November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough;
The shortening winter day is near a close.
--BURNS.
The clouds hung thick and low; the wind was less than it had been. They
took the path Mrs. Vawse had spoken of; it was broader and easier than
the other, winding more gently down the mountain; it was sometimes,
indeed, travelled by horses, though far too steep for any kind of
carriage. Alice and Ellen ran along without giving much heed to anything
but their footing, down, down, running and bounding, hand in hand, till
want of breath obliged them to slacken their pace.
"Do you think it will snow?--soon?" asked Ellen.
"I think it will snow, how soon I cannot tell. Have you had a pleasant
afternoon?"
"Oh, very."
"I always have when I go there. Now, Ellen, there is an example of
contentment for you. If ever a woman loved husband and children and
friends Mrs. Vawse loved hers; I know this from those who knew her long
ago; and now look at her. Of them all she has none left but the orphan
daughter of her youngest son, and you know a little what sort of a child
that is."
"She must be a very bad girl," said Ellen; "you can't think what stories
she told me about her grandmother."
"Poor Nancy," said Alice. "Mrs. Vawse has no money nor property of any
kind, except what is in her house; but there is not a more independent
woman breathing. She does all sorts of things to support herself. Now,
for instance, Ellen, if anybody is sick within ten miles round, the
family are too happy to get Mrs. Vawse for a nurse. She is an admirable
one. Then she goes out tailoring at the farmers' houses; she brings home
wool and returns it spun into yarn; she brings home yarn and knits it up
into stockings and socks; all sorts of odd jobs. I have seen her picking
hops; she isn't above doing anything, and yet she never forgets her own
dignity. I think wherever she goes and whatever she is about she is at
all times one of the most truly ladylike persons I have ever seen. And
everybody respects her; everybody likes to gain her goodwill; she is
known all over the country; and all the country are her friends."
"They pay her for doing these things, don't they?"
"Certainly; not often in money; more commonly in various kinds of
matters that she wants--flour, and sugar, and Indian meal, and pork, and
ham, and vegetables, and wool--anything; it is but a little of each that
she wants. She has friends that would not permit her to earn another
sixpence if they could help it, but she likes better to live as she
does. And she is always as you saw her to-day--cheerful and happy as a
little girl."
Ellen was turning over Alice's last words and thinking that little girls
were not _always_ the cheerfullest and happiest creatures in the world,
when Alice suddenly exclaimed, "It is snowing! Come, Ellen, we must make
haste now!" and set off at a quickened pace. Quick as they might, they
had gone not a hundred yards when the whole air was filled with the
falling flakes, and the wind which had lulled for a little now rose with
greater violence and swept round the mountain furiously. The storm had
come in good earnest, and promised to be no trifling one. Alice and
Ellen ran on, holding each other's hands and strengthening themselves
against the blast, but their journey became every moment more difficult.
The air was dark with the thick-falling snow; the wind seemed to blow in
every direction by turns, but chiefly against them, blinding their eyes
with the snow, and making it necessary to use no small effort to keep on
their way. Ellen hardly knew where she went, but allowed herself to be
pulled along by Alice, or as well pulled _her_ along; it was hard to say
which hurried most. In the midst of this dashing on down the hill Alice
all at once came to a sudden stop.
"Where's the Captain?" said she.
"I don't know," said Ellen. "I haven't thought of him since we left Mrs.
Vawse's."
Alice turned her back to the wind and looked up the road they had
come--there was nothing but wind and snow there; how furiously it blew!
Alice called, "Pussy!"
"Shall we walk up the road a little way, or shall we stand and wait for
him here?" said Ellen, trembling half from exertion and half from a
vague fear of she knew not what.
Alice called again;--no answer, but a wild gust of wind and snow that
drove past.
"I can't go on and leave him," said Alice; "he might perish in the
storm." And she began to walk slowly back, calling at intervals,
"Pussy!--kitty!--pussy!"--and listening for an answer that came not.
Ellen was very unwilling to tarry, and nowise inclined to prolong their
journey by going backwards. She thought the storm grew darker and wilder
every moment.
"Perhaps Captain stayed up at Mrs. Vawse's," she said, "and, didn't
follow us down."
