A peep into the Wide World.
The next day would not do for the intended shopping, nor the
next. The third day was fine, though cool and windy.
"Do you think you can venture out to-day, Mamma?" said Ellen.
"I am afraid not. I do not feel quite equal to it, and the
wind is a great deal too high for me, besides."
"Well," said Ellen, in the tone of one who is making up her
mind to do something, "we shall have a fine day by-and-by, I
suppose, if we wait long enough; we had to wait a great deal
while for our first shopping-day. I wish such another would
come round."
"But the misfortune is," said her mother, "that we cannot
afford to wait. November will soon be here, and your clothes
may be suddenly wanted before they are ready, if we do not
bestir ourselves. And Miss Rice is coming in a few days I
ought to have the merino ready for her."
"What will you do, Mamma?"
"I do not know, indeed, Ellen; I am greatly at a loss."
"Couldn't papa get the stuffs for you, Mamma?"
"No, he's too busy; and besides, he doesn't know about
shopping for me."
"Well, what will you do, Mamma? Is there nobody else you could
ask to get the things for you? Mrs. Foster would do it,
Mamma."
"I know she would, and I should ask her without any
difficulty, but she is confined to her room with a cold. I see
nothing for it but to be patient and let things take their
course though, if a favourable opportunity should offer, you
would have to go, clothes or no clothes; it would not do to
lose the chance of a good escort."
And Mrs. Montgomery's face showed that this possibility of
Ellen's going unprovided gave her some uneasiness. Ellen
observed it.
"Never mind me, dearest mother; don't be in the least worried
about my clothes. You don't know how little I think of them or
care for them. It's no matter at all whether I have them or
not."
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, and passed her hand fondly over her
little daughter's head, but presently resumed her anxious look
out of the window.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting up, "a bright
thought has just come into my head! _I'll_ do it for you,
Mamma!"
"Do what?"
"I'll get the merino and things for you, Mamma. You needn't
smile I will, indeed, if you let me."
"My dear Ellen," said her mother, "I don't doubt you would, if
goodwill only were wanting; but a great deal of skill and
experience is necessary for a shopper, and what would you do
without either?"
"But see, Mamma," pursued Ellen, eagerly, "I'll tell you how
I'll manage, and I know I can manage very well. You tell me
exactly what colour of merino you want, and give me a little
piece to show me how fine it should be, and tell me what price
you wish to give, and then I'll go to the store and ask them
to show me different pieces, you know, and if I see any I
think you would like, I'll ask them to give me a little bit of
it to show you; and then I'll bring it home, and if you like
it, you can give me the money, and tell me how many yards you
want, and I can go back to the store and get it. Why can't I,
Mamma?"
"Perhaps you could; but my dear child, I am afraid you
wouldn't like the business."
"Yes, I should; indeed, Mamma, I should like it dearly, if I
could help you so. Will you let me try, Mamma?"
"I don't like, my child, to venture you alone on such an
errand, among crowds of people; I should be uneasy about you."
"Dear Mamma, what would the crowds of people do to me? I am
not a bit afraid. You know, Mamma, I have often taken walks
alone that's nothing new; and what harm should come to me
while I am in the store? You needn't be the least uneasy about
me; may I go?"
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but was silent.
"May I go, Mamma?" repeated Ellen. "Let me go at least and try
what I can do. What do you say, Mamma?"
"I don't know what to say, my daughter, but I am in difficulty
on either hand. I will let you go and see what you can do. It
would be a great relief to me to get this merino by any
means."
"Then shall I go right away, Mamma?"
"As well now as ever. _You_ are not afraid of the wind?"
