Counsel, Cakes, and Captain Parry.
Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense that something
pleasant had happened. Then the joyful reality darted into her
mind, and jumping out of bed, she set about her morning work
with a better heart than she had been able to bring to it for
many a long day. When she had finished, she went to the
window. She had found out how to keep it open now, by means of
a big nail stuck in a hole under the sash. It was very early,
and in the perfect stillness, the soft gurgle of the little
brook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned her arms on the
window-sill, and tasted the morning air; almost wondering at
its sweetness, and at the loveliness of field and sky, and the
bright eastern horizon. For days and days all had looked dark
and sad.
There were two reasons for the change. In the first place,
Ellen had made up her mind to go straight on in the path of
duty; in the second place, she had found a friend. Her little
heart bounded with delight and swelled with thankfulness at
the thought of Alice Humphreys. She was once more at peace
with herself, and had even some notion of being by-and-by at
peace with her aunt; though a sad twinge came over her
whenever she thought of her mother's letter.
"But there is only one way for me," she thought; "I'll do as
that dear Miss Humphreys told me it's good and early, and I
shall have a fine time before breakfast yet to myself. And
I'll get up so every morning and have it! that'll be the
very best plan I can hit upon."
As she thought this, she drew forth her Bible from its place
at the bottom of her trunk; and opening it at hazard, she
began to read the l8th chapter of Matthew. Some of it she did
not quite understand; but she paused with pleasure at the 14th
verse. "That means me," she thought. The 21st and 22d verses
struck her a good deal, but when she came to the last she was
almost startled.
"There it is again!" she said. "That is exactly what that
gentleman said to me. I thought I was forgiven, but how can I
be for I feel I have not forgiven Aunt Fortune."
Laying aside her book, Ellen kneeled down; but this one
thought so pressed upon her mind, that she could think of
scarce anything else; and her prayer this morning was an
urgent and repeated petition that she might be enabled "from
her heart" to forgive her Aunt Fortune "all her trespasses."
Poor Ellen! she felt it was very hard work. At the very minute
she was striving to feel at peace with her aunt, one grievance
after another would start up to remembrance, and she knew the
feelings that met them were far enough from the spirit of
forgiveness. In the midst of this she was called down. She
rose with tears in her eyes, and "what shall I do?" in her
heart. Bowing her head once more, she earnestly prayed that if
she could not yet _feel_ right towards her aunt, she might be
kept at least from acting or speaking wrong. Poor Ellen! In
the heart is the spring of action; and she found it so this
morning.
Her aunt and Mr. Van Brunt were already at the table. Ellen
took her place in silence, for one look at her aunt's face
told her that no "good morning" would be accepted. Miss
Fortune was in a particularly bad humour, owing, among other
things, to Mr. Van Brunt's having refused to eat his breakfast
unless Ellen were called. An unlucky piece of kindness. She
neither spoke to Ellen nor looked at her; Mr. Van Brunt did
what in him lay to make amends. He helped her very carefully
to the cold pork and potatoes, and handed her the well-piled
platter of griddle-cakes.
"Here's the first buckwheats of the season," said he, "and I
told Miss Fortune I warn't agoing to eat one on 'em if you
didn't come down to enjoy 'em along with us. Take two take
two! you want 'em to keep each other hot."
Ellen's look and smile thanked him, as, following his advice,
she covered one generous "buckwheat" with another as ample.
"That's the thing! Now, here's some prime maple. You like 'em,
I guess, don't you?"
"I don't know, yet I have never seen any," said Ellen.
"Never seen buckwheats! why, they're most as good as my
mother's splitters. Buckwheat cakes and maple molasses
that's food fit for a king, I think when they're good; and
Miss Fortune's are always first-rate."
Miss Fortune did not relent at all at this compliment.
"What makes you so white, this morning?" Mr. Van Brunt
presently went on; "you ain't well, be you?"
"Yes," said Ellen, doubtfully "I'm well"
"She's as well as I am, Mr. Van Brunt, if you don't go and put
her up to any notions!" Miss Fortune said, in a kind of choked
voice.
Mr. Van Brunt hemmed, and said no more to the end of
breakfast-time.
