Running away with the brook.
Clouds and rain and cold winds kept Ellen within doors for
several days. This did not better the state of matters between
herself and her aunt. Shut up with her in the kitchen from
morning till night, with the only variety of the old lady's
company part of the time, Ellen thought neither of them
improved upon acquaintance. Perhaps they thought the same of
her she was certainly not in her best mood. With nothing to
do, the time hanging very heavy on her hands, disappointed,
unhappy, frequently irritated, Ellen became at length very
ready to take offence, and nowise disposed to pass it over, or
smooth it away. She seldom showed this in words, it is true,
but it rankled in her mind. Listless and brooding, she sat,
day after day, comparing the present with the past, wishing
vain wishes, indulging bootless regrets, and looking upon her
aunt and grandmother with an eye of more settled aversion. The
only other person she saw was Mr. Van Brunt, who came in
regularly to meals; but he never said anything, unless in
answer to Miss Fortune's questions, and remarks about the farm
concerns. These did not interest her, and she was greatly
wearied with the sameness of her life. She longed to go out
again; but Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday
passed, and the weather still kept her close prisoner. Monday
brought a change, but though a cool drying wind blew all day,
the ground was too wet to venture out.
On the evening of that day, as Miss Fortune was setting the
table for tea, and Ellen sitting before the fire, feeling
weary of everything, the kitchen door opened, and a girl
somewhat larger and older than herself came in. She had a
pitcher in her hand, and marching straight up to the tea-
table, she said
"Will you let granny have a little milk to-night, Miss
Fortune? I can't find the cow. I'll bring it back to-morrow."
"You han't lost her, Nancy?"
"Have, though," said the other; "she's been away these two
days."
"Why didn't you go somewhere nearer for milk?"
"Oh! I don't know I guess your'n is the sweetest," said the
girl, with a look Ellen did not understand.
Miss Fortune took the pitcher and went into the pantry. While
she was gone, the two children improved the time in looking
very hard at each other. Ellen's gaze was modest enough,
though it showed a great deal of interest in the new object;
but the broad, searching stare of the other seemed intended to
take in all there was of Ellen from her head to her feet, and
keep it, and find out what sort of a creature she was at once.
Ellen almost shrank from the bold black eyes, but they never
wavered, till Miss Fortune's voice broke the spell.
"How's your grandmother, Nancy?"
"She's tolerable, Maam, thank you."
"Now, if you don't bring it back to-morrow, you won't get any
more in a hurry," said Miss Fortune, as she handed the pitcher
back to the girl.
"I'll mind it," said the latter, with a little nod of her
head, which seemed to say there was no danger of her
forgetting.
"Who is that, aunt Fortune?" said Ellen, when she was gone.
"She is a girl that lives up on the mountain yonder."
"But what's her name?"
"I had just as lief you wouldn't know her name. She ain't a
good girl. Don't you never have anything to do with her."
Ellen was in no mind to give credit to all her aunt's
opinions, and she set this down as in part at least coming
from ill-humour.
The next morning was calm and fine, and Ellen spent nearly the
whole of it out of doors. She did not venture near the ditch,
but in every other direction she explored the ground, and
examined what stood or grew upon it as thoroughly as she
dared. Towards noon she was standing by the little gate at the
back of the house, unwilling to go in, but not knowing what
more to do, when Mr. Van Brunt came from the lane with a load
of wood. Ellen watched the oxen toiling up the ascent, and
thought it looked like very hard work; she was sorry for them.
"Isn't that a very heavy load?" she asked of their driver, as
he was throwing it down under the apple-tree.
"Heavy? Not a bit of it. It ain't nothing at all to 'em.
They'd take twice as much any day with pleasure."
"I shouldn't think so," said Ellen; "they don't look as if
there was much pleasure about it. What makes them lean over so
against each other when they are coming up hill?"
"Oh, that's just a way they've got. They're so fond of each
other, I suppose. Perhaps they've something particular to say,
and want to put their heads together for the purpose."
"No," said Ellen, half laughing, "it can't be that; they
wouldn't take the very hardest time for that; they would wait
till they got to the top of the hill: but there they stand
just as if they were asleep, only their eyes are open. Poor
things!"