"I should think not," said Ellen; and away she scampered
upstairs to get ready. With eager haste she dressed herself;
then with great care and particularity took her mother's
instructions as to the article wanted; and finally set out,
sensible that a great trust was reposed in her, and feeling
busy and important accordingly. But at the very bottom of
Ellen's heart there was a little secret doubtfulness
respecting her undertaking. She hardly knew it was there, but
then she couldn't tell what it was that made her fingers so
inclined to be tremulous while she was dressing, and that made
her heart beat quicker than it ought, or than was pleasant,
and one of her cheeks so much hotter than the other. However,
she set forth upon her errand with a very brisk step, which
she kept up till, on turning a corner, she came in sight of
the place she was going to. Without thinking much about it,
Ellen had directed her steps to St.Clair and Fleury's. It was
one of the largest and best stores in the city, and the one
she knew where her mother generally made her purchases; and it
did not occur to her that it might not be the best for her
purpose on this occasion. But her steps slackened as soon as
she came in sight of it, and continued to slacken as she drew
nearer, and she went up the broad flight of marble steps in
front of the store, very slowly indeed, though they were
exceeding low and easy. Pleasure was not certainly the
uppermost feeling in her mind now; yet she never thought of
turning back. She knew that if she could succeed in the object
of her mission, her mother would be relieved from some
anxiety; that was enough; she was bent on accomplishing it.
Timidly she entered the large hall of entrance. It was full of
people, and the buzz of business was heard on all sides. Ellen
had for some time past seldom gone a-shopping with her mother,
and had never been in this store but once or twice before. She
had not the remotest idea where, or in what apartment of the
building, the merino counter was situated, and she could see
no one to speak to. She stood irresolute in the middle of the
floor. Everybody seemed to be busily engaged with somebody
else; and whenever an opening on one side or another appeared
to promise her an opportunity, it was sure to be filled up
before she could reach it, and, disappointed and abashed, she
would return to her old station in the middle of the floor.
Clerks frequently passed her, crossing the store in all
directions, but they were always bustling along in a great
hurry of business; they did not seem to notice her at all, and
were gone before poor Ellen could get her mouth open to speak
to them. She knew well enough now, poor child! what it was
that made her cheeks burn as they did, and her heart beat as
if it would burst its bounds. She felt confused, and almost
confounded by the incessant hum of voices, and moving crowd of
strange people all around her, while her little figure stood
alone and unnoticed in the midst of them; and there seemed no
prospect that she would be able to gain the ear or the eye of
a single person. Once she determined to accost a man she saw
advancing toward her from a distance, and actually made up to
him for the purpose, but with a hurried bow, and "I beg your
pardon, Miss!" he brushed past. Ellen almost burst into tears.
She longed to turn and run out of the store, but a faint hope
remaining, and an unwillingness to give up her undertaking,
kept her fast. At length one of the clerks in the desk
observed her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair, who stood by,
"There is a little girl, Sir, who seems to be looking for
something, or waiting for somebody; she has been standing
there a good while." Mr. St. Clair, upon this, advanced to
poor Ellen's relief.
"What do you wish, miss?" he said.
But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences, trying to
utter them, and failing in the attempt, that now, when an
opportunity to speak and be heard was given her, the power of
speech seemed to be gone.
"Do you wish anything, Miss?" inquired Mr. St. Clair again.
"Mother sent me," stammered Ellen "I wish, if you please,
Sir Mamma wished me to look at the merinoes, Sir, if you
please."
"Is your Mamma in the store?"
"No, Sir," said Ellen, "she is ill, and cannot come out, and
she sent me to look at merinoes for her, if you please, Sir."
"Here, Saunders," said Mr. St. Clair, "show this young lady
the merinoes."
Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among a little group of
clerks, with whom he had been indulging in a few jokes by way
of relief from the tedium of business. "Come this way," he
said to Ellen; and sauntering before her, with a rather
dissatisfied air, led the way out of the entrance-hall into
another and much larger apartment. There were plenty of people
here too, and just as busy as those they had quitted. Mr.
