Behind the door stand bags o' meal,
And in the ark is plenty.
And good hard cakes his mither makes,
And mony a sweeter dainty.
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow,
Are standing in the byre;
While winking puss, wi' mealy mou',
Is playing round the fire.
--SCOTCH SONG.
They left the wood and the brook behind them, and crossed a large
stubble field; then got over a fence into another. They were in the
midst of this when Nancy stopped Ellen, and bade her look up 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 a little to the right; do you see
that little mite of a house there? Look sharp,--it's a'most as brown as
the rock,--do you see it?--it's close by that big pine-tree, but it
don't look big from here--it's just by that little dark spot near the
top."
"I see it," said Ellen, "I see it now; do you live 'way up there?"
"That's just what I do; and that's just what I wish I didn't. But granny
likes it; she will live there. I'm blessed if I know what for, if it
ain't to plague me. Do you think you'd like to live up on the top of a
mountain like that?"
"No, I don't think I should," said Ellen. "Isn't it very cold up there?"
"Cold! you don't know anything about it. The wind comes there, I tell
you--enough to cut you in two; I have to take and hold on to the trees
sometimes to keep from being blowed away. And then granny sends me out
every morning before it's light, no matter how deep the snow is, to look
for the cow; and it's so bitter cold I expect nothing else but I'll be
froze to death some time."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a look of horror, "how can she do so?"
"Oh, she don't care," said the other; "she sees my nose freeze off every
winter, and it don't make no difference."
"Freeze your nose off!" said Ellen.
"To be sure," said the other, nodding gravely, "every winter; it grows
out again when the warm weather comes."
"And is that the reason why it is so little?" said Ellen innocently, and
with great curiosity.
"Little!" said the other, crimsoning in a fury; "what do you mean by
that? It's as big as yours any day, I can tell you."
Ellen involuntarily put her hand to her face to see if Nancy spoke true.
Somewhat reassured to find a very decided ridge where her companion's
nose was wanting in the line of beauty, she answered in her turn--
"It's no such thing, Nancy! you oughtn't to say so; you know better."
"I _don't_ know better! I _ought_ to say so!" replied the other
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 coloured very high, but she added no more, and walked on in
dignified silence. Nancy stalked before her in silence that was meant to
be dignified too, though it had not exactly that air. By degrees each
cooled down, and Nancy was trying to find out what Miss Fortune had said
of her, when on the edge of the next field they met the brook again.
After running a long way to the right it had swept round, and here was
flowing gently in the opposite direction. But how were they ever to
cross it? The brook ran in a smooth current between them and a rising
bank on the other side so high as to prevent their seeing what lay
beyond. There were no stepping-stones now. The only thing that looked
like a bridge was an old log that had fallen across the brook, or
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 re-shoeing 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 mamma
wouldn't let me."
"Afraid of wetting your feet!" said the other; "what a chickaninny you
are! Well, if you try to come over with your shoes on you'll fall in, I
tell you; and then you'll wet more than your feet. But come along
somehow, for I won't stand here waiting much longer."
Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous journey over the bridge.
Slowly and fearfully, and with as much care as possible, she set step by
step upon the slippery log. Already half of the danger was passed, when,
reaching forward to grasp Nancy's outstretched hand, she missed
it--_perhaps_ that was Nancy's fault--poor Ellen lost her balance, and
went in head foremost. The water was deep enough to cover her completely
as she lay, though not enough to prevent her getting up again. She was
greatly frightened, but managed to struggle up first to a sitting
posture, and then to her feet, and then to wade out to the shore;
though, dizzy and sick, she came nearly 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 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 right over to
Mrs. Van Brunt's--'tain't far--it's just over here. There," said she, as
they got to the top of the bank, and came within sight of a house
standing only a few fields off--"there it is! Run, Ellen, and we'll be
there directly."
"Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" Ellen contrived to say as Nancy hurried her
along.
"Who is she?--run, Ellen!--why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt--your Mr. Van
Brunt's mother, you know--make haste, Ellen--we had rain enough the
other day; I'm afraid it wouldn't be good for the grass if you stayed
too long in one place; hurry! I'm afraid you'll catch cold--you got your
feet wet after all, I'm sure."
Run they did; and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. Van Brunt's door.
The little brick walk leading to it from the courtyard gate was 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.
"Hillo! Mrs. Van Brunt," shouted Nancy; "where are you?--oh! Mrs. Van
Brunt, are you out of water? 'cos if you are I've brought you a plenty;
the person that has it don't want it; she's just at the door; she
wouldn't bring it in till she knew you wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt,
don't look so or you'll kill me with laughing. Come and see! come and
see!"
The steps within drew near the door, and first Nancy showed herself, and
then a little old woman, not very old either, of very kind, pleasant
countenance.
"What is all this?" said she in great surprise. "Bless me! poor little
dear! what is this?"
"Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't you see?"
said Nancy.
"Go home, Nancy Vawse! go home," said the old lady; "you're a regular
bad girl. I do believe this is some mischief o' yourn, go right off
home; it's time you were after your cow a great while ago."
As she spoke, she drew Ellen in, and shut the door.
"Poor little dear!" said the old lady kindly, "what has happened to you?
