This life, sae far's I understand,
Is a' enchanted fairy-land,
Where pleasure is the magic wand
That, wielded right,
Makes hours like minutes, hand in hand,
Dance in fu' light.
--BURNS.
New Year's morning dawned.
"How I wish breakfast was over!" thought Ellen as she was dressing.
However, there is no way of getting _over_ this life but by going
through it; so when the bell rang she went down as usual. Mr. Marshman
had decreed that he would not have a confusion of gifts at the
breakfast-table; other people might make presents in their own way; they
must not interfere with his. Needle-cases, bags, and so forth, must
therefore wait another opportunity; and Ellen Chauncey decided it would
just make the pleasure so much longer, and was a great improvement on
the old plan. "Happy New Years" and pleasant greetings were exchanged as
the party gathered in the breakfast-room; pleasure sat on all faces
except Ellen's, and many a one wore a broad smile as they sat down to
table. For the napkins were in singular disarrangement this morning;
instead of being neatly folded up on the plates, in their usual fashion,
they were in all sorts of disorder, sticking up in curious angles, some
high, some low, some half folded, some quite unfolded, according to the
size and shape of that which they covered. It was worth while to see
that long tableful, and the faces of the company, before yet a napkin
was touched. An anxious glance at her own showed Ellen that it lay quite
flat; Alice's, which was next, had an odd little rising in the middle,
as if there were a small dumpling under it. Ellen was in an agony for
this pause to come to an end. It was broken by some of the older
persons, and then in a trice every plate was uncovered. And then what a
buzz! pleasure and thanks and admiration, and even laughter. Ellen
dreaded at first to look at her plate; she bethought her, however, that
if she waited long she would have to do it with all eyes upon her; she
lifted the napkin slowly--yes--just as she feared--there lay a clean
bank-note--of what value she could not see, for confusion covered her;
the blood rushed to her cheeks and the tears to her eyes. She could not
have spoken, and happily it was no time then; everybody else was
speaking; she could not have been heard. She had time to cool and
recollect herself: but she sat with her eyes cast down, fastened upon
her plate and the unfortunate bank-bill, which she detested with all her
heart. She did not know what Alice had received; she understood nothing
that was going on, till Alice touched her, and said gently, "Mr.
Marshman is speaking to you, Ellen."
"Sir!" said Ellen, starting.
"You need not look so terrified," said Mr. Marshman, smiling; "I only
asked you if your bill was a counterfeit--something seems to be wrong
about it."
Ellen looked at her plate and hesitated. Her lip trembled.
"What is it?" continued the old gentleman. "Is anything the matter?"
Ellen desperately took up the bill, and with burning cheeks marched to
his end of the table.
"I am very much obliged to you, sir, but I had a great deal rather not;
if you please--if you will please to be so good as to let me give it
back to you--I should be very glad."
"Why, hoity toity!" said the old gentleman, "what's all this? what's the
matter? don't you like it? I thought I was doing the very thing that
would please you best of all."
"I am very sorry you should think so, sir," said Ellen, who had
recovered a little breath, but had the greatest difficulty to keep back
her tears; "I never thought of such a thing as your giving me anything,
sir, till somebody spoke of it, and I had rather never have anything in
the world than that you should think what you thought about me."
"What did I think about you?"
"George told me that somebody told you, sir, I wanted money for my
present."
"And didn't you say so?"
"Indeed I didn't, sir!" said Ellen, with sudden fire. "I never thought
of such a thing!"
"What _did_ you say then?"
"Margaret was showing us her ear-rings, and she asked me if I wouldn't
like to have some like them; and I couldn't help thinking I would a
great deal rather have the money they would cost to buy something for
Alice; and just when I said so you came in, sir, and she said what she
did. I was very much ashamed. I wasn't thinking of you, sir, at all, nor
of New Year."
"Then you would like something else better than money."
"No, sir, nothing at all, if you please. If you'll only be so good as
not to give me this I will be very much obliged to you indeed; and
please not to think I could be so shameful as you thought I was."
Ellen's face was not to be withstood. The old gentleman took the bill
from her hand.
"I will never think anything of you," said he, "but what is the very
tip-top of honourable propriety. But you make _me_ ashamed now--what am
I going to do with this? Here have you come and made me a present, and I
feel very awkward indeed."
