 10 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 but seem cheerful. The bright beams of sunlight streaming in through the windows lighted on the wall and on 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, and it had two large windows opening to the east, through which, morning by morning, the sun looked in. That was another blessing. But the floor was without the sign of a carpet, and the bare boards looked to Ellen very comfortless. The hard-finished walls were not very smooth, nor particularly white. The doors and doorwork, though very neat and even carved with some attempted ornament, had never known the touch of paint, and had grown in the course of years to be a light brown color. The room was very bare of furniture too. A dressing table, pier table, or what not, stood between the windows, but it was only a half-circular top of pine board set upon three very long, bare-looking legs, altogether of a most awkward and unhappy appearance, Ellen thought, and quite too high for her to use with any comfort. No glass hung over it, nor anywhere else. On the north side of the room was a fireplace. Against the opposite wall stood Ellen's trunk and two chairs. That was all, except the cot that she was lying on, and which had its place opposite the windows. The cover lid of that came in for a share of her displeasure, being of homemade white and blue worsted, mixed with cotton, exceeding thick and heavy. I wonder what sort of blanket is under it, said Ellen, if I can ever get it off to see. Pretty good, but the sheets are cotton, and so is the pillowcase. She was still leaning on her elbow, looking around her with a rather discontented face, when some door being opened downstairs, a great noise of hissing and sputtering came to her ears, and presently, after there stole to her nostrils a steaming odor of something very savory from the kitchen. It set as plainly as any dressing-bell that she had better get up. So up she jumped, and set about the business of dressing with great alacrity. Where was the distress of last night? Gone, with the darkness. She had slept well, the bracing atmosphere had restored to strength and spirits, and the bright morning light made it impossible to be duller downhearted, and despite of the new cause she thought she had found. She went on quick, with the business of the toilet, but when it came to the washing she suddenly discovered there were no conveniences for it in her room, no sign of a pitcher or basin, or stand to hold them. Ellen was slightly dismayed, but soon presently recollected her arrival had not been looked for so soon, and probably the preparations for it had not been completed. So she finished dressing, and then set out to find her way to the kitchen. When opening the door there was a little landing-place from which the stairs descended just in front of her, and at the left hand another door, which she supposed must lead to her aunt's room. At the foot of the stairs Ellen found herself in a large square room, or hall, for one of its doors on the east opened to the outer air, and was in fact the front door of the house. Another Ellen tried on the south side, it would not open. A third, under the stairs, admitted her to the kitchen. The noise of hissing and sputtering now became quite violent, and the smell of the cooking, to Ellen's fancy, rather too strong to be pleasant. Before a good fire stood Miss Fortune, holding the end of a very long iron handle by which she was kept in communication with a flat vessel sitting on the fire, in which Ellen soon discovered all this noisy and odorous cooking was going on. A tall tin coffee pot stood on some coals in the corner of the fireplace, and another little iron vessel in front also claimed a share of Miss Fortune's attention, for she every now and then leaned forward to give a stir to whatever was in it, making each time quite a spasmodic effort to do so, without quitting her hold of the end of the long handle. Ellen drew near and looked down with great curiosity, and not a little appetite, but Miss Fortune was far too busy to give her more than a passing glance. At length the hissing pan was brought to the hearth for some new arrangement of its contents, and Ellen seized the moment of peace and quiet to say, Good morning, Aunt Fortune. Miss Fortune was crouching by the pan, turning her slices of pork. How do you do this morning, she answered, without looking up. Ellen replied she felt a great deal better. Slupped warm, did you, said Miss Fortune, as she set the pan back on the fire, and Ellen could hardly answer, quite warm, ma'am, when the hissing and sputtering began again, as loud as ever. I must wait, thought Ellen, till this is over, before I say what I want to. I can't scream out to ask for a basin and towel. In a few minutes the pan was removed from the fire, and Miss Fortune went on to take out the brown slices of nicely fried pork and arrange them in a deep dish, leaving a small quantity of clear fat in the pan. Ellen, who is greatly interested, and observing every step most attentively, settled in her own mind that certainly this would be thrown away, being fit for nothing but the pigs. But Miss Fortune didn't think so, for she darted into some pantry close by, and returning with a cup of cream in her hand emptied it all into the pork fat. Then she ran into the pantry again for a little round tin box, with a cover full of holes, and shaking this gently over the pan, a fine white shower of flour fell upon the cream. The pan was then replaced on the fire and stirred, and to Ellen's astonishment the hole changed as if by magic to a thick stiff white froth. It was not till Miss Fortune was carefully pouring this over the fried slices in the dish that Ellen suddenly recollected that breakfast was ready, and she was not. "'Ant 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 out breakfast. Ellen waited a few minutes. "'Will you please, ma'am, to show me where I can wash myself?' "'Yes,' said Miss Fortune, suddenly standing erect. "'You'll have to go down to the spout.' "'The spout, ma'am,' said Ellen. "'What's that?' "'You'll know it when you see it, I guess,' answered her aunt, again stooping over her preparations. But in another moment she arose and said, "'Just open that door there behind you, and go down the stairs and out at the door, and you'll see where it is, and what it is, too.' Ellen still lingered. "'Would you be so good as to give me a towel, ma'am?' She said timidly. Miss Fortune dashed past her and out of another door, when 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 down a steep flight of steps and found herself in a lower kitchen, intended for common purposes. It seemed not to be 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 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 a foot and a half from the ground, and a well-worn path leading to it, left no doubt of its being, the spout. But when she had reached it, Ellen was in no small puzzle as to how she should manage. The water was clear and bright and poured very fast into a shallow wooden trough underneath once it ran off into the meadow and disappeared. But what shall I do without a basin, though, 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 what 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 contented herself with the drops her hand 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. 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 chunk of a tree, with a little groove or channel, two inches wide, hallowed 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 in spirits rising every minute. When she suddenly recollected breakfast, she hurried 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 softened at this, and she gave Ellen an abundant supply of all that was on the table. Her journey, the bracing air, and her quill 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 anything so excellent as the brown bread and butter, both as sweet as bread and butter could be. Neither was any cookery so entirely satisfactory, as Miss Fortune's fried pork and potatoes. Yet her teaspoon was not silver, her knife could not boast of being either sharp or bright, and her fork was certainly made for anything else in the world but comfort 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 length timidly, "'If you've no objection, I should like to go and take a look all about.' "'Oh yes, Aunt Miss Fortune, go where you like. I'll give you a week to do what you please with yourself.' "'Thank you, ma'am,' said Ellen, as she ran off for her bonnet. A week's a long time. I suppose thought she, I should 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 was scattered about and piled up various boxes, boards, farming and garden tools, old pieces of rope and sheepskin, old iron, a cheese press, and whatnot. Ellen did not stay long to look, but went out to find something 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 little 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 distance, rose the great gable end of the barn, and the 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 side with the axe rusting against it, and close by were some sticks of wood, both chopped and unchopped. To the right, the ground descended gently to a beautiful plain meadow, skirted on the hither side by 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 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 question. She resolved to try however, but first she played a while 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 this spout, and seeing the water trickling over where it had no business to go. And she did not heed that some of the drops took her frock in their way. She stooped her lips to the trough and drank of its sweet current, only for fun's sake, for she was not thirsty. Finally she set out to follow the stream up to its head. But poor Ellen had not gone more than halfway 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 earth have you been about? Where have you been? Ellen explained. Well, you have made a figure of yourself. Sit down, said her aunt shortly, as she thrust a chair down on the hearth before the fire. I should have thought you'd have had wit enough at your age to keep out of the ditch. I didn't see any ditch, said Ellen. No, I suppose not, said Miss Fortune, who was energetically twitching off Ellen's shoes and stockings with her forefinger and thumb. I 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 found out enough for one day, I hope. Just look at those stockings. Ain't you never got a pair of colored stockings that you must go poking into the mud with white ones? No, ma'am. Do you mean to say you never wore any but white ones at home? Yes, ma'am, I never had any others. Miss Fortune's thoughts seemed too much for speech, from the way in which she jumped up and went off without saying anything more. She presently came back with an old pair of gray socks, which she bathed Ellen put on as soon as her feet were dry. How many of those white stockings have you, she said? Mama bought me half a dozen pair of new ones just before I came away, and I had as many as that of old ones beside. Well, now go up to your trunk and bring them all down to me. Every pair of white stockings you have got. There's a pair of old slippers