True is, that whilome that good poet said,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed
As by his manners, in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne.
--FAERIE QUEENE.
Mr. Van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and weary travellers
stepped after him into the same cheerful, comfortable-looking kitchen
that had received Ellen once before. Just the same--tidy, clean-swept
up, a good fire, and the same old red-backed chairs standing round on
the hearth in most cosy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse
of comfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were no other
faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt put Alice in
one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother! here!" muttering that
she had taken herself off with the light somewhere. Not very far; for in
half a minute, answering the call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came
hurriedly in.
"What's the matter, 'Brahm? who's this? why, 'taint Miss Alice! My
gracious me! and all wet! oh dear, dear! poor lamb! Why, Miss Alice,
dear, where have you been?--and if that ain't my little Ellen! oh dear!
what a fix you are in;--well, darling, I'm glad to see you again, a'most
any way."
She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this; but surprise was not
more quickly alive than kindness and hospitality. She fell to work
immediately to remove Alice's wet things, and to do whatever their joint
prudence and experience might suggest to ward off any ill effects from
the fatigue and exposure the wanderers had suffered; and while she was
thus employed, Mr. Van Brunt busied himself with Ellen, who was really
in no condition to help herself. It was curious to see him carefully
taking off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one), and knocking it gently
to get rid of the snow; evidently thinking that ladies' things must have
delicate handling. He tried the cloak next, but boggled sadly at the
fastening of that, and at last was fain to call in help.
"Here, Nancy! where are you? step here and see if you can undo this here
thing, whatever you call it; I believe my fingers are too big for it."
It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came forward in obedience to
this call. Ellen had not seen before that she was in the room. Nancy
grinned a mischievous smile of recognition as she stooped to Ellen's
throat, and undid the fastening of the cloak, and then shortly enough
bade her "get up, that she might take it off." Ellen obeyed, but was
very glad to sit down again. While Nancy went to the door to shake the
cloak, Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet gloves, and on
Nancy's return, he directed her to take off the shoes, which were filled
with snow. Nancy sat down on the floor before Ellen to obey this order;
and, tired and exhausted as she was, Ellen felt the different manner in
which her hands and feet were waited upon.
"How did you get into this scrape?" said Nancy; "_this_ was none of my
doings, anyhow. It'll never be dry weather, Ellen, where you are. I
won't put on my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes when I go a-walking with
you. You had ought to ha' been a duck or a goose, or something like
that. What's that for, Mr. Van Brunt?"
This last query, pretty sharply spoken, was in answer to a light touch
of that gentleman's hand upon Miss Nancy's ear, which came rather as a
surprise. He deigned no reply.
"You're a fine gentleman!" said Nancy tartly.
"Have you done what I gave you to do?" said Mr. Van Brunt coolly.
"Yes--there!" said Nancy, holding up Ellen's bare feet on one hand,
while the fingers of the other, secretly applied in ticklish fashion to
the soles of them, caused Ellen suddenly to start and scream.
"Get up!" said Mr. Van Brunt; Nancy didn't think best to disobey.
"Mother, ha'n't you got nothing you want Nancy to do?"
"Sally," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "you and Nancy go and fetch here a couple
of pails of hot water, right away."
"Go, and mind what you are about," said Mr. Van Brunt, "and after that
keep out of this room, and don't whisper again till I give you leave.
Now, Miss Ellen, dear, how do you feel?"
Ellen said in words that she felt "nicely." But the eyes and the smile
said a great deal more; Ellen's heart was running over.
"Oh, she'll feel nicely, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Van Brunt; "wait till
she gets her feet soaked, and then----!"
"I do feel nicely now," said Ellen. And Alice smiled in answer to their
inquiries, and said if she only knew her father was easy there would be
nothing wanting to her happiness.