"I don't care what you do with it, sir," said Ellen, laughing, though in
imminent danger of bursting into tears--"I am very glad it is out of
_my_ hands."
"But you needn't think I am going to let you off so," said he; "you must
give me half-a-dozen kisses at least to prove that you have forgiven me
for making so great a blunder."
"Half-a-dozen is too many at once," said Ellen gaily, "three now and
three to-night."
So she gave the old gentleman three kisses, but he caught her in his
arms and gave her a dozen at least; after which he found out that the
waiter was holding a cup of coffee at his elbow, and Ellen went back to
her place with a very good appetite for her breakfast.
After breakfast the needle-cases were delivered. Both gave the most
entire satisfaction. Mrs. Chauncey assured her daughter that she would
quite as lief have a yellow as a red rose on the cover, and that she
liked the inscription extremely, which the little girl acknowledged to
have been a joint device of her own and Ellen's. Ellen's bag gave great
delight, and was paraded all over the house.
After the bustle of thanks and rejoicing was at last over, and when she
had a minute to herself, which Ellen Chauncey did not give her for a
good while, Ellen bethought her of her flowers--a sweet gift still to be
made. Why not make it now? why should not Alice have the pleasure of
them all day? A bright thought! Ellen ran forthwith to the housekeeper's
room, and after a long admiring look at her treasures, carried them
glass and all to the library, where Alice and John often were in the
morning alone. Alice thanked her in the way she liked best, and then the
flowers were smelled and admired afresh.
"Nothing could have been pleasanter to me, Ellie, except Mr. Marshman's
gift."
"And what was that, Alice? I haven't seen it yet."
Alice pulled out of her pocket a small round morocco case, the very
thing that Ellen had thought looked like a dumpling under the napkin,
and opened it.
"It's Mr. John!" exclaimed Ellen. "Oh, how beautiful!"
Neither of her hearers could help laughing.
"It is very fine, Ellie," said Alice; "you are quite right. Now I know
what was the business that took John to Randolph every day, and kept him
there so long, while I was wondering at him unspeakably. Kind, kind Mr.
Marshman."
"Did Mr. John get anything?"
"Ask him, Ellie."
"Did you get anything, Mr. John?" said Ellen, going up to him where he
was reading on the sofa.
"I got this," said John, handing her a little book which lay beside him.
"What is this? Wime's--Wiem's--Life of Washington--Washington? he
was--may I look at it?"
"Certainly!"
She opened the book, and presently sat down on the floor where she was
by the side of the sofa. Whatever she had found within the leaves of the
book, she had certainly lost herself. An hour passed. Ellen had not
spoken or moved except to turn over leaves.
"Ellen!" said John.
She looked up, her cheeks coloured high.
"What have you found there?" said he, smiling.
"Oh, a great deal! But--did Mr. Marshman give you this?"
"No."
"Oh!" said Ellen, looking puzzled, "I thought you said you got this this
morning."
"No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie."
"For me!" said Ellen, her colour deepening very much--"for me! did you?
Oh, thank you!--oh, I'm so very much obliged to you, Mr. John."
"It is only an answer to one of your questions."
"This! is it?--I don't know what, I am sure. Oh, I wish I could do
something to please you, Mr. John!"
"You shall, Ellie; you shall give me a brother's right again."
Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive one of his grave kisses;
and then, not at all displeased, went down on the floor and was lost in
her book.
Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day! how shall it be told? The
pleasure of that delightful book, in which she was wrapped the whole
day; even when called off, as she often was, by Ellen Chauncey to help
her in fifty little matters of business or pleasure. These were attended
to, and faithfully and cheerfully, but _the book_ was in her head all
the while. And this pleasure was mixed with Alice's pleasure, the
flowers and the miniature, and Mr. Marshman's restored kindness. She
never met John's or Alice's eye that day without a smile. Even when she
went to be dressed her book went with her, and was laid on the bed
within sight, ready to be taken up the moment she was at liberty. Ellen
Chauncey lent her a white frock, which was found to answer very well
with a tuck let out; and Alice herself dressed her. While this was
doing, Margaret Dunscombe put her head in at the door to ask Anne, Miss
Sophia's maid, if she was almost ready to come and curl her hair.
"Indeed I can't say that I am, Miss Margaret," said Anne. "I've
something to do for Miss Humphreys, and Miss Sophia hasn't so much as
done the first thing towards beginning to get ready yet. It'll be a good
hour and more."