you can put on until your shoes are dry, she said, flinging them to her. They aren't much too big for you. They're not much too big for the socks. They're a great deal too big for me, thought Ellen. But she said nothing. She gathered all her stockings together and brought them downstairs as her aunt had bitten her. Now you may run out to the barn to Mr. Van Brunt. You'll find him there. And tell him I want him to bring me some white maple bark when he comes home to dinner. White maple bark, do you hear? Away went Ellen. But in a few minutes came back. I can't get in, she said. What's the matter? Those great doors are shut, and I can't open them. I knocked, but nobody came. Knock at a barn door, said Miss Fortune. You must go in at the little car-house door at the left and go round. He's in the lower barn floor. The barn stood lower than the level of the chipyard, from which a little bridge led to the great doorway of the second floor. Passing down the range of outhouses, Ellen came to the little door her aunt had spoken of. But what in the world should I do if there should be cows inside there, said she to herself? She peeped in. The cowhouse was perfectly empty, and cautiously, and with many a fearful glance to the right and left, lest some terrible horned animal should present itself. Ellen made her way across the cowhouse and through the barnyard, littered thick with straw, wet, and dry, to the lower barn floor. The door of this stood wide open. Ellen looked with wonder and pleasure when she got in. It was an immense room. The side showed nothing but hay up to the ceiling, except here and there, an enormous upright post. The floor was perfectly clean. Only a few locks of hay and grains of wheat scattered upon it, and a pleasant sweet smell was there. Ellen could not tell of what. But no, Mr. Van Brunt. She looked about for him. She dragged her disagreeable slippers back and forth over the floor in vain. Helloa, what's wanting? At length cried a rough voice she remembered very well. But where was the speaker? On every side, to every corner, her eyes turned without finding him. She looked up at last. There was the round face of Mr. Van Brunt peering down at her through a large opening or trap door in the upper floor. Well, said he, have you come out here to help me thrash wheat? Ellen told him what she had come for. White maple bark. Well, said he, in his slow way. I'll bring it. I wonder what's in the wind now. So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back to the house, and yet more, when her aunt set her to tacking her stockings together by two and two. What are you going to do with them, Aunt Fortune, she at last ventured to say? You'll see when the time comes. May I keep up 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 dinnertime with the white maple bark. It was thrown forthwith into a brass kettle of water, which Miss Fortune had already hung over the fire. Ellen felt sure this had something to do with her stockings, but she could ask no questions. And as soon as dinner was over, she went up to her room. It didn't look pleasant now. The brown woodwork and rough dingy walls had lost their gilding. The sunshine was out of it. And what was more, the sunshine was out of Ellen's heart too. She went to the window and opened it, but there was nothing to keep it open. It slid down again as soon as she let it go. Baffled and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on the windowsill, looking out on the grass plate that lay before the door, and at the little gate that opened on the lane, and the smooth meadow and rich broken country beyond. It was a very fair and pleasant scene in the soft sunlight of the last October, but the charm of it was gone for Ellen. It was dreary. She looked without caring to look or knowing what she was looking at. She felt the tears rising to her eyes and sick of the window turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk. Her next thought was of her desk inside of it. And suddenly her heart sprang. I will write to Mama. No sooner said than done. The trunk was quickly open and hasty hands pulled out one thing after another till the desk was reached. But what shall I do, thought she. There isn't a sign of a table. Oh, what a place. I'll shut my trunk and put it on that. But here are all these things to put back first. They were eagerly stowed away, and then kneeling by the side of the trunk with loving hands Ellen opened her desk. A sheet of paper was drawn from her store and properly placed before her. The pen dipped in the ink, and at first with a hurried, then with a trembling hand, she wrote, my dear Mama. But Ellen's heart had been swelling and swelling with every letter of those three words. And scarcely was the last A finished. When the pen was dashed down and flinging away from the desk, she threw herself on the floor in a passion of grief. It seemed as if she had her mother in her arms again and was clinging with a death grasp, not to be parted from her. And then the feeling that she was parted. As much bitter sorrow as a little heart can know was in poor Ellen's now. In her childish despair she wished she could die and almost thought she should. After a time, however, though not a short time, she rose from the floor and went to her writing again, her heart a little eased by weeping. Yet the tears kept coming all the time and she could not quite keep her paper from being blotted. The first sheet was spoiled before she was aware. She took another. My dearest Mama, it makes me so glad and so sorry to write to you that I don't know what to do. I want to see you so much, Mama, that it seems to me sometimes as if my heart would break. Oh, Mama, if I could just kiss you once more, I would give anything in the whole world. I can't be happy as long as you are away, and I'm afraid I can't be good either. But I will try. Oh, I will try, Mama. I have so much to say to you that I don't know where to begin. I am sure my paper will never hold it. You will want to know about my journey. The first day was on the steamboat, you know. I should have had a dreadful time that day, Mama, but for something I'll tell you about. I was sitting up on the upper deck, thinking about you and feeling very badly indeed when a gentleman came and spoke to me and asked me what was the matter. Mama, I can't tell you how kind he was to me. He kept me with him the whole day. He took me all over the boat and showed me all about a great many things and he talked to me a great deal. Oh, Mama, how he talked to me. He read in the Bible to me and explained it and he tried to make me a Christian. And, oh, Mama, when he was talking to me, how I wanted to do, as he said, and I resolved I would. I did, Mama, and I have not forgotten it. I will try indeed, but I'm afraid it will be very hard without you or him or anybody else to help me. You couldn't have been kind to yourself, Mama. He kissed me at night when I bit him goodbye and I was very sorry indeed. I wish I could see him again. Mama, I will always love that gentleman if I never see him again in the world. I wish there was somebody here that I could love, but there is not. You will want to know what sort of person my Aunt Fortune is. I think she is very good looking or she would be if her nose was not quite so sharp. But, Mama, I can't tell you what sort of a feeling I have about her. It seems to me as if she was sharp all over. I'm sure her eyes are as sharp as two needles and she don't walk like other people, at least sometimes. She makes queer little jerks and starts and jumps and flies about like I don't know what. I'm afraid it is not right for me to write so about her, but may I not tell you, Mama, there's nobody else for me to talk to. I can't like Aunt Fortune much yet and I'm sure she don't like me, but I will try to make her. I haven't forgotten what you said to me about that. Oh, dear Mama, I will try to mind everything you ever said to me in your life. I'm afraid you won't like what I've written about Aunt Fortune, but indeed I've done nothing to displace her and I will try not to. If you were only here, Mama, I should say it was the loveliest place I ever saw in my life. Perhaps, after all, I shall feel better and be quite happy by and by. But oh, Mama, how glad I shall be when I get a letter from you. I shall begin to look for it soon and I think I shall go out of my wits with joy when it comes. I had the funniest stride down here from Thirawall that you can think. How do you guess I came? In a cart drawn by Oxen. They went so slow, we were in age getting here, but I liked it very much. There was a good-natured man driving the Oxen and he was kind to me. But Mama, what do you think? He eats at the table. I know what you would tell me. You would say I must not mind trifles. Well, I will try not, Mama. Oh, darling mother, I can't think much of anything but you. I think of you the whole time. Who makes tea for you now? Are you better? Are you going to leave New York soon? It seems dreadfully long since I saw you. I am tired, dear Mama, and cold, and it is getting dark. I must stop. I have a good big room to myself. That is a good thing. I should not like to sleep with Aunt Fortune. Good night, dear Mama. I wish I could sleep with you once more. Oh, when will that be again, Mama? Good night, good night. You are affectionate, Ellen. The letter finished, was carefully folded and closed and directed. And then, with an odd mixture of pleasure and sadness, Ellen lit one of her little wax matches, as she called them, and sealed it very nicely. She looked at it fondly a minute when all was done, thinking of the dear fingers that would hold and open it. Her next movement was to sink her face in her hands and pray most earnestly for a blessing upon her mother and help for herself. Poor Ellen felt she needed it. She was afraid of lingering, lest tea should be ready. So, locking up her letter, she went downstairs. The tea was ready. Miss Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt were at the table, and so was the old lady, whom Ellen had not seen before that day. She quietly drew up her chair to its place. Well, said Miss Fortune, I hope you feel better for your long stay upstairs. I do, ma'am, said Ellen, a great deal better. What have you been about? I've been writing, ma'am. Writing what? I've been writing to Mama. Perhaps Miss Fortune heard the trembling of Ellen's voice, or her sharp glance saw the lip quiver and eye of a droop. Something softened her. She spoke in a different tone, asked Ellen if her tea was good, took care she had plenty of the bread and butter and excellent cheese, which was on the table, and lastly caught her a large piece of the pumpkin pie. Mr. Van Brunt, too, looked once or twice at Ellen's face, as if he thought all was not right there. He was not so sharp as Miss Fortune, but the swollen eyes and tear stains were not quite lost upon him. After tea when Mr. Van Brunt was gone, and the tea things cleared away, Ellen had the pleasure of finding out the mystery of the brass kettle and the white maple bark. The kettle now stood in the chimney corner, Miss Fortune seating herself before it, threw in all Ellen's stockings except one pear, which she flung over to her, saying, there, I don't care if you keep that one. Then, tucking up her