I keep his house, and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat,
and make the beds, and do all myself.--SHAKESPEARE.
The spring had come, and Alice and Ellen were looking forward to
pleasanter rides and walks after the sun should have got a little warmth
and the snow should be gone, when one morning, in the early part of
March, Mr. Van Brunt made his appearance. Miss Fortune was not well, and
had sent him to beg that Ellen would come back to her. He was sorry, he
said; he knew Ellen was in the best place: but her aunt wanted her, and
"he s'posed she'd have to go." He did not know what was the matter with
Miss Fortune; it was a little of one thing and a little of another; "he
s'posed she'd overdid, and it was a wonder, for he didn't know she
_could_ do it. _She_ thought she was as tough as a piece of
shoe-leather, but even that could be wore out."
Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set herself to get her things
together, and with Alice's help, in half-an-hour she was ready to go.
The parting was hard. They held each other fast a good while, and kissed
each other many times without speaking.
"Good-bye, dear Ellie," whispered Alice at last; "I'll come and see you
soon. Remember what John said when he went away."
Ellen did not trust herself to speak. She pulled herself away from
Alice, and turned to Mr. Van Brunt, saying by her manner that she was
ready. He took her bundle, and they went out of the house together.
Ellen made a manful effort all the way down the hill to stifle the tears
that were choking her. She knew they would greatly disturb her
companion, and she did succeed, though with great difficulty, in keeping
them back. Luckily for her, he said hardly anything during the whole
walk; she could not have borne to answer a question. It was no fault of
Mr. Van Brunt's that he was so silent. He was beating his brains the
whole way to think of something it would do to say, and could not suit
himself. His single remark was, "that it was like to be a fine spring
for the maple, and he guessed they'd make a heap of sugar."
When they reached the door he told her she would find her aunt upstairs,
and himself turned off to the barn. Ellen stopped a minute upon the
threshold to remember the last time she had crossed it, and the _first_
time. How changed everything now! And the thought came, was _this_ now
to be her home for ever? She had need again to remember John's words.
When bidding her good-bye he had said, "My little pilgrim, I hope you
will keep the straight road, and win the praise of the servant who was
faithful over a few things." "I will try!" thought poor Ellen; and then
she passed through the kitchen and went up to her own room. Here,
without stopping to think, she took off her things, gave one strange
look at the old familiar place and her trunk in the corner, fell on her
knees for one minute, and then went to her aunt's room.
"Come in!" cried Miss Fortune, when Ellen had knocked. "Well, Ellen,
there you are. I am thankful it is you. I was afraid it might be Mimy
Lawson or Sarah Lowndes, or some of the rest of the set; I know they'll
all come scampering here as soon as they hear I'm laid up."
"Are you very sick, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen.
"La! no, child. I shall be up again to-morrow; but I felt queer this
morning, somehow, and I thought I'd try lying down. I expect I've caught
some cold."
There was no doubt of this, but this was not all. Besides catching cold,
and doing her best to bring it about, Miss Fortune had overtasked her
strength; and by dint of economy, housewifery, and _smartness_, had
brought on herself the severe punishment of lying idle and helpless for
a much longer time than she at first reckoned on.
"What can I do for you, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen.
"Oh, nothing as I know," said Miss Fortune, "only let me alone and don't
ask me anything, and keep people out of the house. Mercy! my head feels
as if it would go crazy! Ellen, look here," said she, raising herself on
her elbow, "I won't have anybody come into this house, if I lie here
till doomsday, I won't. Now, you mind me. I ain't agoing to have Mimy
Lawson, nor nobody else, poking all round into every hole and corner,
and turning every cheese upside down to see what's under it. There ain't
one of 'em too good for it, and they sha'n't have a chance. They'll be
streaking here, a dozen of 'em, to help take care of the house; but I
don't care what becomes of the house--I won't have anybody in it.
Promise me you won't let Mr. Van Brunt bring any one here to help. I
know I can trust to you to do what I tell you. Promise me!"
Ellen promised, a good deal gratified at her aunt's last words, and once
more asked if she could do anything for her.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Miss Fortune, flinging herself back on her
pillow. "I don't care what you do if you only keep the house clear.
There's the clothes in the basket under the table downstairs--you might
begin to iron 'em; they're only rough dry. But don't come asking me
about anything; I can't bear it. Ellen, don't let a soul go into the
buttery except yourself. And, Ellen! I don't care if you make me a
little catnip tea. The catnip's up in the storeroom, the furthest door
in the back attic--here's the keys. Don't go fussing with anything else
there."