"No," said Alice, "I am sure he did. Hark!--wasn't that he?"
"I don't hear anything," said Ellen, after a pause of anxious listening.
Alice went a few steps further.
"I hear him!" she said; "I hear him! poor kitty!"--and she set off at a
quick pace up the hill. Ellen followed, but presently a burst of wind
and snow brought them both to a stand. Alice faltered a little at this,
in doubt whether to go up or down. But then to their great joy Captain's
far-off cry was heard, and both Alice and Ellen strained their voices to
cheer and direct him. In a few minutes he came in sight, trotting
hurriedly along through the snow, and on reaching his mistress he sat
down immediately on the ground without offering any caress; a sure sign
that he was tired. Alice stooped down and took him up in her arms.
"Poor Kitty!" she said, "you've done your part for to-day, I think; I'll
do the rest. Ellen, dear, it's of no use to tire ourselves out at once;
we will go moderately. Keep hold of my cloak, my child; it takes both of
my arms to hold this big cat. Now, never mind the snow; we can bear
being blown about a little. Are you very tired?"
"No," said Ellen, "not very; I am a little tired; but I don't care for
that if we can only get home safe."
"There's no difficulty about that, I hope. Nay, there may be some
_difficulty_, but we shall get there I think in good safety after a
while. I wish we were there now, for your sake, my child."
"Oh, never mind me," said Ellen gratefully; "I am sorry for _you_, Miss
Alice; you have the hardest time of it with that heavy load to carry; I
wish I could help you."
"Thank you, my dear, but nobody could do that; I doubt if Captain would
lie in any arms but mine."
"Let me carry the basket, then," said Ellen; "do, Miss Alice."
"No, my dear, it hangs very well on my arm. Take it gently; Mrs. Van
Brunt's isn't very far off; we shall feel the wind less when we turn."
But the road seemed long. The storm did not increase in violence, truly
there was no need of that, but the looked-for turning was not soon
found, and the gathering darkness warned them day was drawing towards a
close. As they neared the bottom of the hill Alice made a pause.
"There's a path that turns off from this and makes a shorter cut to Mrs.
Van Brunt's, but it must be above here; I must have missed it, though I
have been on the watch constantly."
She looked up and down. It would have been a sharp eye indeed that had
detected any slight opening in the woods on either side of the path,
which the driving snowstorm blended into one continuous wall of trees.
They could be seen stretching darkly before and behind them; but more
than that--where they stood near together and where scattered apart--was
all confusion, through that fast-falling shower of flakes.
"Shall we go back and look for the path?" said Ellen.
"I am afraid we shouldn't find it if we did," said Alice; "we should
only lose our time, and we have none to lose. I think we had better go
straight forward."
"Is it much further this way than the other path we have missed?"
"A good deal--all of half a mile. I am sorry; but courage, my child! we
shall know better than to go out in snowy weather next time--on long
expeditions at least."
They had to shout to make each other hear, so drove the snow and wind
through the trees and into their very faces and ears. They plodded on.
It was plodding; the snow lay thick enough now to make their footing
uneasy, and grew deeper every moment; their shoes were full; their feet
and ankles were wet, and their steps began to drag heavily over the
ground. Ellen clung as close to Alice's cloak as their hurried
travelling would permit; sometimes one of Alice's hands was loosened for
a moment to be passed round Ellen's shoulders, and a word of courage or
comfort in the clear calm tone cheered her to renewed exertion. The
night fell fast; it was very darkling by the time they reached the
bottom of the hill, and the road did not yet allow them to turn their
faces towards Mrs. Van Brunt's. A wearisome piece of the way this was,
leading them _from_ the place they wished to reach. They could not go
fast either; they were too weary, and the walking too heavy. Captain had
the best of it; snug and quiet he lay wrapped in Alice's cloak and fast
asleep, little wotting how tired his mistress's arms were.
The path at length brought them to the long-desired turning; but it was
by this time so dark that the fences on each side of the road showed but
dimly. They had not spoken for a while; as they turned the corner a sigh
of mingled weariness and satisfaction escaped from Ellen's lips. It
reached Alice's ear.
"What's the matter, love?" said the sweet voice. No trace of weariness
was allowed to come into it.
