The little Queen in the Arm-Chair.
Ellen had been whirled along over the roads for so many hours
the rattle of the stage-coach had filled her ears for so
long that now, suddenly still and quiet, she felt half-
stunned. She stood with a kind of dreamy feeling, looking
after the departing stage-coach. In it there were three people
whose faces she knew, and she could not count a fourth within
many a mile. One of those was a friend, too, as the fluttering
handkerchief of poor Miss Timmins gave token still. Yet Ellen
did not wish herself back in the coach, although she continued
to stand and gaze after it as it rattled off at a great rate
down the little street, its huge body lumbering up and down
every now and then, reminding her of sundry uncomfortable
jolts; till the horses making a sudden turn to the right, it
disappeared round a corner. Still for a minute Ellen watched
the whirling cloud of dust it had left behind; but then the
feeling of strangeness and loneliness came over her, and her
heart sank. She cast a look up and down the street. The
afternoon was lovely; the slant beams of the setting sun came
back from gilded windows, and the houses and chimney-tops of
the little town were in a glow; but she saw nothing bright
anywhere; in all the glory of the setting sun the little town
looked strange and miserable. There was no sign of her having
been expected; nobody was waiting to meet her. What was to be
done next? Ellen had not the slightest idea.
Her heart growing fainter and fainter, she turned again to the
inn. A tall awkward young countryman, with a cap set on one
side of his head, was busying himself with sweeping off the
floor of the piazza, but in a very leisurely manner; and
between every two strokes of his broom he was casting long
looks at Ellen, evidently wondering who she was, and what she
could want there. Ellen saw it, and hoped he would ask her in
words, for she could not answer his _looks_ of curiosity but
she was disappointed. As he reached the end of the piazza, and
gave his broom two or three knocks against the edge of the
boards to clear it of dust, he indulged himself with one good,
long, finishing look at Ellen, and then she saw he was going
to take himself and his broom into the house. So in despair
she ran up the two or three low steps of the piazza and
presented herself before him. He stopped short.
"Will you please to tell me, Sir," said poor Ellen, "if Miss
Emerson is here?"
"Miss Emerson?" said he "what Miss Emerson?"
"I don't know, Sir Miss Emerson that lives not far from
Thirlwall."
Eyeing Ellen from head to foot, the man then trailed his broom
into the house. Ellen followed him.
"Mr. Forbes!" said he "Mr. Forbes! do you know anything of
Miss Emerson?"
"What Miss Emerson?" said another man, with a big red face and
a big round body, showing himself in a doorway which he nearly
filled.
"Miss Emerson that lives a little way out of town."
"Miss Fortune Emerson? yes, I know her. What of her?"
"Has she been here to-day?"
"Here? what, in town? No not as I've seen or heard. Why, who
wants her?"
"This little girl."
And the man with the broom stepping back, disclosed Ellen to
the view of the red-faced landlord. He advanced a step or two
towards her.
"What do you want with Miss Fortune, little one?" said he.
"I expected she would meet me here, Sir," said Ellen
"Where have you come from?"
"From New York."
"The stage set her down just now," put in the other man.
"And you thought Miss Fortune would meet you, did you?"
"Yes, Sir; she was to meet me and take me home."
"Take you home! Are you going to Miss Fortune's home?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Why, you don't belong to her, any way, do you?"
"No, Sir," said Ellen, "but she's my aunt."
"She's your what?"
"My aunt, Sir my father's sister."
"You father's sister! You ben't the daughter of Morgan
Montgomery, be you?"
"Yes, I am," said Ellen, half-smiling.
"And you are come to make a visit to Miss Fortune, eh?"
"Yes," said Ellen, smiling no longer.
"And Miss Fortune han't come up to meet you! that's real
shabby of her; and how to get you down there to-night, I am
sure is more than I can tell." And he shouted, "Wife!"
"What's the matter, Mr. Forbes?" said a fat landlady,
appearing in the doorway, which she filled near as well as her
husband would have done.
"Look here," said Mr. Forbes "here's Morgan Montgomery's
daughter come to pay a visit to her aunt Fortune Emerson.