Ellen thought the prospect before her rather doleful when she reached
the kitchen. It was in order, to be sure, and clean; but it looked as if
the mistress was away. The fire had gone out, the room was cold; even so
little a matter as catnip tea seemed a thing far off and hard to come
by. While she stood looking at the great logs in the fireplace, which
she could hardly move, and thinking it was rather a dismal state of
things, in came Mr. Van Brunt with his good-natured face, and wanted to
know if he could do anything for her. The very room seemed more
comfortable as soon as his big figure was in it. He set about kindling
the fire forthwith, while Ellen went up to the storeroom. A well-filled
storeroom! Among other things, there hung at least a dozen bunches of
dried herbs from one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew catnip, but
after smelling of two or three she became utterly puzzled, and was fain
to carry a leaf of several kinds down to Mr. Van Brunt to find out which
was which. When she came down again she found he had hung on the kettle
for her, and swept up the hearth; so Ellen, wisely thinking it was best
to keep busy, put the ironing blanket on the table, and folded the
clothes, and set the irons to the fire. By this time the kettle boiled.
How to make catnip tea Ellen did not exactly know, but supposed it must
follow the same rules as black tea, in the making of which she felt
herself very much at home. So she put a pinch or two of catnip leaves
into the pot, poured a little water on them, and left it to draw.
Meanwhile came in kind Mr. Van Brunt with an armful or two of small
short sticks for the fire, which Ellen could manage.
"I wish I could stay here and take care of you all the while," said he;
"but I'll be round. If you want anything you must come to the door and
holler."
Ellen began to thank him.
"Just don't say anything about that," said he, moving his hands as if he
were shaking her thanks out of them; "I'd back all the wood you could
burn every day for the pleasure of having you hum again, if I didn't
know you was better where you was; but I can't help that. Now, who am I
going to get to stay with you? Who would you like to have?"
"Nobody, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen; "Aunt Fortune don't
wish it, and I had rather not, indeed."
He stood up and looked at her in amazement.
"Why, you don't mean to say," said he, "that you are thinking, or she is
thinking, you can get along here alone without help?"
"I'll get along somehow," said Ellen. "Never mind, please let me, Mr.
Van Brunt; it would worry Aunt Fortune very much to have anybody; don't
say anything about it."
"Worry her!" said he; and he muttered something Ellen did not quite
understand, about "bringing the old woman to reason."
However he went off for the present; and Ellen filled up her teapot and
carried it upstairs. Her old grandmother was awake; before, when Ellen
was in the room, she had been napping; now she showed the greatest
delight at seeing her; fondled her, kissed her, cried over her, and
finally insisted on getting up directly and going downstairs. Ellen
received and returned her caresses with great tenderness, and then began
to help her to rise and dress.
"Yes, do," said Miss Fortune; "I shall have a little better chance of
sleeping. My stars! Ellen, what do you call this?"
"Isn't it catnip?" said Ellen, alarmed.
"Catnip! it tastes of nothing but the tea-kettle. It's as weak as
dish-water. Take it down and make some more. How much did you put in?
you want a good double handful, stalks and all; make it strong. I can't
drink such stuff as that. I think if I could get into a sweat I should
be better."
Ellen went down, established her grandmother in her old corner, and made
some more tea. Then, her irons being hot, she began to iron; doing
double duty at the same time, for Mrs. Montgomery had one of her talking
fits on, and it was necessary to hear and answer a great many things.
Presently the first visitor appeared in the shape of Nancy.
"Well, Ellen!" said she; "so Miss Fortune is really sick for once, and
you are keeping house. Ain't you grand?"
"I don't feel very grand," said Ellen. "I don't know what is the matter
with these clothes; I _cannot_ make 'em look smooth."
"Irons ain't hot," said Nancy.
"Yes they are, too hot. I've scorched a towel already."
"My goodness, Ellen! I guess you have. If Miss Fortune was down you'd
get it. Why, they're bone dry!" said Nancy, plunging her hand into the
basket; "you haven't sprinkled 'em, have you?"
"To be sure," said Ellen, with an awakened face, "I forgot it!"
"Here, get out of the way, _I'll_ do it for you," said Nancy, rolling up
her sleeves, and pushing Ellen from the table; "you just get me a bowl
of water, will you? and we'll have 'em done in no time. Who's acoming to
help you?"
"Nobody."
"Nobody! you poor chicken; do you think you're agoing to do all the work
of the house yourself?"
"No," said Ellen, "but I can do a good deal, and the rest will have to
go."
"You ain't going to do no such thing; I'll stay myself."
"No, you can't, Nancy," said Ellen quietly.
"I guess I will if I've a mind to. I should like to know how you'd help
it; Miss Fortune's abed."
"I could help it though," said Ellen; "but I am sure you won't when I
ask you not."