"They're not very poor anyhow," said Mr. Van Brunt; "there
ain't a finer yoke of oxen to be seen than them are, nor in
better condition."
He went on throwing the wood out of the cart, and Ellen stood
looking at him.
"What'll you give me if I'll make you a scup one of these
days?" said Mr. Van Brunt.
"A scup!" said Ellen.
"Yes a scup! how would you like it?"
"I don't know what it is." said Ellen.
"A scup! may be you don't know it by that name; some folks
call it a swing."
"A swing! oh, yes," said Ellen, "now I know. Oh, I like it
very much."
"Would you like to have one?"
"Yes, indeed I should, very much."
"Well, what'll you give me, if I'll fix you out?"
"I don't know," said Ellen, "I have nothing to give; I'll be
very much obliged to you, indeed."
"Well now, come I'll make a bargain with you: I'll engage to
fix up a scup for you, if you'll give me a kiss."
Poor Ellen was struck dumb. The good-natured Dutchman had
taken a fancy to the little pale-faced, sad-looking stranger,
and really felt very kindly disposed toward her, but she
neither knew, nor at the moment cared about that. She stood
motionless, utterly astounded at his unheard-of proposal, and
not a little indignant; but when, with a good-natured smile
upon his round face, he came near to claim the kiss he no
doubt thought himself sure of, Ellen shot from him like an
arrow from a bow. She rushed to the house, and bursting open
the door, stood with flushed face and sparkling eyes in the
presence of her astonished aunt.
"What in the world is the matter?" exclaimed that lady.
"He wanted to kiss me!" said Ellen, scarce knowing whom she
was talking to, and crimsoning more and more.
"Who wanted to kiss you?"
"That man out there."
"What man?"
"The man that drives the oxen."
"What, Mr. Van Brunt?" And Ellen never forgot the loud ha! ha!
which burst from Miss Fortune's wide-open mouth.
"Well, why didn't you let him kiss you?"
The laugh, the look, the tone, stung Ellen to the very quick.
In a fury of passion she dashed away out of the kitchen, and
up to her own room. And there, for a while, the storm of anger
drove over her with such violence, that conscience had hardly
time to whisper. Sorrow came in again as passion faded, and
gentler but very bitter weeping took the place of compulsive
sobs of rage and mortification, and then the whispers of
conscience began to be heard a little. "Oh, Mamma! Mamma!"
cried poor Ellen, in her heart, "how miserable I am without
you! I never can like Aunt Fortune it's of no use I never
can like her; I hope I shan't get to hate her! and that
isn't right. I am forgetting all that is good, and there's
nobody to put me in mind. Oh, Mamma! if I could lay my head in
your lap for a minute!" Then came thoughts of her Bible and
hymn-book, and the friend who had given it; sorrowful thoughts
they were; and at last, humbled and sad, poor Ellen sought
that great friend she knew she had displeased, and prayed
earnestly to be made a good child; she felt and owned she was
not one now.
It was long after mid-day when Ellen rose from her knees. Her
passion was all gone; she felt more gentle and pleasant than
she had done for days; but at the bottom of her heart
resentment was not all gone. She still thought she had cause
to be angry, and she could not think of her aunt's look and
tone without a thrill of painful feeling. In a very different
mood, however, from that in which she had flown up stairs two
or three hours before, she now came softly down, and went out
by the front door to avoid meeting her aunt. She had visited
that morning a little brook, which ran through the meadow on
the other side of the road. It had great charms for her; and
now, crossing the lane and creeping under the fence, she made
her way again to its banks. At a particular spot, where the
brook made one of its sudden turns, Ellen sat down upon the
grass, and watched the dark water whirling, brawling over
the stones, hurrying past her, with ever the same soft,
pleasant sound and she was never tired of it. She did not
hear footsteps drawing near, and it was not till some one was
close beside her, and a voice spoke almost in her ears, that
she raised her startled eyes and saw the little girl who had
come the evening before for a pitcher of milk.
"What are you doing?" said the latter.
"I'm watching for fish," said Ellen.
"Watching for fish!" said the other, rather disdainfully.