sleeves to the elbows, she fished up pear after pear out of the kettle, and wringing them out hung them on chairs to dry. But as Ellen hid her pine, they were no longer white, but of a fine slate color. She looked on in silence, too much vexed to ask questions. Well, how do you like that? said Miss Fortune at length. When she had got two or three chairs round the fire, pretty well hung with the display of slate-colored cotton legs. I don't like it at all, said 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 surprise? I didn't think of your doing it. Who did you think was going to do it? There's nothing in this house that goes through my hand, 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 them, I guess you'll find. Ellen was convinced of that already. Well, what are you thinking of? said Miss Fortune presently. I'm thinking of my nice white darning cotton, said Ellen. I might just as well not have had it. Is it round or in the scan? In the scan? Then just go right up and get it. I'll warn, I'll fix it, so that you'll have a use for it. Ellen obeyed, but musing rather uncomfortably what else there was of hers that Miss Fortune could lay hands on. She seemed in imagination to see all her white things turning brown. She resolved she would keep her trunk well locked up, but what if her keys should be called for? She was dismissed to her room soon after the dying business was completed. It was rather a disagreeable surprise to find her bed still unmade, and she did not at all like the notion that the making of it in future must depend entirely upon herself. Ellen had no fancy for such handiwork. She went to sleep in somewhat the same dissatisfied mood with which the day had been begun, displeasure at her coarse heavy cover lid and cotton sheets again taking its place among wadier 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. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Wide, Wide World This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bridget. The Wide, Wide World by Susan Warner. Chapter 11. Running away with the brook. Clouds and rain and cold winds kept Ellen within doors for several days. This did not better the state of matters between herself and her aunt. Shot 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 acquaintance. Perhaps they thought the same of her. She was certainly not in her best mood. With nothing to do, the time hanging very heavy on her hands. Disappointed, unhappy, frequently irritated, Ellen became at length very ready to take a fence and no wise disposed to pass it over or smooth it away. She seldom showed this in words. It is true, but it wrinkled in her mind. Listless and brooding she sat day after day comparing the present with the past, wishing vain wishes, indulging bootless requests, 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 an 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 passed and the weather still kept her close prisoner. Monday brought a change, but though a cool, drying wind blew all day, the ground was too wet to venture out. On the evening of that day, as Miss Fortune was setting the table for tea and Ellen sitting before the fire, feeling weary of everything, the kitchen door opened and a girl somewhat larger and older than herself came in. She had a picture in her hand and marching straight up to the tea table, she said, Will you let Granny have a little milk tonight, Miss Fortune? I can't find the cow. I'll bring it back tomorrow. You ain't lost her, Nancy. Have, though, said the other. She's been away these two days. Why didn't you go somewhere nearer for milk? Oh, I don't know. I guess Jorn is the sweetest, said the girl with a look Ellen did not understand. Miss Fortune took the picture and went into the pantry. While she was gone, the two children improved the time and looking very hard at each other. Ellen's gaze was modest enough, though it showed a great deal of interest in the new object. But the broad, searching stare of the other seemed intended to take in all there was of Ellen from her head to her feet and keep it and find out what sort of a creature she was at once. Ellen almost shrank from the bold black eyes, but they never wavered till Miss Fortune's voice broke the spell. How's your grandmother, Nancy? She's tolerable, ma'am. Thank you. Now, if you don't bring it back tomorrow, you won't get any more in a hurry, said Miss Fortune, as she handed the picture back to the girl. I'll mind it, said the latter, with a little nod of her head, which seemed to say there was no danger of her forgetting. Who is that Aunt Fortune? said Ellen when she was gone. She is a girl that lives up the mountain yonder. But what's her name? I had just as leaf you wouldn't know her name. She ain't a good girl. Don't you never have anything to do with her? Ellen was in no mind to give credit to all her aunt's opinions. And she set this down, as in part at least, coming from ill-humor. The next morning was calm and fine, and Ellen spent nearly the whole of it out of doors. She did not venture near the ditch, but in every other direction she explored the ground and examined what stood or grew upon it as thoroughly as she dared. Towards noon she was standing by the little gate at the back of the house, unwilling to go in, but not knowing what more to do when Mr. Van Brunt came from the lane with a load of wood. Ellen watched the ox and toiling up the ascent and thought it looked like very hard work. She was sorry for them. Isn't that a very heavy load? She asked of their driver, as he was throwing it down under the apple tree. Heavy? Not a bit of it. It ain't nothing at all to him. They'd take twice as much any day with pleasure. I shouldn't think so, said Ellen. They don't look as if there was much pleasure about it. What makes them lean over so against each other when they are coming up a hill? Oh, that's just a way they've got. They're so fond of each other, I suppose. Perhaps they've something particular to say and want to put their heads together for the purpose. No, said Ellen, half laughing. It can't be that. They wouldn't take the very hardest time for that. They would wait till they got to the top of the hill. But there they stand just as if they were asleep. Only their eyes are open. Poor things. They're not very poor anyhow, said Mr. Van Brunt. There ain't a finer yoke of oxen to be seen than them are, nor in better condition. He went on throwing the wood out of the cart, and Ellen stood looking at him. What'll you give me if I'll make you a scup one of these days, said Mr. Van Brunt? A scup, said Ellen. Yes, a scup. How would you like it? I don't know what it is, said Ellen. A scup. Maybe you don't know it by that name. Some folks call it a swing. A swing. Oh yes, said Ellen. Now I know. Oh, I like it very much. Would you like to have one? Yes, indeed, I should, very much. Well, what'll you give me if I'll fix you out? I don't know, said Ellen. I have nothing to give. I'll be very much obliged to you, indeed. Well, now come. I'll make a bargain with you. I'll engage to fix a scup for you if you'll give me a kiss. Poor Ellen was struck dumb. The good-natured Dutchman had taken a fancy to the little pale-faced, sad-looking stranger, and really felt very kindly disposed toward her. But she neither knew, nor at the moment cared about that. She stood motionless, utterly astounded at his unheard of proposal, and not a little indignant. But when, with a good-natured smile upon his round face, he came near to claim the kiss he no doubt thought himself sure of, Ellen shot from him like an arrow from a bow. She rushed to the house, and bursting open the door, stood with flushed face and sparkling eyes in the presence of her astonished aunt. What in the world is the matter, exclaimed that lady? He wanted to kiss me, said Ellen, scarcely knowing whom she was talking to, and crimsoning more and more. Who wanted to kiss you? That man out there. What man? The man that drives the oxen. What, Mr. Van Brunt? And Ellen never forgot the loud ha-ha which burst from misfortune's wide-open mouth. Well, why didn't you let him kiss you? The laugh, the look, the tone, stung Ellen to the very quick, and a fury of passion she dashed away out of the kitchen and up to her own room, and there, for a while, the storm of anger drove over her with such violence that conscience had hardly time to whisper. Sorrow came in again as passion faded, and gentler but very bitter weeping took the place of compulsive sobs of rage and mortification, and then the whispers of conscience began to be heard a little. Oh, mama, mama, cried poor Ellen in her heart. How miserable I am without you. I can never like Aunt Fortune. It's of no use. I never can like her. I hope I shan't get to hate her. And that isn't right. I'm forgetting all that is good, and there's nobody to put me in mind. Oh, mama, if I could lay my head in your lap for a minute. Then came thoughts of her Bible and hymnbook, and the friend who had given it. Sorrowful thoughts they were. And at last, humbled and sad, poor Ellen sought that great friend she knew she had displeased, and prayed earnestly to be made a good child. She fell and owned she was not one now. It was long after midday when Ellen rose from her knees. Her passion was all gone. She felt more gentle and pleasant than she had done for days, but at the bottom of her heart, resentment was not all gone. She still thought she had caused to be angry, and she could not think of her aunt's look and tone without a thrill of painful feeling. In a very different mood, however, from that in which she had flown upstairs two or three hours before, she now came softly down and went out by the front door to avoid meeting her aunt. She had visited that morning a little brook, which ran through the meadow on the other side of the road. It had great charms for her, and now crossing the lane and creeping under the fence, she made her way again to its banks. At a particular spot where the brook made one of its sudden turns, Ellen sat down upon the grass and watched the dark water, whirling, brawling over the stones, hurrying past her with the ever same soft, pleasant sound, and she was never tired of it. She did not hear footsteps drawing near, and it was not till someone was close beside her, and a voice spoke almost in her ears that she raised her startled eyes and saw the little girl who had come the evening before for a pitcher of milk. What are you doing? said the latter. I'm watching for fish, said Ellen. Watching for fish, said the other, rather disdainfully. Yes, said Ellen. There, in that little quiet place they come sometimes. I've seen too. You can look for fish another time. Come now and take a walk with me. Where, said Ellen? Oh, you shall see. Come, I'll take you all about and show you where people live. You haven't been anywhere yet, have you? No, said Ellen, and I should like dearly to go, but... She hesitated. Her aunt's words came to mind that this was not a good girl and that she must have nothing to do with her. But she had not more than half believed them and she could not possibly bring herself now to go in and ask Miss Fortune's leave to take this walk. I am sure, thought Ellen, that she would refuse me if there is no reason in the world. And then the delay 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? Yes, said Ellen. I'm ready. Which way shall we go? With the assurance from the other that she would show her plenty of ways, they set off down the lane, Ellen with a secret fear of being seen and called back till they had gone some distance and the house was hid from view. Then her pleasure became great. The afternoon was fair and mild, the footing pleasant, and Ellen felt like a bird out of a cage. She was ready to be delighted with every trifle. Her companion could not by any means understand or enter into her bursts of pleasure at many a little thing which she of the black eyes thought not worthy of notice. She tried to bring Ellen back to higher subjects of conversation. How long have you been here, she asked? Oh, a good while, said Ellen. I don't know exactly. It's a week, I believe. Why, do you call that a good while, said the other? Well, it seems a good while to me, said Ellen, saying, it seems as long as four, I am sure. Then you don't like to live here much, do you? I had rather be at home, of course. How do you like your Aunt Fortune? How do I like her, said Ellen, hesitating. I think she's good-looking and very smart. Yes, you needn't tell me she's smart. 