"I'll do anything you please," said Nancy, "if you'll get Miss Fortune
to let me stay. Come do, Ellen! It will be splendid; and I'll help you
finely, and I won't bother you neither. Come! go ask her; if you don't,
I will."
"I can't, Nancy; she don't want anybody; and it worries her to talk to
her. I can't go and ask her."
Nancy impatiently flung down the cloth she was sprinkling and ran
upstairs. In a few minutes she came down with a triumphant face, and
bade Ellen go up to her aunt.
"Ellen," said Miss Fortune, "if I let Nancy stay will you take care of
the keys and keep her out of the buttery?"
"I'll try to, ma'am, as well as I can."
"I'd as lief have her as anybody," said Miss Fortune, "if she'd behave;
she was with me a little in the winter; she is smart and knows the ways;
if I was sure she would behave herself, but I am afraid she will go
rampaging about the house like a wild cat."
"I think I could prevent that," said Ellen, who, to say truth, was
willing to have anybody come to share what she felt would be a very
great burden. "She knows I could tell Mr. Van Brunt if she didn't do
right, and she would be afraid of that."
"Well," said Miss Fortune disconsolately, "let her stay then. Oh dear,
to lie here! but tell her, if she don't do just what you tell her, I'll
have Mr. Van Brunt turn her out by the ears. And don't let her come near
me, for she drives me mad. And, Ellen, put the keys in your pocket. Have
you got a pocket in that dress?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Put 'em in there and don't take 'em out. Now go."
Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee; and the little
housekeeper felt her mind a good deal easier; for though Nancy herself
was somewhat of a charge, she was strong and willing and ready, and if
she liked anybody, liked Ellen. Mr. Van Brunt privately asked Ellen if
she chose to have Nancy stay; and told her, if she gave her any trouble
to let him know, and he would make short work with her. The young lady
herself also had a hint on the subject.
"I'll tell you what," said Nancy, when this business was settled, "we'll
let the men go off to Miss Van Brunt's to meals; we'll have enough to do
without 'em. That's how Miss Fortune has fixed herself, she would have
Sam and Johnny in to board; they never used to, you know, afore this
winter."
"The men may go," said Ellen, "but I had a great deal rather Mr. Van
Brunt would stay than not, if we can only manage to cook things for him;
we should have to do it at any rate for ourselves, and for grandma."
"Well, _I_ ain't as fond as him as all that," said Nancy, "but it'll
have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed him somehow."
Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the house for
supper. Ellen told him "plenty," and would have him come in just as
usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea; cold meat and bread and
butter and cheese were all in the buttery; so that evening went off very
quietly.
When she came down the next morning the fire was burning nicely, and the
kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr. Van Brunt had slept in the
kitchen, whether on the table, the floor, or the chairs, was best known
to himself; and before going to his work had left everything he could
think of ready done to her hand; wood for the fire, pails of water
brought from the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got out of
the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when it suddenly
darted into her head that it was milking time. In another minute she had
thrown open the door and was running across the chip-yard to the barn.
There, in the old place, were all her old friends, both four-legged and
two-legged; and with great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf and
Streaky another superb one brindled just like herself. Ellen longed to
get near enough to touch their little innocent heads, but it was
impossible; and recollecting the business on her hands, she too danced
away.
"Whew!" said Nancy, when Ellen told her of the new inmates of the
barn-yard: "there'll be work to do! Get your milk-pans ready, Ellen; in
a couple of weeks we'll be making butter."
"Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I hope," said Ellen.
"She won't, then, so you may just make up your mind to it. Dr. Gibson
was to see her yesterday forenoon, and he stopped at Miss Lowndes' on
his way back; and he said it was a chance if she got up again in a month
an' more. So that's what it is, you see."
"A month and more." It was all that. Miss Fortune was not dangerously
ill; but one part of the time in a low, nervous fever, part of the time
encumbered with other ailments, she lay from week to week, bearing her
confinement as ill as possible, and making it as disagreeable and
burdensome as possible for Ellen to attend upon her. Those were weeks of
trial. Ellen's patience and principle and temper were all put to the
proof. She had no love, in the first place, for household work, and now
her whole time was filled up with it. Studies could not be thought of.
Reading was only to be had by mere snatches. Walks and rides were at an
end. Often when already very tired she had to run up and down stairs for
her aunt, or stand and bathe her face and hands with vinegar, or read
the paper to her when Miss Fortune declared she was so nervous she
should fly out of her skin if she didn't hear something besides the
wind. And very often when she was not wanted upstairs, her old
grandmother would beg her to come and read to _her_--perhaps at the very
moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best. Miss Fortune never
could be put off; her old mother sometimes could, with a kiss and a
promise; but not always; and then, rather than she should fret, Ellen
would leave everything and give half-an-hour to soothing and satisfying
her. She loved to do this at other times; now it was sometimes
burdensome. Nancy could not help her at all in these matters, for
neither Miss Fortune nor the old lady would let her come near them.
