show how much of her heart was 
 ! out of Scotland. But this wise re- 
 j solution it was very hard for poor 
 Ellen to keep. She was unaccus 
 tomed to concealments; and in 
 ways that she could neither fore 
 see 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 man 
 ner of John s care for her; how 
 nicely he had placed her on the 
 sofa; how he sat by her side ba 
 thing her temples , or laying his 
 cool hand on her forehead, and 
 once, she remembered, his lips. 
 u I wonder," thoughtEllen, " 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 be 
 side 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. Unfortunately, after she 
 had fallen asleep, Mrs. Lindsay 
 came in to see how she was, and 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 487 
 
 the last pair of them, (reasons for taking it up "said her 
 were slowly making their wayjaunt; "they had acted from m- 
 
 two tears, 
 
 were siowiy matting men way au.uu, v^j - ~ ; , , 
 
 down her cheeks. Her grand- terested motives, I .have no doubt; 
 mother saw them, and did not ; people always do. 
 rest till she knew the cause. Ellen | " You are very much mistaken, 
 was extremely sorry to tell, she! Aunt Keith," said Ellen, with un 
 did her best to get off from it, but! controllable feeling; "you do 
 she did not know how to evade j not in the least know what you 
 questions ; and those that were j are talking about ! " 
 put to her indeed admitted of no Instantly, Mr. Lindsay s fingers 
 evasion. tapped her lips. Ellen coloured 
 
 A few day slater, just after they j painfully, but after an instant s 
 
 came to Edinburgh, it was re 
 marked 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, discontentedly, "that you 
 would lay your commands upon 
 Ellen to use that form of expres 
 sion no more. My ears are abso 
 lutely sick of it." 
 
 " You do not hear it very often, 
 Aunt Keith," Ellen could not 
 help saying. 
 
 "Quite often enough; and 
 know it is upon your lips a thou- 
 
 sand times 
 speak it. 
 
 when you do no 
 
 CtiV . 
 
 And if Ellen does, we dp not, 
 said Mrs. Lindsay, "wish to 
 claimkindred 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 thei 
 
 I be 
 
 r 
 
 said 
 
 your pardon, Aunt 
 should not have said 
 
 hat." 
 
 "Very well!" said Mr. Lindsay. 
 But understand, Ellen, how 
 ever you may have taken it up 
 his habit you will lay it down 
 *or the future. Let us hear no 
 more of brothers and sisters. I 
 cannot, as your Grandmother 
 ays, fraternize with all the world, 
 especially with unknown rela- 
 ions." 
 
 "I am very glad ypuhavemade 
 that regulation," said Mrs. Lind 
 say. 
 
 "I cannot conceive how Ellen 
 tias 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 -" 
 
 " There is only one now , Sir." 
 
 "This person you call your 
 brother do you mean to say 
 
488 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 you have the same regard for him 
 as if he had been born so?" 
 
 "No," said Ellen, with cheek 
 and eye suddenly firing, "but a 
 thousand times more ! " 
 
 She was exceeding 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 
 anybody, 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. Ellen 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. "Whatshall 
 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 1 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 be 
 haviour, but she sorrowfully felt 
 
 that her friends did not forgive 
 her. There was a cool air of dis 
 pleasure about all they said and 
 did; the hand of fondness was 
 not laid upon her 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 Sun 
 day in Edinburgh. All went to 
 church in the morning; in the 
 afternoon Ellen found that no 
 body was going; her grandmo 
 ther was lying down. She asked 
 permission to go alone. 
 
 "Do you want to go because 
 you think you must , or for plea 
 sure?" 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 shan 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," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 489 
 
 said Ellen, as she reluctantly fol 
 lowed 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 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 5 she rushed back 
 to the library. 
 
 "I did not say right when I 
 
 servation, bending her head upon 
 her knees , she burst into an ago 
 ny of tears. It was a great relief 
 to be able to weerj 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 weeping. 
 
 "Oh, how could I say that! 
 how could I say that! Oh, what 
 
 said that," she burst forth ; "that would John have thought of me 
 was not the reason I wanted to if he had heard it? Am I begin- 
 go. I will stay if you wish mejning already to lose my truth? 
 Sir." am I going backward already? 
 
 "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. 
 with you ! it is time." 
 
 Away 
 
 Oh, what shall I do ! what will be 
 come 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 
 
 Once more Ellen set out, but wrong! what will become of me? 
 this time with a heart full much But there is One who has promi- 
 too full to think of anything she sed to keep those that follow him 
 saw by the way. It was with a he is sufficient, without any 
 singular feeling of pleasure that others. I have not kept near 
 she entered the church alone. It enough to him! that is it; I have 
 was a strange church to her not remembered nor loved him. 
 never seen but once before; and] If ye love me, keep my com 
 as she softly passed up the broad mandments I have not! I have 
 aisle , she saw nothing in the not! Oh, but I will! I will ; and he 
 building or the people around her will be with me, and help me, and 
 that was not strange no f ami- 1 bless me, and all will go right 
 liar face, nor familiar thing. But "^ ~" 
 
 it was a church, and she was 
 alone, quite alone in the midst 
 of that crowd ; and she went up 
 to the empty pew and ensconced 
 herself in the far corner of it, 
 
 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 temptherto swerve 
 
 with a curious feeling of quiet j one iota from the straight line of 
 and of being at home. She was | truth ; she resolved to be more 
 no sooner seated, however, than, j careful of her private hour; she 
 leaning forward as much as pos- 1 thought she had scarcely hadhcr 
 sible to screen herself from ob-;full hour a day lately; she resol- 
 
490 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 ved 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 pray, 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 feel 
 ings ; some were the pouring out 
 of the gathered sadness of the 
 week 5 some came from recollec 
 tions, oh, how tender and strong ! 
 of lost and distant friends. Her 
 mother, and Alice, and Mr. Hum 
 phreys, and Margery, and Mr. 
 Van Brunt, and Mr. George 
 Marshman; and she longed, with 
 longing that seemed as if it would 
 burst her heart, to see her bro 
 ther. She longed for the pleasant 
 voice, the eye of thousand ex 
 pressions, 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 5 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 strong 
 hold 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 im 
 mediately moved down the pew 
 and stood beside him while the 
 last hymn was singing ; and if El 
 len had joined in no other part of 
 the service 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 li 
 brary. 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 kind 
 ness again in his tone, that, over 
 joyed, Ellen eagerly returned 
 his caress, and assured him there 
 was nothing the matter with her 
 now. 
 
 "Nothing the matter !" said he, 
 tenderly pressing her face against 
 his own, "nothing the matter! 
 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, I am sure ; lift 
 up your face, and I will kiss them 
 
5 
 
 away. What was the matter with 
 you, my child?" 
 
 But he had to wait alittleVhile 
 for an answer. 
 
 "What was it, Ellen?" 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 491 
 
 "Ah, Sir, but I had made you 
 believe what was false." 
 
 "Upon my word," said Mr. 
 Lindsay, "you are a nice reaso- 
 ner. And are you always true 
 
 One thing," said Ellen, "I upon this close scale? 
 was sorry for what I had said to L "I wishl was, bir: but you see 
 you , Sir , just before I went out." i l . am not - 1 am sure I hate ever ^- 
 
 thing else ! " 
 
 " Well, I will not quarrel with 
 
 EDU for being true," said Mr. 
 indsay ; "I wish there was a little 
 
 "What was that? I do not re 
 member anything that deserved 
 to be a cause of grief." 
 
 //T- j T-] O T T J-J J-JA1J.VIQ<* y } JL J.OJJ. i/UL\yA. *_> T GUCJ Ct AJ.UUl.V- 
 
 1 told you, bir, when ^ Canted j more of it in the world _ Was this 
 you to let me go to church, that 1 ! the cause of all those tears this 
 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." 
 
 afternoon?" 
 
 "No, Sir not all." 
 "What beside, Ellen?" 
 Ellen looked down, and was 
 
 silent. 
 
 " Come , I must know." 
 " Must I tell y^ou all, Sir?" 
 "You must, indeed," said he, 
 
 "No, Sir; but I mean fhat\ smiling; "I will have the whole, 
 
 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. 
 
 "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 rea 
 son ; you had said nothing that 
 was false." 
 
 daughter." 
 
 "I had been feeling sorry all 
 the week, because you, and 
 grandmother, and Aunt Keith, 
 were displeased with me." 
 
 Again Mr. Lindsay s silent ca 
 ress, in its tenderness, seemed to 
 say, that she should never have 
 the same complaint to make 
 again. 
 