"I am so glad we have got here at last," said Ellen, looking up with
another sigh, and removing her hand for an instant from its grasp on the
cloak to Alice's arm.
"My poor child! I wish I could carry you too. Can you hold on a little
longer?"
"Oh yes, dear Miss Alice, I can hold on."
But Ellen's voice was not so well guarded. It was like her steps, a
little unsteady. She presently spoke again.
"Miss Alice--are you afraid?"
"I am afraid of your getting sick, my child, and a little afraid of it
for myself;--of nothing else. What is there to be afraid of?"
"It is very dark," said Ellen; "and the storm is so thick--do you think
you can find the way?"
"I know it perfectly; it is nothing but to keep straight on; and the
fences would prevent us from getting out of the road. It is hard
walking, I know, but we shall get there by-and-by; bear up as well as
you can, dear. I am sorry I can give you no help but words. Don't you
think a nice bright fire will look comfortable after all this?"
"Oh dear, yes!" answered Ellen rather sadly.
"Are _you_ afraid, Ellen?"
"No, Miss Alice--not much--I don't like it's being so dark, I can't see
where I am going."
"The darkness makes our way longer and more tedious; it will do us no
other harm, love. I wish I had a hand to give you, but this great cat
must have both of mine. The darkness and the light are both alike to our
Father; we are in His hands; we are safe enough, dear Ellen."
Ellen's hand left the cloak again for an instant to press Alice's arm in
answer; her voice failed at the minute. Then clinging anew as close to
her side as she could get, they toiled patiently on. The wind had
somewhat lessened of its violence, and besides it blew not now in their
faces, but against their backs, helping them on. Still the snow
continued to fall very fast, and already lay thick upon the ground;
every half-hour increased the heaviness and painfulness of their march;
and darkness gathered till the very fences could no longer be seen. It
was pitch dark; to hold the middle of the road was impossible; their
only way was to keep along by one of the fences; and for fear of hurting
themselves against some outstanding post or stone it was necessary to
travel quite gently. They were indeed in no condition to travel
otherwise if light had not been wanting. Slowly and patiently, with
painful care groping their way, they pushed on through the snow and the
thick night. Alice could _feel_ the earnestness of Ellen's grasp upon
her clothes; and her close pressing up to her made their progress still
slower and more difficult than it would otherwise have been.
"Miss Alice," said Ellen.
"What, my child?"
"I wish you would speak to me once in a while."
Alice freed one of her hands and took hold of Ellen's.
"I have been so busy picking my way along, I have neglected you, haven't
I?"
"Oh no, ma'am. But I like to hear the sound of your voice sometimes, it
makes me feel better."
"This is an odd kind of travelling, isn't it?" said Alice cheerfully;
"in the dark, and feeling our way along? This will be quite an adventure
to talk about, won't it?"
"Quite," said Ellen.
"It is easier going this way, don't you find it so? The wind helps us
forward."
"It helps me too much," said Ellen; "I wish it wouldn't be quite so very
kind. Why, Miss Alice, I have enough to do to hold myself together
sometimes. It almost makes me run, though I am so very tired."
"Well, it is better than having it in our faces, at any rate. Tired you
are, I know, and must be. We shall want to rest all day to-morrow,
shan't we?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Ellen, sighing; "I shall be glad when we begin.
How long do you think it will be, Miss Alice, before we get to Mrs. Van
Brunt's?"
"My dear child, I cannot tell you. I have not the least notion
whereabouts we are. I can see no waymarks, and I cannot judge at all of
the rate at which we have come."
"But what if we should have passed it in this darkness?" said Ellen.
"No, I don't think that," said Alice, though a cold doubt struck her
mind at Ellen's words; "I think we shall see the glimmer of Mrs. Van
Brunt's family candle by-and-by."
But more uneasily and more keenly now she strove to see that glimmer
through the darkness; strove till the darkness seemed to press painfully
upon her eyeballs, and she almost doubted her being able to see any
light, if light there were; it was all blank, thick darkness still. She
began to question anxiously with herself which side of the house was
Mrs. Van Brunt's ordinary sitting-room--whether she should see the light
from it before or after passing the house; and now her glance was
directed often behind her, that they might be sure in any case of not
missing their desired haven. In vain she looked forward or back; it was
all one; no cheering glimmer of lamp or candle greeted her straining
eyes. Hurriedly now from time to time the comforting words were spoken
to Ellen, for to pursue the long stretch of way that led onward from
Mr. Van Brunt's to Miss Fortune's would be a very serious matter; Alice
wanted comfort herself.