Besides all this there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen's
mind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about the house; and
under the effort to meet the charge, joined to the unceasing bodily
exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was tired with Nancy's talk; she
longed to be reading and studying again; she longed, oh how she longed!
for Alice's and John's company again; and it was no wonder if she
sometimes cast very sad longing looks further back still. Now and then
an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John's words; and
often in the midst of her work, stopping short with a sort of pang of
sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of doing right, she would press
her hands together and say to herself, "I will try to be a good
pilgrim!" Her morning hour of prayer was very precious now; and her
Bible grew more and more dear. Little Ellen found its words a mighty
refreshment; and often when reading it she loved to recall what Alice
had said at this and the other place, and John, and Mr. Marshman, and
before them her mother. The passages about heaven, which she well
remembered reading to her one particular morning, became great
favourites; they were joined with her mother in Ellen's thoughts; and
she used to go over and over them till she nearly knew them by heart.
"What _do_ you keep reading that for, the whole time?" said Nancy one
day.
"Because I like to," said Ellen.
"Well, if you do, you're the first one ever I saw that did."
"O Nancy!" said Ellen; "your grandma!"
"Well, she does, I believe," said Nancy, "for she's always at it; but
all the rest of the folks that ever I saw are happy to get it out of
their hands, _I_ know. They think they must read a little, and so they
do, and they are too glad if something happens to break 'em off. You
needn't tell _me_; I've seen 'em."
"I wish _you_ loved it, Nancy," said Ellen.
"Well, what do you love it for? come! let's hear; maybe you'll convert
me."
"I love it for a great many reasons," said Ellen, who had some
difficulty in speaking of what she felt Nancy could not understand.
"Well, I ain't any wiser yet."
"I like to read it because I want to go to heaven, and it tells me how."
"But what's the use?" said Nancy; "you ain't going to die yet; you are
too young; you have time enough."
"O Nancy! little John Dolan, and Eleanor Parsons, and Mary Huff, all
younger than you and I; how can you say so?"
"Well," said Nancy, "at any rate, that ain't reading it because you love
it; it's because you must, like other folks."
"That's only one of my reasons," said Ellen, hesitating and speaking
gravely; "I like to read about the Saviour, and what He has done for me,
and what a friend He will be to me, and how He forgives me. I had rather
have the Bible, Nancy, than all the other books in the world."
"That ain't saying much," said Nancy; "but how come you to be so sure
you are forgiven?"
"Because the Bible says, 'He that believeth on Him shall not be
ashamed,' and I believe in Him; and that He will not cast out any one
that comes to Him, and I have come to Him; and that He loves those that
love Him, and I love Him. If it did not speak so very plainly I should
be afraid, but it makes me happy to read such verses as these. I wish
you knew, Nancy, how happy it makes me." This profession of faith was
not spoken without starting tears. Nancy made no reply.
As Miss Fortune had foretold, plenty of people came to the house with
proffers of service. Nancy's being there made it easy for Ellen to get
rid of them all. Many were the marvels that Miss Fortune should trust
her house "to two girls like that," and many the guesses that she would
rue it when she got up again. People were wrong. Things went on very
steadily and in an orderly manner; and Nancy kept the peace as she would
have done in few houses. Bold and insolent as she sometimes was to
others, she regarded Ellen with a mixed notion of respect and
protection, which led her at once to shun doing anything that would
grieve her, and to thrust her aside from every heavy or difficult job,
taking the brunt herself. Nancy might well do this, for she was at least
twice as strong as Ellen; but she would not have done it for everybody.
There were visits of kindness as well as visits of officiousness. Alice
and Mrs. Van Brunt and Margery, one or the other every day. Margery
would come in and mix up a batch of bread; Alice would bring a bowl of
butter, or a basket of cake; and Mrs. Van Brunt sent whole dinners. Mr.
Van Brunt was there always at night, and about the place as much as
possible during the day; when obliged to be absent, he stationed Sam
Larkens to guard the house, also to bring wood and water, and do
whatever he was bid. All the help, however, that was given from abroad
could not make Ellen's life an easy one; Mr. Van Brunt's wishes that
Miss Fortune would get up again began to come very often. The history of
one day may serve for the history of all those weeks.
