The very sooth of it is, that an ill-habit has the force of an
ill-fate.
--L'ESTRANGE.
"Ellen, dear," said Alice, as she poured out Ellen's second cup of tea,
"have we run through the list of your troubles?"
"Oh no, Miss Alice, indeed we haven't; but we have got through the
worst."
"Is the next one so bad it would spoil our supper?"
"No," said Ellen; "it couldn't do that, but it's bad enough though; it's
about my not going to school. Miss Alice, I promised myself I would
learn so much while mamma was away, and surprise her when she came back,
and instead of that, I am not learning anything. I don't mean not
learning _anything_," said Ellen, correcting herself; "but I can't do
much. When I found Aunt Fortune wasn't going to send me to school, I
determined I would try to study by myself; and I have tried, but I can't
get along."
"Well, now, don't lay down your knife and fork and look so doleful,"
said Alice, smiling, "this is a matter I can help you in. What are you
studying?"
"Some things I can manage well enough," said Ellen, "the easy things;
but I cannot understand my arithmetic without some one to explain it to
me; and French I can do nothing at all with, and that is what I wanted
to learn most of all; and often I want to ask questions about my
history."
"Suppose," said Alice, "you go on studying by yourself as much and as
well as you can, and bring your books up to me two or three times a
week; I will hear and explain and answer questions to your heart's
content, unless you should be too hard for me. What do you say to that?"
Ellen said nothing to it, but the colour that rushed to her cheeks, the
surprised look of delight, were answer enough.
"It will do, then," said Alice, "and I have no doubt we shall untie the
knot of those arithmetical problems very soon. But, Ellen, my dear, I
cannot help you in French, for I do not know it myself. What will you do
about that?"
"I don't know, ma'am; I am sorry."
"So am I, for your sake. I can help you in Latin, if that would be any
comfort to you."
"It wouldn't be much comfort to me," said Ellen, laughing; "mamma wanted
me to learn Latin, but I wanted to learn French a great deal more. I
don't care about Latin, except to please her."
"Permit me to ask if you know English?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, I hope so; I knew that a great while ago."
"Did you? I am very happy to make your acquaintance then, for the number
of young ladies who _do_ know English is, in my opinion, remarkably
small. Are you sure of the fact, Ellen?"
"Why yes, Miss Alice."
"Will you undertake to write me a note of two pages that shall not have
one fault of grammar, nor one word spelt wrong, nor anything in it that
is not good English? You may take for a subject the history of this
afternoon."
"Yes, ma'am, if you wish it. I hope I can write a note that long without
making mistakes."
Alice smiled.
"I will not stop to inquire," she said, "whether _that long_ is Latin or
French; but, Ellen, my dear, it is not English."
Ellen blushed a little, though she laughed too.
"I believe I have got into the way of saying that by hearing Aunt
Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt say it; I don't think I ever did before I came
here."
"What are you so anxious to learn French for?"
"Mamma knows it, and I have often heard her talk French with a great
many people; and papa and I always wanted to be able to talk it too; and
mamma wanted me to learn it; she said there were a great many French
books I ought to read."
"That last is true, no doubt. Ellen, I will make a bargain with you,--if
you will study English with me, I will study French with you."
"Dear Miss Alice," said Ellen, caressing her, "I'll do it without that;
I'll study anything you please."
"Dear Ellen, I believe you would. But I should like to know it for my
own sake; we'll study it together; we shall get along nicely, I have no
doubt; we can learn to read it, at least, and that is the main point."
"But how shall we know what to call the words?" said Ellen doubtfully.
"That is a grave question," said Alice, smiling. "I am afraid we should
hit upon a style of pronunciation that a Frenchman would make nothing
of. I have it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands--"where there's a will
there's a way--it always happens so. Ellen, I have an old friend upon
the mountain who will give us exactly what we want, unless I am greatly
mistaken. We'll go and see her; that is the very thing!--my old friend
Mrs. Vawse."
"Mrs. Vawse!" repeated Ellen; "not the grandmother of that Nancy Vawse?"
