Mud and what came of it.
The morning sun was shining full and strong in Ellen's eyes
when she awoke. Bewildered at the strangeness of everything
around her, she raised herself on her elbow, and took a long
look at her new home. It could not help but seem cheerful. The
bright beams of sunlight, streaming in through the windows,
lighted on the wall and the old wainscoting; and paintless and
rough as they were, nature's own gilding more than made amends
for their want of comeliness. Still Ellen was not much pleased
with the result of her survey. The room was good-sized, and
perfectly neat and clean; it had two large windows opening to
the east, through which, morning by morning, the sun looked in
that was another blessing. But the floor was without the
sign of a carpet, and the bare boards looked to Ellen very
comfortless. The hard-finished walls were not very smooth, nor
particularly white. The doors and wood-work, though very neat,
and even carved with some attempt at ornament, had never known
the touch of paint, and had grown in the course of years to be
a light-brown colour. The room was very bare of furniture,
too. A dressing-table, pier-table, or what-not, stood between
the windows, but it was only a half-circular top of pine-board
set upon three very long bare-looking legs altogether of a
most awkward and unhappy appearance, Ellen thought, and quite
too high for her to use with any comfort. No glass hung over
it, nor anywhere else. On the north side of the room was a
fireplace; against the opposite wall stood Ellen's trunk and
two chairs; that was all, except the cot-bed she was lying on,
and which had its place opposite the windows. The coverlid of
that came in for a share of her displeasure, being of home-
made white and blue worsted, mixed with cotton, exceeding
thick and heavy.
"I wonder what sort of a blanket is under it," said Ellen, "if
I can ever get it off to see! Pretty good; but the sheets are
cotton, and so is the pillow-case!"
She was still leaning on her elbow, looking around her with a
rather discontented face, when some door being opened down-
stairs, a great noise of hissing and sputtering came to her
ears, and presently after there stole to her nostrils a
steaming odour of something very savoury from the kitchen. It
said as plainly as any dressing-bell that she had better get
up. So up she jumped, and set about the business of dressing
with great alacrity. Where was the distress of last night?
Gone with the darkness. She had slept well; the bracing
atmosphere had restored strength and spirits; and the bright
morning light made it impossible to be dull or downhearted, in
spite of the new cause she thought she had found. She went on
quick with the business of the toilet. But when it came to the
washing, she suddenly discovered that there were no
conveniences for it in her room no sign of pitcher or basin,
or stand to hold them. Ellen was slightly dismayed; but
presently recollected her arrival had not been looked for so
soon, and probably the preparations for it had not been
completed. So she finished dressing, and then set out to find
her way to the kitchen. On opening the door, there was a
little landing-place from which the stairs descended just in
front of her and at the left hand another door, which she
supposed must lead to her aunt's room. At the foot of the
stairs Ellen found herself in a large square room or hall, for
one of its doors on the east opened to the outer air, and was
in fact the front door of the house. Another Ellen tried on
the south side; it would not open. A third, under the stairs,
admitted her to the kitchen.
The noise of hissing and sputtering now became quite violent,
and the smell of the cooking, to Ellen's fancy, rather too
strong to be pleasant. Before a good fire stood Miss Fortune,
holding the end of a very long iron handle, by which she was
kept in communication with a flat vessel sitting on the fire,
in which Ellen soon discovered all this noisy and odorous
cooking was going on. A tall tin coffee-pot stood on some
coals in the corner of the fireplace, and another little iron
vessel in front also claimed a share of Miss Fortune's
attention, for she every now and then leaned forward to give a
stir to whatever was in it, making each time quite a spasmodic
effort to do so, without quitting her hold of the end of the
long handle. Ellen drew near, and looked on with great
curiosity, and not a little appetite; but Miss Fortune was far
too busy to give her more than a passing glance. At length the
hissing pan was brought to the hearth for some new arrangement
of its contents, and Ellen seized the moment of peace and
quiet to say, "Good morning, Aunt Fortune."