Don't you think she'll be glad to see her?"
Mr. Forbes put this question with rather a curious look at his
wife. She didn't answer him. She only looked at Ellen, looked
grave, and gave a queer little nod of her head, which meant,
Ellen could not make out what.
"Now, what's to be done?" continued Mr. Forbes. "Miss Fortune
was to have come up to meet her, but she ain't here, and I
don't know how in the world I can take the child down there
to-night. The horses are both out to plough, you know; and
besides, the tire is come off that waggon-wheel. I couldn't
possibly use it. And then it's a great question in my mind
what Miss Fortune would say to me. I should get paid, I
s'pose?"
"Yes, you'd get paid," said his wife, with another little
shake of her head; "but whether it would be the kind of pay
you'd like, _I_ don't know."
"Well, what's to be done, wife? Keep the child overnight, and
send word down yonder?"
"No," said Mrs. Forbes, "I'll tell you. I think I saw Van
Brunt go by two or three hours ago with the ox-cart, and I
guess he's somewhere up town yet; I han't seen him go back. He
can take the child home with him. Sam!" shouted Mrs. Forbes
"Sam! here! Sam, run up street directly, and see if you
see Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart standing anywhere I dare say
he's at Mr. Miller's, or maybe at Mr. Hammersley's, the
blacksmith and ask him to stop here before he goes home. Now
hurry! and don't run over him, and then come back and tell
me he ain't in town."
Mrs. Forbes herself followed Sam to the door, and cast an
exploring look in every direction.
"I don't see no signs of him up nor down," said she,
returning to Ellen; "but I'm pretty sure he ain't gone home.
Come in here come in here, dear, and make yourself
comfortable; it'll be a while yet, maybe, afore Mr. Van Brunt
comes, but he'll be along by-and-by; come in here and rest
yourself."
She opened a door, and Ellen followed her into a large
kitchen, where a fire was burning, that showed wood must be
plenty in those regions. Mrs. Forbes placed a low chair for
her on the hearth, but herself remained standing by the side
of the fire, looking earnestly, and with a good deal of
interest, upon the little stranger. Ellen drew her white
bonnet from her head, and sitting down with a wearied air,
gazed sadly into the flames that were shedding their light
upon her.
"Are you going to stop a good while with Miss Fortune?" said
Mrs. Forbes.
"I don't know, Maam yes, I believe so," said Ellen,
faintly.
"Han't you got no mother?" asked Mrs. Forbes, suddenly, after
a pause.
"Oh, yes!" said Ellen, looking up. But the question had
touched the sore spot. Her head sank on her hands, and "Oh,
Mamma!" was uttered with a bitterness that even Mrs. Forbes
could feel.
"Now, what made me ask you that!" said she. "Don't cry!
don't, love; poor little dear! you're as pale as a sheet;
you're tired, I know ain't you? Now, cheer up, do I can't
bear to see you cry. You've come a great way to-day, han't
you?"
Ellen nodded her head, but could give no answer.
"I know what will do you good," said Mrs. Forbes, presently,
getting up from the crouching posture she had taken to comfort
Ellen; "you want something to eat that's the matter. I'll
warrant you're half starved; no wonder you feel bad. Poor
little thing! you shall have something good directly."
And away she bustled to get it. Left alone, Ellen's tears
flowed a few minutes very fast. She felt forlorn; and she was,
besides, as Mrs. Forbes opined, both tired and faint. But she
did not wish to be found weeping; she checked her tears, and
was sitting again quietly before the fire when the landlady
returned.
Mrs. Forbes had a great bowl of milk in one hand, and a plate
of bread in the other, which she placed on the kitchen table,
and setting a chair, called Ellen to come and partake of it.
"Come, dear here is something that will do you good. I
thought there was a piece of pie in the buttery, and so there
was, but Mr. Forbes must have got hold of it, for it ain't
there now; and there ain't a bit of cake in the house for you;
but I thought maybe you would like this as well as anything.
Come!"