"The very same. Her name is not Vawse; the country people call it so,
and I being one of the country people have fallen into the way of it;
but her real name is Vosier. She was born a Swiss, and brought up in a
wealthy French family, as the personal attendant of a young lady to whom
she became exceedingly attached. This lady finally married an American
gentleman; and so great was Mrs. Vawse's love to her, that she left
country and family to follow her here. In a few years her mistress died;
she married; and since that time she has been tossed from trouble to
trouble; a perfect sea of troubles;--till now she is left like a wreck
upon this mountain top. A fine wreck she is! I go to see her very often,
and next time I will call for you, and we will propose our French plan;
nothing will please her better, I know. By the way, Ellen, are you as
well versed in the other common branches of education as you are in your
mother tongue?"
"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"
"Geography, for instance; do you know it well?"
"Yes, ma'am, I believe so; I am sure I have studied it till I am sick of
it."
"Can you give me the boundaries of Great Thibet or Peru?"
Ellen hesitated.
"I had rather not try," she said; "I am not sure. I can't remember those
queer countries in Asia and South America half so well as Europe and
North America."
"Do you know anything about the surface of the country in Italy or
France; the character and condition of the people; what kind of climate
they have, and what grows there most freely?"
"Why no, ma'am," said Ellen; "nobody ever taught me that."
"Would you like to go over the atlas again, talking about all these
matters, as well as the mere outlines of the countries you have studied
before?"
"Oh yes, dearly!" exclaimed Ellen.
"Well, I think we may let Margery have the tea-things. But here is
Captain's cake."
"Oh, may I give him his supper?" said Ellen.
"Certainly. You must carve it for him; you know I told you he is very
particular. Give him some of the egg, too--he likes that. Now, where is
the Captain?" Not far off; for scarcely had Alice opened the door and
called him once or twice, when with a queer little note of answer, he
came hurriedly trotting in.
"He generally has his supper in the outer kitchen," said Alice, "but I
grant him leave to have it here to-night as a particular honour to him
and you."
"How handsome he is! and how large!" said Ellen.
"Yes, he is very handsome, and more than that he is very sensible for a
cat. Do you see how prettily his paws are marked? Jack used to say he
had white gloves on."
"And white boots too," said Ellen. "No, only one leg is white; pussy's
boots aren't mates. Is he good-natured?"
"Very--if you don't meddle with him."
"I don't call that being good-natured," said Ellen, laughing.
"Nor I; but truth obliges me to say the Captain does not permit anybody
to take liberties with him. He is a character, Captain Parry. Come out
on the lawn, Ellen, and we will let Margery clear away."
"What a pleasant face Margery has," said Ellen, as the door closed
behind them; "and what a pleasant way she has of speaking. I like to
hear her--the words come out so clear, and I don't know how, but not
like other people."
"You have a quick ear, Ellen; you are very right. Margery had lived too
long in England before she came here to lose her trick of speech
afterwards. But Thomas speaks as thick as a Yankee, and always did."
"Then Margery is English?" said Ellen.
"To be sure. She came over with us twelve years ago for the pure love of
my father and mother, and I believe now she looks upon John and me as
her own children. I think she could scarcely love us more if we were so
in truth. Thomas--you haven't seen Thomas yet, have you?"
"No."
"He is an excellent good man in his way, and as faithful as the day is
long; but he isn't equal to his wife. Perhaps I am partial. Margery came
to America for the love of us, and Thomas came for the love of Margery;
there's a difference."
"But, Miss Alice!----"
"What, Miss Ellen?"
"You said Margery came over _with you_?"
"Yes, is that what makes you look so astonished?"
"But then you are English, too?"
"Well, what of that? You won't love me the less, will you?"
"Oh no," said Ellen; "my own mother came from Scotland, Aunt Fortune
says."
"I am English born, Ellen, but you may count me half American if you
like, for I have spent rather more than half my life here. Come this
way, Ellen, and I'll show you my garden. It is some distance off, but as
near as a spot could be found fit for it."
They quitted the house by a little steep path leading down the mountain,
which in two or three minutes brought them to a clear bit of ground. It
was not large, but lying very prettily among the trees, with an open
view to the east and south-east. On the extreme edge and at the lower
end of it was fixed a rude bench, well sheltered by the towering forest
trees. Here Alice and Ellen sat down.