Margaret went away exclaiming impatiently that she could get nobody to
help her, and would have to wait till everybody was downstairs.
A few minutes after she heard Ellen's voice at the door of her room
asking if she might come in.
"Yes--what's that? what do you want?"
"I'll fix your hair if you'll let me," said Ellen.
"You? I don't believe you can."
"Oh yes, I can; I used to do mamma's very often; I am not afraid if
you'll trust me."
"Well, thank you, I don't care if you try then," said Margaret, seating
herself, "it won't do any harm, at any rate; and I want to be downstairs
before anybody gets here; I think it's half the fun to see them come in.
Bless me! you're dressed and all ready."
Margaret's hair was in long thick curls; it was not a trifling matter to
dress them. Ellen plodded through it patiently and faithfully, taking
great pains, and doing the work well; and then went back to Alice.
Margaret's thanks, not very gracefully given, would have been a poor
reward for the loss of three-quarters of an hour of pleasure. But Ellen
was very happy in having done right. It was no longer time to read; they
must go downstairs.
The New Year's party was a nondescript, young and old together; a goodly
number of both were gathered from Randolph and the neighbouring country.
There were games for the young, dancing for the gay, and a superb supper
for all; and the big bright rooms were full of bright faces. It was a
very happy evening to Ellen. For a good part of it Mr. Marshman took
possession of her, or kept her near him; and his extreme kindness would
alone have made the evening pass pleasantly; she was sure he was her
firm friend again.
In the course of the evening Mrs. Chauncey found occasion to ask her
about her journey up the river, without at all mentioning Margaret or
what she had said.
Ellen answered that she had come with Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter.
"Did you have a pleasant time?" asked Mrs. Chauncey.
"Why, no, ma'am," said Ellen, "I don't know--it was partly pleasant and
partly unpleasant."
"What made it so, love?"
"I had left mamma that morning, and that made me unhappy."
"But you said it was partly pleasant?"
"Oh, that was because I had such a good friend on board," said Ellen,
her face lighting up as his image came before her.
"Who was that?"
"I don't know, ma'am, who he was."
"A stranger to you?"
"Yes, ma'am--I never saw him before--I wish I could see him again."
"Where did you find him?"
"I didn't find him--he found me, when I was sitting up on the highest
part of the boat."
"And your friends with you?"
"What friends?"
"Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter."
"No, ma'am; they were down in the cabin."
"And what business had you to be walking about the boat alone?" said Mr.
Marshman good-humouredly.
"They were strangers, sir," said Ellen, colouring a little.
"Well, so was this man--your friend--a stranger too, wasn't he?"
"Oh, he was a very different stranger," said Ellen, smiling; "and he
wasn't a stranger long, besides."
"Well, you must tell me more about him; come, I'm curious. What sort of
a strange friend was this?"
"He wasn't a _strange_ friend," said Ellen, laughing; "he was a very,
very good friend; he took care of me the whole day; he was very good and
very kind."
"What kind of a man?" said Mrs. Chauncey; "a gentleman?"
"Oh yes, ma'am!" said Ellen, looking surprised at the question. "I am
sure he was."
"What did he look like?"
Ellen tried to tell, but the portrait was not very distinct.
"What did he wear? Coat or cloak?"
"Coat--dark brown, I think."
"This was in the end of October, wasn't it?"
Ellen thought a moment and answered "Yes."
"And you don't know his name?"
"No, ma'am; I wish I did."
"I can tell you," said Mrs. Chauncey, smiling; "he is one of my best
friends too, Ellen; it is my brother, Mr. George Marshman."
How Ellen's face crimsoned! Mr. Marshman asked how she knew.
"It was then he came up the river, you know, sir; and don't you remember
his speaking of a little girl on board the boat who was travelling with
strangers, and whom he endeavoured to befriend? I had forgotten it
entirely till a minute or two ago."
"Miss Margaret Dunscombe!" cried George Walsh, "what kind of a person
was that you said Ellen was so fond of when you came up the river?"
"I don't know, nor care," said Margaret. "Somebody she picked up
somewhere."
"It was Mr. George Marshman!"
"It wasn't."
"Uncle George!" exclaimed Ellen Chauncey, running up to the group her
cousin had quitted; "_My_ Uncle George? Do you know Uncle George,
Ellen?"