The bathing of their feet was a great refreshment, and their kind
hostess had got ready a plentiful supply of hot herb tea, with which
both Alice and Ellen were well dosed. While they sat sipping this,
toasting their feet before the fire, Mrs. Van Brunt and the girls
meanwhile preparing their room, Mr. Van Brunt suddenly entered. He was
cloaked and hatted, and had a riding whip in his hand.
"Is there any word you'd like to get home, Miss Alice? I'm going to ride
a good piece that way, and I can stop as good as not."
"To-night, Mr. Van Brunt!" exclaimed Alice in astonishment.
Mr. Van Brunt's silence seemed to say that to-night was the time and no
other.
"But the storm is too bad," urged Alice. "Pray don't go till to-morrow."
"Pray don't, Mr. Van Brunt!" said Ellen.
"Can't help it--I've got business; must go. What shall I say, ma'am?"
"I should be _very_ glad," said Alice, "to have my father know where I
am. Are you going very near the Nose?"
"Very near."
"Then I shall be greatly obliged if you will be so kind as to stop and
relieve my father's anxiety. But how can you go in such weather? and so
dark as it is."
"Never fear," said Mr. Van Brunt. "We'll be back in half-an-hour, if
'Brahm and me don't come across a snow-drift a _leetle_ too deep.
Good-night, ma'am." And out he went.
"'Back in half-an-hour,'" said Alice, musing. "Why, he said he had been
to untie his horse for the night! He must be going on our account, I am
sure, Ellen!"
"On _your_ account," said Ellen, smiling. "Oh, I knew that all the time,
Miss Alice. I don't think he'll stop to relieve Aunt Fortune's anxiety."
Alice sprang to call him back, but Mrs. Van Brunt assured her it was too
late, and that she need not be uneasy, for her son "didn't mind the
storm no more than a weather-board." 'Brahm and 'Brahm could go anywhere
in any sort of a time. "He was agoing without speaking to you, but I
told him he had better, for maybe you wanted to send some word
particular. And your room's ready now, dear, and you'd better go to bed
and sleep as long as you can."
They went thankfully. "Isn't this a pleasant room?" said Ellen, who saw
everything in rose-colour; "and a nice bed. But I feel as if I could
sleep on the floor to-night. Isn't it a'most worth while to have such a
time, Miss Alice, for the sake of the pleasure afterwards?"
"I don't know, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "I won't say that; though it
is worth paying a price for to find how much kindness there is in some
people's hearts. As to sleeping on the floor, I must say I never felt
less inclined to it."
"Well, I am tired enough too," said Ellen, as they laid themselves down.
"Two nights with you in a week! Oh those weeks before I saw you, Miss
Alice!"
One earnest kiss for good night; and Ellen's sigh of pleasure on
touching the pillow was scarcely breathed when sleep deep and sound fell
upon her eyelids.
It was very late next morning when they awoke, having slept rather
heavily than well. They crawled out of bed feeling stiff and sore in
every limb; each confessing to more evil effects from their adventure
than she had been aware of the evening before. All the rubbing and
bathing and drinking that Mrs. Van Brunt had administered had been too
little to undo what wet and cold and fatigue had done. But Mrs. Van
Brunt had set her breakfast-table with everything her house could
furnish that was nice; a bountifully-spread board it was. Mr. Humphreys
was there too; and no bad feelings of two of the party could prevent
that from being a most cheerful and pleasant meal. Even Mr Humphreys and
Mr. Van Brunt, two persons not usually given to many words, came out
wonderfully on this occasion; gratitude and pleasure in the one, and
generous feeling on the part of the other, untied their tongues; and
Ellen looked from one to the other in some amazement to see how
agreeable they could be. Kindness and hospitality always kept Mrs. Van
Brunt in full flow; and Alice, whatever she felt, exerted herself, and
supplied what was wanting everywhere; like the transparent glazing which
painters use to spread over the dead colour of their pictures; unknown,
it was she gave her life and harmony to the whole. And Ellen in her
enjoyment of everything and everybody, forgot or despised aches and
pains, and even whispered to Alice that coffee was making her well
again.