It was near sunset, the air cool and sweet, the evening light upon field
and sky.
"How fair it is!" said Alice musingly. "How fair and lovely! Look at
those long shadows of the mountains, Ellen, and how bright the light is
on the far hills. It won't be so long. A little while more, and our
Indian summer will be over; and then the clouds, the frost, and the
wind, and the snow. Well, let them come."
"I wish they wouldn't, I am sure," said Ellen. "I am sorry enough they
are coming."
"Why? All seasons have their pleasures. I am not sorry at all. I like
the cold very much."
"I guess you wouldn't, Miss Alice, if you had to wash every morning
where I do."
"Why, where is that?"
"Down at the spout."
"At the _spout_! What is that, pray?"
"The spout of water, ma'am, just down a little way from the kitchen
door. The water comes in a little long, very long trough from a spring
at the back of the pig-field, and at the end of the trough, where it
pours out, is the spout."
"Have you no conveniences for washing in your room?"
"Not a sign of such a thing, ma'am. I have washed at the spout ever
since I have been here," said Ellen, laughing in spite of her vexation.
"And do the pigs share the water with you?"
"The pigs? Oh no, ma'am. The trough is raised up from the ground on
little heaps of stones. They can't get at the water, unless they drink
at the spring, and I don't think they do that, so many big stones stand
around it."
"Well, Ellen, I must say that it is rather uncomfortable, even without
any danger of four-footed society."
"It isn't so bad just now," said Ellen, "in this warm weather, but in
that cold time we had a week or two back, do you remember, Miss
Alice?--just before the Indian summer began?--oh, how disagreeable it
was! Early in the morning, you know, the sun scarcely up, and the cold
wind blowing my hair and my clothes all about, and then that board
before the spout, that I have to stand on, is always kept wet by the
spattering of the water, and it's muddy besides and very
slippery--there's a kind of green stuff comes upon it, and I can't stoop
down for fear of muddying myself. I have to tuck my clothes round me and
bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water to my face in
the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to do that a great many
times before I get enough. I can't help laughing," said Ellen, "but it
isn't a laughing matter for all that."
"So you wash your face in your hands, and have no pitcher but a long
wooden trough? Poor child! I am sorry for you. I think you must have
some other way of managing before the snow comes."
"The water is bitterly cold already," said Ellen. "It's the coldest
water I ever saw. Mamma gave me a nice dressing-box before I came away,
but I found very soon this was a queer place for a dressing-box to come
to. Why, Miss Alice, if I take out my brush or comb I haven't any table
to lay them on but one that's too high, and my poor dressing-box has to
stay on the floor. And I haven't a sign of a bureau; all my things are
tumbling about in my trunk."
"I think if I were in your place I would not permit _that_, at any
rate," said Alice. "If my things were confined to my trunk I would have
them keep good order there, at least."
"Well, so they do," said Ellen; "pretty good order. I didn't mean
'tumbling about' exactly."
"Always try to say what you mean _exactly_. But now, Ellen love, do you
know I must send you away? Do you see the sunlight has quitted those
distant hills? And it will be quite gone soon. You must hasten home."
Ellen made no answer. Alice had taken her on her lap again, and she was
nestling there with her friend's arms wrapped around her. Both were
quite still for a minute.
"Next week, if nothing happens, we will begin to be busy with our books.
You shall come to me on Tuesday and Friday; and all the other days you
must study as hard as you can at home, for I am very particular, I
forewarn you."
"But suppose Aunt Fortune should not let me come?" said Ellen, without
stirring.
"Oh, she will. You need not speak about it; I'll come down and ask her
myself, and nobody ever refuses me anything."
"I shouldn't think they would," said Ellen.
"Then don't you set the first example," said Alice laughingly. "I ask
you to be cheerful and happy, and grow wiser and better every day."
"Dear Miss Alice! How can I promise that?"