 "Was that all, Ellen?" as she 
 hesitated. 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t ask me 
 further; please do not. I shall 
 displease you again." 
 
 "I will not be displeased." 
 
 "I was thinking of Mr. Hum 
 phreys," said Ellen, in a low tone. 
 
 "Who is that?" 
 
492 
 
 THE WIDE. WIDE WOULD. 
 
 "You know, Sir; you say 1 1 your grandmother, Ellen, for she 
 must not call him jdoes not very readily forgive; 
 
 "What were you thinking of but I think we can arrange this 
 
 him?" 
 
 "I was wishing very much I 
 could see him again." 
 
 matter. Go you to sleep. 
 
 "I wonder," saidEllen, smiling 
 as she closed her eyes, "why 
 ft/ u a I i^ If everybody calls me little; I 
 ly, "or bolder than i don t thinklam very little. Every- 
 I think you. I body says little. " 
 
 "You said you would not be 
 
 displeased , Sir." Mr - Lindsay thought he under- 
 
 " Neither will I, daughter; but stood it, when a few minutes after 
 what shall I do to make you forget | he sat watching her as she really 
 
 these people?" 
 
 had fallen asleep. The innocent 
 
 Nothing, Sir; I cannot forget brow, the perfect sweet calm of 
 them; I shouldn t deserve to have j the fac e, seemed to belong to 
 you love me a bit if I could. Let much younger years. Even Mr. 
 
 Lindsay could not help recollect 
 ing the housekeeper s comment 
 leaven s peace within ;" scarce- 
 
 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," said Ellen, smiling 
 amidst her tears, "if it had room 
 in it for only one person." 
 
 "Ellen," said Mr. Lindsay, in 
 quisitively, "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 satis 
 fied, 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 laid her cheek 
 upon the grateful pillow, "except 
 one thing if grandmother would 
 only forgive me too." 
 
 " You must not try to offend 
 
 ly Ellen s own mother ever watch 
 ed over her with more fond tender 
 ness than her adopted father did 
 now. 
 
 For several days after this he 
 would hardly permit her to leavq 
 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 
 whenever 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 displeasure 
 of his mother and sister. Ellen 
 was almost taken out of their 
 hands, and they thought it ex 
 pedient 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 favour again, she was 
 very glad when they smiled upon 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 493 
 
 her too , and went dancing about 
 
 with quite a happy face. 
 She was now very busy. 
 
 She 1 
 
 "Oh, no, I have been learning 
 this great while ; only they don t 
 think I know how, and they have 
 
 had masters for the piano and(| never seen me. Are you just 
 singing and different branches ofii come , Miss Gordon?" 
 knowledge ; she went to M.Muller "Yes, and they are bringing 
 regularly twice a week; and soonij out Sophronisbe for me -do you 
 her riding attendance began. She! know Sophronisbe? look, that 
 had said no more on the subject, light gray, isn t she beautiful? 
 but went quietly, hoping they! she s the loveliest creature in the 
 would find out their mistake be- ! whole stud." 
 fore long. Lady Keith always "0, I know!" said Ellen; "I 
 accompanied her. saw you on her the other day; 
 
 One day Ellen had ridden near she went charmingly. How long 
 her usual time , when a young shall I be kept walking here, Miss 
 lady with whom she attended a Gordon?" 
 
 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 onyester- 
 day," said she, "making us all 
 
 "Why, I don t know; I should 
 think they would find out: What 
 does De Courcy say to you?" 
 
 "0, he comes and looks at me, 
 and says, *Tres bien tres bien, 
 and Allez comme a and then 
 
 ashamed. Ah , I guess M. Muller he walks off." 
 helped you." "Well, I declare that is too 
 
 ; Yes," said Ellen, smiling, "he bad," said Miss Gordon, laugh- 
 
 did help me a little; he helped 
 me with those troublesome pro 
 nunciations." 
 
 " With nothing else, I suppose ! 
 
 ing. "Look here I have got a 
 good thought in my head: sup 
 pose you mount Sophronisbe in 
 my place, without saying any- 
 
 Ah, well, we must submit to be I thing to anybody, and let them 
 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 accus 
 tomed to ride up and down the 
 country at any pace I like ; and 
 it is very tiresome to walk stupid 
 ly round and round for an hour." 
 
 "But do you know how to ma- 
 na 
 only just 
 
 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 
 
 ge ahorse? 1 thought you were ! thought you sat wonderfully for 
 ily just beginning to learn." : a beginner. I am surprised De 
 
494 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Courcy hadn t better eyes. 
 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 eye soon singled out 
 Ellen. 
 
 "My daughter sits well," he 
 remarked to the riding-master. 
 
 A merveille ! Mademoiselle 
 Lindesay does ride remarquable- 
 ment pour une beginner qui 
 ne fait que commencer. Would 
 it be possible that she has had no 
 lessons "before ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, she has had les 
 sons of what sort I don t 
 know," said Mr. Lindsay, going 
 up to Ellen. "How do you like 
 it, Ellen?" 
 
 "I don t like it at all, Sir." 
 
 "I thought you were so fond 
 of riding." 
 
 "I don t call this riding, Sir." 
 
 " Ha ! what do you call riding? 
 Here, M. De Courcy, won t 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.DeCourcy s ingenuity 
 could point out. Never did she 
 bear herself more erectly; never 
 were her hand and her horse s 
 
 mouth on nicer terms of acquain 
 tanceship; never, even to please 
 her master, had she so given her 
 whole soul to the single business 
 of managing her horse and her 
 self 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 opi 
 nion might affect theirs. 
 
 ^" C est tres bien c est tres 
 bien," he muttered; " c est par- 
 faitement, monsieur, made 
 moiselle votre fille has had good 
 lessons; voila qui est entiere- 
 ment comme il faut." 
 
 "Assez bien," said Mr. Lind 
 say, smiling. " The little gipsy ! " 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the ri 
 ding-master, as she paused be 
 fore them, "pourquoi, wherefore 
 have^ you stopped in your canter 
 tantot a little while ago et 
 puis recommence?" 
 
 "Monsieur, he led with the 
 wrong foot." 
 
 "C]est a justement!" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Have you practised leaping, 
 Ellen?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 " Try her, M. De Courcy. How 
 high will you go, Ellen?" 
 
 J As high as you please, Sir," 
 said Ellen, leaning over and pat 
 ting her horse s neck to hide her 
 smile. 
 
 "How you look, child!" said 
 Mr. Lindsay, in a pleased tone. 
 "So tlds is what you call riding?" 
 
 " It is a little more like it , Sir," 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 495 
 
 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 accomplished 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 
 practise, and show an example to 
 his pupils. 
 
 The very bright colour in El 
 len s face as she heard this might 
 have been mistaken for the flush 
 of gratified vanity: it was no 
 thing less. Not one word of this 
 praise did she take to herself, 
 nor had she sought for herself; it 
 was all for somebody else; and 
 perhaps so Lady Keith under 
 stood it, for she looked rather 
 discomfited. But Mr. Lindsay 
 was exceedingly pleased, and 
 promised Ellen that as soon as 
 the warm weather came she 
 should have a horse, and rides to 
 her heart s content. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 Trials without. 
 
 ELLEN might now have been in 
 some danger of being spoiled 
 not, indeed, with over-indulgence, 
 for that was not the temper of 
 the family but from finding 
 herself a person of so much con 
 sequence. She could not but feel 
 
 Lady Keith was perpetually 
 watching, superintending, and 
 admonishing; though she every 
 now and then remarked, with a 
 kind of surprise, that "really she 
 scarcely .ever had to say any 
 thing to Ellen; she thought she 
 must know things by instinct." 
 To Mr. Lindsay and his mother 
 she was the idol of life ; and ex 
 cept 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 and presumption. 
 
 One was her love for her bro 
 ther, 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 fond 
 ness shown her, but the sympathy 
 was wanting. She was talked to, 
 but not with. No one now knew 
 always what she was thinking of, 
 nor, if they did, would patiently 
 draw out her thoughts, canvas 
 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, ordulness, or per- 
 verseness, and leave her spirits 
 
 that in the minds of every one of 1 clear and bright as the noonday, 
 her three friends she was the ob- With all the petting and fond- 
 ject of greatest importance; their ness she had from her neAV 
 thoughts and care were princi- 1 friends , Ellen felt alone. She 
 pally occupied with her. Even j was petted and fondled as a 
 
496 
 
 JV-JL... .0, V w . 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 Lindsay 
 
 
 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? 
 
 darling possession a dear play 
 
 thing a thing to be cared for, 
 
 taught, governed, disposed of, 
 
 with the greatest affection and 
 
 delight; but John s was a higher 
 
 style of kindness, tha.t entered 
 
 into all her innermost feelings 
 
 and wants; and his was a higher 
 
 style of authority, too, that 
 
 reached where theirs could never 
 
 attain - an authority Ellen al 
 
 ways felt it utterly impossible to 
 
 dispute; it was sure to be exerted 
 
 on the side of what was right; 
 
 and she could better have borne 
 
 hard words from Mr. 
 
 than a glance of her brother s sical or philosophical, and dis- 
 
 eye. Ellen made no objection to missed with no light on the sub- 
 
 the imperativeness of her new ject. She sighed for her brother. 
 