Saunders having brought Ellen to the merino counter, placed
himself behind it, and leaning over it and fixing his eyes
carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look at. His
tone and manner struck Ellen most unpleasantly, and made her
again wish herself out of the store. He was a tall, lank young
man, with a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side of
his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagreeable pair
of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld. She could not
bear to meet them, and cast down her own. Their look was bold,
ill-bred, and ill-humoured; and Ellen felt, though she
couldn't have told why, that she need not expect either
kindness or politeness from him.
"What do you want to see, little one?" inquired this
gentleman, as if he had a business on hand he would like to be
rid of. Ellen heartily wished he was rid of it, and she too.
"Merinoes, if you please," she answered, without looking up.
"Well, what kind of merinoes? Here are all sorts and
descriptions of merinoes, and I can't pull them all down, you
know, for you to look at. What kind do you want?"
"I don't know without looking," said Ellen. "Won't you please
to show me some?"
He tossed down several pieces upon the counter, and tumbled
them about before her.
"There," said he, "is that anything like what you want?
There's a pink one and there's a blue one and there's a
green one. Is that the kind?"
"This is the kind," said Ellen; "but this isn't the colour I
want."
"What colour do you want?"
"Something dark, if you please."
"Well, there, that green's dark; won't that do? See, that
would make up very pretty for you."
"No," said Ellen, "Mamma don't like green."
"Why don't she come and choose her stuffs herself, then? What
colour does she like?"
"Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray would do," said
Ellen, "if it is fine enough."
" 'Dark blue,' or 'dark brown,' or a 'nice gray,' eh? Well,
she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue I've showed you already
what's the matter with that?"
"It isn't dark enough," said Ellen.
"Well," said he, discontentedly, pulling down another piece,
"how'll that do? That's dark enough."
It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different from those
he had showed her first. Even Ellen could see that, and
fumbling for her little pattern of merino, she compared it
with the piece. They agreed perfectly as to fineness.
"What is the price of this?" she asked, with trembling hope
that she was going to be rewarded by success for all the
trouble of her enterprise.
"Two dollars a yard."
Her hopes and countenance fell together. "That's too high,"
she said, with a sigh.
"Then take this other blue; come it's a great deal prettier
than that dark one, and not so dear; and I know your mother
will like it better."
Ellen's cheeks were tingling and her heart throbbing, but she
couldn't bear to give up.
"Would you be so good as to show me some gray?"
He slowly and ill-humouredly complied, and took down an
excellent piece of dark gray, which Ellen fell in love with at
once; but she was again disappointed; it was fourteen
shillings.
"Well, if you won't take that, take something else," said the
man; "you can't have everything at once; if you will have
cheap goods, of course you can't have the same quality that
you like; but now, here's this other blue, only twelve
shillings, and I'll let you have it for ten, if you'll take
it."
"No, it is too light and too coarse," said Ellen; "Mamma
wouldn't like it."
"Let me see," said he, seizing her pattern, and pretending to
compare it; "it's quite as fine as this, if that's all you
want."
"Could you," said Ellen, timidly, "give me a little bit of
this gray to show Mamma!"
"Oh, no!" said he, impatiently tossing over the cloths and
throwing Ellen's pattern on the floor; "we can't cut up our
goods; if people don't choose to buy of us, they may go
somewhere else; and if you cannot decide upon anything, I must
go and attend to those that can. I can't wait here all day."
"What's the matter, Saunders?" said one of his brother clerks,
passing him.
"Why, I've been here this half hour showing cloths to a child
that doesn't know merino from a sheep's back," said he,
laughing. And, some other customers coming up at the moment,
he was as good as his word, and left Ellen, to attend to them.
Ellen stood a moment stock still, just where he had left her,
struggling with her feelings of mortification; she could not
endure to let them be seen. Her face was on fire; her head was
dizzy. She could not stir at first, and, in spite of her
utmost efforts, she _could_ not command back one or two rebel
tears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to her face
to remove them as quietly as possible. "What is all this
about, my little girl?" said a strange voice at her side.