Ellen thanked her, but said she did not want anything.
"Oh, yes, you do," said Mrs. Forbes; "I know better. You're as
pale as I don't know what. Come! this'll put roses in your
cheeks. Don't you like bread and milk?"
"Yes, very much indeed, Maam," said Ellen; "but I'm not
hungry."
She rose, however, and came to the table.
"Oh, well, try to eat a bit, just to please me. It's real good
country milk not a bit of cream off. You don't get such milk
as that in the city, I guess. That's right! I see the roses
coming back to your cheeks already?"
"Is your pa in New York now?"
"Yes, Maam."
"You expect your pa and ma up to Thirlwall by-and-by, don't
you?"
"No, Maam."
Mrs. Forbes was surprised, and longed to ask why not, and what
Ellen had come for; but the shade that had passed over her
face as she answered the last question, warned the landlady
she was getting upon dangerous ground.
"Does your aunt expect you to-night?"
"I believe so, Maam I don't know she was to have met me;
papa said he would write."
"Oh, well! maybe something hindered her from coming. It's no
matter; you'll get home just as well. Mr. Van Brunt will be
here soon, I guess; it's 'most time for him to be along."
She went to the front door to look out for him, but returned
without any news. A few minutes passed in silence, for, though
full of curiosity, the good landlady dared not ask what she
wanted to know, for fear of again exciting the sorrow of her
little companion. She contented herself with looking at Ellen,
who, on her part, much rested and refreshed, turned from the
table, and was again, though somewhat less sadly, gazing into
the fire.
Presently the great wooden clock struck half-past five, with a
whirring, rickety voice, for all the world like a hoarse
grasshopper. Ellen at first wondered where it came from, and
was looking at the clumsy machine, that reached nearly from
the floor of the kitchen to the ceiling, when a door at the
other end of the room opened, and "Good day, Mrs. Forbes," in
a rough but not unpleasant voice, brought her head quickly
round in that direction. There stood a large, strong-built
man, with an ox-whip in his hand. He was well made, and rather
handsome, but there was something of heaviness in the air of
both face and person mixed with his certainly good-humoured
expression. His dress was as rough as his voice a coarse
gray frock-coat, green velveteen pantaloons, and a fur cap
that had seen its best days some time ago.
"Good day, Mrs. Forbes," said this personage; "Sam said you
wanted me to stop as I went along."
"Ah, how d'ye do, Mr. Van Brunt?" said the landlady, rising
"you've got the ox-cart here with you, han't you?"
"Yes I've got the ox-cart," said the person addressed. "I
came in town for a barrel of flour; and then the near ox had
lost both his fore-shoes off, and I had to go over there; and
Hammersley has kept me a precious long time. What's wanting,
Mrs. Forbes? I can't stop."
"You've no load in the cart, have you?" said the landlady.
"No; I should have had, though, but Miller had no shorts nor
fresh flour, nor won't till next week. What's to go down, Mrs.
Forbes?"
"The nicest load ever you carried, Mr. Van Brunt. Here's a
little lady come to stay with Miss Fortune. She's a daughter
of Captain Montgomery, Miss Fortune's brother, you know. She
came by the stage a little while ago, and the thing is now to
get her down to-night. She can go in the cart, can't she?"
Mr. Van Brunt looked a little doubtful, and pulling off his
cap with one hand, while he scratched his head with the other,
he examined Ellen from head to foot, much as if she had been
some great bale of goods, and he were considering whether his
cart would hold her or not.
"Well," said he at length, "I don't know but she can; but
there ain't nothing on 'arth for her to sit down upon."
"Oh, never mind; I'll fix that," said Mrs. Forbes. "Is there
any straw in the bottom of the cart?"
"Not a bit."
"Well, I'll fix it," said Mrs. Forbes. "You get her trunk into
the cart, will you, Mr. Van Brunt? and I'll see to the rest."
Mr. Van Brunt moved off without another word, to do what was
desired of him apparently quite confounded at having a
passenger instead of his more wonted load of bags and barrels.