 The hours with M. Muller were the 
 best substitute she had; they 
 
 "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 ques 
 tions of any magnitude Ellen 
 ventured to ask; she was kissed 
 and laughed at, called metaphy- 
 
 guarclians; 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 dis 
 obeyed 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; I wish I knew what 
 kinds of pride are right and what 
 wrong; he would tell me if he 
 was here." 
 
 "What are you in a brown 
 study about, Ellen?" said Mr. 
 Lindsay. 
 
 "I was thinking, Sir, about dif 
 ferent kinds of pride; I wish I 
 
 were dearly prized by her., and, 
 to say truth, by him. He had no 
 family, he lived alone; and the 
 visits of his docile and intilligent 
 little pupil 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 inter 
 ested, was equally able and will 
 ing to answer her. Often when 
 not particularly busy, he allowed 
 hour to become fr 
 
 her 
 
 two. Excel 
 
 lent hours for Ellen. M. Muller 
 had made his proposition to Mr. 
 Lindsay, partly from grateful 
 regard for him, and partly to 
 gratify the fancy he had taken to 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 497 
 
 draws closer to liis 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 think 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 breath of 
 prayer may span the distance 
 and pour 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 
 
 hour patiently, matters that I the breakfast -table with a sun- 
 could neither interest nor con- shiny face. Little they thought 
 cernher. On the whole, and with where her heart had been, or 
 good reason , the days when they where it had got its sunshine, 
 were to meet were hailed with as I But notwithstanding this, El- 
 much pleasure, perhaps, by M. len had too much to remember 
 Muller as by Ellen herself. and regret, than to be otherwise 
 
 Her other safeguard was thejthan sober, soberer than her 
 precious hour alone, which she| friends liked. They noticed with 
 had promised John never to lose sorrow that the sunshine wore 
 when she could help it. The only off as the day rolled on; that 
 time she could have was the early though ready to smile upon oc- 
 morning, before the rest of thelcasion, her face always settled 
 family were up. To this hour, an d| again into a gravity they thought 
 
 Ellen on account of her simpli 
 city, intelligence, and good man 
 ners. This latter motive did not 
 disappoint him. He grew very 
 much attached to his little pupil ; 
 ;in attachment which Ellen faith 
 fully returned, both in kind, and 
 by every trifling service that 
 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 copy 
 ing, or setting in order some dis 
 orderly 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 
 
 it was often more than an hour, 
 Ellen was faithful. Her little 
 Bible was extremely precioue 
 
 altogether unsuitable. Mrs. Lind 
 say fancied she knew the cause, 
 and resolved to break it up. 
 
 now; Ellen had never gone to n| From the first of Ellen s co- 
 with a deeper sense of need; and ming, her grandmother had 
 never did she find more comfort | taken the entire charge of her 
 in being able to disburden her toilet. Whatever Mrs. Lindsay s 
 heart in prayer of its load of notions in general might be as to 
 
 the propriety of young girls 
 learning to take care of them- 
 
 cares and wishes. Never more 
 than now had she felt the pre- 
 
 ciousness of that Friend who j selves, Ellen was much too pre- 
 The Wide , Wide World. . 32 
 
498 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 cious a plaything to be trusted 
 to any other hands, even her 
 own. At eleven o clock regularly 
 every day she went to her grand 
 mother s dressing-room for a 
 very elaborate bathing and dress 
 ing; though not a very long 
 one, for all Mrs. Lindsay s were 
 energetic. 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 the course of cold- 
 water, sponging, and hair-gloving 
 that Mrs. Lindsay was accustom 
 ed to administer at eleven. Ellen 
 heard in silence, and obeyed, but 
 made up her hour by rising 
 earlier than usual , so as to have 
 it before going to her grand 
 mother. 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 El 
 len, "I am up a great while be 
 fore 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 silencing her that Ellen 
 particularly disliked, and which 
 both Mr. Lindsay and his mother 
 were accustomed to use. 
 
 She thought a great deal on 
 jthe subject, and came soberly to 
 pie conclusion that it was her 
 kluty to disobey. "I promised 
 jJohn," she said to herself; "I 
 will never break that promise! 
 I 11 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." 
 
 She could not, without its 
 coming to the knowledge of her 
 grandmother. A week or two 
 after the former conversation, 
 Mrs. Lindsay made inquiries of 
 Mason, her woman, who was 
 obliged to confess that Miss El 
 len s light was always burning 
 when she went to call her. 
 
 "Ellen," said Mrs. Lindsay, 
 the same day, "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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 499 
 
 tell me so. Why have you dis 
 obeyed me?" 
 
 "Because, Grandmother, I 
 thought it was right." 
 
 "You think it is right to dis 
 obey, do you?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma am, if " 
 
 "If what?" 
 
 "I mean, Grandmother, there 
 is One I must obey even before 
 you." 
 
 "If what? "repeated Mrs. Lind 
 say. 
 
 "Please do not ask me, Grand 
 mother; 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." 
 
 " 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. Ap 
 pealing was not to be thought of. 
 There was, as she said, no time 
 she could count upon after break 
 fast. During the whole day and 
 evening she was either busy 
 
 with her studies or masters, or 
 in the company of her grand 
 mother or Mr. Lindsay; and if 
 not there , liable to be called to 
 them at any moment. Her grand 
 mother s expedient for increasing 
 her cheerfulness had marvellous 
 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 remark 
 ably busy these 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 whis- 
 peringly asked her 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. 
 
 "0, 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 re 
 spect for his mother to say any 
 thing against her proceedings 
 while Ellen was present; he 
 simply answered that she must 
 do whatever her grandmother 
 said. But when Ellen had left 
 
500 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 the room, which she did im 
 mediately, 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 habit 
 of morning prayer, and would 
 then do much better. Mr. Lind 
 say 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 ut 
 terly 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 thoughtfully 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 sup 
 pose, looking right into our 
 sitting-room. Oh, 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, I 
 wish I was back there with him ! 
 John isn t there, though no 
 matter, he will be and I could 
 do 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 sure 
 ly 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 for 
 ever! Well! I shall see them in 
 heaven ! " 
 
 It was a "well" of bitter ac 
 quiescence, and washed down 
 with bitter tears. 
 
 "Is it my bonny Miss Ellen?" 
 said the voice of the house 
 keeper, coming softly in; "is 
 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 of 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." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 -501 
 
 "But I m wac to see ye ," said 
 the kind old iwornan, 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 yoursel , Miss Ellen, 
 or better frinds? father and mo 
 ther and a ; where wad ye find 
 thae that will love you mair?" 
 
 "Ah, but I haven t my bro 
 ther!" sobbed Ellen. 
 
 "Your brither, Miss Ellen? 
 An wa 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 
 ought 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, Ikenned and loved 
 your dear mither weel for mony 
 
 a day will yc mind if I speak a 
 word to her bairn?" 
 
 "No, dear Mrs. Allen, I 11 
 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 the- 
 
 ither sae frack ; though she was 
 
 ouce and kind too." 
 
 "I wish," Ellen began, and 
 stopped. 
 
 "My dear bairn, there is Ane 
 abuve what disposes a things for 
 us; and he isna weel pleased 
 when His children fash them 
 selves wi His dispensations. 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 haena a things ye 
 wad wish, Miss Ellen, ye hae 
 Him! dinna forget that, my ain 
 bairn." 
 
 Ellen returned heartily and 
 silently the embrace of the old 
 Scotch-woman, 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 herself with 
 softly singing some of her old 
 hymns. 
 
 The argument which was car 
 ried on in the parlour sunk at 
 length into silence without co 
 ming to any conclusion. 
 
 "Where is Miss Ellen?" Mrs. 
 
502 
 
 THE WIDE , 
 
 WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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. Lind 
 say, "I 11 go myself." 
 