But happily breakfasts must come to an end, and so did this, prolonged
though it was. Immediately after, the party, whom circumstances had
gathered for the first and probably the last time, scattered again; but
the meeting had left pleasant effects on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt was
in general delight that she had entertained so many people she thought a
great deal of, and particularly glad of the chance of showing her kind
feelings towards two of the number. Mr. Humphreys remarked upon "that
very sensible, good-hearted man, Mr. Van Brunt, towards whom he felt
himself under great obligation." Mr. Van Brunt said, "the minister
warn't such a grum man as people called him;" and moreover said, "it was
a good thing to have an education, and he had a notion to read more." As
for Alice and Ellen, they went away full of kind feeling for every one,
and much love to each other. This was true of them before; but their
late troubles had drawn them closer together and given them fresh
occasion to value their friends.
Mr. Humphreys had brought the little one-horse sleigh for his daughter,
and soon after breakfast Ellen saw it drive off with her. Mr. Van Brunt
then harnessed his own and carried Ellen home. Ill though she felt, the
poor child made an effort and spent part of the morning in finishing the
long letter to her mother which had been on the stocks since Monday. The
effort became painful towards the last; and the aching limbs and
trembling hand of which she complained were the first beginnings of a
serious fit of illness. She went to bed that same afternoon, and did not
leave it again for two weeks. Cold had taken violent hold of her system;
fever set in and ran high; and half the time little Ellen's wits were
roving in delirium. Nothing however could be too much for Miss Fortune's
energies; she was as much at home in a sick room as in a well one. She
flew about with increased agility; was upstairs and downstairs twenty
times in the course of the day, and kept all straight everywhere.
Ellen's room was always the picture of neatness; the fire, the
wood-fire, was taken care of; Miss Fortune seemed to know by instinct
when it wanted a fresh supply, and to be on the spot by magic to give
it. Ellen's medicines were dealt out in proper time; her gruels and
drinks perfectly well made and arranged with appetising nicety on a
little table by the bedside where she could reach them herself; and Miss
Fortune was generally at hand when she was wanted. But in spite of all
this there was something missing in that sick room--there was a great
want; and whenever the delirium was upon her Ellen made no secret of it.
She was never violent; but she moaned, sometimes impatiently and
sometimes plaintively, for her mother. It was a vexation to Miss Fortune
to hear her. The name of her mother was all the time on her lips; if by
chance her aunt's name came in, it was spoken in a way that generally
sent her bouncing out of the room.
"Mamma," poor Ellen would say, "just lay your hand on my forehead, will
you? it's so hot. Oh do, mamma!--where are you? Do put your hand on my
forehead, won't you? Oh, do speak to me, why don't you, mamma? Oh, why
don't she come to me?"
Once when Ellen was uneasily calling in this fashion for her mother's
hand, Miss Fortune softly laid her own upon the child's brow; but the
quick sudden jerk of the head from under it told her how well Ellen knew
the one from the other; and little as she cared for Ellen it was
wormwood to her.
Miss Fortune was not without offers of help during this sick time. Mrs.
Van Brunt, and afterwards Mrs. Vawse, asked leave to come and nurse
Ellen; but Miss Fortune declared it was more plague than profit to her,
and she couldn't be bothered with having strangers about. Mrs. Van Brunt
she suffered much against her will to come for a day or two; at the end
of that Miss Fortune found means to get rid of her civilly. Mrs. Vawse
she would not allow to stay an hour. The old lady got leave however to
go up to the sick-room for a few minutes. Ellen, who was then in a high
fever, informed her that her mother was downstairs, and her Aunt Fortune
would not let her come up; she pleaded with tears that she might come,
and entreated Mrs. Vawse to take her aunt away and send her mother. Mrs.
Vawse tried to soothe her. Miss Fortune grew impatient.