"Shall we get there soon, do you think, Miss Alice?" said poor Ellen,
whose wearied feet carried her painfully over the deepening snow. The
tone of voice went to Alice's heart.
"I don't know, my darling; I hope so," she answered; but it was spoken
rather patiently than cheerfully. "Fear nothing, dear Ellen; remember
Who has the care of us; darkness and light are both alike to Him!
nothing will do us any real harm."
"How tired you must be, dear Miss Alice, carrying pussy!" Ellen said
with a sigh.
For the first time Alice echoed the sigh; but almost immediately Ellen
exclaimed in a totally different tone, "There's a light! but it isn't a
candle, it is moving about. What is it? What is it, Miss Alice?"
They stopped and looked. A light there certainly was, dimly seen, moving
at some little distance from the fence on the opposite side of the road.
All of a sudden it disappeared.
"What is it?" whispered Ellen fearfully.
"I don't know, my love, yet; wait----"
They waited several minutes.
"What could it be?" said Ellen. "It was certainly a light; I saw it as
plainly as ever I saw anything. What can it have done with itself? There
it is again! going the other way!"
Alice waited no longer, but screamed out, "Who's there?"
But the light paid no attention to her cry; it travelled on.
"Halloo!" called Alice again, as loud as she could.
"Halloo!" answered a rough, deep voice. The light suddenly stopped.
"That's he! that's he!" exclaimed Ellen, in an ecstasy, and almost
dancing. "I know it; it's Mr. Van Brunt! it's Mr. Van Brunt! Oh, Miss
Alice----!"
Struggling between crying and laughing, Ellen could not stand it, but
gave way to a good fit of crying. Alice felt the infection, but
controlled herself, though her eyes watered as her heart sent up its
grateful tribute; as well as she could, she answered the halloo.
The light was seen advancing towards them. Presently it glimmered
faintly behind the fence, showing a bit of the dark rails covered with
snow, and they could dimly see the figure of a man getting over them. He
crossed the road to where they stood. It was Mr. Van Brunt.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Van Brunt," said Alice's sweet voice,
but it trembled a little.
That gentleman, at first dumb with astonishment, lifted his lantern to
survey them, and assure his eyes that his ears had not been mistaken.
"Miss Alice!--My goodness alive!--How in the name of wonder!--And my
poor little lamb!--But what on 'arth, ma'am! you must be half dead. Come
this way; just come back a little bit. Why, where were you going,
ma'am?"
"To your house, Mr. Van Brunt; I have been looking for it with no little
anxiety, I assure you."
"Looking for it! Why, how on 'arth! you wouldn't see the biggest house
ever was built half a yard off such a plaguy night as this."
"I thought I should see the light from the windows, Mr. Van Brunt."
"The light from the windows! Bless my soul! the storm rattled so again
the windows that mother made me pull the great shutters to. I won't have
'em shut again of a stormy night, that's a fact; you'd ha' gone far
enough afore you'd ha' seen the light through them shutters."
"Then we had passed the house already, hadn't we?"
"Indeed had you, ma'am. I guess you saw my light, ha'n't you?"
"Yes, and glad enough we were to see it, too."
"I suppose so. It happened so to-night--now that is a queer thing--I
minded that I hadn't untied my horse. He's a trick of being untied at
night, and won't sleep well if he ain't; and mother wanted me to let him
alone 'cause of the awful storm, but I couldn't go to my bed in peace
till I had seen him to his'n. So that's how my lantern came to be going
to the barn in such an awk'ard night as this."
They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van Brunt with some difficulty
pulled it open. The snow lay thick upon the neat brick walk which Ellen
had trod the first time with wet feet and dripping garments. A few steps
farther and they came to the same door that had opened then so
hospitably to receive her. As the faint light of the lantern was thrown
upon the old latch and door-posts, Ellen felt at home, and a sense of
comfort sank down into her heart which she had not known for some time.