And his face still continued to wear the singular doubtful
expression it had put on at first hearing the news. Ellen's
trunk was quickly hoisted in, however; and Mrs. Forbes
presently appeared with a little arm-chair, which Mr. Van
Brunt, with an approving look, bestowed in the cart, planting
it with its back against the trunk to keep it steady. Mrs.
Forbes then raising herself on tiptoe by the side of the cart,
took a view of the arrangements.
"That won't do yet," said she; "her feet will be cold on that
bare floor, and 'tain't over clean neither. Here, Sally! run
up and fetch me that piece of carpet you'll find lying at the
top of the back stairs. "Now, hurry! Now, Mr. Van Brunt, I
depend upon you to get my things back again; will you see and
bring 'em the first time you come in town?"
"I'll see about it. But what if I can't get hold of them!"
answered the person addressed, with a half-smile.
"Oh," said Mrs. Forbes, with another, "I leave that to you;
you have your ways and means. Now, just spread this carpet
down nicely under her chair; and then she'll be fixed. Now, my
darling, you'll ride like a queen. But how are you going to
get in? Will you let Mr. Van Brunt lift you up?"
Ellen's "Oh, no, Maam if you please!" was accompanied with
such an evident shrinking from the proposal, that Mrs. Forbes
did not press it. A chair was brought from the kitchen, and by
making a long step from it to the top of the wheel, and then
to the edge of the cart, Ellen was at length safely stowed in
her place. Kind Mrs. Forbes then stretched herself up over the
side of the cart to shake hands with her, and bid her good-
bye, telling her again she would ride like a queen. Ellen
answered only, "Good-bye, Maam;" but it was said with a look
of so much sweetness, and eyes swimming half in sadness and
half in gratefulness, that the good landlady could not forget
it.
"I do think," said she, when she went back to her husband,
"that is the dearest little thing, about, I ever did see."
"Humph!" said her husband, "I reckon Miss Fortune will think
so too."
The doubtful look came back to Mrs. Forbes' face, and, with
another little, grave shake of her head, she went into the
kitchen.
"How kind she is! how good every body is to me!" thought
little Ellen, as she moved off in state in her chariot drawn
by oxen. Quite a contrast this new way of travelling was to
the noisy stage and swift steamer. Ellen did not know at first
whether to like or dislike it; but she came to the conclusion
that it was very funny, and a remarkably amusing way of
getting along. There was one disadvantage about it certainly
their rate of travel was very slow. Ellen wondered her
charioteer did not make his animals go faster; but she soon
forgot their lazy progress in the interest of novel sights and
new scenes.
Slowly, very slowly, the good oxen drew the cart and the
little queen in the arm chair out of the town, and they
entered upon the open country. The sun had already gone down
when they left the inn, and the glow of his setting had faded
a good deal by the time they got quite out of the town; but
light enough was left still to delight Ellen with the pleasant
look of the country. It was a lovely evening, and quiet as
summer; not a breath stirring. The leaves were all off the
trees; the hills were brown; but the soft, warm light that
still lingered upon them forbade any look of harshness or
dreariness. These hills lay towards the west, and at Thirlwall
were not more than two miles distant, but sloping off more to
the west as the range extended in a southerly direction.
Between, the ground was beautifully broken. Rich fields and
meadows lay on all sides, sometimes level, and sometimes with
a soft, wavy surface, where Ellen thought it must be charming
to run up and down. Every now and then these were varied by a
little rising ground, capped with a piece of woodland; and
beautiful trees, many of them, were seen standing alone,
especially by the roadside. All had a cheerful, pleasant look.
The houses were very scattered; in the whole way they passed
but few. Ellen's heart regularly began to beat when they came
in sight of one, and "I wonder if that is aunt Fortune's
house!" "perhaps it is!" or, "I hope it is not!" were the
thoughts that rose to her mind. But slowly the oxen brought
her abreast of the houses, one after another, and slowly they
passed on beyond, and there was no sign of getting home yet.