 Her door was a little ajar, and 
 he softly opened it without dis 
 turbing her. Ellen was still sit 
 ting on the floor before the win 
 dow, looking out through it, and 
 in rather a low tone singing the 
 last verse of the hymn, " Kock of 
 Ages:" 
 
 " While I draw this fleeting breath 
 When my eyelids close in death 
 When I rise to worlds unknown, 
 And behold Thee on thy throne 
 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee ! " 
 
 Mr. Lindsay stood still at the 
 door. Ellen paused a minute and 
 then sung " Jerusalem, my happy 
 home." Her utterance was so 
 distinct that he heard every word. 
 He did not move till she had 
 finished, and then he came soft 
 ly 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 
 
 your age. What do you love 
 them for, my little daughter?" 
 
 there are a great 
 I don t know 
 
 "Oh, Sir, 
 many reasons 
 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 dear 
 ly and I like both the words 
 and the tunes better, I believe, 
 because I have sung them so 
 often with friends." 
 
 "Humph! I guessed as much. 
 Isn t that the strongest reason of 
 the three?" 
 
 "I don t know, Sir; I don t 
 think itis." 
 
 "Is all your heart in America, 
 Ellen, or have you any left to 
 bestow onus?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 "Not very much!" 
 
 "I love you, father," said Ellen, 
 laying her cheek gently along 
 side of his. 
 
 "And your grandmother, El 
 len?" said Mr. Lindsay, clasping 
 his arms around her. 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 But he well 
 
 understood that 
 
 the "yes" was fainter. 
 
 "And your aunt? speak, El 
 len?" 
 
 ; I don t love her as much as I 
 wish I did," said Ellen; "I love 
 
 yourself sober singing such sad I her a little , I suppose. Oh, why 
 things?" do you ask me such a hard ques- 
 
 j- .f *!,,. O 
 
 I don t, Sir; they are not sad 
 to me they are delightful, I 
 love them dearly." 
 
 How came you to love them? 
 
 tion, father? 
 
 "That is something you have 
 nothing to do with," said Mr. 
 Lindsay, half -laughing. "Sit 
 
 it is not natural for a child of) down here," he added, placing 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 503 
 
 her on his knee , " and sing to me 
 again." 
 
 Ellen was heartened by the 
 tone of his voice, and pleased 
 with the request. She immediate 
 ly sang with great spirit a little 
 
 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 
 yourself with poring over serious 
 
 Methodist hymn she had learned j matters that you are too young 
 when a mere child. The wild air f " 
 and simple words singularly suit- 
 
 ed each other: 
 
 "0 Canaan, bright Canaan, 
 I m 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, ra 
 ther, Ellen. Does it make you 
 feel merry?" 
 
 " Not merry, Sir it isn t mer 
 ry; 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 
 
 "Why, certainly, Sir! 
 not?" 
 
 "Whydoyou?" 
 
 "Because it is a bright and 
 happy place," said Ellen, grave 
 ly, "where there is no darkness, 
 nor 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 be 
 cause I am unhappy. It doesn 1 
 make me unhappy to think of 
 these things it makes me glad 
 
 " She would not think so if she 
 knew," said Ellen, sighing. "I 
 should not be happy at all with 
 out that, and you would not love 
 me half so well, nor she either. 
 Oh, father ! " she exclaimed, press 
 ing 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 1 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 no 
 tions?" 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 5 and oh ! " Ellen hesitated 
 "I wish everybody had them 
 too ! " 
 
 "My little daughter," said Mr. 
 Lindsay, affectionately 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 re 
 voke my gran*. And you belong 
 to me now, and there are some 
 things I want you to forget, and 
 not remember you under- 
 
504 
 
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 stand? Now, don t sing songs to 
 the moon any more to night. 
 Good 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 pri 
 vately what she did the first thing 
 after breakfast. 
 
 "Practise on the piano for an 
 hour," she said. 
 
 "Couldn t you do it at any 
 other time?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir, I could practise in 
 the afternoon, only grandmother 
 likes to have me with her." 
 
 "Let it be done then, Ellen, in 
 future." 
 
 "And what shall I ck> with the 
 hour after breakfast, Sir?" 
 
 Whatever you please ," said, 
 he, smiling. 
 
 Ellen thanked him in the way 
 she knew he best liked, and grate 
 fully resolved he should have as 
 little cause as possible to com 
 plain of her. Very little cause in 
 deed did he or any one else have. 
 No fault could be found with her 
 performance of duty, and her 
 cheerfulness was constant and 
 unvarying. She remembered her 
 brother s recipe against loneli 
 ness, and made use of it; she re 
 membered Mrs. Allen s advice, 
 and followed it; she grasped the 
 promises, "He that cometh tome 
 shall never hunger," and "Seek 
 and ye shall find" - precious 
 words that never yet disappoint 
 ed 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 com 
 plain, for her brow was always 
 unruffled, her voice clear, her 
 smile ready. 
 
 After a while she was restored 
 to her own sleeping room again, 
 and permitted to take up her 
 former habits. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 Trials within. 
 
 THOUGH nothing could be 
 smoother than the general course 
 of her life, Ellen s principles were 
 still now and then severely tried. 
 
 Of all in the house , next to Mr. 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, 
 
 505 
 
 Lindsay, she liked the company 
 of the old housekeeper best. She 
 was a simple-minded Christian, a 
 most benevolent and kind-heart 
 ed, and withal sensible and re 
 spectable person-, devotedly at 
 tached to the family, and very 
 fond of Ellen in particular. Ellen 
 loved, when she could, to get 
 alone with her, and hear her talk 
 of her mother s young days : and 
 she loved furthermore, and al 
 most 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 
 directly 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 tremember at this moment 
 any one that I think she could re 
 semble 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, Ca 
 therine?" 
 " She is altogether too childish 
 for her years; she is really a baby." 
 
 "I don t know," said Mr. Lind 
 say, smiling: "you should ask M. 
 Muller about that. He was hold 
 ing 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 al 
 ways," said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 Yes, I know that, and per 
 fectly child-like too." 
 
 "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, smi 
 ling , " I 11 take breath and think 
 about it." 
 
506 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "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 M Intoshes 
 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 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 enjoy 
 ment. 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. 
 
 "Anybody out of the house, I 
 meant," said Lady Keith. 
 
 " Speak, Ellen, and clear your 
 self," said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 "I like some people," said El 
 len, 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 unnatural. Now, there s the 
 other day, when you went to ride 
 with Miss Gordon and her bro 
 ther, and Miss M Pherson and 
 her brother I heard you say 
 you were not sorry to get home. 
 Now, where will you find plea- 
 santer young people ? " 
 
 "Why don t you like them, 
 Ellen? " said Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 "I do like them, Ma am, toler 
 ably." 
 
 " What does tolerably mean ?" 
 t "I should have liked my ride 
 better the other day," said Ellen, 
 "if they had talked about sen- 
 ible 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?" 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 507 
 
 "I didn t like them particular 
 ly, 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 po 
 lite ," said Ellen , "for them to sit 
 still on their horses when I went 
 out, and letBrocklesby help me 
 to mount. They took me up at 
 M. Muller s, you know, Sir; M. 
 Muller had been obliged to go 
 out and leave me." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay threw a glance at 
 his sister, which she rather re 
 sented. 
 
 "And pray what do you ex 
 pect, Ellen?" said 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 
 any thing but a child , Aunt Keith." 
 
 But Ellen remembered well 
 one day at home when John had 
 been before the door on horse 
 back, and she had run out to give 
 him a message , his instantly dis 
 mounting 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. Lindsay, who looked 
 extremely satisfied with the re 
 sult 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?" 
 
 "Hike 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 co 
 lour. 
 
 "Profitable conversation !" said 
 Mrs. Lindsay. 
 
 "You will not go to her room 
 any more , Ellen," said Mr. Lind 
 say. 
 
 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. 
 
 "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 bookin 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." 
 
508 
 
 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "There is no tiling 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?" t said Mrs. 
 Lindsay. 
 
 " Hiardly know," said he, turn 
 ing it over 5 "except it is from 
 that person that seems to have 
 obtained such an ascendancy 
 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 
 contrive 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 con 
 versation held that evening in 
 Ellen s room, and to certain other 
 things ; and perhaps he was 
 thinking that if religion had 
 much to dp 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 perfect 
 ly grave Avhen they were all 
 laughing and talking around her 
 it really looks singular I 
 don t like it I presume she 
 would have thought it wicked to 
 laugh with them. And the other 
 nightl missed her from the youn 
 ger part of the company, where 
 she should have been, and therey 
 she was in the other room witji 
 
 [M. Muller and somebody else, 
 gravely listening to their conver 
 sation ! " 
 
 "I saw her," said Mr. Lindsay, 
 smiling; "and she looked any 
 thing 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 de 
 tained 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 
 letters ! " said Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 " Yes , indeed ! " said his sister ; 
 "and I have been in continual 
 fear of a visit from that very per 
 son that you say gave Ellen the 
 book." 
 