Come to the fire, love, you're trembling with the cold. Oh dear! dear!
you're soaking wet; this is all along of Nancy somehow, I know; how was
it, love? Ain't you Miss Fortune's little girl? Never mind, don't talk,
darling; there ain't one bit of colour 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 her herself into a little room
opening out of the kitchen, and laid her in a bed that had been warmed
for her. Excessively tired and weak as she was, Ellen scarcely needed
the help of the hot herb tea to fall into a very deep sleep; perhaps it
might not have lasted so very long as it did, but for that. Afternoon
changed for evening, evening grew quite dark, still Ellen did not stir;
and after every little journey into the bedroom to see how she was
doing, Mrs. Van Brunt came back saying how glad she was to see her
sleeping so finely. Other eyes looked on for a minute--kind and gentle
eyes; though Mrs. Van Brunt's were kind and gentle too; once a soft kiss
touched her forehead, there was no danger of waking her.
It was perfectly dark in the little bedroom, and had been so a good
while, when Ellen was aroused by some noise, and then a rough voice she
knew very well. Feeling faint and weak, and not more than half awake
yet, she lay still and listened. She heard the outer door open and shut,
and then the voice said--
"So, mother, you've got my stray sheep here, have you?"
"Ay, ay," said the voice of Mrs. Van Brunt. "Have you been looking for
her? How did you know she was here?"
"Looking for her! ay, looking for her ever since sundown. She has been
missing at the house since some time this forenoon. I believe her aunt
got a bit scared about her; anyhow I did. She's a queer little chip as
ever I see."
"She's a dear little soul, _I_ know," said his mother; "you needn't say
nothin' agin her, I ain't a-going to believe it."
"No more am I--I'm the best friend she's got, if she only knowed it; but
don't you think," said Mr. Van Brunt, laughing, "I asked her to give me
a kiss this forenoon, and if I'd been an owl she couldn't ha' been more
scared; she went off like a streak, and Miss Fortune said she was as mad
as she could be, and that's the last of her."
"How did you find her out?"
"I met that mischievous Vawse girl, and I made her tell me; she had no
mind to at first. It'll be the worse for Ellen if she takes to that
wicked thing."
"She won't. Nancy has been taking her for a walk, and worked it so as to
get her into the brook, and then she brought her here, just as dripping
wet as she could be. I gave her something hot and put her to bed, and
she'll do, I reckon; but I tell you it gave me queer feelings to see the
poor little thing just as white as ashes, and all of a tremble, and
looking so sorrowful too. She's sleeping finely now; but it ain't right
to see a child's face look so; it ain't right," repeated Mrs. Van Brunt
thoughtfully. "You ha'n't had supper, have you?"
"No, mother, and I must take that young one back. Ain't she awake yet?"
"I'll see directly; but she ain't going home, nor you neither, 'Brahm,
till you've got your supper; it would be a sin to let her. She shall
have a taste of my splitters this very night; I've been making them o'
purpose for her. So you may just take off your hat and sit down."
"You mean to let her know where to come when she wants good things,
mother. Well, I won't say splitters ain't worth waiting for."
Ellen heard him sit down, and then she guessed from the words that
passed that Mrs. Van Brunt and her little maid were busied in making the
cakes. She lay quiet.
"You're a good friend, 'Brahm," began the old lady again, "nobody knows
that better than me; but I hope that poor little thing has got another
one to-day that'll do more for her than you can."
"What, 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 grey 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
arms 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 sat
Mr. Van Brunt.
"So," said he, smiling, as Ellen came in and took her stand at the
opposite corner, "so I drove you away this morning? You ain't mad with
me yet, I hope."
Ellen crossed directly over to him, and putting her little hand in his
great rough one, said, "I am 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-humouredly, "I'll take twice as much any
day for what you wouldn't give me this forenoon. But never fear, Miss
Ellen, I ain't a-goin' to ask you that again."
He shook the little hand, and from that time Ellen and her rough
charioteer were firm friends.
Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table, and Ellen was well feasted
with the splitters, which were a kind of rich short-cake baked in irons,
very thin and crisp, and then split in two and buttered, whence their
name. A pleasant meal was that. Whatever an epicure might have thought
of the tea, to Ellen, in her famished state, it was delicious; and no
epicure could have found fault with the cold ham and the butter and the
cakes; but far better than all was the spirit of kindness that was
there. Ellen feasted on that more than 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 colour had
come back to the pale cheeks. The colour came back in good earnest a few
minutes after, when a great tortoise-shell cat walked into the room.
Ellen jumped down from her chair, and presently was bestowing the
tenderest caresses upon pussy, who stretched out her head and purred as
if she liked them very well.
"What a nice cat," said Ellen.
"She has five kittens," said Mrs. Van Brunt.
"Five kittens!" said Ellen. "Oh, may I come some time and see them?"
"You shall see 'em right away, dear, and come as often as you like too.
Sally, just take a basket, and go fetch them kittens here."
Upon this Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about its being time to go, if
they were going. But his mother insisted that Ellen should stay where
she was; she said she was not fit to go home that night, that she
oughtn't to walk a step, and that 'Brahm should go and tell Miss Fortune
the child was safe and well, and would be with her early in the morning.
Mr. Van Brunt shook his head two or three times, but finally agreed, to
Ellen's great joy. When he came back she was sitting on the floor before
the fire, with all the five kittens in her lap, and the old mother cat
walking around and over her and them. But she looked up with a happier
face than he had ever seen her wear, and told him she was "_so_ much
obliged to him for 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.