"What on earth's the use," said she, "of talking to a child that's out
of her head? She can't hear reason; that's the way she gets into
whenever the fever's on her. I have the pleasure of hearing that sort of
thing all the time. Come away, Mrs. Vawse, and leave her; she can't be
better any way than alone, and I am in the room every other thing; she's
just as well quiet. Nobody knows," said Miss Fortune, on her way
downstairs, "nobody knows the blessing of taking care of other people's
children that ha'n't tried it. _I've_ tried it, to my heart's content."
Mrs. Vawse sighed, but departed in silence.
It was not when the fever was on her and delirium high that Ellen most
felt the want she then so pitifully made known. There were other times,
when her head was aching, and weary and weak she lay still there, oh,
how she longed then for the dear wonted face; the old quiet smile that
carried so much of comfort and assurance with it; the voice that was
like heaven's music; the touch of that loved hand to which she had clung
for so many years! She could scarcely bear to think of it sometimes. In
the still wakeful hours of night, when the only sound to be heard was
the heavy breathing of her aunt asleep on the floor by her side, and in
the long solitary day, when the only variety to be looked for was Miss
Fortune's flitting in and out, and there came to be a sameness about
that, Ellen mourned her loss bitterly. Many and many were the silent
tears that rolled down and wet her pillow; many a long-drawn sigh came
from the very bottom of Ellen's heart; she was too weak and subdued now
for violent weeping. She wondered sadly why Alice did not come to see
her; it was another great grief added to the former. She never chose,
however, to mention her name to her aunt. She kept her wonder and her
sorrow to herself--all the harder to bear for that. After two weeks
Ellen began to mend, and then she became exceeding weary of being alone
and shut up to her room. It was a pleasure to have her Bible and
hymn-book lying upon the bed, and a great comfort when she was able to
look at a few words; but that was not very often, and she longed to see
somebody and hear something besides her aunt's dry questions and
answers.
One afternoon Ellen was sitting, alone as usual, bolstered up in bed.
Her little hymn-book was clasped in her hand; though not equal to
reading, she felt the touch of it a solace. Half dozing, half waking,
she had been perfectly quiet for some time, when the sudden and not very
gentle opening of the room door caused her to start and open her eyes.
They opened wider than usual, for instead of her Aunt Fortune it was the
figure of Miss Nancy Vawse that presented itself. She came in briskly,
and shutting the door behind her advanced to the bedside.
"Well," said she, "there you are! Why, you look smart enough. I've come
to see you."
"Have you?" said Ellen uneasily.
"Miss Fortune's gone out, and she told me to come and take care of you;
so I'm going to spend the afternoon."
"Are you?" said Ellen again.
"Yes--ain't you glad? I knew you must be lonely, so I thought I'd come."
There was a mischievous twinkle in Nancy's eyes. Ellen for once in her
life wished for her aunt's presence.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," said Ellen.
"Nothing indeed? It's a fine thing to lie there and do nothing. You
won't get well in a hurry, I guess, will you? You look as well as I do
this minute. Oh, I always knew you was a sham."
"You are very much mistaken," said Ellen indignantly; "I have been very
sick, and I am not at all well yet."
"Fiddle-dee-dee! it's very nice to think so; I guess you're lazy. How
soft and good those pillows do look, to be sure. Come, Ellen, try
getting up a little. _I_ believe you hurt yourself with sleeping. It'll
do you good to be out of bed awhile; come, get up."
She pulled Ellen's arm as she spoke.
"Stop, Nancy, let me alone!" cried Ellen, struggling with all her force;
"I mustn't--I can't! I mustn't get up; what do you mean? I'm not able to
sit up at all; let me go!"
She succeeded in freeing herself from Nancy's grasp.
"Well, you're an obstinate piece," said the other; "have your own way.
But mind, I'm left in charge of you; is it time for you to take your
physic?"
"I am not taking any," said Ellen.
"What are you taking?"
"Nothing but gruel and little things."
"'Gruel and little things;' little things means something good, I
s'pose. Well, is it time for you to take some gruel or one of the little
things?"