 "He isn t here !" said Mr. Lind 
 say. 
 
 " 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 pre 
 vent it. I gave Porterfield or 
 ders, if any one asked for her, 
 to tell me immediately, and not 
 her upon any account; but no 
 body has come hitherto, and I 
 am in hopes none will." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay arose, and walk 
 ed up and down the room with 
 folded arms . in a very thought 
 ful style. 
 
 Ellen, with some difficulty, 
 bore herself as usual throughout 
 tjj next day and evening, though 
 
WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 509 
 
 constantly on the rack to get 
 possession of her book again. 
 It was not spoken of nor hinted 
 at. When another morning came 
 
 "But it is mine!" Ellen ven 
 tured to urge , though trembling. 
 
 " Come , come ," said Mr. Lind 
 say, his tone changing, "and 
 
 she could stand it no longer ; she I you are mine , you must under 
 went, soon after breakfast, into stand." 
 
 Ellen stood silent, struggling 
 
 Mr. Lindsay s study, where he 
 was Avriting. 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 bookcases," said 
 Mr. Lindsay, presently, "or to 
 the book -store, and choose out 
 anything you like, Ellen, in 
 stead." 
 
 I wouldn t exchange it for all 
 
 between the alternate surgings 
 of passion and checks of pru 
 dence 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 con 
 sider of that," said Mr. Lindsay; 
 "I do not wish to see you again 
 to-day, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen was wretched. Not from 
 
 that is in them!" she answered grief at her loss merely; that she 
 with some warmth, and with the | could have borne; that had not 
 husky feeling coming in her i even the greatest share in her 
 throat. Mr. Lindsay said nothing, i distress ; she was at war with her- 
 "At any rate," whispered El- 1 self. Her mind was in a perfect 
 len, after a minute, "you will turmoil. She had been a passio- 
 not destroy it, or do anything to j nate child in earlier days; under 
 it? you will take care of it, religion s happy reign, that had 
 
 lli 1 j 5i 1 _ _ _^Jj__l_ 
 
 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 
 
 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 sur- 
 
 came round in front of him to! prised, and half frightened at 
 plead to more purpose. | herself now, to find the strength 
 
 "I will do anything in the of the old temper suddenly 
 world for you, Sir," she said, | roused. She was utterly and ex- 
 , earnestly, "if you will give me Iceedingly out of humour with Mr. 
 my book again." j Lindsay, and with everybody and 
 
 "You must do anything in the everything else; consequently, 
 world forme," said he, smiling, conscience would not give her a 
 and pinching her cheek, " with- j moment s peace! and that day 
 out that." I was a long and bitter fight be 
 
510 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 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 con 
 science, andEllen 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- 
 humoured. Well, fought to be 
 angry ! But what will they think, 
 then, of my religion? Is my 
 rushlight burning bright? Am I 
 honouring 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 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 seeMr.Lind- 
 
 can be any "peace." " But I said | 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 
 
 what he pleases with you and went straight to Mr. Lindsay, and 
 yours, and he may have his own i laying one hand timidly in his, 
 reasons for what he has done; and the other on his shoulder, 
 
 twixt right and wrong. Duties 
 were neglected, because she 
 could not give her mind to them; 
 then they crowded upon her no 
 tice at undue times ; all was mise 
 rable confusion. In vain she 
 would try to reason and school 
 herself into right feeling ; at one 
 thought of her lost treasure, pas 
 sion would come flooding up, and 
 drown all her reasonings and 
 endeavours. She grew absolutely 
 weary. 
 
 But the day passed, and the 
 night came , and she went to bed 
 without being able to make up 
 her 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 resent 
 ment, and apologize to Mr. Lind 
 say," said conscience. "Apolo 
 gize! 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 
 
 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 con 
 science, "that is all your con 
 cern. And he has a right to do 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 511 
 
 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. 
 
 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 na- 
 
 "Ohno, Sir! don t call me so ; ture s face; it was the same face 
 I am everything in the world but ! still ; and on many a sunbeam 
 
 that." 
 
 Ellen travelled across the At- 
 
 " Then all the rest of the world lantic.* She was sorry to lose 
 are good^ children. Why didn t M. Muller, but she could not have 
 you come to me before?" kept him in Edinburgh; he quitted 
 
 "Because I couldn t, Sir; I felt Scotland about that time, 
 wrong all day yesterday." Other masters attended her in 
 
 Mr. Lindsay laughed, and kiss- the country, or she went to Edin- 
 ed her, and bade her sit down burgh to attend them. Mr. Lind- 
 and eat her breakfast. j say liked that very well; he was 
 
 It was about a month after this j often there himself, and after 
 that he made her a present of .her lesson he loved to have her 
 a beautiful little watch. Ellen s with him in the library, and at 
 first look was of great delight; dinner, and during the drive 
 the second was one of curious home. Ellen liked it, because it 
 doubtful expression, directed to j was so pleasant to him; and be- 
 his face, half tendering the watch i sides, there was a variety about 
 back to him, as she saw that he it, and the drives were always 
 understood her. jher delight, and she chose his 
 
 "Why," said he, smiling, " do ; company at any time rather than 
 you mean to say you would rather that of her aunt and grandmother. 
 
 nave that than this ? " 
 "A great deal." 
 "No," said he, hanging the 
 
 So, many a happy day, that sum 
 mer, had she and Mr. Lindsay to 
 gether, and many an odd plea- 
 
 watch round her neck, " you j sure, in the course of them, did 
 shall not have it; but you may he find or make for her. Some- 
 make your mind easy, for I have ! times it was a new book, some- 
 it safe, and it shall come back to times a new sight, sometimes a 
 you again some time or other." new trinket. According to his 
 With this promise Ellen was promise , he had purchased her a 
 obliged to be satisfied. | fine horse, and almost daily Ellen 
 
 The summer passed in the en- was upon his back, and , with Mr. 
 joyment of all that wealth of Lindsay, in the course of the 
 purse and of affection both could summer, scoured the country, far 
 bestow upon their darling. Early! and near. Every scene of any 
 in the season the family returned j . M Thcn a sunbcam , will dimb to 
 
 to "the Braes. Ellen liked it thee." GEORGE HERBERT. 
 
512 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WOULD. 
 
 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 the eyes. 
 
 And Ellen was happy; but it 
 was not at all these things, nor 
 even her affection for Mr. Lind 
 say, that made her so. He saw 
 her calm, sunshiny face, and 
 busy happy demeanour, and 
 fancied, though he had some 
 times 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 some 
 times, when she seemed busiest 
 and happiest, it was the thought 
 of an absent and distant friend 
 that was nerving her energies, 
 and giving colour 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 
 despairing exclamation, "Well! 
 I will see him in heaven!" ini 
 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 some 
 what meeker, and her smile less 
 bright, as the year rolled on. 
 Months flew by, and brought her 
 no letters. Ellen marvelled and 
 sorrowed in vain. One day, 
 mourning over it to Mrs. Allen, 
 
 the good housekeeper asked 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. 
 Humphreys to lose sight entirely 
 of such a matter, and very natural 
 for her, in her grief, and con 
 fusion of mind, and inexperience, 
 to be equally forgetful. She wrote 
 immediately to Mr. Humphreys, 
 and supplied 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. El 
 len s mind had changed since she 
 came to Scotland; she was sorry 
 to have the money go ; she under 
 stood the feeling with which it 
 was sent, and it hurt her. 
 
 Two or three months after the 
 date of her last letter, she re 
 ceived at length one from Mr. 
 Humphreys, a long, very kind, 
 and very wise one. She lived 
 upon it for a good while. Mr. 
 Lindsay s bills were returned. 
 Mr. Humphreys declined 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 WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 513 
 
 The bills were instantly andilen; but you know it s your 
 haughtily re-enclosed and sent grandmother that must be satis- 
 back to America. j tied , and she will have it just so -, 
 Still nothing was heard from \ there , now that s going to look 
 Mr. John; Ellen wondered, wait- lovely; but, indeed, Miss Ellen, 
 ed, wept; sadly quieted herself j she won t be pleased if you carry 
 into submission, and as time went | such a soberish face downstairs 
 on, clung faster and faster to her and what will the master say !" 
 Bible, and the refuge she found ; Most young ladies would be as 
 there. bright as a bee at being going to 
 
 see so many people ; and, indeed, 
 it s what you should." 
 