Ellen rather dreaded what was to come next, for her aunt's
look was ominous. In dead silence the things were put away,
and put up, and in course of washing and drying, when Miss
Fortune suddenly broke forth
"What did you do with yourself yesterday afternoon?"
"I was up on the mountain," said Ellen.
"What mountain?"
"I believe they call it the Nose."
"What business had you up there?"
"I hadn't any business there."
"What did you go there for?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing! you expect me to believe that? you call yourself a
truth-teller, I suppose?"
"Mamma used to say I was," said poor Ellen, striving to
swallow her feelings.
"Your mother! I daresay mothers always are blind. I
daresay she took everything you said for gospel!"
Ellen was silent, from sheer want of words that were pointed
enough to suit her.
"I wish Morgan could have had the gumption to marry in his own
country; but he must go running after a Scotchwoman! A Yankee
would have brought up his child to be worth something. Give me
Yankees!"
Ellen set down the cup she was wiping.
"You don't know anything about my mother," she said. "You
oughtn't to speak so it's not right."
"Why ain't it right, I should like to know?" said Miss
Fortune; "this is a free country, I guess. Our tongues ain't
tied we're all free here."
"I wish we were," muttered Ellen; "I know what I'd do."
"What would you do?" said Miss Fortune.
Ellen was silent. Her aunt repeated the question in a sharper
tone.
"I oughtn't to say what I was going to," said Ellen "I'd
rather not."
"I don't care," said Miss Fortune; "you began, and you shall
finish it. I will hear what it was."
"I was going to say, if we were all free I would run away."
"Well, that _is_ a beautiful, well-behaved speech! I am glad to
have heard it. I admire it very much. Now, what were you doing
yesterday up on the Nose? Please to go on wiping. There's a
pile ready for you. What were you doing yesterday afternoon?"
Ellen hesitated.
"Were you alone, or with somebody?"
"I was alone part of the time."
"And who were you with the rest of the time?"
"Miss Humphreys."
"Miss Humphreys! what were you doing with her?"
"Talking."
"Did you ever see her before?"
"No, Maam."
"Where did you find her?"
"She found me, up on the hill!"
"What were you talking about?"
Ellen was silent.
"What were you talking about?" repeated Miss Fortune.
"I had rather not tell."
"And I had rather you _should_ tell so out with it."
"I was alone with Miss Humphreys," said Ellen; "and it is no
matter what we were talking about it doesn't concern anybody
but her and me."
"Yes it does, it concerns me," said her aunt, "and I choose to
know; what were you talking about?"
Ellen was silent.
"Will you tell me?"
"No," said Ellen, low, but resolutely.
"I vow you're enough to try the patience of Job! Look here,"
said Miss Fortune, setting down what she had in her hands "I
_will_ know! I don't care what it was, but you shall tell me, or
I'll find a way to make you. I'll give you such a "
"Stop! stop!" said Ellen wildly "you must not speak to me
so! Mamma never did, and you have no _right_ to! If Mamma or
Papa were here, you would not _dare_ talk to me so."
The answer to this was a sharp box on the ear from Miss
Fortune's wet hand. Half stunned, less by the blow than the
tumult of feeling it roused, Ellen stood a moment, and then
throwing down her towel, she ran out of the room, shivering
with passion, and brushing off the soapy water left on her
face as if it had been her aunt's very hand. Violent tears
burst forth as soon as she reached her own room tears at
first of anger and mortification only; but conscience
presently began to whisper, "You are wrong! you are wrong!"
and tears of sorrow mingled with the others.
"Oh!" said Ellen, "why couldn't I keep still? when I had
resolved so this morning why couldn't I be quiet? But she
ought not to have provoked me so dreadfully I couldn't help
it." "You are wrong," said conscience again, and her tears
flowed faster. And then came back her morning trouble the
duty and the difficulty of forgiving. Forgive her aunt
Fortune! with her whole heart in a passion of displeasure
against her. Alas! Ellen began to feel and acknowledge that
indeed all was wrong. But what to do? There was just one
comfort, the visit to Miss Humphreys in the afternoon. "She
will tell me," thought Ellen; "she will help me. But in the
mean while?"