"No, I don't want any."
"Oh, that's nothing; people never know what's good for them; I'm your
nurse now, and I'm going to give it to you when I think you want it. Let
me feel your pulse--yes, your pulse says gruel is wanting. I shall put
some down to warm right away."
"I shan't take it," said Ellen.
"That's a likely story! You'd better not say so. I rather s'pose you
will if I give it to you. Look here, Ellen, you'd better mind how you
behave; you're going to do just what I tell you. I know how to manage
you; if you make any fuss I shall just tickle you finely," said Nancy,
as she prepared a bed of coals, and set the cup of gruel on it to get
hot; "I'll do it in no time at all, my young lady, so you'd better
mind."
Poor Ellen involuntarily curled up her feet under the bedclothes so as
to get them as far as possible out of harm's way She judged the best
thing was to keep quiet if she could, so she said nothing. Nancy was in
great glee; with something of the same spirit of mischief that a cat
shows when she has a captured mouse at the end of her paws. While the
gruel was heating she spun round the room in quest of amusement; and her
sudden jerks and flings from one place and thing to another had so much
of lawlessness that Ellen was in perpetual terror as to what she might
take it into her head to do next.
"Where does that door lead to?"
"I believe that one leads to the garret," said Ellen.
"You _believe_ so? why don't you say it does, at once?"
"I haven't been up to see."
"You haven't! you expect me to believe that, I s'pose? I am not quite
such a gull as you take me for. What's up there?"
"I don't know, of course."
"Of course! I declare I don't know what you are up to exactly; but if
you won't tell me I'll find out for myself pretty quick, that's one
thing."
She flung open the door and ran up; and Ellen heard her feet trampling
overhead from one end of the house to the other; and sounds too of
pushing and pulling things over the floor; it was plain Nancy was
rummaging.
"Well," said Ellen, as she turned uneasily upon her bed, "it's no
affair of mine; I can't help it, whatever she does. But oh, won't Aunt
Fortune be angry!"
Nancy presently came down with her frock gathered up into a bag before
her.
"What do you think I have got here?" said she. "I s'pose you didn't know
there was a basket of fine hickory nuts up there in the corner? Was it
you or Miss Fortune that hid them away so nicely? I s'pose she thought
nobody would ever think of looking behind the great blue chest and under
the feather bed, but it takes me! Miss Fortune was afraid of your
stealing 'em I guess, Ellen?"
"She needn't have been," said Ellen indignantly.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't take 'em if you saw 'em; you wouldn't eat
'em if they were cracked for you, would you?"
She flung some on Ellen's bed as she spoke. Nancy had seated herself on
the floor, and using for a hammer a piece of old iron she had brought
down with her from the garret, she was cracking the nuts on the clean
white hearth.
"Indeed I wouldn't!" said Ellen, throwing them back; "and you oughtn't
to crack them there, Nancy; you'll make a dreadful muss."
"What do you think I care?" said the other scornfully. She leisurely
cracked and eat as many as she pleased of the nuts, bestowing the rest
in the bosom of her frock. Ellen watched fearfully for her next move. If
she should open the little door and get among her books and boxes!
Nancy's first care, however, was the cup of gruel. It was found too hot
for any mortal lips to bear, so it was set on one side to cool. Then,
taking up her rambling examination of the room, she went from window to
window.
"What fine big windows! one might get in here easy enough. I declare,
Ellen, some night I'll set the ladder up against here, and the first
thing you'll see will be me coming in. You'll have me to sleep with you
before you think."
"I'll fasten my windows," said Ellen.
"No, you won't. You'll do it a night or two, may be, but then you'll
forget it. I shall find them open when I come. Oh, I'll come!"
"But I could call Aunt Fortune," said Ellen.
"No, you couldn't, 'cause if you spoke a word I'd tickle you to death;
that's what I'd do. I know how to fix you off. And if you did call her
I'd just whap out of the window and run off with my ladder, and then
you'd get a fine combing for disturbing the house. What's in this
trunk?"