 "I had rather see one or two 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 "Thou!" 
 
 ONE evening, it was New Year s 
 
 eve, a large party was expected 
 at Mr. Lindsay s. Ellen was not 
 
 persons than one or two hundred," 
 said Ellen, speaking half to her- 
 
 of an age to go abroad to parties, self and half to Mrs. Mason. 
 
 but at home her father and grand- "Well, for pity s sake, Miss 
 
 mother never could bear to do 
 
 Ellen, dear, if you can, don t 
 
 without her when they had com- j look as if it was a funeral ! There ! 
 pany. Generally Ellen liked it t ain t much trouble to fix you, 
 very much; not called upon to anyhow; if you d only care a 
 take any active part herself, she j little more about it, it would be a 
 had leisure to observe and enjoy j blessing. Stop till I fix this lace, 
 in quiet; and often heard music, ! The master will call you his 
 and often by Mr. Lindsay s side white rosebud to-night, sure 
 listened to conversation in which j enough." 
 
 "That s nothing new," said 
 Ellen, half- smiling. 
 
 Mason left her; and feeling the 
 want of something to raise her 
 
 she took great pleasure. To 
 night, however, it happened that 
 Ellen s thoughts were running on 
 other things ; and Mrs. Lindsay s 
 
 woman, who had come in to dress spirits, Ellen sorrowfully went to 
 her, was not at all satisfied with her Bible, .and slowly turning it 
 her grave looks, and the little; over, looked along its pages to 
 concern she seemed to take in j catch a sight of something cheer- 
 what was going on. | ing before she went downstairs. 
 
 "I wish, Miss Ellen, you d "This God is our God for ever 
 please hold your head up, and. and ever: lie will be our guide even 
 look somewhere; I don t know unto death." 
 
 when I ll get your hair done if "Isn t that enough?" thought 
 you keep it down so." Ellen, as her eyes filled in answer. 
 
 "Oh, Mason, I think that 11 do; | "It ought to be John would 
 it looks very well ; you needn t do say it was Oh ! where is he ? " 
 anything more." She went on, turning over leaf 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss El- after leaf. 
 
 The Wide, Wide World. 33 
 
514 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 1 O Lord of hosts, blessed is the my lady," Porterfield answered 
 
 man that trusteth in thee!" in a low tone. 
 
 "That is true, surely," sheijj "A gentleman?" said 
 thought. " And I do trust in him JKeith , inquiringly. 
 
 Lady 
 
 I am blessed, I am happy, 
 come what may. He will let no 
 thing come to those that trust in 
 
 "Certain, my lady! and as up 
 ,nd down spoken as if he was a 
 prince of the blood; he s some- 
 
 him but what is good for them ; if j body that is not accustomed to be 
 
 he is my God, I have enough to 
 
 make me 
 happy I wi 
 
 I ought to be 
 be happy 1 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 5 then 
 they were wiped 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, 
 
 . . j 1 1 i j i . 
 
 said no to for sure." 
 
 Lady Keith hesitated. Recol 
 lecting, 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 unan 
 nounced, her eyes unwillingly ve 
 rified the butler s judgment ; and 
 to the inquiry whether he might 
 see Miss Lindsay, she answered 
 very , politely, though with regrets, 
 
 but it was still early in the evening that Miss Lindsay was engaged. 
 
 trrTiovi o nrov* -f 1 om a v ramo TxrTi f\ flr_ ^ IVTatT T V\i T^O vr\ f\-nc*r\ -P/-\T o alr-ir* rv " 
 
 when a gentleman came, who de 
 clinedto 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 
 passing 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. 
 Lady Keith. 
 
 He carried it to 
 
 "What sort of a person, Porter- 
 field," said Lady Keith, crumpling 
 the paper in her fingers, and with 
 drawing a little from the company. 
 
 "Uncommon fine gentleman, 
 
 May I be pardoned for asking, 
 said the stranger, with the slight 
 est possible approach to a smile, 
 "whether that decision is impera 
 tive? I leave Scotland to-morrow 
 my reasons for wishing to see Miss 
 Lindsay this evening are urgent." 
 
 Lady Keith could hardly be 
 lieve her ears, or command her 
 countenance to keep company 
 with her expressions of "sorrow 
 that it was impossible Miss 
 Lindsay could not have the plea 
 sure 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 morrow accept a 
 long-given invitation, Lady Keith 
 answered that " she would not be 
 in town she would leave Edin 
 burgh at an early hour." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 5l5 
 
 The stranger bowed and with- j was in all its lines that singular 
 drew ; that was all the bystanders ; mixture of gravity and sweetness 
 saw. But Lady Keith , who had j that is never seen but where reli- 
 winced under an eye that she gion and discipline have done 
 could not help fancying read her | their work well; the writing of 
 too well, saw that in his parting! the wisdom that looks soberly, 
 look which made her uneasy 5 land the love that looks kindly, 
 beckoning a servant who stood j on all things. He was not sure 
 near, she ordered him to wait : at first whether she were intently 
 upon that gentleman to the door, j listening to the music, or whether 
 
 The man obeyed; but the her mind was upon something 
 stranger did not take his cloak, I far different and far away; he 
 and made no motion to go. j thought the latter. He was right. 
 
 "No, Sir! not that way," he i Ellen at the moment had escaped 
 said , sternly, as the servant laid j from the company and the noisy 
 
 his hand on the lock ; " show me 
 to Miss Lindsay!" 
 
 : Miss Ellen!" said the man, 
 
 sounds of the performer at her 
 side; and while her eye was 
 
 ,..* ^.^^. uu ,*vi ^^ u * uu , curiously tracing out the pattern 
 doubtfully, coming back, and! of the carpet, her mind was 
 thinking from the gentleman s ! resting itself in one of the verses 
 manner that he must have mis- she had been reading that same 
 
 understood Lady Keith; "where 
 is Miss Ellen, Arthur?" 
 
 evening. Suddenly, and as > it 
 seemed, from no connexion with 
 
 The person addressed threw anything in or out of her thoughts, 
 his head back towards the door! there came to her mind the image 
 he had just come from on the ! of John as she had seen him that 
 other side of the hall. first evening she ever saw him at 
 
 "This way, Sir, if you please; 
 what name, Sir?" 
 
 Carra-carra, when she looked 
 up from the boiling chocolate and 
 
 "No name; stand back!" said espied him, standing in an atti- 
 the stranger, as he entered. jtude of waiting near the door. 
 
 There were a number of people j Ellen at first wondered how that 
 gathered round a lady who was thought should have come into 
 at the piano singing. Ellen was j her head just then; the next 
 there in the midst of them. The moment , from a sudden impulse, 
 gentleman advanced quietly to she raised her eyes to search for 
 the edge of the group, and stood the cause, and saw John s smile, 
 there without being noticed;] It would not be easy to describe 
 Ellen s eyes were bent on the the change in Ellen s face. Light- 
 floor. The expression of her face ning makes as quick and as bril- 
 touched and pleased him greatly ; |liant an illumination,but lightning 
 it was precisely what he wished! does not stay. With a spring she 
 to see. Without having the least I reached him, and seizing both his 
 shadow of sorrow upon it, there i hands, drew him out of the door 
 
 33* 
 
516 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 near which they were standing; her head upon him, took his hand 
 and as soon as they were hidden in both hers and pressed it to her 
 from view, threw herself into his lips, as if she were half beside 
 arms in an agony of joy. Before, herself. But that was not per- 
 however, either of them could say i mitted to last either, for his hand 
 a word , she had caught his hand j quickly imprisoned hers again, 
 again, and led him back along the j There was silence still. Ellen 
 hall to the private staircase ; she ! could not look up yet, and neither 
 mounted it rapidly to 7/er room, and seemed very forward to speak: 
 there she again threw herself in to I she sat gradually quieting down 
 his arms, exclaiming, "0 John! into fulness of happiness, 
 my dear John! my dear brother!" "I thought you never would 
 But neither smiles nor words come, John," at length Ellen half 
 would do for the overcharged whispered, half said, 
 heart. The tide of joy ran too| "And I cannot stay now. I 
 strong, and too much swelled must leave you to-morrow, Ellie." 
 from the open sources of love and | Ellen started up, and looked 
 memory, to keep any bounds, up now. 
 