Miss Fortune was crouching by the pan, turning her slices of
pork. "How do you do this morning?" she answered, without
looking up.
Ellen replied she felt a great deal better.
"Slept warm, did you?" said Miss Fortune, as she set the pan
back on the fire. And Ellen could hardly answer. "Quite warm,
Maam," when the hissing and sputtering began again, as loud
as ever.
"I must wait," thought Ellen, "till this is over, before I say
what I want to. I can't scream out to ask for a basin and
towel."
In a few minutes the pan was removed from the fire, and Miss
Fortune went on to take out the brown slices of nicely-fried
pork and arrange them in a deep dish, leaving a small quantity
of clear fat in the pan. Ellen, who was greatly interested,
and observing every step most attentively, settled in her own
mind that certainly this would be thrown away, being fit for
nothing but the pigs. But Miss Fortune didn't think so, for
she darted into some pantry close by, and returning with a cup
of cream in her hand, emptied it all into the pork fat. Then
she ran into the pantry again for a little round tin box, with
a cover full of holes, and shaking this gently over the pan, a
fine white shower of flour fell upon the cream. The pan was
then replaced on the fire and stirred; and, to Ellen's
astonishment, the whole changed, as if by magic, to a thick,
stiff, white froth. It was not till Miss Fortune was carefully
pouring this over the fried slices in the dish, that Ellen
suddenly recollected that breakfast was ready, and she was
not.
"Aunt Fortune," she said, timidly, "I haven't washed yet
there's no basin in my room."
Miss Fortune made no answer, nor gave any sign of hearing; she
went on dishing up breakfast. Ellen waited a few minutes.
"Will you please, Maam, to show me where I can wash myself."
"Yes," said Miss Fortune, suddenly standing erect, "you'll
have to go down to the spout."
"The spout, Maam," said Ellen, "what's that?"
"You'll know it when you see it, I guess," answered her aunt,
again stooping over her preparations. But in another moment
she arose and said, "Just open that door there behind you, and
go down the stairs and out at the door, and you'll see where
it is, and what it is too."
Ellen still lingered. "Would you be so good as to give me a
towel, Maam," she said, timidly.
Miss Fortune dashed past her and out of another door, whence
she presently returned with a clean towel, which she threw
over Ellen's arm, and then went back to her work.
Opening the door by which she had first seen her aunt enter
the night before, Ellen went down a steep flight of steps, and
found herself in a lower kitchen, intended for common
purposes. It seemed not to be used at all at least there was
no fire there, and a cellar-like feeling and smell instead.
That was no wonder, for beyond the fireplace on the left hand
was the opening to the cellar, which, running under the other
part of the house, was on a level with this kitchen. It had no
furniture but a table and two chairs. The thick, heavy door
stood open. Passing out, Ellen looked around for water in
what shape or form it was to present itself she had no very
clear idea. She soon spied, a few yards distant, a little
stream of water pouring from the end of a pipe or trough
raised about a foot and a half from the ground; and a well-
worn path leading to it, left no doubt of its being "the
spout." But when she had reached it, Ellen was in no small
puzzle as to how she should manage. The water was clear and
bright, and poured very fast into a shallow wooden trough
underneath, whence it ran off into the meadow and disappeared.
"But what shall I do without a basin?" thought Ellen; "I can't
catch any water in my hands, it runs too fast. If I only could
get my face under there that would be fine!"