"Dear Ellen, it is very easy. There is One who has promised to hear and
answer you when you cry to Him; He will make you in His own likeness
again; and to know and love Him and not be happy is impossible. That
blessed Saviour!" said Alice; "oh, what should you and I do without Him,
Ellen? 'As rivers of waters in a dry place; as the shadow of a great
rock in a weary land.' How beautiful! how true! how often I think of
that."
Ellen was silent, though entering into the feeling of the words.
"Remember Him, dear Ellen; remember your best friend. Learn more of
Christ, our dear Saviour, and you can't help but be happy. Never fancy
you are helpless and friendless while you have Him to go to. Whenever
you feel wearied and sorry, flee to the shadow of that great rock; will
you? and do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am--yes, ma'am," said Ellen, as she lifted her lips to kiss her
friend. Alice heartily returned the kiss, and pressing Ellen in her
arms, said--
"Now, Ellen, dear, you _must_ go; I dare not keep you any longer. It
will be too late now, I fear, before you reach home."
Quick they mounted the little path again, and soon were at the house;
and Ellen was putting on her things.
"Next Tuesday, remember--but before that! Sunday--you are to spend
Sunday with me; come bright and early."
"How early?"
"Oh, as early as you please--before breakfast--and our Sunday morning
breakfasts aren't late, Ellen; we have to set off betimes to go to
church."
Kisses and good-byes; and then Ellen was running down the road at a
great rate, for twilight was beginning to gather, and she had a good way
to go.
She ran till out of breath; then walked a while to gather breath; then
ran again. Running down hill is a pretty quick way of travelling; so
before very long she saw her aunt's house at a distance. She walked now.
She had come all the way in good spirits, though with a sense upon her
mind of something disagreeable to come; when she saw the house this
disagreeable something swallowed up all her thoughts, and she walked
leisurely on, pondering what she had to do, and what she was like to
meet in the doing of it.
"If Aunt Fortune should be in a bad humour--and say something to vex
me--but I'll not be vexed. But it will be very hard to help it; but I
_will not_ be vexed; I have done wrong, and I'll tell her so, and ask
her to forgive me; it will be hard--but I'll do it--I'll say what I
ought to say, and then, however she takes it, I shall have the comfort
of knowing I have done right." "But," said conscience, "you must not say
it stiffly and proudly; you must say it humbly, and as if you really
felt and meant it." "I will," said Ellen.
She paused in the shed and looked through the window to see what was the
promise of things within. Not good; her aunt's step sounded heavy and
ominous; Ellen guessed she was not in a pleasant state of mind. She
opened the door--no doubt of it--the whole air of Miss Fortune's figure,
to the very handkerchief that was tied round her head, spoke
displeasure.
"She isn't in a good mood," said Ellen, as she went upstairs to leave
her bonnet and cape there; "I never knew her to be good-humoured when
she had that handkerchief on."
She returned to the kitchen immediately. Her aunt was busied in washing
and wiping the dishes.
"I have come home rather late," said Ellen pleasantly; "shall I help
you, Aunt Fortune?"
Her aunt cast a look at her.
"Yes, you may help me. Go and put on a pair of white gloves and a silk
apron, and then you'll be ready."
Ellen looked down at herself. "Oh, my merino! I forgot about that. I'll
go and change it."
Miss Fortune said nothing, and Ellen went.
When she came back the things were all wiped, and as she was about to
put some of them away, her aunt took them out of her hands, bidding her
"go and sit down!"
Ellen obeyed and was mute; while Miss Fortune dashed round with a
display of energy there seemed to be no particular call for, and
speedily had everything in its place and all straight and square about
the kitchen. When she was, as a last thing, brushing the crumbs, from
the floor into the fire, she broke the silence again. The old
grandmother sat in the chimney-corner, but she seldom was very talkative
in the presence of her stern daughter.
"What did you come home for to-night? Why didn't you stay at Mr.
Humphreys'?"
"Miss Alice didn't ask me."
"That means, I suppose, that you would if she had?"
"I don't know, ma'am; Miss Alice wouldn't have asked me to do anything
that wasn't right."
"Oh no! of course not;--Miss Alice is a piece of perfection; everybody
says so; and I suppose you'd sing the same song, who haven't seen her
three times."