 And it kept none. Ellen sat down, "Leave me! For how long? 
 and bowing her head on the arm Where are you going?" 
 of the sofa, wept with all the "Home." 
 
 vehement passion of her child- "To America!" Ellen s heart 
 hood, quivering from head to ; died within her. Was ?/ s the end of 
 foot with convulsive sobs. John | all her hopes? did her confidence 
 might guess, from the outpouring j end here? She shed no tears now. 
 now, how much her heart had ; He could see that she grew abso- 
 been secretly gathering for i lutely still from intense feeling. 
 
 months past. For a little while 
 
 "What s the matter, Ellie?" 
 
 he walked up and downtheroom; said the low gentle tones she so 
 but this excessive agitation he well remembered; "I am leaving 
 was not willing should continue, you but for a time. I must go 
 He said nothing; sitting down! home now, but if I live you will 
 beside Ellen on the sofa, he 
 
 see me again. 
 
 "Oh, I wish I was going with 
 you ! " Ellen exclaimed, bursting 
 
 (LH^QAl_LV> J-JJLJ.V^JJ. \_/AA Hl^ D \J L C*> ^ J.XO 
 
 quietly possessed himself of one 
 of her hands, and when in her 
 excitement the hand struggled into tears, 
 to get away again, it was not " My dear Ellie !" said her bro- 
 permitted. Ellen understood ther, in an altered voice, drawing 
 that very well , and immediately j her again to his arms ; "you can- 
 checked herself. Better than not wish it more than I !" 
 
 words, the calm firm grasp of 
 his hand quieted her. Her 
 sobbing stilled; she turned from 
 the arm of the sofa, and leaning 
 
 I never thought you would 
 leave me here, John." 
 
 "Neither would I, if I could 
 help it; neither will I a minute 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 517 
 
 longer than I can help ; but we 
 must both wait, my own Ellie. 
 Do not cry so, for my sake ! " 
 
 "Wait! till when?" saidEllen, 
 not a little reassured. 
 
 "I have no power now to re 
 move you from your legal guar 
 dians , 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 with 
 out 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," saidEl 
 len, weeping: "but I want you; 
 oh, how much ! " 
 
 "Are you not happy here?" 
 
 "Yes, I am happy; at least I 
 thought I was half an hour ago 
 as happy as I can be. I have 
 everything to make me happy, 
 except what would do it." 
 
 "We must both have recourse 
 to our old remedy against sorrow 
 and loneliness; you have not for 
 gotten the use of it, Ellie?" 
 
 "No, John," saidEllen, meet 
 ing his eyes with a tearful smile. 
 
 "They love you here, do they 
 not?" 
 
 "Very much too much." 
 
 " And you love them ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That s a doubtful yes. " 
 
 "I do love my father very 
 much; and my grandmother too, 
 though not so much. I cannot 
 help loving them; they love me 
 so. But they are so unlike you!" 
 
 "That is not much to the pur 
 pose, after all," said John, smi 
 ling. " There are varieties of ex 
 cellence in the world." 
 
 " Oh yes , but that isn t what I 
 mean ; it isn t a variety of excel 
 lence. 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 penetrating. "Just the 
 
518 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 same," was the verdict of her 
 brother s eyes a moment after 
 wards. Ellen s smile grew bright 
 as she read it there. 
 
 "Why have you never come or 
 written before, John?" 
 
 "I did not know where you 
 were. I have not been in England 
 for many months till quite lately, 
 and I could not get your address. 
 1 think my father was without it 
 
 "That is exactly what 1 
 think ! " said Ellen , with one of 
 her bright looks , and then burst 
 ing into 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 
 
 for along time , and when at last 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 confidence stand 
 ing 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 Ame 
 rica; 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 men 
 tion 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 El 
 len; "they may say what they 
 please ;" and with abundance of 
 energy, and not a few tears , she 
 
 he sent it to me , the letter mis 
 carried 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, Ellie. My business 
 has lingered on a great while, and 
 it is quite time I should return. I 
 expect to sail next week. Mrs. Gil- 
 lespie is going with me ; her hus 
 band 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 
 am 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 withoutyou, Ellie, "said her 
 brother, then. "I think you belong 
 to me more than to anybody." 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 519 
 
 went on : "I love them, but I had 
 given myself to you a great while 
 
 I * 
 
 his 
 
 "Ixead.no novels."^-? 
 <r Tnever do V John. I knew you 
 did not like it , and I have taken 
 
 ago ; long before 
 
 daughter, you called me your good care to keep out of the way 
 
 little sister I can t undo that, | of them. If I had told anybody 
 
 John, and I don t want to it! why, though, they would have 
 
 doesn t make a bit of difference | made me read a dozen." 
 
 that we were not born so ! " "Why,Ellie! " said her brother, 
 
 John suddenly rose, and began j "you must need some care to 
 to walk up and down the room, keep a straight line where your 
 Ellen soon came to his side, and course lies now." 
 leaning upon his arm as she had "Indeed I do, John," said El- 
 been used to do in past times, len, her eyes filling with tears-, 
 walked up and down with him, at; " Oh, how I have felt that some- 
 first silently. I times ! And then , how I wanted 
 
 "Whatisityouwantedmetodo,|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 conver 
 sation running sometimes in the 
 strain that both loved, and Ellen 
 now never heard; sometimes on 
 other matters; such a conver 
 sation as those she had lived 
 upon in former days, and now 
 
 drank in with a delight 
 eagerness inexpressible. 
 
 and 
 Mr. 
 
 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 ex 
 actly what I should like, but " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I am afraid they will not let 
 me." 
 
 "I will arrange that." 
 
 "Very well," said Ellen, joy 
 ously, "then it will do. Oh, it 
 would make me so happy! And 
 you will write to me? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And I will tell you everything 
 about myself; and you will tell! She almost forgot what the mor- 
 me how I ought to do in all sorts ! row would bring, in the exquisite 
 of things? that will be the next j pleasure of the instant, and hung 
 best to being with you. And then upon every word and look of her 
 you will keep me right." brother , as if her life were there. 
 
 "I won t promise you that, I " And in a few weeks," said El- 
 Ellie," said John, smiling; "youj leu at length, " you will be in our 
 must learn to keep yourself right." old dear sitting-room again, and 
 
 "I know you will, though, how- ! riding on the Black Prince ! and 
 ever you may smile. Whatnext?" I shall be here! and it will be " 
 
 Lindsay would have been in dis 
 may 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. 
 
520 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 "It will be empty without you, 
 Ellie ; but we have a Friend that 
 is sufficient ; let us love him and 
 be patient." 
 
 "I is very hard to be patient," 
 murmured Ellen. "But, dear 
 John, there was something else 
 
 ?DU wanted me to do, what is it? 
 ou said two or three things." 
 "I will leave that to another 
 time." 
 
 "But why? I will do it, what 
 ever it be pray tell me." 
 
 "No," said he, smiling, "not 
 
 now; you shall know by-and-byj Brownie, but I don t suppose you 
 
 ( the time is not yet. Have you | have heard of them. Oh , when I 
 
 heard of your old friend Mr. Van j think of it all at home, how I 
 
 Brunt?" 
 
 " How kind she is," said Ellen ; 
 "how many friends I find every 
 where. It seems to me, John, 
 that everybody almost loves me." 
 
 "That is a singular circum 
 stance! However, I am no ex 
 ception 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 
 
 No what of him?" 
 
 "He has come out before the 
 world as a Christian man. 
 
 "Has he?" 
 
 John took a letter from his 
 pocket and opened it. 
 
 "You may see what my father 
 says of him, and what he says 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 Vent- 
 
 and Margery?" 
 
 "All well. Mrs. Vawse spends 
 ab out half her time at my father s." 
 
 " I am very glad of that." 
 Mrs. Marshman wrote me to 
 
 want to be there! 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 submit to." 
 
 Ellen had much ado to com 
 mand 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 
 
 nor? and how is Mrs. Vawse? 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 head. It was a 
 
 bring you back with me if I could, prayer for her and for himself, 
 and said she had a home for you ! and one of its petitions was , that 
 always at Ventnor." j they might be kept to see each 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 521 
 
 the 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 par 
 don my giving him this trouble," 
 
 other again. Ellen wrote 
 words on her heart. 
 
 "Are you going?" 
 
 He showed his watch. 
 
 " Well, I shall see you to-mor 
 row." 
 
 "Shall you be here?" 
 
 "Certainly, where else should I said the latter; "we have one thing 
 be? What time mustyousetout? ^ in common which should forbid 
 
 "I need not till afternoon; but| our being strangers to each other, 
 how early can I see you?" II, at least, was unwilling to leave 
 
 "As early as you please. Oh, \ Scotland without making myself 
 
 spend all the time with me you 
 can, John!" 
 