Their way was through pleasant lanes towards the south, but
constantly approaching the hills. About half a mile from
Thirlwall, they crossed a little river, not more than thirty
yards broad, and after that the twilight deepened fast. The
shades gathered on field and hill; everything grew brown, and
then dusky; and then Ellen was obliged to content herself with
what was very near, for further than that she could only see
dim outlines. She began again to think of their slow
travelling, and to wonder that Mr. Van Brunt could be content
with it. She wondered, too, what made him walk, when he might
just as well have sat in the cart; the truth was, he had
chosen that for the very purpose that he might have a good
look at the little queen in the arm-chair. Apparently,
however, he, too, now thought it might be as well to make a
little haste, for he thundered out some orders to his oxen,
accompanied with two or three strokes of his heavy lash,
which, though not cruel by any means, went to Ellen's heart.
"Them lazy critters won't go fast anyhow," said he to Ellen;
"they will take their own time; it ain't no use to cut them."
"Oh, no! Pray don't, if you please!" said Ellen, in a voice of
earnest entreaty.
" 'Tain't fair, neither," continued Mr. Van Brunt, lashing his
great whip from side to side without touching anything. "I
have seen critters that would take any quantity of whipping to
make them go, but them 'ere ain't of that kind; they'll work
as long as they can stand, poor fellows!"
There was a little silence, during which Ellen eyed her rough
charioteer, not knowing exactly what to make of him.
"I guess this is the first time you ever rid in an ox-cart,
ain't it?"
"Yes," said Ellen; "I never saw one before."
"Han't you never seen an ox-cart! Well how do you like it?"
"I like it very much indeed. Have we much further to go before
we get to aunt Fortune's house?"
" 'Aunt Fortune's house?' a pretty good bit yet. You see that
mountain over there?" pointing with his whip to a hill
directly west of them, and about a mile distant.
"Yes," said Ellen.
"That's the Nose. Then you see that other?" pointing to one
that lay some two miles further south; "Miss Fortune's house
is just this side of that; it's all of two miles from here."
And urged by this recollection, he again scolded and cheered
the patient oxen, who for the most part kept on their steady
way without any reminder. But perhaps it was for Ellen's sake
that he scarcely touched them with the whip.
"That don't hurt them, not a bit," he remarked to Ellen "it
only lets them know that I'm here, and they must mind their
business. So you're Miss Fortune's niece, eh?"
"Yes," said Ellen.
"Well," said Mr. Van Brunt, with a desperate attempt at being
complimentary, "I shouldn't care if you was mine too."
Ellen was somewhat astounded, and so utterly unable to echo
the wish, that she said nothing. She did not know it, but Mr.
Van Brunt had made, for him, most extraordinary efforts at
sociability. Having quite exhausted himself, he now mounted
into the cart and sat silent, only now and then uttering
energetic "Gees!" and "Haws!" which greatly excited Ellen's
wonderment. She discovered they were meant for the ears of the
oxen, but more than that she could not make out.
They plodded along very slowly, and the evening fell fast. As
they left behind the hill which Mr. Van Brunt had called "the
Nose," they could see through an opening in the mountains, a
bit of the western horizon, and some brightness still
lingering there; but it was soon hid from view, and darkness
veiled the whole country. Ellen could amuse herself no longer
with looking about; she could see nothing very clearly but the
outline of Mr. Van Brunt's broad back, just before her. But
the stars had come out! and brilliant and clear they were
looking down upon her, with their thousand eyes. Ellen's heart
jumped when she saw them, with a mixed feeling of pleasure and
sadness. They carried her right back to the last evening, when
she was walking up the hill with Timmins; she remembered her
anger against Mrs. Dunscombe, and her kind friend's warning
not to indulge it, and all his teaching that day; and tears
came with the thought, how glad she should be to hear him
speak to her again. Still looking up at the beautiful quiet
stars, she thought of her dear far-off mother how long it
was already since she had seen her faster and faster the
tears dropped and then she thought of that glorious One who
had made the stars, and was above them all, and who could and
did see her mother and her, though ever so far apart, and
could hear and bless them both. The little face was no longer
upturned it was buried in her hands, and bowed to her lap,
and tears streamed as she prayed that God would bless her dear
mother and take care of her. Not once nor twice the fulness
of Ellen's heart could not be poured out in one asking.