It was in the beginning of April. Ellen came downstairs early, but come
when she would she found the fire made and the kettle on. Ellen felt a
little as if she had not quite slept off the remembrance of yesterday's
fatigue; however, that was no matter; she set to work. She swept up the
kitchen, got her milk strainer and pans ready upon the buttery shelf,
and began to set the table. By the time this was half done, in came Sam
Larkens with two great pails of milk, and Johnny Low followed with
another. They were much too heavy for Ellen to lift, but, true to her
charge, she let no one come into the buttery but herself; she brought
the pans to the door, where Sam filled them for her, and as each was
done she set it in its place on the shelf. This took some time, for
there were eight of them. She had scarce wiped up the spilt milk and
finished setting the table when Mr. Van Brunt came in.
"Good morning!" said he. "How d'ye do to-day?"
"Very well, Mr. Van Brunt."
"I wish you'd look a little redder in the face. Don't you be too busy.
Where's Nancy?"
"Oh, she's busy out with the clothes."
"Same as ever upstairs? What are you going to do for breakfast, Ellen?"
"I don't know, Mr. Van Brunt; there isn't anything cooked in the house;
we have eaten everything up."
"Cleaned out, eh? Bread and all?"
"Oh no, not bread; there's plenty of that, but there's nothing else."
"Well, never mind; you bring me a ham and a dozen of eggs, and I'll make
you a first-rate breakfast."
Ellen laughed, for this was not the first time Mr. Van Brunt had acted
as cook for the family. While she got what he had asked for, and bared a
place on the table for his operations, he went to the spout and washed
his hands.
"Now a sharp knife, Ellen, and the frying-pan, and a dish, and that's
all I want of you."
Ellen brought them, and while he was busy with the ham she made the
coffee and set it by the side of the fire to boil; got the cream and
butter, and set the bread on the table; and then set herself down to
rest, and amuse herself with Mr. Van Brunt's cookery. He was no mean
hand, his slices of ham were very artist-like, and frying away in the
most unexceptional manner. Ellen watched him and laughed at him, till
the ham was taken out and all the eggs broke in; then, after seeing that
the coffee was right, she went upstairs to dress her grandmother--always
the last thing before breakfast.
"Who's frying ham and eggs downstairs?" inquired Miss Fortune.
"Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen.
This answer was unexpected. Miss Fortune tossed her head over in a
dissatisfied kind of way, and told Ellen to "tell him to be careful."
"Of what?" thought Ellen; and wisely concluded with herself not to
deliver the message; very certain she should laugh if she did, and she
had running in her head an indistinct notion of the command, "Honour thy
father and thy mother."
Breakfast was ready but no one there when she got downstairs. She placed
her grandmother at table, and called Nancy, who all this time had been
getting the clothes out of the rinsing water and hanging them out on the
line to dry; the said clothes having been washed the day before by Miss
Sarah Lowndes, who came there for the purpose. Ellen poured out the
coffee, and then in came Mr. Van Brunt with a head of early lettuce
which he had pulled in the garden and washed at the spout. Ellen had to
jump up again to get the salt and pepper and vinegar; but she always
jumped willingly for Mr. Van Brunt. The meals were pleasanter during
those weeks than in all the time Ellen had been in Thirlwall before; or
she thought so. That sharp eye at the head of the table was pleasantly
missed. They with one accord sat longer at meals; more talking and
laughing went on; nobody felt afraid of being snapped up. Mr. Van Brunt
praised Ellen's coffee (he had taught her how to make it), and she
praised his ham and eggs. Old Mrs. Montgomery praised everything, and
seemed to be in particular comfort: talking as much as she had a mind,
and was respectfully attended to. Nancy was in high feather; and the
clatter of knives and forks and teacups went on very pleasantly. But at
last chairs were pushed from the table, and work began again.
Nancy went back to her tubs. Ellen supplied her grandmother with her
knitting and filled her snuff-box; cleared the table and put up the
dishes ready for washing. Then she went into the buttery to skim the
cream. This was a part of the work she liked. It was heavy lifting the
pans of milk to the skimming shelf before the window, but as Ellen drew
her spoon round the edge of the cream she liked to see it wrinkle up in
thick yellow leathery folds, showing how deep and rich it was; it looked
half butter already. She knew how to take it off now very nicely. The
cream was set by in a vessel for future churning, and the milk, as each
pan was skimmed, was poured down the wooden trough at the left of the
window through which it went into a great hogshead at the lower kitchen
door.