Very carefully and cautiously she tried it, but the continual
spattering of the water had made the board on which she stood
so slippery, that before her face could reach the stream, she
came very near tumbling headlong, and so taking more of a cold
bath than she wished for. So she contented herself with the
drops her hands could bring to her face a scanty supply; but
those drops were deliciously cold and fresh. And afterwards
she pleased herself with holding her hands in the running
water till they were red with the cold. On the whole, Ellen
enjoyed her washing very much. The morning air came playing
about her; its cool breath was on her cheek, with health in
its touch. The early sun was shining on tree, and meadow, and
hill; the long shadows stretched over the grass, and the very
brown outhouses looked bright. She thought it was the
loveliest place she had ever seen. And that sparkling,
trickling water was certainly the purest and sweetest she had
ever tasted. Where could it come from? It poured from a small
trough, made of the split trunk of a tree, with a little
groove or channel, two inches wide, hollowed out in it. But at
the end of one of these troughs, another lapped on, and
another at the end of that; and how many there were, Ellen
could not see, nor where the beginning of them was. Ellen
stood gazing and wondering, drinking in the fresh air, hope
and spirits rising every minute, when she suddenly recollected
breakfast! She hurried in. As she expected, her aunt was at
the table; but to her surprise, and not at all to her
gratification, there was Mr. Van Brunt at the other end of it,
eating away, very much at home indeed. In silent dismay, Ellen
drew her chair to the side of the table.
"Did you find the spout?" asked Miss Fortune.
"Yes, Maam."
"Well, how do you like it?"
"Oh, I like it very much indeed," said Ellen. "I think it is
beautiful."
Miss Fortune's face rather softened at this, and she gave
Ellen an abundant supply of all that was on the table. Her
journey, the bracing air, and her cool morning wash,
altogether, had made Ellen very sharp, and she did justice to
the breakfast. She thought never was coffee so good as this
country coffee; nor anything so excellent as the brown bread
and butter, both as sweet as bread and butter could be;
neither was any cookery so entirely satisfactory as Miss
Fortune's fried pork and potatoes. Yet her teaspoon was not
silver; her knife could not boast of being either sharp or
bright; and her fork was certainly made for anything else in
the world but comfort and convenience, being of only two
prongs, and those so far apart that Ellen had no small
difficulty to carry the potato safely from her plate to her
mouth. It mattered nothing; she was now looking on the bright
side of things, and all this only made her breakfast taste the
sweeter.
Ellen rose from the table when she had finished, and stood a
few minutes thoughtfully by the fire.
"Aunt Fortune," she said at length, timidly, "if you've no
objection, I should like to go and take a good look all
about."
"Oh, yes," said Miss Fortune, "go where you like; I'll give
you a week to do what you please with yourself."
"Thank you, Maam," said Ellen, as she ran off for her bonnet;
"a week's a long time. I suppose," thought she, "I shall go to
school at the end of that."
Returning quickly with her white bonnet, Ellen opened the
heavy kitchen door by which she had entered last night, and
went out. She found herself in a kind of long shed. It had
very rough walls and floor, and overhead showed the brown
beams and rafters; two little windows and a door were on the
side. All manner of rubbish lay there, especially at the
further end. There was scattered about and piled up various
boxes, boards, farming and garden tools, old pieces of rope
and sheepskin, old iron, a cheese-press, and what not. Ellen
did not stay long to look, but went out to find something
pleasanter. A few yards from the shed door was the little gate
through which she had stumbled in the dark, and outside of
that Ellen stood still a while. It was a fair, pleasant day,
and the country scene she looked upon was very pretty. Ellen
thought so. Before her, at a little distance, rose the great
gable end of the barn, and a long row of outhouses stretched
away from it towards the left. The ground was strewn thick
with chips; and the reason was not hard to find, for a little
way off, under an old stunted apple-tree, lay a huge log, well
chipped on the upper surface, with the axe resting against it;
and close by were some sticks of wood both chopped and
unchopped. To the right, the ground descended gently to a
beautiful plane meadow, skirted on the hither side by a row of
fine apple-trees. The smooth green flat tempted Ellen to a
run, but first she looked to the left. There was the garden,
she guessed, for there was a paling fence which enclosed a
pretty large piece of ground; and between the garden and the
house a green slope ran down to the spout. That reminded her
that she intended making a journey of discovery up the course
of the long trough. No time could be better than now; and she
ran down the slope.