"Only my clothes and things," said Ellen.
"Oh goody! that's fine; now I'll have a look at 'em. That's just what I
wanted, only I didn't know it. Where's the key? Oh, here it is sticking
in--that's good!"
"Oh, please don't!" said Ellen, raising herself on her elbows, "they're
all in nice order, and you'll get them all in confusion. Oh, do let them
alone!"
"You'd best be quiet or I'll come and see you," said Nancy; "I'm just
going to look at everything in it, and if I find any thing out of sorts,
you'll get it. What's this? ruffles, I declare! ain't you fine! I'll see
how they look on me. What a plague! you haven't a glass in the room.
Never mind--I am used to dressing without a glass."
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," said Ellen, who was worried to the last
degree at seeing her nicely done-up ruffles round Nancy's neck; "they're
so nice, and you'll muss them all up."
"Don't cry about it," said Nancy coolly, "I ain't agoing to eat 'm. My
goodness! what a fine hood! ain't that pretty?"
The nice blue hood was turned about in Nancy's fingers, and well looked
at inside and out. Ellen was in distress for fear it would go on Nancy's
head, as well as the ruffles round her neck; but it didn't; she flung it
at length on one side, and went on pulling out one thing after another,
strewing them very carelessly about the floor.
"What's here? a pair of dirty stockings, as I am alive. Ain't you
ashamed to put dirty stockings in your trunk?"
"They are no such thing," said Ellen, who in her vexation was in danger
of forgetting her fear--"I've worn them but once."
"They've no business in here anyhow," said Nancy, rolling them up in a
hard ball and giving them a sudden fling at Ellen. They just missed her
face and struck the wall beyond. Ellen seized them to throw back, but
her weakness warned her she was not able, and a moment reminded her of
the folly of doing anything to rouse Nancy, who for the present was
pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, ready to cry with
vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of white clothes were ruthlessly
hurled out and tumbled about; her capes tried on; her summer dresses
unfolded, displayed, criticised. Nancy decided one was too short;
another very ugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done with
each it was cast out of her way on one side or the other as the case
might be.
The floor was littered with clothes in various states of disarrangement
and confusion. The bottom of the trunk was reached at last, and then
Nancy suddenly recollected her gruel, and sprang to it. But it had grown
cold again.
"This won't do," said Nancy, as she put it on the coals again, "it must
be just right; it'll warm soon, and then, Miss Ellen, you're agoing to
take it whether or no. I hope you won't give me the pleasure of pouring
it down."
Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's study closet and went in
there, though Ellen begged her not. She pulled the door to, and stayed
some time perfectly quiet. Not able to see or hear what she was doing,
and fretted beyond measure that her workbox and writing-desk should be
at Nancy's mercy, or even feel the touch of her fingers, Ellen at last
could stand it no longer, but threw herself out of the bed, weak as she
was, and went to see what was going on. Nancy was seated quietly on the
floor, examining with much seeming interest the contents of the workbox,
trying on the thimble, cutting bits of thread with the scissors, and
marking the ends of the spools, with whatever like pieces of mischief
her restless spirit could devise; but when Ellen opened the door she put
the box from her and started up.
"My goodness me!" said she, "this'll never do. What are you out here
for? You'll catch your death with those dear little bare feet, and we
shall have the mischief to pay."
As she said this she caught up Ellen in her arms as if she had been a
baby and carried her back to the bed, where she laid her with two or
three little shakes, and then proceeded to spread up the clothes and
tuck her in all round. She then ran for the gruel. Ellen was in great
question whether to give way to tears or vexation; but with some
difficulty determined upon vexation as the best plan. Nancy prepared the
gruel to her liking, and brought it to the bedside; but to get it
swallowed was another matter. Nancy was resolved Ellen should take it.