Ellen started, and turned her face, with the tears but half
wiped away, towards the speaker. It was an old gentleman an
odd old gentleman, too, she thought one she certainly would
have been rather shy of, if she had seen him under other
circumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindly
upon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which his
question had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend.
"What is all this?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began to
tell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her to
weep before strangers, gave way at one touch of sympathy, and
she poured out tears much faster than words, as she related
her story, so that it was some little time before the old
gentleman could get a clear notion of her case. He waited very
patiently till she had finished; but then he set himself in
good earnest about righting the wrong. "Hallo! you, Sir!" he
shouted, in a voice that made everybody look round; "you
merino man! come and show your goods. Why aren't you at your
post, Sir?" as Mr. Saunders came up, with an altered
countenance "here's a young lady you've left standing
unattended to, I don't know how long; are these your manners?"
"The young lady did not wish anything, I believe, Sir,"
returned Mr. Saunders, softly.
"You know better, you scoundrel!" retorted the old gentleman,
who was in a great passion; "I saw the whole matter with my
own eyes. You are a disgrace to the store, Sir, and deserve to
be sent out of it, which you are like enough to be."
"I really thought, Sir," said Mr. Saunders, smoothly for he
knew the old gentleman, and knew very well he was a person
that must not be offended "I really thought I was not
aware, Sir, that the young lady had any occasion for my
services."
"Well, show your wares, Sir, and hold your tongue. Now, my
dear, what did you want?"
"I wanted a little bit of this gray merino, Sir, to show to
Mamma. I couldn't buy it, you know, Sir, until I found out
whether she would like it."
"Cut a piece, Sir, without any words," said the gentleman. Mr.
Saunders obeyed.
"Did you like this best?" pursued the old gentleman.
"I like this dark blue very much, Sir, and I thought Mamma
would; but it's too high."
"How much is it?" inquired he.
"Fourteen shillings," replied Mr. Saunders.
"He said it was two dollars!" exclaimed Ellen.
"I beg pardon," said the crest-fallen Mr. Saunders "the
young lady mistook me; I was speaking of another piece when I
said two dollars."
"He said this was two dollars, and the gray was fourteen
shillings," said Ellen.
"Is the gray fourteen shillings," inquired the old gentleman.
"I think not, Sir," answered Mr. Saunders "I believe not,
Sir, I think it's only twelve I'll inquire, if you please,
Sir."
"No, no," said the old gentleman, "I know it was only twelve
I know your tricks, Sir. Cut a piece off the blue. Now, my
dear, are there any more pieces of which you would like to
take patterns, to show your mother?"
"No, Sir," said the overjoyed Ellen; "I am sure she will like
one of these."
"Now, shall we go, then?"
"If you please, Sir," said Ellen, "I should like to have my
bit of merino that I brought from home; Mamma wanted me to
bring it back again."
"Where is it?"
"That gentleman threw it on the floor."
"Do you hear, Sir?" said the old gentleman; "find it
directly."
Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stooping in search
of it till he was very red in the face; and he was left,
wishing heartily that he had some safe means of revenge, and
obliged to come to the conclusion that none was within his
reach, and that he must stomach his indignity in the best
manner he could. But Ellen and her protector went forth most
joyously together from the store.
"Do you live far from here?" asked the old gentleman.
"Oh, no, Sir," said Ellen, "not very; it's only at Green's
Hotel, in Southing-street."
"I'll go with you," said he; "and when your mother has decided
which merino she will have, we'll come right back and get it.
I do not want to trust you again to the mercy of that saucy
clerk."
"Oh, thank you, Sir!" said Ellen, "that is just what I was
afraid of. But I shall be giving you a great deal of trouble,
Sir," she added, in another tone.
"No, you won't," said the old gentleman; "I can't be troubled,
so you needn't say anything about that."