The trough was supported at some height from the ground by
little heaps of stones, placed here and there along its whole
course. Not far from the spout it crossed a fence. Ellen must
cross it, too, to gain her object, and how that could be done,
was a great question; she resolved to try, however. But first,
she played awhile with the water, which had great charms for
her. She dammed up the little channel with her fingers,
forcing the water to flow over the side of the trough; there
was something very pleasant in stopping the supply of the
spout, and seeing the water trickling over where it had no
business to go; and she did not heed that some of the drops
took her frock in their way. She stooped her lips to the
trough and drank of its sweet current only for fun's sake,
for she was not thirsty. Finally, she set out to follow the
stream up to its head. But poor Ellen had not gone more than
half way towards the fence, when she all at once plunged into
the mire. The green grass growing there had looked fair
enough, but there was running water and black mud under the
green grass, she found to her sorrow. Her shoes, her
stockings, were full. What was to be done now! The journey of
discovery must be given up. She forgot to think about where
the water came from, in the more pressing question, "What will
Aunt Fortune say?" and the quick wish came that she had her
mother to go to. However, she got out of the slough, and
wiping her shoes as well as she could on the grass, she
hastened back to the house.
The kitchen was all put in order, the hearth swept, the irons
at the fire, and Miss Fortune just pinning her ironing-blanket
on the table.
"Well what's the matter?" she said, when she saw Ellen's
face; but as her glance reached the floor, her brow darkened.
"Mercy on me!" she exclaimed, with slow emphasis; "what on
earth have you been about? where have you been?"
Ellen explained.
"Well, you _have_ made a figure of yourself! Sit down!" said her
aunt, shortly, as she thrust a chair down on the hearth before
the fire "I should have thought you'd have had wit enough at
your age, to keep out of the ditch."
"I didn't see any ditch," said Ellen.
"No, I suppose not," said Miss Fortune, who was energetically
twitching off Ellen's shoes and stockings with her fore finger
and thumb "I suppose not; you were staring up at the moon or
stars, I suppose."
"It all looked green and smooth," said poor Ellen "one part
just like another and the first thing I knew, I was up to my
ankles."
"What were you there at all for?" said Miss Fortune, shortly
enough.
"I couldn't see where the water came from, and I wanted to
find out."
"Well you've found out enough for one day, I hope. Just look
at those stockings! Han't you got never a pair of coloured
stockings, that you must go poking into the mud with white
ones?"
"No, Maam."
"Do you mean to say you never wore any but white ones at
home?"
"Yes, Maam I never had any others."
Miss Fortune's thoughts seemed too much for speech, from the
way in which she jumped up and went off without saying
anything more. She presently came back with an old pair of
gray socks, which she bade Ellen put on as soon as her feet
were dry.
"How many of those white stockings have you?" she said.
"Mamma bought me half a dozen pair of new ones just before I
came away, and I had as many as that of old ones besides."
"Well, now go up to your trunk and bring 'em all down to me
every pair of white stockings you have got. There's a pair of
old slippers you can put on till your shoes are dry," she
said, flinging them to her "They aren't much too big for
you."
"They're not much too big for the _socks_ they're a great deal
too big for me," thought Ellen. But she said nothing. She
gathered all her stockings together and brought them down
stairs, as her aunt had bidden her.
"Now you may run out to the barn, to Mr. Van Brunt you'll
find him there and tell him I want him to bring me some
white maple bark when he comes home to dinner white maple
bark, do you hear?"
Away went Ellen, but in a few minutes came back.
"I can't get in," she said.
"What's the matter?"
"Those great doors are shut, and I can't open them. I knocked,
but nobody came."
"Knock at a barn door!" said Miss Fortune. "You must go in at
the little cow-house door, at the left, and go round. He's in
the lower barn-floor."