Ellen had less strength but quite as much obstinacy as her enemy, and
she was equally resolved not to drink a drop. Between laughing on
Nancy's part and very serious anger on Ellen's a struggle ensued. Nancy
tried to force it down, but Ellen's shut teeth were as firm as a vice,
and the end was that two-thirds were bestowed on the sheet. Ellen burst
into tears; Nancy laughed.
"Well, I _do_ think," said she, "you are one of the hardest customers
ever I came across. I shouldn't want to have the managing of you when
you get a little bigger. Oh, the way Miss Fortune will look when she
comes in here will be a caution! Oh, what fun!"
Nancy shouted and clapped her hands. "Come, stop crying!" said she;
"what a baby you are! What are you crying for? Come, stop. I'll make you
laugh if you don't."
Two or three little applications of Nancy's fingers made her words good,
but laughing was mixed with crying, and Ellen writhed in hysterics.
Just then came a little knock at the door. Ellen did not hear it, but it
quieted Nancy. She stood still a moment, and then as the knock was
repeated she called out boldly, "Come in!" Ellen raised her head "to see
who there might be," and great was the surprise of both and the joy of
one as the tall form and broad shoulders of Mr. Van Brunt presented
themselves.
"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," sobbed Ellen, "I am so glad to see you! Won't you
please send Nancy away!"
"What are you doing here?" said the astonished Dutchman.
"Look and see, Mr. Van Brunt," said Nancy, with a smile of mischief's
own curling; "you won't be long finding out, I guess."
"Take yourself off, and don't let me hear of your being caught here
again."
"I'll go when I'm ready, thank you," said Nancy; "and as to the rest I
haven't been caught the first time yet; I don't know what you mean."
She sprang as she finished her sentence, for Mr. Van Brunt made a sudden
movement to catch her then and there. He was foiled, and then began a
running chase round the room, in the course of which Nancy dodged,
pushed, and sprang with the power of squeezing by impassables and
overleaping impossibilities, that, to say the least of it, was
remarkable. The room was too small for her, and she was caught at last.
"I vow," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he pinioned her hands, "I should like to
see you play blind-man's-buff for once, if I waren't the blind man."
"How'd you see me if you was?" said Nancy scornfully.
"Now, Miss Ellen," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he brought her to Ellen's
bedside, "here she is safe; what shall I do with her?"
"If you will only send her away and not let her come back, Mr. Van
Brunt," said Ellen, "I'll be so much obliged to you."
"Let me go," said Nancy. "I declare you are a real mean Dutchman, Mr.
Van Brunt."
He took both her hands in one and laid the other lightly over her ears.
"I'll let you go," said he. "Now, don't you be caught here again if you
know what is good for yourself."
He saw Miss Nancy out of the door and then came back to Ellen, who was
crying heartily again from nervous vexation.
"She's gone," said he. "What has that wicked thing been doing, Miss
Ellen? What's the matter with you?"
"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "you can't think how she has worried
me; she has been here this great while. Just look at all my things on
the floor, and that isn't the half."
Mr. Van Brunt gave a long whistle as his eye surveyed the tokens of Miss
Nancy's mischief-making, over and through which both she and himself had
been chasing at full speed, making the state of matters rather worse
than it was before.
"I do say," said he slowly, "that is too bad. I'd fix them up again for
you, Miss Ellen, if I knew how; but my hands are almost as clumsy as my
feet, and I see the marks of them there. It's too bad, I declare. I
didn't know what I was going on."
"Never mind, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen; "I don't mind what you have
done a bit. I'm _so_ glad to see you!"
She put out her little hand to him as she spoke. He took it in his now
silently, but though he said and showed nothing of it, Ellen's look and
tone of affection thrilled his heart with pleasure.
"How do you do?" said he kindly.
"I am a great deal better," said Ellen. "Sit down, won't you, Mr. Van
Brunt? I want to see you a little."
Horses wouldn't have drawn him away after that. He sat down.
"Ain't you going to be up again some of these days?" said he.
