Splitters.
They left the wood and the brook behind them, and crossed a
large stubble-field; then got over a fence into another. They
were in the midst of this when Nancy stopped Ellen, and bade
her look up towards the west, where towered a high mountain,
no longer hid from their view by the trees.
"I told you I'd show you where I live," said she. "Look up now
clear to the top of the mountain, almost, and a little to
the right do you see that little mite of a house there? Look
sharp it's a'most as brown as the rock do you see it? it's
close by that big pine-tree, but it don't look big from here
it's just by that little dark spot near the top."
"I see it," said Ellen "I see it now; do you live away up
there?"
"That's just what I do; and that's just what I wish I didn't.
But granny likes it; she will live there. I don't know what
for, if it ain't to plague me. Do you think you'd like to live
up on the top of a mountain like that?"
"No, I don't think I should," said Ellen. "Isn't it very cold
up there?"
"Cold! you don't know anything about it. The wind comes there,
I tell you! enough to cut you in two; I have to take and hold
on to the trees sometimes, to keep from being blowed away. And
then granny sends me out every morning before it's light, no
matter how deep the snow is, to look for the cow; and it's so
bitter cold, I expect nothing else but I'll be froze to death
some time."
"Oh!" said Ellen, with a look of horror, "how can she do so!"
"Oh, she don't care," said the other; "she sees my nose freeze
off every winter, and it don't make no difference."
"Freeze your nose off!" said Ellen.
"To be sure," said the other, nodding gravely "every winter;
it grows out again when the warm weather comes."
"And is that the reason why it is so little?" said Ellen,
innocently, and with great curiosity.
"Little!" said the other, crimsoning in a fury "what do you
mean by that? it's as big as yours any day, I can tell you."
Ellen involuntarily put her hand to her face, to see if Nancy
spoke true. Somewhat reassured to find a very decided ridge
where her companion's nose was wanting in the line of beauty,
she answered in her turn
"It's no such thing, Nancy! you oughtn't to say so; you know
better."
"I _don't_ know better! I _ought_ to say so!" replied the other,
furiously. "If I had your nose, I'd be glad to have it freeze
off; I'd a sight rather have none. I'd pull it every day, if I
was you, to make it grow."
"I shall believe what Aunt Fortune said of you was true," said
Ellen. She had coloured very high, but she added no more, and
walked on in dignified silence. Nancy stalked before her in
silence that was meant to be dignified too, though it had not
exactly that air. By degrees each cooled down, and Nancy was
trying to find out what Miss Fortune had said of her, when on
the edge of the next field they met the brook again. After
running a long way to the right, it had swept round, and here
was flowing gently in the opposite direction. But how were
they ever to cross it? The brook ran in a smooth current
between them and a rising bank on the other side, so high as
to prevent their seeing what lay beyond. There were no
stepping-stones now. The only thing that looked like a bridge
was an old log that had fallen across the brook, or perhaps
had at some time or other been put there on purpose; and that
lay more than half in the water; what remained of its surface
was green with moss and slippery with slime. Ellen was sadly
afraid to trust herself on it; but what to do? Nancy soon
settled the question, as far as she was concerned. Pulling off
her thick shoes, she ran fearlessly upon the rude bridge; her
clinging bare feet carried her safely over, and Ellen soon saw
her re-shoeing herself in triumph on the opposite side; but
thus left behind and alone, her own difficulty increased.
"Pull off your shoes, and do as I did," said Nancy.
"I can't," said Ellen; "I'm afraid of wetting my feet; I know
mama wouldn't let me."
"Afraid of wetting your feet!" said the other; "what a
chickaninny you are! Well, if you try to come over with your
shoes on, you'll fall in, I tell you; and then you'll wet more
than your feet. But come along somehow, for I won't stand
waiting here much longer."
Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous journey over the
bridge. Slowly and fearfully, and with as much care as
possible, she set step by step upon the slippery log. Already
half of the danger was passed, when, reaching forward to grasp
Nancy's outstretched hand, she missed it _perhaps_ that was
Nancy's fault poor Ellen lost her balance, and went in head
foremost. The water was deep enough to cover her completely as
she lay, though not enough to prevent her getting up again.
She was greatly frightened, but managed to struggle up first
to a sitting posture, and then to her feet, and then to wade
out to the shore; though, dizzy and sick, she came near
falling back again more than once. The water was very cold;
and thoroughly sobered, poor Ellen felt chill enough in body
and mind too; all her fine spirits were gone; and not the less
because Nancy's had risen to a great pitch of delight at her
misfortune. The air rang with her laughter; she likened Ellen
to every ridiculous thing she could think of. Too miserable to
be angry, Ellen could not laugh, and would not cry, but she
exclaimed, in distress
"Oh, what shall I do! I am so cold!"
"Come along," said Nancy; "give me your hand; we'll run over
to Mrs. Van Brunt's 'tain't far it's just over here.