"Indeed I would," said Ellen; "I could have told that in one seeing. I'd
do anything in the world for Miss Alice."
"Ay--I dare say, that's the way of it. You can show not one bit of
goodness or pleasantness to the person that does the most for you and
has all the care of you, but the first stranger that comes along you can
be all honey to them, and make yourself out too good for common folks,
and go and tell great tales how you are used at home, I suppose. I am
sick of it!" said Miss Fortune, setting up the andirons and throwing the
tongs and shovel into the corner, in a way that made the iron ring
again. "One might as good be a stepmother at once, and done with it!
Come, mother, it's time for you to go to bed."
The old lady rose with the meekness of habitual submission, and went
upstairs with her daughter. Ellen had time to bethink herself while they
were gone, and resolved to lose no time when her aunt came back in doing
what she had to do. She would fain have persuaded herself to put it off.
"It is late," she said to herself, "it isn't a good time. It will be
better to go to bed now, and ask Aunt Fortune's pardon to-morrow." But
conscience said, "_First_ be reconciled to thy brother."
Miss Fortune came down presently. But before Ellen could get any words
out, her aunt prevented her.
"Come, light your candle and be off; I want you out of the way; I can't
do anything with half-a-dozen people about."
Ellen rose. "I want to say something to you first, Aunt Fortune."
"Say it and be quick; I haven't time to stand talking."
"Aunt Fortune," said Ellen, stumbling over her words--"I want to tell
you that I know I was wrong this morning, and I am sorry, and I hope
you'll forgive me."
A kind of indignant laugh escaped from Miss Fortune's lips.
"It's easy talking; I'd rather have acting. I'd rather see people mend
their ways than stand and make speeches about them. Being sorry don't
help the matter much."
"But I'll try not to do so any more," said Ellen.
"When I see you don't I shall begin to think there is something in it.
Actions speak louder than words. I don't believe in this jumping into
goodness all at once."
"Well, I will try not to, at any rate," said Ellen, sighing.
"I shall be very glad to see it. What has brought you into this sudden
fit of dutifulness and fine talking?"
"Miss Alice told me I ought to ask your pardon for what I had done
wrong," said Ellen, scarce able to keep from crying; "and I know I did
wrong this morning, and I did wrong the other day about the letter; and
I am sorry, whether you believe it or no."
"Miss Alice told you, did she? So all this is to please Miss Alice. I
suppose you were afraid your friend Miss Alice would hear of some of
your goings on, and thought you had better make up with me. Is that it?"
Ellen answered, "No, ma'am," in a low tone, but had no voice to say
more.
"I wish Miss Alice would look after her own affairs, and let other
people's houses alone. That's always the way with your pieces of
perfection; they're eternally finding out something that isn't as it
ought to be among their neighbours. I think people that don't set up for
being quite such great things get along quite as well in the world."
Ellen was strongly tempted to reply, but kept her lips shut.
"I'll tell you what," said Miss Fortune, "if you want me to believe that
all this talk means something, I'll tell you what you shall do. You
shall just tell Mr. Van Brunt to-morrow about it all, and how ugly you
have been these two days, and let him know you were wrong and I was
right. I believe he thinks you cannot do anything wrong, and I should
like him to know it for once."
Ellen struggled hard with herself before she could speak; Miss Fortune's
lips began to wear a scornful smile.
"I'll tell him!" said Ellen at length; "I'll tell him I was wrong, if
you wish me to."
"I _do_ wish it. I like people's eyes to be opened. It'll do him good, I
guess, and you too. Now have you anything more to say?"
Ellen hesitated: the colour came and went; she knew it wasn't a good
time, but how could she wait?
"Aunt Fortune," she said, "you know I told you I behaved very ill about
that letter--won't you forgive me?"
"Forgive you, yes, child; I don't care anything about it."
"Then will you be so good as to let me have my letter again?" said Ellen
timidly.
"Oh, I can't be bothered to look for it now; I'll see about it some
other time; take your candle and go to bed now, if you've nothing more
to say."