"Oh yes, I hope so," said Ellen, sighing; "I am very tired of lying
here."
He looked round the room; got up and mended the fire; then came and sat
down again.
"I was up yesterday for a minute," said Ellen, "but the chair tired me
so, I was glad to get back to bed again."
It was no wonder! harder and straighter-backed chairs never were
invented. Probably Mr. Van Brunt thought so.
"Wouldn't you like to have a rocking-cheer?" said he suddenly, as if a
bright thought had struck him.
"Oh yes, how much I should!" said Ellen, with another long-drawn breath;
"but there isn't such a thing in the house that ever I saw."
"Aye, but there is in other houses, though," said Mr. Van Brunt, with as
near an approach to a smile as his lips commonly made; "we'll see!"
Ellen smiled more broadly. "But don't you give yourself any trouble for
me," said she.
"Trouble, indeed!" said Mr. Van Brunt; "I don't know anything about
that. How came that wicked thing up here to plague you?"
"She said Aunt Fortune left her to take care of me."
"That's one of her lies. Your aunt's gone out, I know; but she's a
trifle wiser than to do such a thing as that. She has plagued you badly,
ha'n't she?"
He might have thought so. The colour which excitement brought into
Ellen's face had faded away, and she had settled herself back against
her pillow with an expression of weakness and weariness that the strong
man saw and felt.
"What is there I can do for you?" said he, with a gentleness that seemed
almost strange from such lips.
"If you would," said Ellen faintly, "if you _could_ be so kind as to
read me a hymn, I should be so glad. I've had nobody to read to me."
Her hand put the little book towards him as she said so.
Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had asked him to plough an
acre. He was to the full as much confounded as poor Ellen had once been
at a request of his. He hesitated and looked towards Ellen, wishing for
an excuse. But the pale little face that lay there against the pillow,
the drooping eyelids, the meek, helpless look of the little child put
all excuses out of his head; and though he would have chosen to do
almost anything else, he took the book, and asked her "Where?" She said
anywhere; and he took the first he saw.
"Poor, weak, and worthless though I am,
I have a rich, almighty friend;
Jesus the Saviour is His name,
He freely loves, and without end."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and folding her hands on her
breast--"how lovely that is!"
He stopped and looked at her a moment, and then went on with increased
gravity.
"He ransomed me from hell with blood,
And by His pow'r my foes controlled;
He found me wand'ring far from God,
And brought me to His chosen fold."
"Fold!" said Ellen, opening her eyes; "what is that?"
"It's where sheep are penned, ain't it?" said Mr. Van Brunt, after a
pause.
"Oh yes," said Ellen, "that's it; I remember; that's like what he said,
'I am the good shepherd,' and 'the Lord is my shepherd;' I know now. Go
on, please."
He finished the hymn without more interruption. Looking again towards
Ellen, he was surprised to see several large tears finding their way
down her cheeks from under the wet eyelashes. But she quickly wiped them
away.
"What do you read them things for," said he, "if they make you feel
bad?"
"Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, they don't; they make me happy; I love them
dearly. I never read that one before. You can't think how much I am
obliged to you for reading it to me. Will you let me see where it is?"
He gave it her.
"Yes, there's his mark!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes. "Now, Mr. Van
Brunt, would you be so very good as to read it once more?"
He obeyed. It was easier this time. She listened as before with closed
eyes, but the colour came and went once or twice.
"Thank you very much," she said, when he had done. "Are you going?"
"I must; I have some things to look after."
She held his hand still.
"Mr. Van Brunt, don't _you_ love hymns?"
"I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen."
"Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold?"
"What fold?"
"The fold of Christ's people."
"I'm afeard not, Miss Ellen," said he soberly, after a minute's pause.
"Because," said Ellen, bursting into tears, "I wish you were, very
much."
She carried the great brown hand to her lips before she let it go. He
went without saying a word. But when he got out, he stopped and looked
at a little tear she had left on the back of it. And he looked till one
of his own fell there to keep it company.