The barn stood lower than the level of the chip-yard, from
which a little bridge led to the great doorway of the second
floor. Passing down the range of outhouses, Ellen came to the
little door her aunt had spoken of. "But what in the world
should I do if there should be cows inside there?" said she to
herself. She peeped in the cow-house was perfectly empty;
and cautiously, and with many a fearful glance to the right
and left, lest some terrible horned animal should present
itself, Ellen made her way across the cow-house, and through
the barn-yard, littered thick with straw wet and dry, to the
lower barn-floor. The door of this stood wide open. Ellen
looked with wonder and pleasure when she got in. It was an
immense room the sides showed nothing but hay up to the
ceiling, except here and there an enormous upright post; the
floor was perfectly clean, only a few locks of hay and grains
of wheat scattered upon it; and a pleasant sweet smell was
there, Ellen could not tell of what. But no Mr. Van Brunt. She
looked about for him, she dragged her disagreeable slippers
back and forth over the floor, in vain.
"Hilloa! what's wanting?" at length cried a rough voice she
remembered very well. But where was the speaker? On every
side, to every corner, her eyes turned without finding him.
She looked up at last. There was the round face of Mr. Van
Brunt peering down at her through a large opening, or trap-
door, in the upper floor.
"Well!" said he, "have you come out here to help me thrash
wheat?"
Ellen told him what she had come for.
"White maple bark well," said he, in his slow way, "I'll
bring it. I wonder what's in the wind now!"
So Ellen wondered, as she slowly went back to the house; and
yet more, when her aunt set her to tacking her stockings
together by two and two.
"What are you going to do with them, Aunt Fortune?" she at
last ventured to say.
"You'll see when the time comes."
"Mayn't I keep out one pair?" said Ellen, who had a vague
notion that by some mysterious means her stockings were to be
prevented from ever looking white any more.
"No just do as I tell you."
Mr. Van Brunt came at dinner-time with the white maple bark.
It was thrown forthwith into a brass kettle of water, which
Miss Fortune had already hung over the fire. Ellen felt sure
this had something to do with her stockings, but she could ask
no questions; and as soon as dinner was over she went up to
her room. It didn't look pleasant now. The brown wood-work and
rough dingy walls had lost their gilding. The sunshine was out
of it; and what was more, the sunshine was out of Ellen's
heart too. She went to the window and opened it, but there was
nothing to keep it open; it slid down again as soon as she let
it go. Baffled and sad, she stood leaning her elbows on the
window-sill, looking out on the grass-plat that lay before the
door, and the little gate that opened on the lane, and the
smooth meadow and rich broken country beyond. It was a very
fair and pleasant scene in the soft sunlight of the last of
October; but the charm of it was gone for Ellen; it was
dreary. She looked without caring to look, or knowing what she
was looking at; she felt the tears rising to her eyes, and,
sick of the window, turned away. Her eye fell on her trunk;
her next thought was of her desk inside of it; and suddenly
her heart sprang "I will write to Mamma!" No sooner said
than done. The trunk was quickly open, and hasty hands pulled
out one thing after another till the desk was reached.
"But what shall I do?" thought she "there isn't a sign of a
table. Oh, what a place! I'll shut my trunk and put it on
that. But here are all these things to put back first."
They were eagerly stowed away; and then kneeling by the side
of the trunk, with loving hands Ellen opened her desk. A sheet
of paper was drawn from her store, and properly placed before
her; the pen dipped in the ink, and at first with a hurried,
then with a trembling hand, she wrote, "My dear Mamma." But
Ellen's heart had been swelling and swelling with every letter
of those three words, and scarcely was the last "a" finished,
when the pen was dashed down, and flinging away from the desk,
she threw herself on the floor in a passion of grief. It
seemed as if she had her mother again in her arms, and was
clinging with a death-grasp, not to be parted from her. And
then the feeling that she was parted! As much bitter sorrow as
a little heart can know was in poor Ellen's now. In her
childish despair she wished she could die, and almost thought
she should. After a time, however, though not a short time,
she rose from the floor and went to her writing again her
heart a little eased by weeping, yet the tears kept coming all
the time, and she could not quite keep her paper from being
blotted. The first sheet was spoiled before she was aware; she
took another.