Ellen had not much time to think; her aunt called her down and
set her to work. She was very busy till dinner-time, and very
unhappy; but twenty times in the course of the morning did
Ellen pause for a moment, and covering her face with her hands
pray that a heart to forgive might be given her.
As soon as possible after dinner, she made her escape to her
room that she might prepare for her walk. Conscience was not
quite easy that she was going without the knowledge of her
aunt. She had debated the question with herself, and could not
make up her mind to hazard losing her visit.
So she dressed herself very carefully. One of her dark merinos
was affectionately put on; her single pair of white stockings;
shoes, ruffle, cape Ellen saw that all was faultlessly neat,
just as her mother used to have it; and the nice blue hood lay
upon the bed ready to be put on the last thing, when she heard
her aunt's voice calling
"Ellen! come down and do your ironing right away, now! the
irons are hot."
For one moment Ellen stood still in dismay; then slowly
undressed, dressed again, and went down stairs.
"Come! you've been an age," said Miss Fortune; "now make
haste; there ain't but a handful; and I want to mop up."
Ellen took courage again ironed away with right good will;
and as there was really but a handful of things, she had soon
done, even to taking off the ironing blanket and putting up
the irons. In the mean time she had changed her mind as to
stealing off without leave; conscience was too strong for her;
and, though with a beating heart, she told of Miss Humphreys'
desire and her half engagement.
"You may go where you like I am sure I do not care what you
do with yourself," was Miss Fortune's reply.
Full of delight at this ungracious permission, Ellen fled up
stairs, and dressing much quicker than before, was soon on her
way.
But at first she went rather sadly. In spite of all her good
resolves and wishes, everything that day had gone wrong; and
Ellen felt that the root of the evil was in her own heart.
Some tears fell as she walked. Further from her aunt's house,
however, her spirits began to rise; her foot fell lighter on
the greensward. Hope and expectation quickened her steps; and
when at length she passed the little wood-path, it was almost
on a run. Not very far beyond that, her glad eyes saw the
house she was in quest of.
It was a large white house; not very white either, for its
last dress of paint had grown old long ago. It stood close by
the road, and the trees of the wood seemed to throng round it
on every side. Ellen mounted the few steps that led to the
front door, and knocked; but as she could only just reach the
high knocker, she was not likely to alarm anybody with the
noise she made. After a great many little faint raps, which,
if anybody heard them, might easily have been mistaken for the
attacks of some rat's teeth upon the wainscot, Ellen grew
weary of her fruitless toil, and of standing on tiptoe, and
resolved, though doubtfully, to go round the house and see if
there was any other way of getting in. Turning the far corner,
she saw a long, low out-building or shed, jutting out from the
side of the house. On the further side of this, Ellen found an
elderly woman, standing in front of the shed, which was there
open and paved, and wringing some clothes out of a tub of
water. She was a pleasant woman to look at, very trim and
tidy, and a good-humored eye and smile when she saw Ellen.
Ellen made up to her, and asked for Miss Humphreys.
"Why, where in the world did you come from?" said the woman.
"I don't receive company at the back of the house."
"I knocked at the front door till I was tired," said Ellen,
smiling in return.
"Miss Alice must ha' been asleep. Now, honey, you have come so
far round to find me, will you go a little further and find
Miss Alice? Just go round this corner, and keep straight along
till you come to the glass-door there you'll find her. Stop!
may be she's asleep; I may as well go along with you
myself."
She wrung the water from her hands and led the way.
A little space of green grass stretched in front of the shed,
and Ellen found it extended all along that side of the house
like a very narrow lawn; at the edge of it shot up the high
forest-trees nothing between them and the house but the
smooth grass, and a narrow, worn footpath. The woods were now
all brown stems, except here and there a superb hemlock and
some scattered silvery birches. But the grass was still green,
and the last day of the Indian summer hung its soft veil over
all; the foliage of the forest was hardly missed. They passed
another hall door, opposite the one where Ellen had tried her
strength and patience upon the knocker; a little further on
they paused at the glass-door. One step led to it. Ellen's
conductress looked in first through one of the panes, and then
opening the door, motioned her to enter.