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 have spoke out, said the other, somewhat scornfully. Do you think I don't know you half hate her already? And it'll be whole-hating in another week more. When I first heard you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweet time with her. Why, said Ellen? Oh, don't ask me why, said the other impatiently, when you know as well as I do. Every soul that speaks of you says, poor child, and I'm glad I ain't her. You needn't try to come cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I tell you. I don't know what you mean, said Ellen. Oh, no, I suppose you don't, said the other, in the same tone. Of course you don't. I suppose you don't know whether your tongue is your own or somebody else's. You think Miss Fortune is an angel, and so do I, to be sure she is. Not very pleased with this kind of talk, Ellen walked on for a while in grave silence. Her companion, meantime, recollected herself. When she spoke again, it was with an altered tone. How do you like Mr. Van Brunt? I don't like him at all, said Ellen, reddening. Don't you, said the other, surprised. Why, everybody likes him. What don't you like him for? I don't like him, repeated Ellen. Ain't Miss Fortune queer to live in the way she does? What way, said Ellen? Why, without any help, doing all her own work and living all alone, when she's so rich as she is? Is she rich, asked Ellen? Rich, I guess she is. She's one of the very best farms in the country, and money enough to have a dozen help if she wanted them. Van Brunt takes care of the farm, you know. Does he, said Ellen. Why, yes, of course he does. Didn't you know that? What did you think he was at your house all the time for? I'm sure I don't know, said Ellen. And are those Ann Fortune's oxen that he drives? To be sure they are. Well, I do think you are green to have been there all this time, and not found that out. Mr. Van Brunt is just what he pleases over the whole farm, though, hires what help he wants, manages everything, and then he has his share of all that comes off of it. I tell you what, you'd better make friends with Van Brunt, for if anybody can help you when your aunt gets one of her ugly fits, it's him. She don't care to meddle with him much. Leaving the lane, the two girls took a footpath leading across the fields. The stranger was greatly amused here with Ellen's awkwardness in climbing fences. Where it was a possible thing, she was feigned to crawl under, but once or twice that could not be done. And having, with infinite difficulty, mounted to the top rail, poor Ellen sat there in a most tottering condition, uncertain on which side of the fence she should tumble over, but seeing no other possible way of getting down. The more she trembled, the more her companion laughed, standing aloof meanwhile, and insisting she should get down by herself. Necessity enabled her to do this at last, and each time the task became easier. But Ellen secretly made up her mind that her new friend was not likely to prove a very good one. As they went along, she pointed out to Ellen two or three houses in the distance, and gave her not a little gossip about the people who lived in them. But all this Ellen scarcely heard and cared nothing at all about. She had paused by the side of a large rock standing alone by the wayside, and was looking very closely at its surface. What is this curious brown stuff, said Ellen, growing all over the rock, like shriveled and dried up leaves? Isn't it curious? Part of it stands out like a leaf, and part of it sticks fast. I wonder if it grows here, or what it is? Oh, never mind, said the other. It always grows on the rocks everywhere. I don't know what it is, and what's more, I don't care, taint worth looking at, come. Ellen followed her, but presently the path entered an open woodland, and now her delight broke forth beyond bounds. Oh, how pleasant this is, how lovely this is. Isn't it beautiful, she exclaimed? Isn't what beautiful? I do think you are the queerest girl, Ellen. Why everything, said Ellen, not minding the latter part of the sentence. The ground is beautiful, and all those tall trees, and that beautiful blue sky, only look at it. The ground is all covered with stones and rocks. Is that what you call beautiful? And the trees are as homely as they can be, with their great brown stems and no leaves. Come, what are you staring at? Ellen's eyes were fixed on a string of dark spots, which were rapidly passing overhead. Hark, said she, do you hear that noise? What is that? What is that? Isn't it only a flock of ducks, said the other, contemptuously, come, do come? But Ellen was rooted to the ground, and her eyes followed the airy travelers, till the last one had quitted the piece of blue sky, which the surrounding woods left to be seen. And scarcely were these gone when a second flight came in view, following exactly in the track of the first. Where are they going, said Ellen? I am sure I don't know where they are going. They never told me. I know where I am going. I should like to know whether you are going along with me. Ellen, however, was in no hurry. The ducks had disappeared, but her eye had caught something else that charmed it. What is this, said Ellen? Nothing but moss. Is that moss? How beautiful, how green and soft it is. I declare it soft as carpet. As soft as 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 is gently jumping up and down on the green moss to try its softness with a face of great satisfaction. I don't believe it a bit, said the other. All the carpets I ever saw were as hard as a board and harder, as soft as that indeed. Well, said Ellen, still jumping up and down with Banna off and glowing cheek and her hair dancing about her face. You may believe what you like, but I've seen a carpet as soft as this, and softer too, only one, though. What was it made of? What other carpets are made of, I suppose? Come, I'll go with you now. I do think this is the loveliest place I ever did see. Are there any flowers here in the spring? I don't know, yes, lots of them. Pretty ones, said Ellen. You'd think so, I suppose. I never look at them. Oh, how lovely that will be, said Ellen, clasping her hands. How pleasant it must be to live in the country. Pleasant indeed, said the other. I think it's hateful. You'd think so too, if you lived where I do. It makes me mad at Granny every day because she won't go to Thorowall. Wait till we get out of the wood and I'll show you where I live. You can't see it from here. Shocked a little at her companion's language, Ellen again walked on in sober silence. Gradually the ground became more broken, sinking rapidly from the side of the path and rising again in a steep bank on the other side of a narrow dell. Both sides were thickly wooded, but stripped of green now, except where here and there a hemlock fur flung its graceful branches abroad and stood in lonely beauty among its leafless companions. Now the gurgling of water was heard. Where is that, said Ellen, stopping short? Way down, down at the bottom there, it's the brook. What brook, not the same that goes by ant fortunes? Yes, it's the very same. It's the crookedest thing you ever saw. It runs over there, said the speaker, pointing with her arm. And then it takes a turn and goes that way. And then it comes round so. And then it shoots off in that way again and passes by your house. And after that the deer knows where it goes, for I don't. But I don't suppose it could run straight if it was to try to. Can we get down to it, said 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. And though once or twice in imminent danger of exchanging her cautious stepping for one long roll to the bottom, she got there safely on her two feet. When there, everything was forgotten in delight. It was a wild little place. The high, close sides of the dell left only a little strip of sky overhead. And at their feet ran the brook, much more noisy and lively here than where Ellen had before made its acquaintance, leaping from rock to rock, eddying round large stones and boiling over the small ones. And now and then pouring quietly over some great trunk of a tree that had fallen across its bed and dammed up the whole stream. Ellen could scarcely contain herself at the magnificence of many of the waterfalls, the beauty of the little quiet pools where the water lay still behind some large stone and the variety of graceful, tiny cascades. Look here, Nancy cried, Ellen. That's the fall of Niagara. Do you see that large one? Oh, that is splendid. And this will do for Trenton Falls. What a fine foam it makes. Isn't it a beauty? And what shall we call this? I don't know what to call it. I wish we could name them all, but there's no end to them. Oh, just look at that one. That's too pretty not to have a name. What shall it be? Black Falls suggested the other. Black, said Ellen dubiously. Why, I don't like that. Why the water's all dark and black, don't you see? Well, said Ellen, let it be black, then. But I don't like it. Now, remember, this is Niagara, that is black, and this is Trenton, and what is this? If you are going to name them all, said Nancy, we shan't get home tonight. You might as well name all the trees. There's a hundred of them and more. I say, Ellen, supposing we follow the brook instead of climbing up yonder again. It will take us out to the open fields by and by. Oh, do let, said Ellen, that will be lovely. It proved a rough way, but Ellen still thought and called it lovely. Often by the side of the stream, there was no footing at all, and the girls picked their way over the stones, large and small, wet and dry, which screwed 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 is no other method of reaching at the imminent hazard of falling in. But they laughed at the danger, spraying on in great glee, delighted with the exercise and the fun, didn't stay long enough anywhere to lose their balance and enjoyed themselves amazingly. There was many a hair-breath escape, many an almost sowsing, but that made it all the more lively. The brook formed, as Nancy had