They went gaily along Ellen's heart about five times as
light as the one with which she had travelled that very road a
little while before. Her old friend was in a very cheerful
mood, too, for he assured Ellen, laughingly, that it was of no
manner of use for her to be in a hurry, for he could not
possibly set off and skip to Green's Hotel, as she seemed
inclined to do. They got there at last. Ellen showed the old
gentleman into the parlour, and ran up stairs in great haste
to her mother. But in a few minutes she came down again, with
a very April face, for smiles were playing in every feature,
while the tears were yet wet upon her cheeks.
"Mamma hopes you'll take the trouble, Sir, to come up stairs,"
she said, seizing his hand; "she wants to thank you herself,
Sir."
"It is not necessary," said the old gentleman "it is not
necessary at all;" but he followed his little conductor,
nevertheless, to the door of her mother's room, into which she
ushered him with great satisfaction.
Mrs. Montgomery was looking very ill he saw that at a
glance. She rose from her sofa, and extending her hand,
thanked him, with glistening eyes, for his kindness to her
child.
"I don't deserve any thanks, Maam," said the old gentleman;
"I suppose my little friend has told you what made us
acquainted?"
"She gave me a very short account of it," said Mrs.
Montgomery.
"She was very disagreeably tried," said the old gentleman. "I
presume you do not need to be told, Maam, that her behaviour
was such as would have become any years. I assure you, Maam,
if I had had no kindness in my composition to feel for the
_child_, my honour as a gentleman would have made me interfere
for the _lady_."
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but looked through glistening eyes
again on Ellen. "I am _very_ glad to hear it," she replied. "I
was very far from thinking, when I permitted her to go on this
errand, that I was exposing her to anything more serious than
the annoyance a timid child would feel at having to transact
business with strangers."
"I suppose not," said the gentleman; "but it isn't a sort of
thing that should be often done. There are all sorts of people
in this world, and a little one alone in a crowd is in danger
of being trampled upon."
Mrs. Montgomery's heart answered this with an involuntary
pang. He saw the shade that passed over her face, as she said
sadly
"I know it, Sir; and it was with strong unwillingness that I
allowed Ellen this morning to do as she had proposed; but in
truth I was but making a choice between difficulties. I am
very sorry I chose as I did. If you are a father, Sir, you
know better than I can tell you, how grateful I am for your
kind interference."
"Say nothing about that, Maam; the less the better. I am an
old man, and not good for much now, except to please young
people. I think myself best off when I have the best chance to
do that. So if you will be so good as to choose that merino,
and let Miss Ellen and me go and despatch our business, you
will be conferring, and not receiving, a favour. And any other
errand that you please to intrust her with, I'll undertake to
see her safe through."
His look and manner obliged Mrs. Montgomery to take him at his
word. A very short examination of Ellen's patterns ended in
favour of the gray merino; and Ellen was commissioned, not
only to get and pay for this, but also to choose a dark dress
of the same stuff, and enough of a certain article called
nankeen for a coat; Mrs. Montgomery truly opining that the old
gentleman's care would do more than see her scathless that
it would have some regard to the justness and prudence of her
purchases.
In great glee Ellen set forth again with her new old friend.
Her hand was fast in his, and her tongue ran very freely, for
her heart was completely opened to him. He seemed as pleased
to listen as she was to talk; and by little and little Ellen
told him all her history the troubles that had come upon her
in consequence of her mother's illness, and her intended
journey and prospects.
That was a happy day to Ellen. They returned to St. Clair and
Fleury's bought the gray merino and the nankeen, and a dark
brown merino for a dress.
"Do you want only one of these?" asked the old gentleman.
"Mamma said only one," said Ellen; "that will last me all the
winter."
"Well," said he, "I think two will be better. Let us have
another off the same piece, Mr. Shopman."
"But I am afraid Mamma won't like it, Sir," said Ellen,
gently.