This done, Ellen went upstairs to her aunt. Dr. Gibson always came
early, and she and her room must be put in apple-pie order first. It was
a long and wearisome job. Ellen brought the basin for her to wash her
face and hands; then combed her hair and put on her clean cap. That was
always the first thing. The next was to make the bed; and for this, Miss
Fortune, weak or strong, wrapped herself up and tumbled out upon the
floor. When she was comfortably placed again, Ellen had to go through a
laborious dusting of the room and all the things in it, even taking a
dust-pan and brush to the floor if any speck of dust or crumbs could be
seen there. Every rung of every chair must be gone over, though ever so
clean; every article put up or put out of the way; Miss Fortune made the
most of the little province of housekeeping that was left her; and a
fluttering tape escaping through the crank of the door would have put
her whole spirit topsy-turvy. When all was to her mind, and not before,
she would have her breakfast. Only gruel and biscuit, or toast and tea,
or some such trifle, but Ellen must prepare it, and bring it upstairs,
and wait till it was eaten. And very particularly it must be prepared,
and very faultlessly it must be served, or with an impatient expression
of disgust Miss Fortune would send it down again. On the whole Ellen
always thought herself happy when this part of her day was well over.
When she got down this morning she found the kitchen in nice order, and
Nancy standing by the fire in a little sort of pause, having just done
her breakfast dishes.
"Well!" said Nancy, "what are you going to do now?"
"Put away these dishes, and then churn," said Ellen.
"My goodness! so you are. What's going to be for dinner, Ellen?"
"That's more than I know," said Ellen, laughing. "We have eaten up Mrs.
Van Brunt's pie and washed the dish; there's nothing but some cold
potatoes."
"_That_ won't do," said Nancy. "I tell you what, Ellen, we'll just boil
pot for to-day; somebody else will send us something by to-morrow most
likely."
"I don't know what you mean by 'boil pot,'" said Ellen.
"Oh, you don't know everything yet, by half. _I_ know--I'll fix it. You
just give me the things, Miss Housekeeper, that's all you've got to do;
I want a piece of pork and a piece of beef, and all the vegetables
you've got."
"All?" said Ellen.
"Every soul on 'em. Don't be scared, Ellen; you shall see what I can do
in the way of cookery; if you don't like it you needn't eat it. What
have you got in the cellar?"
"Come and see, and take what you want, Nancy; there is plenty of
potatoes and carrots and onions, and beets, I believe; the turnips are
all gone."
"Parsnips out in the yard, ain't there?"
"Yes, but you'll have to do with a piece of pork, Nancy; I don't know
anything about beef."
While Nancy went round the cellar gathering in her apron the various
roots she wanted, Ellen uncovered the pork barrel, and after looking a
minute at the dark pickle she never loved to plunge into, bravely bared
her arm and fished up a piece of pork.
"Now, Nancy, just help me with this churn out of the cellar, will you?
and then you may go."
"My goodness! it is heavy," said Nancy. "You'll have a time of it,
Ellen; but I can't help you."
She went off to the garden for parsnips, and Ellen quietly put in the
dasher and the cover, and began to churn. It was tiresome work. The
churn was pretty full, as Nancy had said; the cream was rich and cold,
and at the end of half-an-hour grew very stiff. It spattered and
sputtered up on Ellen's face and hands and apron, and over the floor;
legs and arms were both weary; but still that pitiless dasher must go up
and down, hard as it might be to force it either way; she must not stop.
In this state of matters she heard a pair of thick shoes come clumping
down the stairs, and beheld Mr. Van Brunt.
"Here you are," said he. "Churning!--been long at it?"
"A good while," said Ellen, with a sigh.
"Coming?"
"I don't know when."
Mr. Van Brunt stepped to the door and shouted for Sam Larkens. He was
ordered to take the churn and bring the butter; and Ellen, very glad of
rest, went out to amuse herself with feeding the chickens, and then
upstairs to see what Nancy was doing.
"Butter come?" said Nancy.
"No, Sam has taken it. How are you getting on? Oh, I am tired!"
"I'm getting on first-rate; I've got all the things in."
"In what?"
"Why, in the pot!--in a pot of water, boiling away as fast as they can;
we'll have dinner directly. Hurra! who comes there?"
She jumped to the door. It was Thomas, bringing Margery's respects, and
a custard-pie for Ellen.
"I declare," said Nancy, "it's a good thing to have friends, ain't it?
I'll try and get some. Hollo! what's wanting? Mr. Van Brunt's calling
you, Ellen."
Ellen ran down.
"The butter's come," said he. "Now do you know what to do with it?"
"Oh, yes," said Ellen, smiling; "Margery showed me nicely."
He brought her a pail of water from the spout, and stood by with a
pleased kind of look, while she carefully lifted the cover and rinsed
down the little bits of butter which stuck to it and the dasher; took
out the butter with her ladle into a large wooden bowl, washed it, and
finally salted it.
"Don't take too much pains," said he; "the less of the hand it gets the
better. That will do very well."
"Now, are you ready?" said Nancy, coming downstairs, "'cause dinner is.
My goodness! ain't that a fine lot of butter? there's four pounds, ain't
there?"