said, a constant succession of little waterfalls, its course being quite steep and very rocky, and in some places there were pools quite deep enough to have given them a thorough wedding, 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 company 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. End of chapter 11. Chapter 12 of the Wide, Wide World. This LibriVax recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget. The Wide, Wide World by Susan Warner. Chapter 12, 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 show you where I live, said she. Look up now, clear to the top of the mountain, almost, and the little to the right. Do you see that little might of a house there? Look sharp. It's almost 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 top of a mountain like that? No, I don't think I should, said Ellen. Isn't it very cold up there? Cold, you don't know anything about it. The wind comes there, I tell you, enough to cut you in two. I have to take and hold onto the trees sometimes to keep from being blowed away. And then Granny sends me out every morning before it's light, no matter how deep the snow is to look for the cow, and it's so bitter cold, I expect nothing else, but I'll be froze to death sometime. Oh, said Ellen, with a look of horror. How can she do so? Oh, she don't care, said the other. She sees my nose freeze off every winter, and it don't make no difference. Freeze your nose off, said Ellen. To be sure, said the other, nodding gravely. Every winter. It grows out again when the warm weather comes. And to set the reason why it is so little, said Ellen innocently, and with great curiosity. Little, said the other, crimsoning in a fury. What do you mean by that? It's as big as yours any day, I can tell you. Ellen, involuntarily, put her hand to her face to see if Nancy spoke true. Somewhat reassured to find a very decided ridge where her companion's nose was wanting in the line of beauty, she answered in her turn. It's no such thing, Nancy. You ought to say so, you know better. I don't know better. I ought to say so, replied the other furiously. If I had your nose, I'd be glad to have it freeze off. I'd a sight rather have none. I'd pull it every day if I was you to make it grow. I shall believe what Aunt Fortune said of you was true, said Ellen. She had colored very high, but she added no more and walked on in dignified silence. Nancy stuck before her in silence that was meant to be dignified too, though it had not exactly that air. By degrees each cooled down and Nancy was trying to find out what misfortune had set of her. When on the edge of the next field, they met the brook again. After running a long way to the right, it had swept around and here was flowing gently in the opposite direction. But how were they ever to cross it? The brook ran in a smooth current between them and a rising bank on the other side, so high as to prevent their seeing what lay beyond. There were no stepping stones now. The only thing that looked like a bridge was an old flog that had fallen across the brook or perhaps had at some time or other been put there on purpose and that lay more than half in the water. What remained of its surface was green with moss and slippery with slime. Ellen was sadly afraid to trust herself on it, but what to do? Nancy soon settled the question as far as she was concerned. Pulling off her thick shoes, she ran fearlessly upon the rude bridge. Her clinging bare feet carried her safely over and Ellen soon saw her reshoeing herself in triumph on the opposite side. But thus left behind and alone, her own difficulty increased. Pull off your shoes and do as I did, said Nancy. I can't, said Ellen. I'm afraid of wetting my feet. I know Mama wouldn't let me. Afraid of wetting your feet, said the other. What a chicken in you are. Well, if you try to come over with your shoes on, you'll fall in, I tell you, and then you'll wet more than your feet. But come along somehow, for I won't stand waiting here much longer. Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous journey over the bridge, slowly and fearfully, and with as much care as possible, she set step-by-step upon the slippery lug. Already half of the danger was passed when reaching forward to grasp Nancy's outstretched hand, she missed it. Perhaps that was Nancy's fault. Poor Ellen lost her balance and went in head foremost. The water was deep enough to cover her completely as she lay, though not enough to prevent her getting up again. She was greatly frightened, but managed to struggle up first to a sitting posture and then to her feet, and then to wade out to the shore. Though dizzy and sick, she came near falling back again more than once. The water was very cold and thoroughly sobered. Poor Ellen felt chill enough in body and mind too. All her fine spirits were gone, and not the less because Nancy's had risen to a great pitch of delight at her misfortune. The air rang with her laughter. She likened Ellen to every ridiculous thing she could think of. Too miserable to be angry, Ellen could not laugh and would not cry, but she exclaimed in distress, Oh, what shall I do? I am so cold. Come along, said Nancy. Give me your hand. We'll run over to Mrs. Van Brunt's. Tanked far, it's just over here. There, said she, as they got to the top of the bank and came within sight of a top of a house standing only a few fields off. There it is, run, Ellen, and we'll be there directly. Who is Mrs. Van Brunt, Ellen contrived to say, as Nancy hurried her along? Who is she? Run, Ellen. Why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt, your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, you know. Make haste, Ellen. We had rain enough the other day. I'm afraid it wouldn't be good for the grass if you stayed too long in one place. Hurry, I'm afraid you'll catch cold. You got your feet wet after all, I'm sure. Run they did, and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. Van Brunt's door. The little brick walk leading to it from the courtyard gate was as neat as a pin. So was everything else the eye could rest on. And when Nancy went in, poor Ellen stayed her foot at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoes and dripping garments any further. She could hear, however, what was going on. Hello, Mrs. Van Brunt, shouted Nancy. Where are you? Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, are you out of water? Because if you are, I've brought you a plenty. The person that has it don't want it. She's just at the door. She wouldn't bring it in till she knew you wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't look so, or you'll kill me with laughing. Come and see, come and see. The steps within drew near the door. And first Nancy showed herself, and then a little old woman. Not very old either, a very kind, pleasant countenance. What is all this, said she in great surprise. Bless me, poor little deer, what is this? Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt. Don't you see, said Nancy. Go home, Nancy Voss, go home, said the old lady. You're a regular bad girl. I do believe this is some mischief of yarn. 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 deer, said the old lady kindly. What has happened to you? Come to the fire, love, you're trembling with the cold. Oh, dear, dear, you're soaking wet. This is all along of Nancy somehow, I know. How was it, love? Ain't you, Miss Fortune's little girl? Never mind, don't talk, darling. There ain't one bit of color in your face, not one bit. Good Mrs. Van Brunt had drawn Ellen to the fire, and all this while she was pulling off as fast as possible her wet clothes. Then sending a girl who was in waiting for clean towels, she rubbed Ellen dry from head to foot and wrapping her in a blanket, left her in a chair before the fire, while she went to seek something for her to put on. Ellen had managed to tell who she was and how her mischance had come about, but little else, though the kind old lady had kept on pouring out words of sorrow and pity during the whole time. She came trotting back directly with one of her own short gowns, the only thing that she could lay hands on that was anywhere near Ellen's length. Enormously big it was for her, but Mrs. Van Brunt wrapped it round and round and the blanket over it again, and then she bustled about till she had prepared a tumbler of hot drink, which she said was to keep Ellen from catching 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 herself into a little room opening out of the kitchen and laid her in a bed that had been warmed for her. Excessively tired and weak as she was, Ellen scarcely needed the help of the hot herb tea to fall into a very deep sleep. Perhaps it might not have lasted so very long as it did, but for that afternoon changed for evening. Evening grew quite dark. Still Ellen did not stir, and after every little journey into the bedroom to see how she was doing, Mrs. Van Brunt came back saying how glad she was to see her sleeping so finely. Other eyes looked on her for a minute, kind and gentle eyes, though Mrs. Van Brunt's were kind and gentle too. Once a soft kiss touched her forehead, there was no danger of waking her. It was perfectly dark in the little room 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?' "'I, I,' said the voice of Mrs. Van Brunt. "'Have you been looking for her? "'How did you know she was here?' "'Looking for her? "'I, looking for her ever since sundown. "'She has been missing at the house "'since sometime this four noon. "'I believe her aunt got a bit scared about her. "'Anyhow, I did. "'She's a queer little chip, as ever I see.' "'She's a dear little soul, I know,' said his mother. "'You needn't say nothing againer. "'I ain't a-going to believe it. "'No more am I. "'I'm the best friend she's got, if she only noted it. "'But don't you think?' said Mr. Van Brunt, laughing. "'I asked her to give me a kiss this afternoon, "'and if I'd been an owl, she couldn't have been more scared. "'She went off like a streak, "'and Miss Fortune said she was as mad as she could be, "'and that's the last of her. "'How did you find her out?' "'I met that Mr. Viz Vos girl, and I made her tell me. "'She had no mind to it first. "'It'll be the worst 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 brought her here, just as dripping wet "'as she could be. "'I gave her something hot and put her to bed, "'and she'll do, I reckon. "'But I tell you, it gave me queer feelings "'to see the poor little thing just as white as ashes, "'and all of a tremble, and looking so sorrowful too. "'She's sleeping finally now, "'but it ain't right to see a child's face look so. "'It ain't right,' repeated Mrs. Van Brunt thoughtfully. "'You hadn't had supper, have you?' "'No, mother, and I must take that young one back. "'Ain't she awake yet?' "'I'll see directly, but she ain't going home, "'nor you neither, Brom, till you've got your supper. "'It would be a sin to let her. "'She shall have a taste of my splitters this very night. "'I've been making them a purpose for her. "'So you may just take off your hat and sit down. "'You mean to let her know where to come "'when she wants good things, mother? "'Well, I won't say splitters ain't worth waiting for.' "'Ellen heard him sit down, "'and then she guessed from