"Pooh, pooh," said he, "your mother has nothing to do with
this; this is my affair." He paid for it accordingly. "Now,
Miss Ellen," said he, when they left the store, "have you got
anything in the shape of a good warm winter bonnet? for it's
precious cold up there in Thirlwall; your pasteboard things
won't do; if you don't take good care of your ears, you will
lose them some fine frosty day. You must quilt and pad, and
all sorts of things, to keep alive and comfortable. So you
haven't a hood, eh? Do you think you and I could make out to
choose one that your mother would think wasn't quite a fright!
Come this way, and let us see. If she don't like it, she can
give it away, you know."
He led the delighted Ellen into a milliner's shop, and after
turning over a great many different articles chose her a nice
warm hood, or quilted bonnet. It was of dark blue silk, well
made and pretty. He saw with great satisfaction that it fitted
Ellen well, and would protect her ears nicely; and having paid
for it, and ordered it home, he and Ellen sallied forth into
the street again. But he wouldn't let her thank him. "It is
just the very thing I wanted, Sir," said Ellen; "Mamma was
speaking about it the other day, and she did not see how I was
ever to get one, because she did not feel at all able to go
out, and I could not get one myself; I know she'll like it
very much."
"Would you rather have something for yourself or your mother,
Ellen, if you could choose, and have but one?"
"Oh, for Mamma, Sir," said Ellen "a great deal!"
"Come in here," said he; "let us see if we can find anything
she would like."
It was a grocery store. After looking about a little, the old
gentleman ordered sundry pounds of figs and white grapes to be
packed up in papers; and being now very near home, he took one
parcel and Ellen the other, till they came to the door of
Green's Hotel, where he committed both to her care.
"Won't you come in, Sir?" said Ellen.
"No," said he, "I can't this time I must go home to dinner."
"And shan't I see you any more, Sir?" said Ellen, a shade
coming over her face, which a minute before had been quite
joyous.
"Well, I don't know," said he, kindly "I hope you will. You
shall hear from me again at any rate, I promise you. We've
spent one pleasant morning together, haven't we? Good-bye,
good-bye."
Ellen's hands were full, but the old gentleman took them in
both his, packages and all, and shook them after a fashion,
and again bidding her good-bye, walked away down the street.
The next morning Ellen and her mother were sitting quietly
together, and Ellen had not finished her accustomed reading,
when there came a knock at the door. "My old gentleman!" cried
Ellen, as she sprung to open it. No there was no old
gentleman, but a black man with a brace of beautiful woodcocks
in his hand. He bowed very civilly, and said he had been
ordered to leave the birds with Miss Montgomery. Ellen, in
surprise, took them from him, and likewise a note which he
delivered into her hand. Ellen asked from whom the birds came,
but with another polite bow the man said the note would inform
her, and went away. In great curiosity she carried them and
the note to her mother, to whom the latter was directed. It
read thus
"Will Mrs. Montgomery permit an old man to please himself in
his own way, by showing his regard for her little daughter,
and not feel that he is taking a liberty? The birds are _for
Miss Ellen_."
"Oh, Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, jumping with delight, "did you
ever see such a dear old gentleman? Now I know what he meant
yesterday, when he asked me if I would rather have something
for myself or for you. How kind he is! to do just the very
thing for me that he knows would give me the most pleasure!
Now, Mamma, these birds are mine, you know, and I give them to
you. You must pay me a kiss for them, Mamma; they are worth
that. Aren't they beauties?"
"They are very fine, indeed," said Mrs. Montgomery; "this is
just the season for woodcock, and these are in beautiful
condition."
"Do you like woodcocks, Mamma?"
"Yes, very much."
"Oh, how glad I am!" said Ellen. "I'll ask Sam to have them
done very nicely for you, and then you will enjoy them so
much."
The waiter was called, and instructed accordingly, and to him
the birds were committed, to be delivered to the care of the
cook.
"Now, Mamma," said Ellen, "I think these birds have made me
happy for all day."
"Then I hope, daughter, they will make you busy for all day.
You have ruffles to hem, and the skirts of your dresses to
make we need not wait for Miss Rice to do that; and when she
comes, you will have to help her, for I can do little. You
can't be too industrious."