There," said she, as they got to the top of the bank, and came
within sight of a house standing only a few fields off
"there it is! Run, Ellen, and we'll be there directly."
"Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" Ellen contrived to say, as Nancy
hurried her along,
"Who is she? run, Ellen! why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt
your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, you know make haste, Ellen!
we had rain enough the other day; I'm afraid it wouldn't be
good for the grass if you stayed too long in one place; hurry!
I'm afraid you'll catch cold you got your feet wet after
all, I'm sure."
Run they did; and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. Van
Brunt's door. The little brick walk leading to it from the
courtyard gate was as neat as a pin; so was every thing else
the eye could rest on; and when Nancy went in, poor Ellen
stayed _her_ foot at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoes
and dripping garments any further. She could hear, however,
what was going on.
"Hillo! Mrs. Van Brunt," shouted Nancy "where are you? oh!
Mrs. Van Brunt, are you out of water? cos if you are I've
brought you a plenty; the person that has it don't want it;
she's just at the door; she wouldn't bring it in till she knew
you wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't look so, or you'll
kill me with laughing. Come and see! come and see!"
The steps within drew near the door, and first Nancy showed
herself, and then a little old woman not very old, either
of very kind, pleasant countenance.
"What is all this?" said she, in great surprise. "Bless me!
poor little dear! what is this?"
"Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't
you see?" said Nancy.
"Go home, Nancy Vawse! go home," said the old lady; "you're a
regular bad girl. I do believe this is some mischief o' yourn
go right off home; it's time you were after your cow a great
while ago."
As she spoke, she drew Ellen in and shut the door.
"Poor little dear!" said the old lady, kindly, "what has
happened to you? Come to the fire, love, you're trembling with
the cold. Oh, dear! dear! You're soaking wet; this is all
along of Nancy somehow, I know; how was it love? Ain't you
Miss Fortune's little girl? Never mind, don't talk, darling;
there ain't one bit of colour in your face, not one bit."
Good Mrs. Van Brunt had drawn Ellen to the fire, and all this
while she was pulling off as fast as possible her wet clothes.
Then sending a girl who was in waiting, for clean towels, she
rubbed Ellen dry from head to foot, and wrapping her in a
blanket, left her in a chair before the fire, while she went
to seek something for her to put on. Ellen had managed to tell
who she was, and how her mischance had come about, but little
else, though the kind old lady had kept on pouring out words
of sorrow and pity during the whole time. She came trotting
back directly with one of her own short gowns, the only thing
that she could lay hands on that was anywhere near Ellen's
length. Enormously big it was for her, but Mrs. Van Brunt
wrapped it round and round, and the blanket over it again, and
then she bustled about till she had prepared a tumbler of hot
drink, which she said was to keep Ellen from catching cold. It
was anything but agreeable, being made from some bitter herb,
and sweetened with molasses; but Ellen swallowed it, as she
would anything else at such kind hands, and the old lady
carried her herself into a little room opening out of the
kitchen, and laid her in a bed that had been warmed for her.
Excessively tired and weak as she was, Ellen scarcely needed
the help of the hot herb-tea to fall into a very deep sleep;
perhaps it might not have lasted so very long as it did, but
for that. Afternoon changed for evening, evening grew quite
dark, still Ellen did not stir; and after every little journey
into the bedroom to see how she was doing, Mrs. Van Brunt came
back saying how glad she was to see her sleeping so finely.
Other eyes looked on her for a minute kind and gentle eyes;
though Mrs. Van Brunt's were kind and gentle too; once a soft
kiss touched her forehead there was no danger of waking her.
It was perfectly dark in the little bedroom, and had been so a
good while, when Ellen was aroused by some noise, and then a
rough voice she knew very well. Feeling faint and weak, and
not more than half awake yet, she lay still and listened. She
heard the outer door open and shut, and then the voice said
"So, mother, you've got my stray sheep here, have you?"
"Ay, ay," said the voice of Mrs. Van Brunt; "have you been
looking for her? how did you know she was here?"
"Looking for her! ay, looking for her ever since sundown. She
has been missing at the house since some time this forenoon. I
believe her aunt got a bit scared about her; any how, I did.
She's a queer little chip, as ever I see."
"She's a dear little soul, _I_ know," said his mother; "you
needn't say nothin' agin her, I ain't agoing to believe it."
"No more am I. I'm the best friend she's got, if she only
knowed it; but don't you think," said Mr. Van Brunt, laughing,
"I asked her to give me a kiss this forenoon, and if I'd been
an owl she couldn't ha' been more scared; she went off like a
streak, and Miss Fortune said she was as mad as she could be,
and that's the last of her."
"How did you find her out?"
"I met that mischievous Vawse girl, and I made her tell me;
she had no mind to at first. It'll be the worse for Ellen if
she takes to that wicked thing."