the words that passed "'that Mrs. Van Brunt and her little maid "'were busy in making the cakes. "'She lay quiet. "'You're a good friend, Brom,' began the old lady again. "'Nobody knows that better than me. "'But I hope that poor little thing "'has got another one today "'that'll do more for her than you can.' "'What, yourself, mother? "'I don't know about that. "'No, no. "'Do you think I mean myself? "'There, turn it quick, Sally. "'Miss Alice has been here. "'How, this evening?' "'Just a little before dark on her gray pony. "'She came in for a minute, and I took her. "'That'll burn, Sally. "'I took her in to see the child while she was asleep, "'and I told her all you told me about her. "'She didn't say much, "'but she looked at her very sweet, as she always does. "'And I guess. "'There, now I'll see after my little sleeper.' "'And presently Mrs. Van Brunt came to the 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 saying, with a sigh, "'how kind you are to me, ma'am, "'to which the old lady replied with a kiss, "'and telling her she mustn't say a word about that. "'The kitchen was bright with firelight and candlelight. "'The tea-table looked beautiful with its piles of white splitters, "'besides plenty of other and more substantial things, "'and at the corner of the hearth set Mr. Van Brunt. "'So said he, smiling, as Ellen came in "'and took her stand at the opposite corner. "'So I drove you away this morning. "'You ain't mad with me yet, I hope.' "'Ellen crossed directly over to him, "'and putting her little hand in his great 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 gratitude and trust "'that pleased him very much. "'Trouble indeed,' said he, good-humoredly, "'I'd take twice as much any day "'for what you wouldn't give me this forenoon. "'But never fear, Miss Ellen. "'I ain't going to ask you that again.' "'He shook the little hand, "'and from that time, "'Ellen and her rough charioteer were firm friends. "'Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table, "'and Ellen was well-feasted with the splitters, "'which were a kind of rich shortcake, "'baked in irons, very thin and crisp, "'and then split in two and buttered, "'wents their name.' "'A pleasant meal was that. "'Whatever an epicure might have thought of the tea. "'To Ellen and her famished state, it was delicious, "'and no epicure could have found fault "'with the cold ham and the butter and the cakes. "'But far better than all was a spirit of kindness "'that was there. "'Ellen feasted on that more than on anything else. "'If her host and hostess were not very polished, "'they could not have been outdone in their kind care of her, "'and kind attention to her wants. "'And when the supper was at length over, "'Mrs. Van Brunt declared a little color "'had come back to the pale cheeks. "'The color came back in good earnest a few minutes after, "'when a great tortoise-shell cat walked into the room. "'Ellen jumped down from her chair "'and presently was bestowing the tenderest caresses upon pussy, "'who stretched out her head and purred "'as if she liked them very well.' "'What a nice cat,' said Ellen. "'She has five kittens,' said Mrs. Van Brunt. "'Five kittens,' said Ellen. "'Oh, may I come some time and see them? "'You shall see them right away, dear, "'and come as often as you like, too. "'Sally, just take a basket and go fetch them kittens here.' "'Upon this Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about it "'being time to go, if they were going. "'But his mother insisted that Ellen should stay "'where she was. "'She said she was not fit to go home that night, "'that she oughtn't to walk a step. "'And that Brom should go and tell Miss Fortune "'the child was safe and well "'and would be with her early in the morning. "'Mr. Van Brunt shook his head two or three times, "'but finally agreed, to Ellen's great joy. "'When he came back she was sitting on the floor "'before the fire, with all the five kittens in her lap, "'and the old mother cat walking around "'and over her in them. "'But she looked up with a happier face "'than he had ever seen her wear, "'and told him she was so much obliged to him "'for taking such a long walk for her. "'And Mr. Van Brunt felt that, like his oxen, "'he could have done a great deal more with pleasure.'" End of Chapter 12 CHAPTER XIII HOPE DEFIRD 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 Brom wants to be off to his work "'and won't stay for breakfast. "'Slept sound, did you?' "'Oh, yes, indeed, as sound as a top,' said Ellen, rubbing her eyes, "'I am hardly awake yet. "'I declare it's too bad,' said Mrs. Van Brunt, "'but there's no help for it. "'You don't feel no headache, do you? "'Nor pain in your bones?' "'No, ma'am, not a bit of it. "'I feel nicely.' "'Ah, well,' said Mrs. Van Brunt, "'then your tumble into the brook didn't do you any mischief. "'I thought it wouldn't.' "'Poor little soul.' "'I am very glad I did fall in,' said Ellen, "'for if I hadn't I shouldn't have come here, Mrs. Van Brunt.' "'The old lady instantly kissed her.' "'Oh, ma'am, I just take one look at the kitties,' said Ellen, when she was ready to go. "'Indeed, you shall,' said Mrs. Van Brunt. "'If Brom's hurry was ever so much and an eight 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 in 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 an earnest? "'Oh, thank you, dear Mrs. Van Brunt. "'Oh, I shall be so glad. "'Well, choose one then, dear. "'Choose the one you'd like best, and Brom shall carry it for you.' The choice was made, and Mrs. Van Brunt and Ellen returned to the kitchen, where Mr. Van Brunt had already been waiting some time. He shook his head when he saw what was in the basket his mother handed him. "'That won't do,' said he. "'I can't go, that mother. "'I'll undertake to see Miss Ellen safe home, "'but the cat would be more than I could manage. "'I think I'd hardly get off with a whole skin "'tween the one and the other.' "'Well, now,' said Mrs. Van Brunt. Ellen gave a longing look at her little black-and-white favorite, which was uneasily endeavoring to find out the height of the basket and mewing at the same time with the 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 gratitude in a hearty hug and kiss. "'Goodbye, ma'am,' said she. "'I may come and see them some time again, and see you. May I die?' "'Indeed you shall, my darling,' said the old woman. "'Just as often as you like. "'Just as often as you can get away. "'I'll make Brom bring you home sometimes. "'Brom, you'll bring her, won't you?' "'There's two words to that bargain, mother. "'I can tell you, but if I don't, "'I'll know the reason on it.' "'And away they went. "'Ellen drew two or three sighs at first, "'but she could not help brightening up soon. "'It was early, not sunrise. "'The cool freshness of the air "'was enough to give one new life and spirit. "'The sky was fair and bright, "'and Mr. Van Brunt marched along at a quick pace. "'And livened by the exercise, "'Ellen speedily forgot everything disagreeable, "'and her little head was filled with pleasant things. "'She watched where the silver light in the east "'before told the sun's coming. "'She watched the silver change to gold, "'till a rich yellow tint was flowing 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 air-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 Mama 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 sunshine's first "'upon the top of the mountain, "'and then comes so slowly down the side. "'Why don't it shine on the hull at once?' "'Mr. Van Brunt shook his head in ignorance. "'He guessed it always did so,' he said. "'Yes, said Ellen. "'I suppose it does, but that's the very thing. "'I want to know the reason why. "'And I noticed just now. "'It shone in my face before it touched my hands. "'Isn't it queer?' "'Hmph. "'There's a great many queer things if you come to that,' "'said Mr. Van Brunt philosophically. "'But Ellen's head ran on from one thing to another, "'and her next question was not so wide of the subject "'as her companion might have thought. "'Mr. Van Brunt, are there any schools about here?' "'Schools,' said the person addressed. "'Yes, there's plenty of schools. "'Good ones,' said Ellen. "'Well, I don't exactly know about that. "'There's Captain Conklin's. "'That had ought to be a good one. "'He's a regular smart man,' they say. "'Whereabouts is that?' said Ellen. "'His school? "'It's a mile or so to the other side of my house. "'And how far is it from your house to Aunt Fortunes? "'A good deal better than two mile. "'But we'll be there before too 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 repeated his remark "'that he saw she was tired. "'If it was that,' Ellen grew tired very fast. "'She legged more and more as they neared the house, "'and at last fell quite behind "'and allowed Mr. Van Brunt to go in first. "'Miss Fortunes was busy about the breakfast, "'and as Mr. Van Brunt 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 you ever do so again,' said Miss Fortune, "'in a kind of cold fury, "'I have a great mind to whip you for this "'as ever I had to eat.' "'The flush faded on Ellen's cheek, "'and a shiver visibly passed over her, not from fear. "'She stood with downcast eyes and compressed lips, "'a certain instinct of childish dignity "'warning her to be silent. "'Mr. Van Brunt put himself in between. "'Come, come,' said he. "'This is getting to be too much of a good thing. "'Beat your cream, ma'am, as much as you like. "'Or if you want to try your hand on something else, "'you'll have to take me first, I promise you.' "'Now don't you, metal, Van Brunt,' said the lady sharply, "'with what ain't no business of yarn.' "'I don't know about that,' said Mr. Van Brunt. "'Maybe it is my business. "'But metal or no metal, Miss Fortune, "'it is time for me to be in the field. "'And if you ain't no better breakfast "'for Miss Ellen and me than all this here, "'we'll just go right away home again. "'But there's something in your kettle "'that smells uncommonly nice, "'and I wish you'd just let us have it, and no more words.' "'No more words,' said Miss Fortune, "'waste on anyone that morning.' "'She went on with her work, "'and dished up the breakfast in silence, "'and with a face that Ellen did not quite understand. "'Only she thought she had never in her life "'seen one so disagreeable. "'The meal was a very solemn and uncomfortable one. "'Ellen could scarcely swallow, "'and her aunt was near in the same condition. "'Mr. Van Brunt and the old lady alone "'dispatched their breakfast as usual. "'With no other attempts at conversation "'than the common mumbling on the part of the latter, "'which nobody minded, "'and one or two strange grunts from the former, "'the meaning of which, if they had any, "'nobody tried to find out.' "'There was a breach now between Ellen and her aunt "'that neither could make any effort to mend. "'Miss Fortune did not renew the disagreeable conversation "'that Mr. Van Brunt had broken off. "'She left Ellen entirely to herself, "'scarcely speaking to her, "'or seeming to know when she went out or came in. "'And this lasted day after day. "'Wearily they passed. "'After one or two, Mr. Van Brunt seemed to stand "'just where he did before, "'and Miss Fortune's good graces, but not Ellen. "'To her, when others