"Yes," said Ellen, "there, in that little quiet place they
come sometimes I've seen two."
"You can look for fish another time. Come now, and take a walk
with me."
"Where?" said Ellen.
"Oh, you shall see. Come! I'll take you all about and show you
where people live. You ha'nt been anywhere yet, have you?"
"No," said Ellen, "and I should like dearly to go, but"
She hesitated. Her aunt's words came to mind, that this was
not a good girl, and that she must have nothing to do with
her; but she had not more than half believed them, and she
could not possibly bring herself now to go in and ask Miss
Fortune's leave to take this walk. "I am sure," thought Ellen,
"she would refuse me if there was no reason in the world." And
then the delight of rambling though the beautiful country, and
being for a while in other company than that of her aunt
Fortune and the old grandmother! The temptation was too great
to be withstood.
"Well, what are you thinking about?" said the girl; "what's
the matter? won't you come?"
"Yes," said Ellen, "I'm ready. Which way shall we go?"
With the assurance from the other that she would show her
plenty of ways, they set off down the lane Ellen with a
secret fear of being seen and called back till they had gone
some distance, and the house was hid from view. Then her
pleasure became great. The afternoon was fair and mild, the
footing pleasant, and Ellen felt like a bird out of a cage.
She was ready to be delighted with every trifle; her companion
could not by any means understand or enter into her bursts of
pleasure at many a little thing which she of the black eyes
thought not worthy of notice. She tried to bring Ellen back to
higher subjects of conversion.
"How long have you been here?" she asked.
"Oh, a good while," said Ellen "I don't know exactly; it's a
week, I believe."
"Why, do you call that a good while?" said the other.
"Well, it seems a good while to me," said Ellen, sighing "it
seems as long as four, I am sure."
"Then you don't like to live here much, do you?"
"I had rather be at home, of course."
"How do you like your aunt Fortune?"
"How do I like her?" said Ellen, hesitating "I think she's
good-looking, and very smart."
"Yes, you needn't tell me she's smart everybody knows that;
that ain't what I ask you how do you _like_ her?"
"How do I like her?" said Ellen, again "how can I tell how I
shall like her? I haven't lived with her but a week yet."
"You might just as well ha' spoke out," said the other,
somewhat scornfully; "do you think I don't know you half hate
her already? and it'll be whole hating in another week more.
When I first heard you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweet
time with her."
"Why?" said Ellen.
"Oh, don't ask me why," said the other, impatiently, "when you
know as well as I do. Every soul that speaks of you, says
'poor child' and 'I'm glad I ain't her.' You needn't try to
come cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I tell
you."
"I don't know what you mean," said Ellen.
"Oh, no, I suppose you don't," said the other, in the same
tone "of course you don't; I suppose you don't know whether
your tongue is your own or somebody's else. You think Miss
Fortune is an angel, and so do I to be sure she is!"
Not very pleased with this kind of talk, Ellen walked on for a
while, in grave silence. Her companion meantime recollected
herself; when she spoke again it was with an altered tone.
"How do you like Mr. Van Brunt?"
"I don't like him at all," said Ellen, reddening.
"Don't you!" said the other surprised "why, everybody likes
him. What don't you like him for?"
"I don't like him," repeated Ellen.
"Ain't Miss Fortune queer to live in the way she does?"
"What way?" said Ellen.
"Why, without any help doing all her own work, and living
all alone, when she's so rich as she is."
"Is she rich?" asked Ellen.
"Rich! I guess she is! she's one of the very best farms in the
country, and money enough to have a dozen help, if she wanted
'em. Van Brunt takes care of the farm, you know?"
"Does he?" said Ellen.
"Why, yes, of course he does; didn't you know that? what did
you think he was at your house all the time for?"
"I am sure I don't know," said Ellen. "And are those Aunt
Fortune's oxen that he drives?"
"To be sure they are. Well, I do think you are green, to have
been there all this time, and not found that out. Mr. Van
Brunt does just what he pleases over the whole farm, though;
hires what help he wants, manages everything; and then he has
his share of all that comes off it. I tell you what you'd
better make friends with Van Brunt, for if anybody can help
you when your aunt gets one of her ugly fits, it's him; she
don't care to meddle with him much."