"Very much--I mean--yes," said Ellen.
Ellen Chauncey was delighted. So was Ellen Montgomery. It seemed to
bring the whole family nearer to her, and they felt it too. Mrs.
Marshman kissed her when she heard it, and said she remembered very well
her son's speaking of her, and was very glad to find who it was. And
now, Ellen thought, she would surely see him again some time.
The next day they left Ventnor. Ellen Chauncey was very sorry to lose
her new friend, and begged she would come again "as soon as she could."
All the family said the same. Mr. Marshman told her she must give him a
large place in her heart, or he should be jealous of her "strange
friend;" and Alice was charged to bring her whenever she came to see
them.
The drive back to Carra-carra was scarcely less pleasant than the drive
out had been; and home, Ellen said, looked lovely. That is, Alice's
home, which she began to think more her own than any other. The pleasure
of the past ten days, though great, had not been unmixed; the week that
followed was one of perfect enjoyment. In Mr. Humphrey's household there
was an atmosphere of peace and purity that even a child could feel, and
in which such a child as Ellen throve exceedingly. The drawing lessons
went on with great success; other lessons were begun; there were fine
long walks, and charming sleigh-rides, and more than one visit to Mrs.
Vawse; and what Ellen perhaps liked best of all, the long evenings of
conversation and reading aloud, and bright firelights, and brighter
sympathy and intelligence and affection. That week did them all good,
and no one more than Ellen.
It was a little hard to go back to Miss Fortune's and begin her old life
there. She went on the evening of the day John had departed. They were
at supper.
"Well!" said Miss Fortune, as Ellen entered, "have you got enough of
visiting? I should be ashamed to go where I wasn't wanted, for my part."
"I haven't, Aunt Fortune," said Ellen.
"She's been nowhere but what's done her good," said Mr. Van Brunt;
"she's reely growed handsome since she's been away."
"Grown a fiddlestick!" said Miss Fortune.
"She couldn't grow handsomer than she was before," said the old
grandmother, hugging and kissing her little granddaughter with great
delight; "the sweetest posie in the garden she always was!"
Mr. Van Brunt looked as if he entirely agreed with the old lady. That,
while it made some amends for Miss Fortune's dryness, perhaps increased
it. She remarked, that "she thanked Heaven she could always make herself
contented at home;" which Ellen could not help thinking was a happiness
for the rest of the world.
In the matter of the collar, it was hard to say whether the giver or
receiver had the most satisfaction. Ellen had begged him not to speak of
it to her aunt; and accordingly one Sunday when he came there with it
on, both he and she were in a state of exquisite delight. Miss Fortune's
attention was at last aroused; she made a particular review of him, and
ended it by declaring that "he looked uncommonly dandified, but she
could not make out what he had done to himself;" a remark which
transported Mr. Van Brunt and Ellen beyond all bounds of prudence.
Nancy's Bible, which had been purchased for her at Randolph, was given
to her the first opportunity. Ellen anxiously watched her as she slowly
turned it over, her face showing, however, very decided approbation of
the style of the gift. She shook her head once or twice, and then said--
"What did you give this to me for, Ellen?"
"Because I wanted to give you something for New Year," said Ellen, "and
I thought that would be the best thing--if you would only read it, it
would make you so happy and good."
"_You_ are good, I believe," said Nancy, "but I don't expect ever to be
myself--I don't think I _could_ be. You might as well teach a snake not
to wriggle."
"I am not good at all," said Ellen, "we're none of us good"--and the
tears rose to her eyes--"but the Bible will teach us how to be. If
you'll only read it! please Nancy, do! say you will read a little every
day."
"You don't want me to make a promise I shouldn't keep, I guess, do you?"
"No," said Ellen.
"Well, I shouldn't keep that, so I won't promise it; but I tell you what
I _will_ do, I'll take precious fine care of it, and keep it always for
your sake."
"Well," said Ellen, sighing, "I am glad you will even do so much as
that. But Nancy--before you begin to read the Bible you may have to go
where you never can read it, nor be happy nor good neither."
Nancy made no answer, but walked away, Ellen thought, rather more
soberly than usual.
This conversation had cost Ellen some effort. It had not been made
without a good deal of thought and some prayer. She could not hope she
had done much good, but she had done her duty. And it happened that Mr.
Van Brunt, standing behind the angle of the wall, had heard every word.