were not by, "'her face were constantly something of the same cold, "'hard, disagreeable expression "'it had put on after Mr. Van Brunt's interference. "'A look that Ellen came to regard "'with absolute abhorrence. "'She kept away by herself as much as she could, "'but she did not know what to do with her time. "'And for want of something better "'often spent it in tears. "'She went to bed cheerless night after night, "'and arose spiritless morning after morning. "'And this lasted till Mr. Van Brunt more than once "'told his mother that that poor little thing "'was going wandering about like a ghost, "'and growing thinner and paler every day, "'and he didn't know what she would come to "'if she went on so.' "'Ellen longed now for a letter "'with unspeakable longing, but none came. "'Day after day brought new disappointment. "'Each day more hard to bear. "'Of her 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, "'wither he never came but at mealtimes. "'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 she 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 delay in her company. "'But no hint of the kind dropped from Miss Fortune's lips, "'and Ellen's longing look for this, "'as well as for a word from her mother, "'was daily doomed to be ungratified, "'and to grow more keen by delay. "'One pleasure only remained to Ellen "'in the course of the day, "'and that was 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 pales, "'and then away she bounded, "'out of the house into 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 comfortable. "'Nothing living under Mr. Van Brunt's care "'was ever suffered to look otherwise. "'He was always in the barn or barnyard at milking time, "'and under his protection, Ellen felt safe, "'and looked on at her ease. "'It was a very pretty scene. "'At least she thought it 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 pales. "'Then there was the interest "'of seeing whether Sam or Johnny would get through first, "'and how near Jane or Dolly "'would come to rivaling Streaky's fine palful. "'And at last, Ellen allowed Mr. Van Brunt "'to teach herself how to milk. "'She began with trembling, "'but learned fast enough, "'and more than one palful of milk "'that Miss Fortune strained, had been, "'unknown to her, drawn by Ellen's fingers. "'These minutes in the farmyard "'were the pleasantest in Ellen's day. "'While they lasted, every care was forgotten, "'and her little face was as bright as the morning. "'But the milking was quickly over, "'and the cloud gathered on Ellen's brow, "'almost as soon as the shadow of the house fell upon it.' "'Where is the post office, Mr. Van Brunt?' "'She asked one morning, "'as she stood watching the sharpening "'of an axe upon the grindstone. "'The axe was in that gentleman's hand, "'and its edge carefully laid to the whirling-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 business, will you? "'Just as often as I go fetching, 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 one eight there, too. "'I don't get a letter but two or three times a year, I suppose, "'though I call, I guess, half a dozen times.' "'Ah, but there's there one now. "'Our soon will be, I know, for me,' said Ellen. "'When do you think you will go again, Mr. Van Brunt?' "'Now, if I had known that, "'I'd have gone to Thirlwall yesterday. "'I was within a mile of it. "'I don't see as I can go this week anyhow in the world, "'but I'll make some errand there the first day I can, Miss Ellen, "'that you may depend on. "'You 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, yes, they do come once in a while by old Mr. Swame, "'but he ain't been here this great while. "'And who's he? "'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 any I have occasion for.' "'What's the use of pouring water upon the grindstone?' said Ellen. "'Why wouldn't it do as well dry?' "'I can't tell, I am sure,' replied Mr. Van Brunt, "'who was slowly drawing his thumb over the edge of the axe. "'Your questions are a good deal too sharp for me, Miss Ellen. "'I only know it would spoil the axe, "'or the grindstone are both most likely.' "'It's very odd,' said Ellen thoughtfully. "'I wish I knew everything. "'But, oh dear, I am not likely to know anything,' said she, "'her countenance suddenly changing "'from its pleased inquisitive look "'to a cloud of disappointment and sorrow. "'Mr. Van Brunt noticed the change.' "'Ain't your aunt going to send you to school then?' said he. "'I don't know,' said Ellen, sighing. "'She never speaks about it, nor about anything else. "'But I declare I'll make her,' she exclaimed, changing again. "'I'll go right in and ask her, and then she'll have to tell me. "'I will. I am tired of living so. "'I'll know what she means to do, "'and then I can tell what I must do.' Mr. Van Brunt, seemingly dubious 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 waiting for her courage to quill, "'went directly into the house.' "'Miss Fortune, however, was not in the kitchen. "'To follow her into her secret haunt, the dairy, the 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 moment cooled down. "'She was not quite so ready to enter upon the business "'as she had felt at first. "'She even had some qualms about it. "'But I'll do it,' said Ellen to herself. "'It will be hard, but I'll do it.' End of CHAPTER XIII The next morning after breakfast, Ellen found the chance she rather dreaded than wished for. Mr. Van Brunt had gone out, the old lady had not left her room, and Miss Fortune was quietly seated by the fire, busied with some mysteries of cooking. Like a true coward, Ellen could not make up her mind to bolt at once into the thick of the matter, but thought to come to it gradually, always a bad way. "'What is that, Aunt Fortune?' said she, after she had watched her with a beating 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 the smell 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 Mama told me they were. "'That's all the kind of turnpikes your Mama knew anything about, I reckon,' said Miss Fortune, in a tone that conveyed the notion that Mrs. Montgomery's education had been very incomplete. And indeed she added immediately after. If she had made more turnpikes and paid fewer tolls, it would have been just as well, I'm thinking." Ellen felt the tone, if she did not thoroughly understand the words. She was silent for a moment. Then remembering her purpose, she began again. "'What are these, then, Aunt Fortune?' "'Cakes, child, cakes. Turnpike cakes. Would 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?' "'Merci anas, yes. You've seen hundreds of them 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 gotten into you. You'll drive me crazy.' "'But there's one more question I want to ask very much,' said Ellen, with her heart beating. "'We'll ask it, then, quick, and have done, and take yourself off. I have other fish to fry than answer all your questions.' 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.' "'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 the thorough-wall.' Ellen hesitated. The name was against her, but nevertheless she concluded on the whole that the lady's school would be the pleasantest. "'Is Miss Emerson any relation of yours?' she asked. "'No. I think I should like to go to her school the best. I will go there if you let me. May I?' "'Yes.' "'And I will begin next Monday. May I?' "'Yes.' Ellen wished exceedingly that her aunt would speak in some other tone of voice. It was a continual damper to her rising hopes. "'I'll get my books ready,' said she, and look them over a little too, I guess. "'But what will be the best way for me to go, Aunt Fortune?' "'I don't know.' "'I couldn't walk so far, could I?' "'You know best.' "'I couldn't, I am sure,' said Ellen. "'It's four miles to thorough-wall,' Mr. Van Brunt said, and that would be too much for me to walk twice a day, and I should be afraid besides.' "'A dead silence.' "'But Aunt Fortune, do please tell me what I am to do. How can I know unless you tell me? What way is there that I can go to school?' "'It is unfortunate that I don't keep a carriage,' said Miss Fortune. "'But Mr. Van Brunt can go for you morning and evening in the ox-cart, if that will answer.' "'The ox-cart? But dear me, it would take him all day, Aunt Fortune. It takes hours and hours to go and come with the oxen. Mr. Van Brunt wouldn't have time to do anything but carry me to school and bring me home.' "'Of course, but that's of no consequence,' said Miss Fortune, in the same dry tone. "'Then I can't go. There's no help for it,' said Ellen despondingly. "'Why didn't you say so before? When you said yes, I thought you meant yes.' She covered her face. Miss Fortune rose for the half-smile and carried her jar of scaled-ed meal into the pantry. She then came back and commenced the operation of washing up the breakfast-things. "'Ah, if only I had a little pony,' said Ellen. "'That would carry me there and back, and go trotting about with me everywhere. How nice that would be.' "'Yes, that would be very nice. And who do you think would go trotting about after the pony? I suppose you would leave that to Mr. Van Brunt, and I should have to go trotting about after you, to pick you up in case you broke your neck in some ditch or goalie. It would be a very nice affair altogether, I think.' Ellen was silent. Her hopes had fallen to the ground, and her disappointment was unsoothed by one word of kindness or sympathy. With all her old grievances fresh in her mind, she sat thinking her aunt was the very most disagreeable person she ever had the misfortune to meet with. No amiable feelings were working within her, and the cloud on her brow was of displeasure and disgust, as well as sadness and sorrow. Her aunt saw it. "'What are you thinking of?' said she, rather sharply. "'I am thinking, said Ellen. I am very sorry I cannot go to school.' "'Why, what do you want to learn so much? You know how to read and write in cipher, don't you?' "'Read and write in cipher, said Ellen. To be sure I do. But that's nothing. That's only the beginning.' "'Well, what do you want to learn besides?' "'Oh, a great many things.' "'Well, what?' "'Oh, a great many things, said Ellen. French and Italian and Latin, and music and arithmetic and chemistry, and all about animals and plants and insects. I forget what it's called. And oh, I can't recollect a great many things. Every now and then I think of something I want to learn. I can't remember them now. But I am doing nothing, said Ellen, sadly, learning nothing. I am not studying and improving myself as I meant to. Mama will be so disappointed when she comes back, and I meant to please her so much. The tears were fast coming. She put her hand upon her eyes to force them back. "'If you are so tired of being idle, said misfortune, I'll warn I'll give you something to do, and something to learn, too, that you want enough, more than all those crinkum crankums. I wonder what good they'd ever do you. That's the way your mother was brought up, I suppose. If she had been trained to use her hands and do something useful, instead of thinking herself above it, maybe she wouldn't have had to go to sea for her health just now. It doesn't do for women to be bookworms." "'Mama isn't a bookworm,' said Ellen, indignantly. I