Greatly comforted at last, at having as it were laid over the
care of her mother upon One who was able, she thought of
herself, and her late resolution to serve him. She was in the
same mind still. She could not call herself a Christian yet,
but she was resolved to be one; and she earnestly asked the
Saviour she sought, to make her and keep her his child. And
then Ellen felt happy.
Quiet, and weariness, and even drowsiness, succeeded. It was
well the night was still, for it had grown quite cool, and a
breeze would have gone through and through Ellen's nankeen
coat. As it was, she began to be chilly, when Mr. Van Brunt,
who, since he got into the cart, had made no remarks except to
his oxen, turned round a little and spoke to her again.
"It's only a little bit of way we've got to go now," said he;
"we're turning the corner."
The words seemed to shoot through Ellen's heart. She was wide
awake instantly, and quite warm; and leaning forward in her
little chair, she strove to pierce the darkness on either hand
of her, to see whereabouts the house stood, and how things
looked. She could discern nothing but misty shadows, and
outlines of she could not tell what; the starlight was too dim
to reveal any thing to a stranger.
"There's the house," said Mr. Van Brunt, after a few minutes
more, "do you see it yonder?"
Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out nothing not even
a glimpse of white. She sat back in her chair, her heart
beating violently. Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down and
opened a gate at the side of the road; and with a great deal
of "gee"-ing the oxen turned to the right, and drew the cart a
little way up hill then stopped on what seemed level ground.
"Here we are!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he threw his whip on
the ground "and late enough! You must be tired of that
little arm-cheer by this time. Come to the side of the cart,
and I'll lift you down."
Poor Ellen! There was no help for it. She came to the side of
the cart, and, taking her in his arms, her rough charioteer
set her very gently and carefully on the ground.
"There!" said he, "now you can run right in; do you see that
little gate?"
"No," said Ellen, "I can't see anything."
"Well, come here," said he, "and I'll show you. Here you're
running agin the fence this way!"
And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen managed to stumble
through.
"Now," said he, "go straight up to that door yonder, and open
it, and you'll see where to go. Don't knock, but just pull the
latch and go in."
And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw no door, and
did not even know where to look for it; by degrees, as her
head became clearer, the large dark shadow of the house stood
before her, and a little glimmering line of a path seemed to
lead onward from where she stood. With unsteady steps, Ellen
pursued it till her foot struck against the stone before the
door. Her trembling fingers found the latch lifted it and
she entered. All was dark there; but at the right a window
showed light glimmering within. Ellen made towards it, and,
groping, came to another door-latch. This was big and clumsy;
however, she managed it, and, pushing open the heavy door,
went in.
It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. A fine fire was
burning in the enormous fire-place; the white walls and
ceiling were yellow in the light of the flame. No candles were
needed, and none were there. The supper-table was set, and,
with its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, looked
very comfortable indeed. But the only person there was an old
woman, sitting by the side of the fire, with her back towards
Ellen. She seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor look
round. Ellen had come a step or two into the room, and there
she stood, unable to speak or to go any further. "Can that be
Aunt Fortune?" she thought; "she can't be as old as that!"
In another minute a door opened at her right, just behind the
old woman's back, and a second figure appeared at the top of a
flight of stairs which led down from the kitchen. She came in,
shutting the door behind her with her foot; and indeed both
hands were full, one holding a lamp and a knife, and the other
a plate of butter. The sight of Ellen stopped her short.
"What is this? and what do you leave the door open for,
child?" she said.
She advanced towards it, plate and lamp in hand, and setting
her back against the door, shut it vigorously.
"Who are you? and what's wanting?"
"I am Ellen Montgomery, Maam," said Ellen timidly.
"_What?_" said the lady, with some emphasis.
"Didn't you expect me, Maam?" said Ellen. "Papa said he would
write."
"Why, is this Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Fortune, apparently
forced to the conclusion that it must be.