"Five," said Mr. Van Brunt.
"And as sweet as it can be," said Ellen. "Beautiful, isn't it? Yes; I'm
ready, as soon as I set this in the cellar and cover it up."
Nancy's dish, the pork, potatoes, carrots, beans and cabbage, all boiled
in the same pot together, was found very much to everybody's taste
except Ellen's. She made her dinner off potatoes and bread, the former
of which she declared, laughing, were very porky and cabbagy; her meal
would have been an extremely light one had it not been for the
custard-pie.
After dinner new labours began. Nancy had forgotten to hang on a pot of
water for the dishes; so after putting away the eatables in the buttery,
while the water was heating, Ellen warmed some gruel and carried it with
a plate of biscuit upstairs to her aunt. But Miss Fortune said she was
tired of gruel and couldn't eat it; she must have some milk porridge;
and she gave Ellen very particular directions how to make it. Ellen
sighed only once as she went down with her despised dish of gruel, and
set about doing her best to fulfil her aunt's wishes. The first dish of
milk she burnt; another sigh and another trial; better care this time
had better success, and Ellen had the satisfaction to see her aunt
perfectly suited with her dinner.
When she came down with the empty bowl, Nancy had a pile of dishes ready
washed, and Ellen took the towel to dry them. Mrs. Montgomery, who had
been in an uncommonly quiet fit all day, now laid down her knitting, and
asked if Ellen would not come and read to her.
"Presently, grandma, as soon as I have done here."
"I know somebody that's tired," said Nancy. "I tell you what, Ellen, you
had better take to liking pork; you can't work on potatoes. I ain't
tired a bit. There's somebody coming to the door again! Do run and open
it, will you? My hands are wet. I wonder why folks can't come in without
giving so much trouble."
It was Thomas again, with a package for Ellen which had just come, he
said, and Miss Alice thought she would like to have it directly. Ellen
thanked her and thanked him, with a face from which all signs of
weariness had fled away. The parcel was sealed up, and directed in a
hand she was pretty sure she knew. Her fingers burned to break the seal;
but she would not open it there, neither leave her work unfinished; she
went on wiping the dishes with trembling hands and a beating heart.
"What's that?" said Nancy; "what did Thomas Grimes want? What have you
got there?"
"I don't know," said Ellen, smiling; "something good, I guess."
"Something good! Is it something to eat?"
"No," said Ellen, "I didn't mean anything to eat when I said something
good; I don't think those are the best things."
To Ellen's delight she saw that her grandmother had forgotten about the
reading, and was quietly taking short naps with her head against the
chimney. So she put away the last dish, and then seized her package and
flew upstairs. She was sure it had come from Doncaster; she was right.
It was a beautiful copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, on the first leaf
written, "To my little sister, Ellen Montgomery, from J. H.;" and within
the cover lay a letter. This letter Ellen read in the course of the next
six days at least twice as many times; and never without crying over it.
"Alice has told me" (said John) "about your new troubles. There is said
to be a time 'when clouds return after the rain.' I am sorry, my little
sister, this time should come to you so early. I often think of you, and
wish I could be near you. Still, dear Ellie, the good Husbandman knows
what His plants want; do you believe that, and can you trust Him? They
should have nothing but sunshine if that was good for them. He knows it
is not; so there come clouds and rains, and 'stormy winds fulfilling His
will.' And what is it all for? 'Herein is my Father glorified, _that ye
bear much fruit_;' do not disappoint His purpose, Ellie. We shall have
sunshine enough by-and-by, but I know it is hard for so young a one as
my little sister to look much forward; so do not look forward, Ellie;
look up! look off unto Jesus, from all your duties, troubles, and wants;
He will help you in them all. The more you look up to Him the more He
will look down to you; and He especially said,'Suffer _little children_
to come unto Me'; you see you are particularly invited." Ellen was a
long time upstairs, and when she came down it was with red eyes.
Mrs. Montgomery was now awake and asked for the reading again, and for
three-quarters of an hour Ellen and she were quietly busy with the
Bible. Nancy meanwhile was downstairs washing the dairy things. When her
grandmother released her Ellen had to go up to wait upon her aunt; after
which she went into the buttery and skimmed the cream, and got the pans
ready for the evening milk. By this time it was five o'clock, and Nancy
came in with the basket of dry clothes, at which Ellen looked with the
sorrowful consciousness that they must be sprinkled and folded
by-and-by, and ironed to-morrow. It happened, however, that Jane Huff
came in just then with a quantity of hot short-cake for tea, and seeing
the basket, she very kindly took the business of sprinkling and folding
upon herself. This gave Ellen spirits to carry out a plan she had long
had, to delight the whole family with some eggs scrambled in Margery's
fashion; after the milk was strained and put away she went about it,
while Nancy set the table. A nice bed of coals was prepared; the spider
set over them, the eggs broken in, peppered and salted, and she began
carefully to stir them as she had seen Margery do. But instead of acting
right the eggs maliciously stuck fast to the spider and burned. Ellen
was confounded.