"MY DEAREST MAMMA,
"It makes me so glad and so sorry to write to you, that I
don't know what to do. I want to see you so much, Mamma, that
it seems to me sometimes as if my heart would break. Oh,
Mamma, if I could just kiss you once more, I would give
anything in the whole world. I can't be happy as long as you
are away, and I am afraid I can't be good either; but I will
try oh, I will try, Mamma. I have so much to say to you,
that I don't know where to begin. I am sure my paper will
never hold it. You will want to know about my journey. The
first day was on the steamboat, you know. I should have had a
dreadful time that day, Mamma, but for something I'll tell you
about. I was sitting up on the upper deck, thinking about you,
and feeling very badly indeed, when a gentleman came and spoke
to me, and asked me what was the matter. Mamma, I can't tell
you how kind he was to me. He kept me with him the whole day.
He took me all over the boat, and showed me all about a great
many things, and he talked to me a great deal. Oh, Mamma, how
he talked to me! He read in the Bible to me, and explained it,
and he tried to make me a Christian. And oh! Mamma, when he
was talking to me, how I wanted to do as he said! and I
resolved I would. I did, Mamma, and I have not forgotten it. I
will try indeed, but I am afraid it will be very hard, without
you or him or anybody else to help me. You couldn't have been
kinder yourself, Mamma; he kissed me at night when I bid him
good-bye, and I was very sorry indeed. I wish I could see him
again. Mamma, I will always love that gentleman, if I never
see him again in the world. I wish there was somebody here
that I could love, but there is not. You will want to know
what sort of a person my aunt Fortune is. I think she is very
good-looking, or she would be if her nose was not quite so
sharp; but, Mamma, I can't tell you what sort of a feeling I
have about her; it seems to me as if she was sharp all over. I
am sure her eyes are as sharp as two needles. And she don't
walk like other people at least, sometimes. She makes queer
little jerks and starts and jumps, and flies about like I
don't know what. I am afraid it is not right for me to write
so about her; but may I not tell you, Mamma? There's nobody
else for me to talk to. I can't like Aunt Fortune much yet,
and I am sure she don't like me; but I will try to make her. I
have not forgotten what you said to me about that! Oh! dear
Mamma, I will try to mind everything you ever said to me in
your life. I am afraid you won't like what I have written
about Aunt Fortune; but indeed I have done nothing to
displease her, and I will try not to. If you were only here,
Mamma, I should say it was the loveliest place I ever saw in
my life. Perhaps, after all, I shall feel better, and be quite
happy by and by; but oh! Mamma, how glad I shall be when I get
a letter from you! I shall begin to look for it soon, and I
think I shall go out of my wits with joy when it comes. I had
the funniest ride down here from Thirlwall that you can think;
how do you guess I came? In a cart drawn by oxen! They went so
slow, we were an age getting here; but I liked it very much.
There was a good-natured man driving the oxen, and he was kind
to me; but, Mamma, what do you think? he eats at the table!
I know what you would tell me; you would say I must not mind
trifles. Well, I will try not, Mamma. Oh! darling mother, I
can't think much of anything but you. I think of you the whole
time. Who makes tea for you now? Are you better? Are you going
to leave New York soon? It seems dreadfully long since I saw
you. I am tired, dear Mamma, and cold; and it is getting dark.
I must stop. I have a good big room to myself; that is a good
thing. I should not like to sleep with Aunt Fortune. Good
night, dear Mamma. I wish I could sleep with you once more.