Ellen took her candle and went. Some tears were wrung from her by hurt
feeling and disappointment; but she had the smile of conscience, and as
she believed, of Him whose witness conscience is. She remembered that
"great rock in a weary land," and she went to sleep in the shadow of it.
The next day was Saturday. Ellen was up early, and after carefully
performing her toilet duties, she had a nice long hour before it was
time to go downstairs. The use she made of this hour had fitted her to
do cheerfully and well her morning work; and Ellen would have sat down
to breakfast in excellent spirits if it had not been for her promised
disclosure to Mr. Van Brunt. It vexed her a little. "I told Aunt
Fortune--that was all right; but why I should be obliged to tell Mr. Van
Brunt I don't know. But if it convinces Aunt Fortune that I am in
earnest, and meant what I say, then I had better."
Mr. Van Brunt looked uncommonly grave, she thought; her aunt, uncommonly
satisfied. Ellen had more than half a guess at the reason of both; but
make up her mind to speak, she could not, during all breakfast time. She
ate without knowing what she was eating.
Mr. Van Brunt at length, having finished his meal without saying a
syllable, arose and was about to go forth, when Miss Fortune stopped
him. "Wait a minute, Mr. Van Brunt," she said, "Ellen has something to
say to you. Go ahead, Ellen."
Ellen _felt_, rather than saw, the smile with which these words were
spoken. She crimsoned and hesitated.
"Ellen and I had some trouble yesterday," said Miss Fortune, "and she
wants to tell you about it." Mr. Van Brunt stood gravely waiting.
Ellen raised her eyes, which were full, to his face. "Mr. Van Brunt,"
she said, "Aunt Fortune wants me to tell you what I told her last
night--that I knew I behaved as I ought not to her yesterday, and the
day before, and other times."
"And what made you do that?" said Mr. Van Brunt.
"Tell him," said Miss Fortune, colouring, "that you were in the wrong
and I was in the right--then he'll believe it, I suppose."
"I was wrong," said Ellen.
"And I was right," said Miss Fortune.
Ellen was silent. Mr. Van Brunt looked from one to the other.
"Speak," said Miss Fortune; "tell him the whole if you mean what you
say."
"I can't," said Ellen.
"Why, you said you were wrong," said Miss Fortune; "that's only half of
the business; if you were wrong I was right; why don't you say so, and
not make such a shilly-shally piece of work of it?"
"I said I was wrong," said Ellen, "and so I was; but I never said you
were right, Aunt Fortune; and I don't think so."
These words, though moderately spoken, were enough to put Miss Fortune
in a rage.
"What did I do that was wrong?" she said; "come, I should like to know.
What was it, Ellen? Out with it; say everything you can think of; stop
and hear it, Mr. Van Brunt; come, Ellen, let's hear the whole!"
"Thank you, ma'am, I've heerd quite enough," said that gentleman, as he
went out and closed the door.
"And I have said too much," said Ellen. "Pray forgive me, Aunt Fortune.
I shouldn't have said that if you hadn't pressed me so; I forgot myself
a moment. I am sorry I said that."
"Forgot yourself!" said Miss Fortune: "I wish you'd forget yourself out
of my house. Please to forget the place where I am for to-day, anyhow;
I've got enough of you for one while. You had better go to Miss Alice
and get a new lesson, and tell her you are coming on finely."
Gladly would Ellen indeed have gone to Miss Alice, but as the next day
was Sunday she thought it best to wait. She went sorrowfully to her own
room. "Why couldn't I be quiet?" said Ellen. "If I had only held my
tongue that unfortunate minute! What possessed me to say that?"
Strong passion--strong pride--both long unbroken; and Ellen had yet to
learn that many a prayer and many a tear, much watchfulness, much help
from on high, must be hers before she could be thoroughly dispossessed
of these evil spirits. But she knew her sickness; she had applied to the
Physician; she was in a fair way to be well.
One thought in her solitary room that day drew streams of tears down
Ellen's cheeks. "My letter--my letter! what shall I do to get you!" she
said to herself. "It serves me right; I oughtn't to have got in a
passion; oh, I have got a lesson this time."