Leaving the lane, the two girls took a footpath leading across
the fields. The stranger was greatly amused here with Ellen's
awkwardness in climbing fences. Where it was a possible thing,
she was fain to crawl under; but one or twice that could not
be done, and having, with infinite difficulty, mounted to the
top rail, poor Ellen sat there in a most tottering condition,
uncertain on which side of the fence she should tumble over,
but seeing no other possible way of getting down. The more she
trembled the more her companion laughed, standing aloof
meanwhile, and insisting she should get down by herself.
Necessity enabled her to do this at last, and each time the
task became easier; but Ellen secretly made up her mind that
her new friend was not likely to prove a very good one.
As they went along, she pointed out to Ellen two or three
houses in the distance, and gave her not a little gossip about
the people who lived in them; but all this Ellen scarcely
heard, and cared nothing at all about. She had paused by the
side of a large rock standing alone by the wayside, and was
looking very closely at its surface.
"What is this curious brown stuff," said Ellen, "growing all
over the rock like shrivelled and dried-up leaves? Isn't it
curious? part of it stands out like a leaf, and part of it
sticks fast; I wonder if it grows here, or what it is."
"Oh, never mind," said the other; "it always grows on the
rocks everywhere; I don't know what it is and what's more, I
don't care. 'Tain't worth looking at. Come!"
Ellen followed her. But presently the path entered an open
woodland, and now her delight broke forth beyond bounds.
"Oh, how pleasant this is! how lovely this is! Isn't it
beautiful?" she exclaimed.
"Isn't _what_ beautiful? I do think you are the queerest girl,
Ellen."
"Why, everything," said Ellen, not minding the latter part of
the sentence; "the ground is beautiful, and those tall trees,
and that beautiful blue sky only look at it!"
"The ground is all covered with stones and rocks is that
what you call beautiful? and the trees are as homely as they
can be, with their great brown stems and no leaves. Come!
what _are_ you staring at?"
Ellen's eyes were fixed on a string of dark spots, which were
rapidly passing overhead.
"Hark!" said she; "do you hear that noise? what is that? what
is that?"
"Isn't it only a flock of ducks," said the other,
contemptuously; "come! do come!"
But Ellen was rooted to the ground, and her eyes followed the
airy travellers till the last one had quitted the piece of
blue sky which the surrounding woods left to be seen. And
scarcely were these gone when a second flight came in view,
following exactly in the track of the first.
"Where are they going?" said Ellen.
"I am sure I don't know where they are going; they never told
me. I know where _I_ am going; I should like to know whether you
are going along with me."
Ellen, however, was in no hurry. The ducks had disappeared,
but her eye had caught something else that charmed it.
"What is this?" said Ellen.
"Nothing but moss."
"Is that moss! How beautiful! how green and soft it is! I
declare it's as soft as a carpet."
"As soft as a carpet!" repeated the other. "I should like to
see a carpet as soft as that! _you_ never did, I guess."
"Indeed I have, though," said Ellen, who was gently jumping up
and down on the green moss to try its softness, with a face of
great satisfaction.
"I don't believe it a bit," said the other; "all the carpets I
ever saw were as hard as a board, and harder; as soft as that,
indeed!"
"Well," said Ellen, still jumping up and down, with bonnet
off, and glowing cheek, and her hair dancing about her face,
"you may believe what you like; but I've seen a carpet as soft
as this, and softer too only one, though."
"What was it made of?"
"What other carpets are made of, I suppose. Come, I'll go with
you now. I do think this is the loveliest place I ever did
see. Are there any flowers here in the spring?"
"I don't know yes, lots of 'em."
"Pretty ones?" said Ellen.
"_You'd_ think so, I suppose; I never look at 'em."
"Oh, how lovely that will be!" said Ellen, clasping her hands.
"How pleasant it must be to live in the country!"
"Pleasant, indeed!" said the other; "I think it's hateful.
You'd think so, too, if you lived where I do. It makes me mad
at granny every day because she won't go to Thirlwall. Wait
till we get out of the wood, and I'll show you where I live.