"Here you are, my new acquaintance," said Alice, smiling and
kissing her. "I began to think something was the matter, you
tarried so late. We don't keep fashionable hours in the
country, you know. But I'm very glad to see you. Take off your
things, and lay them on that settee by the door. You see I've
a settee for summer and a sofa for winter; for here I am, in
this room, at all times of the year; and a very pleasant room
I think it don't you?"
"Yes, indeed I do, Maam," said Ellen, pulling off her last
glove.
"Ah, but wait till you have taken tea with me half a dozen
times, and then see if you don't say it is pleasant. Nothing
can be so pleasant that is quite new. But now come here and
look out of this window or door, whichever you choose to call
it. Do you see what a beautiful view I have here? The wood was
just as thick all along as it is on the right and left; I felt
half smothered to be so shut in, so I got my brother and
Thomas to take axes and go to work there; and many a large
tree they cut down for me, till you see they opened a way
through the woods, for the view of that beautiful stretch of
country. I should grow melancholy if I had that wall of trees
pressing on my vision all the time; it always comforts me to
look off, far away, to those distant blue hills."
"Aren't those the hills I was looking at yesterday?" said
Ellen.
"From up on the mountain? the very same; this is part of the
very same view, and a noble view it is. Every morning, Ellen,
the sun, rising behind those hills, shines in through this
door and lights up my room; and in winter he looks in at that
south window, so I have him all the time. To be sure, if I
want to see him set, I must take a walk for it but that isn't
unpleasant; and you know we cannot have everything at once."
It was a very beautiful extent of woodland, meadow, and hill,
that was seen picture-fashion through the gap cut in the
forest; the wall of trees on each side serving as a frame to
shut it in, and the descent of the mountain, from almost the
edge of the lawn, being very rapid. The opening had been
skilfully cut; the effect was remarkable, and very fine; the
light on the picture being often quite different from that on
the frame or on the hither side of the frame.
"Now, Ellen," said Alice, turning from the window, "take a
good look at my room. I want you to know it and feel at home
in it; for whenever you can run away from your aunt's, this is
your home do you understand?"
A smile was on each face. Ellen felt that she was
understanding it very fast.
"Here, next the door, you see, is my summer settee; and in
summer it very often walks out of doors to accommodate people
on the grass-plat. I have a great fancy for taking tea out of
doors, Ellen, in warm weather; and if you do not mind a
musquito or two, I shall be always happy to have your company.
That door opens into the hall; look out and see, for I want
you to get the geography of the house. That odd-looking,
lumbering, painted concern is my cabinet of curiosities. I
tried my best to make the carpenter man at Thirlwall
understand what sort of a thing I wanted, and did all but show
him how to make it; but, as the southerners say, 'he hasn't
made it right nohow!' There I keep my dried flowers, my
minerals, and a very odd collection of curious things of all
sorts that I am constantly picking up. I'll show you them some
day, Ellen. Have you a fancy for curiosities?"
"Yes, Maam, I believe so."
"Believe so! not more sure than that? Are you a lover of dead
moths, and empty beetle-skins, and butterflies' wings, and dry
tufts of moss, and curious stones, and pieces of ribbon-grass,
and strange birds' nests? These are some of the things I used
to delight in when I was about as old as you."
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen. "I never was where I could
get them."
"Weren't you? Poor child! Then you have been shut up to brick
walls and paving-stones all your life?"
"Yes, Maam, all my life."
"But now you have seen a little of the country don't you
think you shall like it better?"
"Oh, a great deal better!"
"Ah, that's right. I am sure you will. On that other side, you
see, is my winter sofa. It's a very comfortable resting-place,
I can tell you, Ellen, as I have proved by many a sweet nap;
and its old chintz covers are very pleasant to me, for I
remember them as far back as I remember anything."
There was a sigh here; but Alice passed on, and opened a door
near the end of the sofa.
"Look in here, Ellen; this is my bedroom."
"Oh, how lovely!" Ellen exclaimed.
The carpet covered only the middle of the floor; the rest was
painted white. The furniture was common but neat as wax. Ample
curtains of white dimity clothed the three windows, and
lightly draped the bed. The toilet-table was covered with
snow-white muslin, and by the toilet-cushion stood, late as it
was, a glass of flowers. Ellen thought it must be a pleasure
to sleep there.