"Yes, Maam," said Ellen.
Miss Fortune went to the table, and put the butter and the
lamp in their places.
"Did you say your father wrote to tell me of your coming?"
"He said he would, Maam," said Ellen.
"He didn't! Never sent me a line. Just like him! I never yet
knew Morgan Montgomery do a thing when he promised he would."
Ellen's face flushed, and her heart swelled. She stood
motionless.
"How did you get down here to-night?"
"I came in Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart," said Ellen.
"Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart! Then he's got home, has he?" And
hearing this instant a noise outside, Miss Fortune swept to
the door, saying, as she opened it, "Sit down, child, and take
off your things."
The first command, at least, Ellen obeyed gladly; she did not
feel enough at home to comply with the second. She only took
off her bonnet.
"Well, Mr. Van Brunt," said Miss Fortune, at the door, "have
you brought me a barrel of flour?"
"No, Miss Fortune," said the voice of Ellen's charioteer,
"I've brought you something better than that."
"Where did you find her?" said Miss Fortune, something
shortly.
"Up at Forbes's."
"What have you got there?"
"A trunk. Where is it to go?"
"A trunk! It must go up stairs; but how it is ever to get
there, I am sure I don't know."
"I'll find a way to get it there, I'll engage, if you'll be so
good as to open the door for me, Maam."
"Indeed you won't! That'll never do! With your shoes!" said
Miss Fortune, in a tone of indignant housewifery.
"Well, without my shoes, then," said Mr. Van Brunt, with a
half-giggle, as Ellen heard the shoes kicked off. "Now, Maam,
out of my way! give me a road."
Miss Fortune seized the lamp, and, opening another door,
ushered Mr. Van Brunt and the trunk out of the kitchen, and up
Ellen saw not whither. In a minute or two they returned, and
he of the ox-cart went out.
"Supper's just ready, Mr. Van Brunt," said the mistress of the
house.
"Can't stay, Maam it's so late; must hurry home." And he
closed the door behind him.
"What made you so late?" asked Miss Fortune of Ellen.
"I don't know, Maam I believe Mr. Van Brunt said the
blacksmith had kept him."
Miss Fortune bustled about a few minutes in silence, setting
some things on the table, and filling the tea-pot.
"Come," she said to Ellen, "take off your coat and come to the
table. You must be hungry by this time. It's a good while
since you had your dinner, ain't it? Come, mother."
The old lady rose, and Miss Fortune, taking her chair, set it
by the side of the table, next the fire. Ellen was opposite to
her, and now, for the first time, the old lady seemed to know
that she was in the room. She looked at her very attentively,
but with an expressionless gaze which Ellen did not like to
meet, though otherwise her face was calm and pleasant.
"Who is that?" inquired the old lady presently of Miss
Fortune, in a half whisper.
"That's Morgan's daughter," was the answer.
"Morgan's daughter! Has Morgan a daughter?"
"Why, yes, mother; don't you remember I told you a month ago
he was going to send her here?"
The old lady turned again, with a half shake of her head,
towards Ellen. "Morgan's daughter," she repeated to herself,
softly, "she's a pretty little girl very pretty. Will you
come round here and give me a kiss, dear?"
Ellen submitted. The old lady folded her in her arms, and
kissed her affectionately. "That's your grandmother, Ellen,"
said Miss Fortune, as Ellen went back to her seat.
Ellen had no words to answer. Her aunt saw her weary down-
look, and soon after supper proposed to take her upstairs.
Ellen gladly followed her. Miss Fortune showed her to her
room, and first asking if she wanted any thing, left her to
herself. It was a relief. Ellen's heart had been brimful, and
ready to run over for some time, but the tears could not come
then. They did not now, till she had undressed and laid her
weary little body on the bed: then they broke forth in an
agony. "She did not kiss me! she didn't say she was glad to
see me!" thought poor Ellen. But weariness this time was too
much for sorrow and disappointment. It was but a few minutes,
and Ellen's brow was calm again, and her eyelids still, and,
with the tears wet upon her cheeks, she was fast asleep.