don't know what you mean. And she never thinks of herself above being useful. It's very strange you should say so when you don't know anything about her.' "'I know she ain't brought you up to no manners, anyhow,' said misfortune. "'Look here. I'll give you something to do. Just you put those plates and dishes together ready for washing while I am downstairs.' Ellen obeyed, unwillingly enough. She had neither knowledge of the business nor any liking for it. So it is no wonder, misfortune at her return was not well pleased. But I never did such a thing before, said Ellen. "'There it is now,' said misfortune. "'I wonder where your eyes have been every single time that I've done it since you have been here. I should think your own sense might have told you, but you're too busy learning of Mr. Van Brunt to know what's going on in the house. Is that what you call made ready for washing? Now just have the goodness to scrape every plate clean off and put them nicely in a pile here, and turn out the slops out of the tea cups and saucers, and set them by themselves. Well, what makes you handle them so? Are you afraid they'll burn you?' "'I don't like to take hold of things people have drunk out of,' said Ellen, who was indeed touching the cups and saucers very delicately with the tips of her fingers. "'Look here,' said misfortune. "'Don't you let me hear no more of that, or I vow I'll give you something to do you won't like. Now put the spoons here and the knives and the forks together here, and carry the salt cellar and the pepper box and the butter and the sugar into the buttery. "'I don't know where to put them,' said Ellen. "'Come along then, and I'll show you. It's time you did. I reckon you'll feel better when you've something to do, and you shall have plenty. There, put them in that cupboard and set the butter up here, and put the bread in this box, do you see? Now don't let me have to show you twice over.' This was Ellen's first introduction to the buttery. She had never dared go in there before. It was a long, light claza or pantry lined on the left side and at the further end with wide shelves up to the ceiling. On these shelves stood many capacious pans and basins of tin and earthenware filled with milk and most of them coated with superb yellow cream. Midway was the window, before which misfortune was accustomed to skim her milk, and at the side of it was the mouth of a wooden pipe, or covered trough, which conveyed the refuse milk down to an enormous hog-head standing at the lower kitchen door, once it was drawn as wanted for the use of the pigs. Beyond the window and the buttery, and on the high 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. Door 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, misfortune 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 learnt directly. At this rate, I shall not know any more than all these people around me, and what will Mama say? Well, if I can't go to school, I know what I will do, she said taking a sudden resolve. I'll study by myself. I'll see what I can do. It will be better than nothing anyway. I'll begin this very day. With new life, Ellen sprang upstairs to her room, and forthwith began pulling all the things out of her trunk to get at her books. They were at the very bottom, and by the time she had reached them, half the floor was strewn to the various articles of her wardrobe, without minding them in her first eagerness. Ellen pounced at the books. Here you are, my dear Numa Pompilius, said she, drawing out a little French book she had just begun to read. And here you are, old grammar and dictionary. And here is my history. Very glad to see you, Mr. Goldsmith. And what on the world is this, wrapped up as if it was something great? Oh, my expositor. I am not glad to see you, I am sure. Never want to look at your face or back again. My copy book. I wonder who will set copies for me now. My arithmetic. That's you. Geography and Atlas, all right. And my slate. But dear me, I don't believe I've such a thing as a slate pencil in the world. Where shall I get one, I wonder? Well, I'll manage. And that's all. That's all, I believe. With all her heart, Ellen would have begun her studying at once. But there were all her things on the floor, silently saying, put us up first. I declare, she said to herself, it's too bad to have nothing in the shape of a bureau to keep one's clothes in. I wonder if I am to live in a trunk, as Mama says, all the time I am here, and have to go down to the bottom of it every time I want a pocket-hinkerchief or a pair of stockings. How I do despise those gray stockings. But what can I do? It's too bad to squeeze my nice things up. I wonder what is behind those doors. I'll find out, I know, before long. On the north side of Ellen's room were three doors. She had never opened them. But now took it in her head to see what was there, thinking she might possibly find what would help her out of her difficulty. She had some little fear of meddling with anything in her aunt's domain, so she fastened her own door to guard against interruption while she was busy in making discoveries. At the foot of her bed in the corner was one large door, fastened by a button, as indeed they were all. This opened she found upon a flight of stairs, leading as she supposed to the garret. But Ellen did not care to go up and see. They were lighted by half of a large window across the middle of which the stairs went up. She quickly shut that door and opened the next, a little one. Here she found a tiny closet under the stairs, lighted by the other half of the window. There was nothing in it but a broad, low shelf or step under the stairs, where Ellen presently decided she could stow away her books very nicely. It only wants a little brushing out, said Ellen, and it will do very well. The other door, in the other corner, admitted her to a large, light closet, perfectly empty. Now, if there were only some hooks or pegs here, thought Ellen, to hang up dresses on, but why shouldn't I drive some nails? I will, I will, oh, that'll be fine. Unfastening her door in a hurry she ran downstairs, and her heart beating. Between pleasure and the excitement of daring so far without her aunt's knowledge, she ran out and crossed the chipyard to the barn, where she had some hope of finding Mr. Van Brunt. By the time she got to the little cowhouse door, a great noise of knocking or pounding in the barn made her sure he was there, and she went on to the lower barn floor. There he was, he and the two farm boys, who, by the way, were grown men, all three threshing wheat. Ellen stopped at the door, and for a minute forgot what she had come for in the pleasure of looking at them. The clean floor was strewn with grain, upon which the heavy flails came down one after the other, with quick, regular beat. One, two, three, one, two, three, keeping perfect time. The pleasant sound could be heard afar off, though indeed where Ellen stood, it was rather too loud to be pleasant. Her little voice had no chance of being heard. She stood still and waited. Presently Johnny, who was apposite, caught a sight of her, and without stopping his work, said to his leader, Somebody there for you, Mr. Van Brunt. That gentleman's flail ceased its motion, then he threw it down, and went to the door to help Ellen up the high step. Well, said he, have you come to see what's going on? No, said Ellen, I've been looking. But Mr. Van Brunt, could you be so good as to let me have a hammer and half a dozen nails? A hammer and half a dozen nails, come this way, said he. They went out of the barnyard and across the chipyard to an outhouse below the garden, and not far from the spout called the poultry house, though it was quite as much the property of the hogs, who had a regular sleeping apartment there, where corn was always fed out to the fatting ones. Opening a kind of grain restore room, where the corn for this purpose was stowed, Mr. Van Brunt took down from a shelf a large hammer and a box of nails, and asked Ellen what size she wanted. Pretty large. So? No, a good deal bigger yet, I should like. A good deal bigger yet, who wants them? I do, said Ellen. You do. Do you think your little arms can manage that big hammer? I don't know. I guess so. I'll try. Where do you want them, Drift? Up in a closet in my room, said Ellen, speaking softly as if she had feared her aunt was at the corner. I want them to hang up dresses and things. Mr. Van Brunt half smiled, and put up the hammers and nails on the shelf again. Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, said he. You can't manage them big things. I'll put them up for you tonight 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'll fix it. Maybe we won't ask her. Oh, thank you, said Ellen joyfully, her face recovering its full sunshine in answer to his smile, and clapping her hands she ran back to the house, while more slowly Mr. Van Brunt returned to the threshers. Ellen seized dustpan and brush and ran up to her room, and setting about the business with bright goodwill. She soon had her closets in beautiful order. The books, writing-desk, and work-box were then bestowed very carefully in the one, and in the other her coats and dresses neatly folded up in a pile on the floor, waiting till the nails should be driven in. Then the remainder of her things were gathered up from the floor, and neatly arranged in the trunk again. Having done all this, Ellen's satisfaction was unbounded. By this time dinner was ready. As soon after dinner as she could escape from misfortunes calls upon her, Ellen stole up to her room and her books, and began work in earnest. The whole afternoon was spent over sums, and verbs, and maps, and pages of history. A little before tea, as Ellen was setting the table, Mr. Van Brunt came into the kitchen with a bag on his back. What have you got there, Mr. Van Brunt, said misfortune? A bag of seed-corn. What are you going to do with it? Put it up in the garret for safekeeping. Set it down in the corner, and I'll take it up tomorrow. 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 her 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 to her dresses, he went on to the garret, and Ellen heard him hammering there, too. Presently he came down, and they returned to the kitchen. What's all that knacking, 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 have spoken to me about it, said Miss Fortune to Ellen. There was displeasure enough in her face, but she said no more, and the matter blew over much better than Ellen had feared. Ellen steadily pursued her plans of studying, in spite of some discouragements. A letter written about ten days after gave her mother an account of her endeavors and her success. It was a despairing account. Ellen complained that she wanted help to understand and lacked time to study, that her aunt kept her busy, and she believed took pleasure in breaking her off from her books, and she bitterly said her mother must expect to find an ignorant little daughter when she came home. It ended with, oh, if I could just see you and kiss you and put my arms around you, Mama, I'd be willing to die. This letter was dispatched the next morning by Mr. Van Brunt, and Ellen waited and watched with great anxiety for his return from Thoreaual in the afternoon.