"This," said Alice, when they came out, "between my door and
the fireplace, is a cupboard. Here be cups and saucers, and so
forth. In that other corner beyond the fireplace you see my
flower-stand. Do you love flowers, Ellen?"
"I love them dearly, Miss Alice."
"I have some pretty ones out yet, and shall have one or two in
the winter; but I can't keep a great many here; I haven't room
for them. I have hard work to save these from frost. There's a
beautiful daphne that will be out by-and-by, and make the
whole house sweet. But here, Ellen, on this side, between the
windows, is my greatest treasure my precious books. All
these are mine. Now, my dear, it is time to introduce you to
my most excellent of easy-chairs the best things in the
room, aren't they? Put yourself in that; now do you feel at
home?"
"Very much indeed, Maam," said Ellen, laughing, as Alice
placed her in the deep easy-chair.
There were two things in the room that Alice had not
mentioned; and while she mended the fire, Ellen looked at
them. One was the portrait of a gentleman, grave and good-
looking; this had very little of her attention. The other was
the counter-portrait of a lady; a fine, dignified countenance
that had a charm for Ellen. It hung over the fireplace in an
excellent light; and the mild eye, and somewhat of a peculiar
expression about the mouth, bore such likeness to Alice,
though older, that Ellen had no doubt whose it was.
Alice presently drew a chair close to Ellen's side, and kissed
her.
"I trust, my child," she said, "that you feel better to-day
than you did yesterday?"
"Oh, I do, Maam a great deal better," Ellen answered.
"Then I hope the reason is that you have returned to your
duty, and are resolved not to be a Christian by-and-by, but to
lead a Christian's life now?"
"I have resolved so, Maam I did resolve so last night and
this morning; but yet I have been doing nothing but wrong all
to-day."
Alice was silent. Ellen's lips quivered for a moment, and then
she went on
"Oh, Maam, how I have wanted to see you to-day to tell me
what I _should_ do! I resolved and resolved this morning; and
then, as soon as I got down-stairs, I began to have bad
feelings towards Aunt Fortune, and I have been full of bad
feelings all day; and I couldn't help it."
"It will not do to say that we cannot help what is wrong,
Ellen. What is the reason that you have bad feelings towards
your aunt?"
"She don't like me, Maam."
"But how happens that, Ellen? I am afraid you don't like her."
"No, Maam, I don't to be sure; how can I?"
"Why cannot you, Ellen?"
"Oh, I can't, Maam! I wish I could. But, oh! Maam, I should
have liked her I might have liked her, if she had been kind,
but she never has. Even that first night I came she never
kissed me nor said she was glad to see me."
"That was failing in kindness, certainly, but is she unkind to
you, Ellen?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, indeed she is. She talks to me, and talks to
me, in a way that almost drives me out of my wits; and to-day
she even struck me! She has no right to do it," said Ellen,
firing with passion; "she has no _right_ to! and she has no
right to talk as she does about Mamma. She did it to-day, and
she has done it before. I can't bear it! and I can't bear _her!_
I can't _bear_ her!"
"Hush, hush," said Alice, drawing the excited child to her
arms, for Ellen had risen from her seat "you must not talk
so, Ellen; you are not feeling right now."
"No, Maam, I am not," said Ellen, coldly and sadly. She sat a
moment, and then turning to her companion, put both arms round
her neck, and hid her face on her shoulder again; and, without
raising it, she gave her the history of the morning.
"What has brought about this dreadful state of things?" said
Alice, after a few minutes. "Whose fault is it, Ellen?"
"I think it is Aunt Fortune's fault," said Ellen, raising her
head; "I don't think it is mine. If she had behaved well to
me, I should have behaved well to her. I meant to, I am sure."
"Do you mean to say you do not think you have been in fault at
all in the matter?"
"No, Maam, I do not mean to say that. I have been very much
in fault, very often I know that. I get very angry and
vexed, and sometimes I say nothing, but sometimes I get out of
all patience and say things I ought not. I did so to-day; but
it is so very hard to keep still when I am in such a passion,
and now I have got to feel so towards Aunt Fortune that I
don't like the sight of her; I hate the very look of her
bonnet hanging up on the wall. I know it isn't right; and it
makes me miserable; and I can't help it, for I grow worse and
worse every day and what shall I do?"