"She won't. Nancy has been taking her a walk, and worked it so
as to get her into the brook, and then brought her here, just
as dripping wet as she could be. I gave her something hot and
put her to bed, and she'll do, I reckon; but I tell you it
gave me queer feelings to see the poor little thing just as
white as ashes, and all of a tremble, and looking so sorrowful
too. She's sleeping finely now; but it ain't right to see a
child's face look so it ain't right," repeated Mrs. Van
Brunt, thoughtfully; "You han't had supper, have you?"
"No, mother, and I must take that young one back. Ain't she
awake yet?"
"I'll see directly; but she ain't going home, nor you neither,
'Brahm, till you've got your supper it would be a sin to let
her. She shall have a taste of my splitters this very night;
I've been makin' them o' purpose for her. So you may just take
off your hat and sit down."
"You mean to let her know where to come when she wants good
things, mother. Well, I won't say splitters ain't worth
waiting for."
Ellen heard him sit down, and then she guessed from the words
that passed, that Mrs. Van Brunt and her little maid were
busied in making the cakes; she lay quiet.
"You're a good friend, 'Brahm," began the old lady again;
"nobody knows that better than me; but I hope that poor little
thing has got another one to-day that'll do more for her than
you can."
"What, yourself, mother? I don't know about that."
"No, no; do you think I mean myself? there, turn it quick,
Sally! Miss Alice has been here."
"How? this evening?"
"Just a little before dark, on her gray pony. She came in for
a minute, and I took her that'll burn, Sally! I took her
in to see the child while she was asleep, and I told her all
you told me about her. She didn't say much, but she looked at
her very sweet, as she always does, and I guess, there now
I'll see after my little sleeper."
And presently Mrs. Van Brunt came to the bedside with a light,
and her arm full of Ellen's dry clothes. Ellen felt as if she
could have put her arms round her kind old friend, and hugged
her with all her heart; but it was not her way to show her
feelings before strangers. She suffered Mrs. Van Brunt to
dress her in silence, only saying, with a sigh, "How kind you
are to me, Maam!" to which the old lady replied with a kiss,
and telling her she mustn't say a word about that.
The kitchen was bright with firelight and candlelight; the
tea-table looked beautiful with its piles of white splitters,
besides plenty of other and more substantial things; and at
the corner of the hearth sat Mr. Van Brunt.
"So," said he, smiling, as Ellen came in and took her stand at
the opposite corner "So I drove you away this morning? You
ain't mad with me yet, I hope."
Ellen crossed directly over to him, and putting her little
hand in his great rough one, said, "I'm _very_ much obliged to
you, Mr. Van Brunt, for taking so much trouble to come and
look after me."
She said it with a look of gratitude and trust that pleased
him very much.
"Trouble, indeed!" said he, good-humouredly, "I'd take twice
as much any day for what you wouldn't give me this forenoon.
But never fear, Miss Ellen, I ain't a going to ask you that
again."
He shook the little hand; and from that time Ellen and her
rough charioteer were firm friends.
Mrs. Van Brunt now summoned them to table; and Ellen was well
feasted with the splitters, which were a kind of rich short-
cake, baked in irons, very thin and crisp, and then split in
two and buttered whence their name. A pleasant meal was
that. Whatever an epicure might have thought of the tea, to
Ellen, in her famished state, it was delicious; and no epicure
could have found fault with the cold ham and the butter and
the cakes but far better than all was the spirit of kindness
that was there. Ellen feasted on that more than on anything
else. If her host and hostess were not very polished, they
could not have been outdone in their kind care of her, and
kind attention to her wants. And when the supper was at length
over, Mrs. Van Brunt declared a little colour had come back to
the pale cheeks. The colour came back in good earnest a few
minutes after, when a great tortoise-shell cat walked into the
room. Ellen jumped down from her chair, and presently was
bestowing the tenderest caresses upon pussy, who stretched out
her head and purred as if she liked them very well.
"What a nice cat!" said Ellen.
"She has five kittens," said Mrs. Van Brunt.
"Five kittens!" said Ellen. "Oh, may I come some time and see
them?"
"You shall see 'em right away, dear, and come as often as you
like, too. Sally, just take a basket, and go fetch them
kittens here."
Upon this, Mr. Van Brunt began to talk about its being time to
go, if they were going. But his mother insisted that Ellen
should stay where she was; she said she was not fit to go home
that night, that she oughtn't to walk a step, and that "
'Brahm" should go and tell Miss Fortune the child was safe and
well, and would be with her early in the morning. Mr. Van
Brunt shook his head two or three times, but finally agreed,
to Ellen's great joy. When he came back, she was sitting on
the floor before the fire, with all the five kittens in her
lap, and the old mother cat walking around and over her and
them. But she looked up with a happier face then he had ever
seen her wear, and told him she was "_so_ much obliged to him
for taking such a long walk for her;" and Mr. Van Brunt felt
that, like his oxen, he could have done a great deal more with
pleasure.