 So it was arranged. 
 
 "And now, Ellie, you must go 
 
 known to Mr. Lindsay." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay most devoutly 
 wished the "thing in common " 
 had been anything else. He 
 
 downstairs and present me to Mr. j bowed , and was " happy to have 
 
 the pleasure," but evidently 
 neither pleased nor happy. Ellen 
 
 could see that. 
 
 "May I take up five minutes^of 
 
 Lindsay." 
 
 "To my father!" 
 
 For a moment Ellen s face was 
 a compound of expressions. She 
 
 instantly acquiesced, however, Mr. Lindsay s time to explain, 
 and went down with her brother, j perhaps to apologize," said John, 
 her heart, it must be confessed, slightly smiling, "for what I 
 going very pit-a-pat indeed. She j have said? " 
 took him into the library, which! A little ashamed, it might be, 
 was not this evening thrown j to have his feeling suspected, 
 open to company, arid sent a [Mr. Lindsay instantly granted 
 servant for Mr. Lindsay. While j the request, and politely invited 
 waiting for his coming, Ellen felt his unwelcome guest to be seated, 
 as if she had not the fair use of Obeying a glance from her bro- 
 her senses. Was that John ther which she understood, Ellen 
 Humphreys quietly walking up I withdrew to the further side of 
 and down the library ! Mr. Lind-jthe room, where she could not 
 say s library! and was she about hear what they said. John took 
 to introduce her brother to the up the history of Ellen s ac- 
 person who had forbidden her j quaintance with his family, and 
 to mention his name? There! briefly gave it to Mr. Lindsay, 
 was something, however, in Mr. scarce touching upon the benefits 
 John s figure and air, in his utter by them conferred on her, and 
 coolness, that insensibly resto- skilfully dwelling rather on Ellen 
 red her spirits. Triumphant con- herself , and setting forth what 
 fidence in him overcame the fear; she had been to them. Mr. Lind- 
 of Mr. Lindsay; and when he: say could not be unconscious 
 
522 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 of what his visitor delicately 
 omitted to hint at, neither could 
 he help making secretly to him- 
 
 heard Mr. Lindsay beg her bro 
 ther to go in with him to the 
 company, and be presented to 
 
 self ^ some most unwilling ad- Mrs. Lindsay. After a moment s 
 missions; and though he might: hesitation this invitation was ac- 
 wish the speaker at the anti- i cepted , and they went together 
 podes, and doubtless did, yet .into the drawing-room, 
 the sketch was too happily given, j Ellen felt as if she was in a 
 and his fondness for Ellen too I dream. With a face as grave as 
 great, for him not to be delight- 1 usual, but with an inward ex- 
 edly interested in what was said I ultation and rejoicing in her 
 of her. And however strong [brother, impossible to describe, 
 might have been his desire to she saw him going about among 
 dismiss his guest in a very sum- the company, talking to her 
 mary manner, or to treat him I grandmother ; yes, and her 
 with haughty reserve, the grace- 1 grandmother did not look less 
 ful dignity of Mr. Humphreys i pleasant than usual, recognising 
 manners made either expedient JM. Muller, and in conversation 
 impossible. Mr. Lindsay felt con- j with other people whom he knew, 
 strained to meet him on his own With indescribable glee, Ellen 
 ground the ground of high- saw that Mr. Lindsay managed 
 bred frankness, and grew secretly most of the time to be of the 
 still more afraid that his real same group. Never more than 
 feelings should be discerned. i that night did she triumphantly 
 Ellen, from afar, where she think that Mr. John could do 
 could not hear the words, anything. He finished the even- 
 watched the countenances with ing there. Ellen took care not to 
 great anxiety, and great admira- 1 seem too much occupied with him ; 
 tion. She could see that while; but she contrived to be near when 
 her brother spoke with his usual i he was talking with M. Muller, 
 perfect ease, Mr. Lindsay was j and to hang on her father s arm 
 embarrassed. She half-read the ! when he was in Mr. John s neigh- 
 truth. She saw the entire polite- 1 bourhood. And when the latter 
 ness where she also saw the had taken leave , and was in the 
 secret discomposure, and she hall, Ellen was there before he 
 
 felt that 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 
 playing her false, when she 
 
 could be gone. And there came 
 Mr. Lindsay too , behind her. 
 
 "You will come early to-mor 
 row morning, John?" 
 
 " Come to breakfast, Mr. Hum 
 phreys, will you?" said Mr. Lind 
 say, with sufficient cordiality. 
 
 But Mr. Humphreys declined 
 this invitation, in spite of the 
 
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 523 
 
 a different answer. 
 "I will be with 
 
 "By all means, 
 Lindsay, "let us 
 
 timid touch of Ellen s fingers 
 upon his arm, which begged for 
 
 you early, 
 Ellie," he said, however. 
 
 "And oh! John," said Ellen, 
 suddenly, "order a horse, and 
 let us have one ride together; 
 let me show you Edinburgh." 
 
 said Mr. 
 show you 
 
 Edinburgh ; but order no horses, 
 Mr. Humphreys , for mine are at 
 your service." 
 
 Ellen s other hand was grate 
 fully laid upon her father s arm 
 as the second proposal was made 
 and accepted. 
 
 "Let us show you Edinburgh," 
 said Ellen to herself, as she and 
 Mr. Lindsay slowly and gravely 
 went back through the hall. 
 " So there is an end of my fine 
 
 morning I 
 foolish I 
 
 But, however, how 
 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 feel 
 ings at once. 
 
 Good came out of evil, as it 
 often does, and as Ellen s heart 
 presaged it would when she 
 arose 
 
 shining in her face. She took no 
 part in the conversation ; it was 
 enough to hear. She sat with 
 charmed ears, seeing her bro 
 ther overturning all her father s 
 and grandmother s prejudices, 
 and making his own way to their 
 respect at least, in spite of 
 themselves. Her marvelling still 
 almost kept 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 
 nothing; it was all a maze of 
 pleasure, which there was no 
 thing 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 any 
 thing to be thought of but enjoy 
 ment. She shrewdly guessed that 
 Mr. Lindsay would have enjoyed 
 it too, but for herself ; there was 
 a little constraint about him still, 
 she could see. There was none 
 
 the next morning. The! about Mr. John; in the delight of 
 
 ride was preceded by half an his words, and looks ? and pre- 
 11 our s chat between Mr. John, sence, Ellen half the time forgot 
 Mr. Lindsay, and her grand- Mr. Lindsay entirely; she had 
 mother; in which the delight of enough of them; she did not for 
 the evening before was renewed! one moment wish that Mr. Lind- 
 and confirmed. Ellen was obliged: say had less, 
 to look down to hide the tool At last the long, beautiful ride 
 bright satisfaction she felt was came to an end ; and the rest of 
 
524 
 
 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 
 
 the morning soon sped away, 
 though, as Ellen had expected, 
 she was not permitted to spend 
 any part of it alone with her bro 
 ther. Mr. Lindsay asked him to 
 dinner, but this was declined. 
 
 Not till long after he was gone 
 did Ellen read Mr. Humphreys 
 letter. Onebitofitmaybegiven: 
 
 "Mr. Van Brunt has lately 
 joined our little church. This 
 has given me great pleasure. He 
 had been a regular attendant for 
 a long time before. He ascribes 
 much to your instrumentality 5 
 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 be glad 
 to see you, my son." 
 
 The correspondence with John 
 was begun immediately, and was 
 the delight of Ellen s life. Mrs. 
 Lindsay andher daughter wished 
 to put a stop to it; but Mr. Lind 
 
 say dryly said that Mr. Hum 
 phreys 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, 
 whatever it were, she was very 
 sure she would do it ! 
 
 For the gratification of those 
 who are never satisfied, one word 
 shall be added, to wit, that 
 
 The seed so early sown in lit 
 tle Ellen s mind, and so carefully 
 tended by sundry hands, grew in 
 course of time to all the fair sta 
 ture 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 successfulinits cul 
 ture. In other words, to speak in 
 telligibly, Ellen did in no wise dis 
 appoint her brother s wishes, nor 
 he hers. Three or four more years 
 of Scottish discipline wroughther 
 no ill ; they did but serve to tem 
 per and beautify her Christian 
 character; and then, to her un 
 speakable joy, she went back to 
 spend her life with thafriends and 
 guardians she best Icrved, and to 
 e to them , still more than she 
 had been to her Scottish rela 
 tions, the "light of the eyes." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY BEBNHARD TAUCHNITZ. 
 

 
 VO 
 
 900 "ON WdOd