Ellen's tears came faster than her words.
"Ellen, my child," said Alice, after a while, "There is but
one way. You know what I said to you yesterday?"
"I know it; but, dear Miss Alice, in my reading this morning I
came to that verse that speaks about not being forgiven if we
do not forgive others; and oh! how it troubles me! for I can't
feel that I forgive Aunt Fortune; I feel vexed whenever the
thought of her comes into my head; and how can I behave right
to her while I feel so?"
"You are right there, my dear; you cannot, indeed. The heart
must be set right before the life can be."
"But what shall I do to set it right?"
"Pray."
"Dear Miss Alice, I have been praying all this morning that I
might forgive Aunt Fortune, and yet I cannot do it."
"Pray still, my dear," said Alice, pressing her closer in her
arms "pray still; if you are in earnest, the answer will
come. But there is something else you can do, and must do,
Ellen, besides praying, or praying may be in vain."
"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"
"You acknowledge yourself in fault; have you made all the
amends you can? Have you, as soon as you have seen yourself in
the wrong, gone to your aunt Fortune and acknowledged it, and
humbly asked her pardon?"
Ellen answered "No" in a low voice.
"Then, my child, your duty is plain before you. The next thing
after doing wrong is to make all the amends in your power;
confess your fault, and ask forgiveness, both of God and man.
Pride struggles against it I see yours does; but, my child,
'God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.' "
Ellen burst into tears, and cried heartily.
"Mind your own wrong doings, my child, and you will not be
half so disposed to quarrel with those of other people. But,
Ellen, dear, if you will not humble yourself to this, you must
not count upon an answer to your prayer. 'If thou bring thy
gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath
aught against thee' what then? 'Leave there thy gift
before the altar; go first and be reconciled to thy brother,
and then come.' "
"But it is so hard to forgive!" sobbed Ellen.
"Hard? Yes, it is hard when our hearts are so. But there is
little love to Christ, and no just sense of his love to us, in
the heart that finds it hard. Pride and selfishness make it
hard; the heart full of love to the dear Saviour cannot lay up
offences against itself."
"I have said quite enough," said Alice, after a pause; "you
know what you want, my dear Ellen, and what you ought to do. I
shall leave you for a little while to change my dress, for I
have been walking and riding all the morning. Make a good use
of the time while I am gone."
Ellen did make good use of the time. When Alice returned, she
met her with another face than she had worn all that day,
humbler and quieter; and flinging her arms around her, she
said
"I will ask Aunt Fortune's forgiveness; I feel I can do it
now."
"And how about _forgiving_, Ellen?"
"I think God will help me to forgive her," said Ellen; "I have
asked him. At any rate I will ask her to forgive me. But oh!
Miss Alice, what would have become of me without you!"
"Don't lean upon me, dear Ellen; remember you have a better
Friend than I always near you; trust in Him; if I have done
you any good, don't forget it was He brought me to you
yesterday afternoon."
"There's just one thing that troubles me now," said Ellen,
"Mamma's letter. I am thinking of it all the time; I feel as
if I should fly to get it!"
"We'll see about that. Cannot you ask your aunt for it?"
"I don't like to."
"Take care, Ellen; there is some pride there yet."
"Well, I will try," said Ellen. "but sometimes, I know, she
would not give it to me if I were to ask her. But I'll try, if
I can."
"Well, now to change the subject at what o'clock did you
dine to-day?"
"I don't know, Maam at the same time we always do, I
believe."
"And that is twelve o'clock, isn't it?"
"Yes, Maam; but I was so full of coming here and other
things? that I couldn't eat."
"Then I suppose you would have no objection to an early tea?"
"No, Maam whenever you please," said Ellen? laughing.
"I shall please it pretty soon. I have had no dinner at all
to-day, Ellen; I have been out and about all the morning, and
had just taken a little nap when you came in. Come this way,
and let me show you some of my house-keeping."
She led the way across the hall to the room on the opposite
side; a large, well-appointed, and spotlessly neat kitchen.