Oh! when will that be again, Mamma? Good night. Good night
Your affectionate "ELLEN."
The letter finished, was carefully folded, enclosed, and
directed; and then, with an odd mixture of pleasure and
sadness, Ellen lit one of her little wax matches, as she
called them, and sealed it very nicely. She looked at it
fondly a minute when all was done, thinking of the dear
fingers that would hold and open it; her next movement was to
sink her face in her hands, and pray most earnestly for a
blessing upon her mother, and help for herself poor Ellen
felt she needed it. She was afraid of lingering lest tea
should be ready, so, locking up her letter, she went down
stairs.
The tea was ready. Miss Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt were at the
table, and so was the old lady, whom Ellen had not seen before
that day. She quietly drew up her chair to its place.
"Well," said Miss Fortune, "I hope you feel better for your
long stay up stairs."
"I do, Maam," said Ellen "a great deal better."
"What have you been about?"
"I have been writing, Maam."
"Writing what?"
"I have been writing to Mamma."
Perhaps Miss Fortune heard the trembling of Ellen's voice, or
her sharp glance saw the lip quiver and eyelid droop.
Something softened her. She spoke in a different tone; asked
Ellen if her tea was good; took care she had plenty of the
bread and butter, and excellent cheese, which was on the
table; and, lastly cut her a large piece of the pumpkin-pie.
Mr. Van Brunt, too, looked once or twice at Ellen's face, as
if he thought all was not right there. He was not so sharp as
Miss Fortune, but the swollen eyes and tear-stains were not
quite lost upon him.
After tea, when Mr. Van Brunt was gone, and the tea things
cleared away, Ellen had the pleasure of finding out the
mystery of the brass kettle and the white maple bark. The
kettle now stood in the chimney corner. Miss Fortune, seating
herself before it, threw in all Ellen's stockings except one
pair, which she flung over to her, saying, "There I don't
care if you keep that one." Then tucking up her sleeves to the
elbows, she fished up pair after pair out of the kettle, and
wringing them out, hung them on chairs to dry. But, as Ellen
had opined, they were no longer white, but of a fine slate
colour. She looked on in silence, too much vexed to ask
questions.
"Well, how do you like that?" said Miss Fortune, at length,
when she had got two or three chairs round the fire, pretty
well hung with a display of slate-coloured cotton legs.
"I don't like it at all," said Ellen.
"Well, _I_ do. How many pair of white stockings would you like
to drive into the mud, and let me wash out every week?"
"_You_ wash!" said Ellen, in surprise "I didn't think of _your_
doing it."
"Who did you think _was_ going to do it? There's nothing in this
house but goes through my hand, I can tell you, and so must
you. I suppose you've lived all your life among people that
thought a great deal of wetting their little finger! but I'm
not one of 'em, I guess you'll find."
Ellen was convinced of that already.
"Well, what are you thinking of?" said Miss Fortune,
presently.
"I'm thinking of my nice white darning cotton," said Ellen. "I
might just as well not have had it."
"Is it wound, or in the skein?"
"In the skein."
"Then just go right up and get it. I'll warrant I'll fix it so
that you'll have a use for it."
Ellen obeyed, but musing rather uncomfortably what else there
was of hers that Miss Fortune could lay hands on. She seemed
in imagination to see all her white things turning brown. She
resolved she would keep her trunk well locked up; but what if
her keys should be called for?
She was dismissed to her room soon after the dyeing business
was completed. It was rather a disagreeable surprise to find
her bed still unmade; and she did not at all like the notion
that the making of it in future must depend entirely upon
herself Ellen had no fancy for such handiwork. She went to
sleep in somewhat the same dissatisfied mood with which the
day had been begun displeasure at her coarse heavy coverlid
and cotton sheets again taking its place among weightier
matters! and dreamed of tying them together into a rope by
which to let herself down out of the window; but when she had
got so far, Ellen's sleep became sound, and the end of the
dream was never known.