"How much butter did you put in?" said Mr. Van Brunt, who had come in,
and stood looking on.
"Butter?" said Ellen, looking up; "oh, I forgot all about it! I ought to
have put that in, oughtn't I? I'm sorry."
"Never mind," said Mr. Van Brunt, "'taint worth your being sorry about.
Here, Nancy, clean off this spider, and we'll try again."
At this moment Miss Fortune was heard screaming; Ellen ran up.
"What did she want?" said Mr. Van Brunt when she came down again.
"She wanted to know what was burning."
"Did you tell her?"
"Yes."
"Well, what did she say?"
"Said I mustn't use any more eggs without asking her."
"That ain't fair play," said Mr. Van Brunt; "you and I are the head of
the house now, I take it. You just use as many on 'em as you've a mind;
and all you spile I'll fetch you again from hum. That's you, Nancy! Now,
Ellen, here's the spider; try again; let's have plenty of butter in this
time, and plenty of eggs too." This time the eggs were scrambled to a
nicety, and the supper met with great favour from all parties.
Ellen's day was done when the dishes were. The whole family went early
to bed. She was weary, but she could rest well. She had made her old
grandmother comfortable; she had kept the peace with Nancy; she had
pleased Mr. Van Brunt; she had faithfully served her aunt. Her sleep was
uncrossed by a dream, untroubled by a single jar of conscience; and her
awaking to another day of labour, though by no means joyful, was yet not
unhopeful or unhappy.
She had a hard trial a day or two after. It was in the end of the
afternoon, she had her big apron on, and was in the buttery skimming the
milk, when she heard the kitchen door open, and footsteps enter the
kitchen. Out went little Ellen to see who it was, and there stood Alice
and old Mr. Marshman! He was going to take Alice home with him the next
morning, and wanted Ellen to go too; and they had come to ask her. Ellen
knew it was impossible--that is, that it would not be right, and she
said so; and in spite of Alice's wistful look, and Mr. Marshman's
insisting, she stood her ground, not without some difficulty and some
glistening of the eyes. They had to give it up. Mr. Marshman then wanted
to know what she meant by swallowing herself up in an apron in that sort
of way? so Ellen had him into the buttery and showed him what she had
been about. He would see her skim several pans, and laughed at her
prodigiously; though there was a queer look about his eyes, too, all the
time. And when he went away he held her in his arms, and kissed her
again and again, and said that "some of these days he would take her
away from her aunt, and she should have her no more." Ellen stood and
looked after them till they were out of sight, and then went upstairs
and had a good cry.
The butter-making soon became quite too much for Ellen to manage, so
Jane Huff and Jenny Hitchcock were engaged to come by turns and do the
heavy part of it; all within the buttery being still left to Ellen, for
Miss Fortune would have no one else go there. It was a great help to
have them take even so much off her hands, and they often did some other
little odd jobs for her. The milk, however, seemed to increase as fast
as the days grew longer, and Ellen could not find that she was much less
busy. The days were growing pleasant too; soft airs began to come; the
grass was of a beautiful green; the buds on the branches began to swell,
and on some trees to put out. When Ellen had a moment of time she used
to run across the chip-yard to the barn, or round the garden, or down to
the brook, and drink in the sweet air and the lovely sights which never
had seemed quite so lovely before. If once in a while she could get
half-an-hour before tea, she used to take her book and sit down on the
threshold of the front door or on the big log under the apple-tree in
the chip-yard. In those minutes the reading was doubly sweet, or else
the loveliness of earth and sky was such that Ellen could not take her
eyes from them, till she saw Sam or Johnny coming out of the cow-house
door with the pails of milk, or heard their heavy tramp over the chips;
then she had to jump and run. Those were sweet half-hours. Ellen did not
at first know how much reason she had to be delighted with her
"Pilgrim's Progress;" she saw, to be sure, that it was a fine copy, well
bound, with beautiful cuts. But when she came to look further, she found
all through the book, on the margin or at the bottom of the leaves, in
John's beautiful handwriting, a great many notes--simple, short, plain,
exactly what was needed to open the whole book to her and make it of the
greatest possible use and pleasure. Many things she remembered hearing
from his lips when they were reading it together; there was a large part
of the book where all was new, the part he had not had time to finish.
How Ellen loved the book and the giver when she found those beautiful
notes, it is impossible to tell. She counted it her greatest treasure
next to her little red Bible.