Ellen could not help exclaiming at its pleasantness.
"Why, yes I think it is. I have been in many a parlour that
I do not like as well. Beyond this is a lower kitchen, where
Margery does all her rough work; nothing comes up the steps
that lead from that to this but the very nicest and daintiest
of kitchen matters. Margery, is my father gone to Thirlwall?"
"No, Miss Alice he's at Carra-carra Thomas heard him say
he wouldn't be back early."
"Well, I shall not wait for him. Margery, if you will put the
kettle on and see to the fire, I'll make some of my cakes for
tea."
"I'll do it, Miss Alice; it's not good for you to go so long
without eating."
Alice now rolled up her sleeves above the elbows, and tying a
large white apron before her, set about gathering the
different things she wanted for her work, to Ellen's great
amusement. A white moulding-board was placed upon a table as
white; and round it soon grouped the pail of flour, the plate
of nice yellow butter, the bowl of cream, the sieve, tray, and
sundry etceteras. And then, first sifting some flour into the
tray, Alice began to throw in the other things one after
another, and toss the whole about with a carelessness that
looked as if all would go wrong, but with a confidence that
seemed to say all was going right. Ellen gazed in comical
wonderment.
"Did you think cakes were made without hands?" said Alice,
laughing at her look. "You saw me wash mine before I began."
"Oh! I'm not thinking of that," said Ellen; "I am not afraid
of your hands."
"Did you never see your mother do this?" said Alice, who was
now turning and rolling about the dough upon the board in a
way that seemed to Ellen curious beyond expression.
"No, never," she said. "Mamma never kept house, and I never
saw anybody do it."
"Then your aunt does not let you into the mysteries of bread
and butter-making!"
"Butter-making! Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh, "I have enough
of that!"
Alice now applied a smooth wooden roller to the cake with such
quickness and skill, that the lump forthwith lay spread upon
the board in a thin even layer, and she next cut it into
little round cakes with the edge of a tumbler. Half the board
was covered with the nice little white things, which Ellen
declared looked good enough to eat already; and she had quite
forgotten all possible causes of vexation, past, present, or
future, when suddenly a large gray cat jumped upon the table,
and coolly walking upon the moulding-board, planted his paw
directly in the middle of one of his mistress's cakes.
"Take him off oh, Ellen!" cried Alice, "take him off! I
can't touch him."
But Ellen was a little afraid.
Alice then tried gently to shove puss off with her elbow; but
he seemed to think that was very good fun, purred, whisked
his great tail over Alice's bare arm, and rubbed his head
against it, having evidently no notion that he was not just
where he ought to be. Alice and Ellen were too much amused to
try any violent method of relief, but Margery happily coming
in, seized puss in both hands and set him on the floor.
"Just look at the print of his paw in that cake," said Ellen.
"He has set his mark on it, certainly. I think it is his now,
by the right of possession if not the right of discovery."
"I think he discovered the cakes too," said Ellen, laughing.
"Why, yes. He shall have that one baked for his supper."
"Does he like cakes?"
"Indeed he does. Captain Parry is very particular and delicate
about his eating."
"Captain Parry!" said Ellen, "is that his name?"
"Yes," said Alice, laughing; "I don't wonder you look
astonished, Ellen. I have had that cat five years, and when he
was first given me, by my brother Jack, who was younger then
than he is now, and had been reading Captain Parry's _Voyages_,
gave him that name, and would have him called so. Oh, Jack!"
said Alice, half laughing and half crying.
Ellen wondered why. But she went to wash her hands, and when
her face was again turned to Ellen, it was unruffled as ever.
"Margery, my cakes are ready," said she, "and Ellen and I are
ready too."
"Very well, Miss Alice the kettle is just going to boil; you
shall have tea in a trice. I'll do some eggs for you."
"Something anything," said Alice; "I feel one cannot live
without eating. Come, Ellen, you and I will go and set the
tea-table."
Ellen was very happy arranging the cups and saucers and other
things that Alice handed her from the cupboard; and when, a
few minutes after, the tea and the cakes came in, and she and
Alice were cozily seated at supper, poor Ellen hardly knew
herself, in such a pleasant state of things.