"Well, Mamma, I am as willing as can be."
This was the beginning of a pleasant two weeks to Ellen
weeks to which she often looked back afterwards, so quietly
and swiftly the days fled away, in busy occupation and sweet
intercourse with her mother. The passions, which were apt
enough to rise in Ellen's mind upon occasions, were, for the
present, kept effectually in check. She could not forget that
her days with her mother would very soon be at an end, for a
long time at least; and this consciousness, always present to
her mind, forbade even the wish to do anything that might
grieve or disturb her. Love and tenderness had absolute rule
for the time, and even had power to overcome the sorrowful
thoughts that would often rise; so that in spite of them peace
reigned. And perhaps both mother and daughter enjoyed this
interval the more keenly because they knew that sorrow was at
hand.
All this while there was scarcely a day that the old
gentleman's servant did not knock at their door, bearing a
present of game. The second time he came with some fine larks;
next was a superb grouse; then woodcock again. Curiosity
strove with astonishment and gratitude in Ellen's mind.
"Mamma," she said, after she had admired the grouse for five
minutes, "I cannot rest without finding out who this old
gentleman is."
"I am sorry for that," replied Mrs. Montgomery, gravely, "for
I see no possible way of your doing it."
"Why, Mamma, couldn't I ask the man that brings the birds what
his name is? He must know it."
"Certainly not; it would be very dishonourable."
"Would it, Mamma? why?"
"This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you his name; he
wrote his note without signing it, and his man has obviously
been instructed not to disclose it. Don't you remember, he did
not tell it when you asked him, the first time he came? Now
this shows the old gentleman wishes to keep it secret, and to
try to find it out in any way would be a very unworthy return
for his kindness."
"Yes, it wouldn't be doing as I would be done by, to be sure;
but would it be _dishonourable_, Mamma?"
"Very. It is very dishonourable to try to find out that about
other people which does not concern you, and which they wish
to keep from you. Remember that, my dear daughter."
"I will, Mamma. I'll never do it, I promise you."
"Even in talking with people, if you discern in them any
unwillingness to speak upon a subject, avoid it immediately,
provided, of course, that some higher interest do not oblige
you to go on. That is true politeness, and true kindness,
which are nearly the same; and _not_ to do so, I assure you,
Ellen, proves one wanting in true honour."
"Well, Mamma, I don't care what his name is at least I won't
try to find out; but it does worry me that I cannot thank him.
I wish he knew how much I feel obliged to him."
"Very well; write him and tell him so."
"Mamma!" said Ellen, opening her eyes very wide "can I?
would you?"
"Certainly if you like. It would be very proper."
"Then I will! I declare that is a good notion. I'll do it the
first thing, and then I can give it to that man if he comes
to-morrow, as I suppose he will. Mamma," said she, on opening
her desk, "how funny! don't you remember you wondered who I
was going to write notes to? Here is one now, Mamma; it is
very lucky I have got note-paper."
More than one sheet of it was ruined before Ellen had
satisfied herself with what she wrote. It was a full hour from
the time she began when she brought the following note for her
mother's inspection:
"Ellen Montgomery does not know how to thank the old gentleman
who is so kind to her. Mamma enjoys the birds very much, and I
think I do more; for I have the double pleasure of giving them
to Mamma, and of eating them afterwards; but your kindness is
the best of all. I can't tell you how much I am obliged to
you, Sir, but I will always love you for all you have done for
me.
"ELLEN MONTGOMERY."
This note Mrs. Montgomery approved; and Ellen having, with
great care and great satisfaction, enclosed it in an envelope,
succeeded in sealing it according to rule, and very well. Mrs.
Montgomery laughed when she saw the direction, but let it go.
Without consulting her, Ellen had written on the outside, "To
the old gentleman." She sent it the next morning by the hands
of the same servant, who this time was the bearer of a plump
partridge "To Miss Montgomery;" and her mind was a great deal
easier on this subject from that time.