You can't see it from here."
Shocked a little at her companion's language, Ellen again
walked on in sober silence. Gradually the ground became more
broken, sinking rapidly from the side of the path, and rising
again in a steep bank on the other side of a narrow dell; both
sides were thickly wooded, but stripped of green now, except
where here and there a hemlock-fir flung its graceful branches
abroad, and stood in lonely beauty among its leafless
companions. Now the gurgling of waters was heard.
"Where is that?" said Ellen, stopping short.
" 'Way down down, at the bottom there. It's the brook."
"What brook? Not the same that goes by Aunt Fortune's?"
"Yes, it's the very same. It's the crookest thing you ever
saw. It runs over there," said the speaker, pointing with her
arm, "and then it takes a turn and goes that way, and then it
comes round so, and then it shoots off in that way again and
passes by your house; and after that, the dear knows where it
goes, for I don't. But I don't suppose it could run straight,
if it was to try to."
"Can't we get down to it?" said Ellen.
"To be sure we can, unless you're as afraid of steep banks as
you are of fences."
Very steep indeed it was, and strewn with loose stones; but
Ellen did not falter here, and though once or twice in
imminent danger of exchanging her cautious stepping for one
long roll to the bottom, she got there safely on her two feet.
When there, everything was forgotten in delight. It was a wild
little place. The high, close sides of the dell left only a
little strip of sky overhead; and at their feet ran the brook,
much more noisy and lively here than where Ellen had before
made its acquaintance; leaping from rock to rock, eddying
round large stones, and boiling over the small ones, and now
and then pouring quietly over some great trunk of a tree that
had fallen across its bed and dammed up the whole stream.
Ellen could scarcely contain herself at the magnificence of
many of the waterfalls, the beauty of the little quiet pools
where the water lay still behind some large stone, and the
variety of graceful tiny cascades.
"Look here, Nancy!" cried Ellen; "that's the Falls of Niagara
do you see? that large one; oh, that is splendid! And this
will do for Trenton Falls what a fine foam it makes! isn't
it a beauty? And what shall we call this? I don't know what to
call it; I wish we could name them all. But there's no end to
them. Oh, just look at that one! That's too pretty not to have
a name; what shall it be?"
"Black Falls," suggested the other.
"Black," said Ellen, dubiously, "why! I don't like that."
"Why, the water's all dark and black, don't you see?"
"Well," said Ellen; "let it be Black, then; but I don't like
it. Now, remember, this is Niagara, that is Black, and this
is Trenton; and what is this?"
"If you are going to name them all," said Nancy, "we shan't
get home to-night; you might as well name all the trees
there's a hundred of 'em, and more. I say, Ellen, suppos'n' we
follow the brook instead of climbing up yonder again; it will
take us out to the open fields by and by."
"Oh, do let's!" said Ellen; "that will be lovely."
It proved a rough way; but Ellen still thought and called it
"lovely." Often by the side of the stream there was no footing
at all, and the girls picked their way over the stones, large
and small, wet and dry, which strewed its bed; against which
the water foamed, and fumed, and fretted, as if in great
impatience. It was ticklish work getting along over these
stones; now tottering on an unsteady one, now slipping on a
wet one and every now and then making huge leaps from rock
to rock, which there was no other method of reaching, at the
imminent hazard of falling in. But they laughed at the danger;
sprang on in great glee, delighted with the exercise and the
fun; didn't stay long enough anywhere to lose their balance,
and enjoyed themselves amazingly. There was many a hair-
breadth escape; many an _almost_ sousing; but that made it all
the more lively. The brook formed, as Nancy had said, a
constant succession of little waterfalls, its course being
quite steep and very rocky; and in some places there were
pools quite deep enough to have given them a thorough wetting,
to say no more, if they had missed their footing and tumbled
in. But this did not happen. In due time, though with no
little difficulty, they reached the spot where the brook came
forth from the wood into the open day; and thence, making a
sharp turn to the right, skirted along by the edge of the
trees, as if unwilling to part company with them.
"I guess we'd better get back into the lane now," said Miss
Nancy; "we're a pretty good long way from home."