Difficulty of doing right.
"Ellen dear," said Alice as she poured out Ellen's second cup
of tea, "have we run through the list of your troubles?"
"Oh, no, Miss Alice, indeed we haven't; but we have got
through the worst."
"Is the next one so bad it would spoil our supper?"
"No," said Ellen, "it couldn't do that, but it's bad enough,
though; it's about my not going to school. Miss Alice, I
promised myself I would learn so much while Mamma was away,
and surprise her when she came back, but instead of that I am
not learning anything. I don't mean not learning _anything_,"
said Ellen, correcting herself; "but I can't do much. When I
found Aunt Fortune wasn't going to send me to school, I
determined I would try to study by myself; and I have tried;
but I can't get along."
"Well, now, don't lay down your knife and fork and look so
doleful," said Alice, smiling; "this is a matter I can help
you in. What are you studying?"
"Some things I can manage well enough," said Ellen "the easy
things; but I cannot understand my arithmetic without some one
to explain it to me: and French I can do nothing at all with,
and that is what I wanted to learn most of all; and often I
want to ask questions about my history."
"Suppose," said Alice, "you go on studying by yourself as much
and as well as you can, and bring your books up to me two or
three times a week; I will hear and explain and answer
questions to your heart's content, unless you should be too
hard for me. What do you say to that?"
Ellen said nothing to it, but the colour that rushed to her
cheeks the surprised look of delight were answer enough.
"It will do, then," said Alice; "and I have no doubt we shall
untie the knot of those arithmetical problems very soon. But,
Ellen, my dear, I cannot help you in French, for I do not know
it myself. What will you do about that?"
"I don't know, Maam; I am sorry."
"So am I, for your sake. I can help you in Latin, if that
would be any comfort to you."
"It wouldn't be much comfort to me," said Ellen, laughing;
"Mamma wanted me to learn Latin, but I wanted to learn French
a great deal more; I don't care about Latin except to please
her."
"Permit me to ask if you know English?"
"Oh, yes, Maam, I hope so; I knew that a great while ago."
"Did you? I am very happy to make your acquaintance then; for
the number of young ladies who do know English is, in my
opinion, remarkably small. Are you sure of the fact, Ellen?"
"Why, yes, Miss Alice."
"Will you undertake to write me a note of two pages that shall
not have one fault of grammar, nor one word spelt wrong, nor
anything in it that is not good English? You may take for a
subject the history of this afternoon."
"Yes, Maam, if you wish it. I hope I can write a note that
long without making mistakes."
Alice smiled.
"I will not stop to inquire," she said, "whether _that long_ is
Latin or French; but Ellen, my dear, it is not English."
Ellen blushed a little, though she laughed too.
"I believe I have got into the way of saying that by hearing
Aunt Fortune and Mr. Van Brunt say it; I don't think I ever
did before I came here."
"What are you so anxious to learn French for?"
"Mamma knows it, and I have often heard her talk French with a
great many people; and papa and I always wanted to be able to
talk it too; and Mamma wanted me to learn it; she said there
were a great many French books I ought to read."
"That last is true, no doubt. Ellen, I will make a bargain
with you, if you will study English with me, I will study
French with you."
"Dear Miss Alice," said Ellen, caressing her, "I'll do it
without that; I'll study anything you please."
"Dear Ellen, I believe you would. But I should like to know it
for my own sake; we'll study it together; we shall get along
nicely, I have no doubt; we can learn to read it at least, and
that is the main point."
"But how shall we know what to call the words?" said Ellen,
doubtfully.
"That is a grave question," said Alice, smiling. "I am afraid
we should hit upon a style of pronunciation that a Frenchman
would make nothing of. I have it!" she exclaimed, clapping her
hands; "where there's a will there's a way it always happens
so. Ellen, I have an old friend upon the mountain who will
give us exactly what we want, unless I am greatly mistaken.
We'll go and see her; that is the very thing! my old friend
Mrs. Vawse."
"Mrs. Vawse!" repeated Ellen; "not the grandmother of that
Nancy Vawse?"
"The very same. Her name is not Vawse the country people
call it so, and I being one of the country people have fallen
into the way of it; but her real name is Vosier. She was born
a Swiss, and brought up in a wealthy French family, as the
personal attendant of a young lady to whom she became
exceedingly attached. This lady finally married an American
gentleman; and so great was Mrs. Vawse's love to her, that she
left country and family to follow her here. In a few years her
mistress died; she married; and since that time she has been
tossed from trouble to trouble a perfect sea of troubles
till now she is left like a wreck upon this mountain top. A
fine wreck she is! I go to see her very often, and next time I
will call for you and we will propose our French plan; nothing
will please her better, I know. By the way, Ellen, are you as
well versed in the other common branches of education as you
are in your mother tongue?"
"What do you mean, Miss Alice?"
"Geography, for instance; do you know it well?"
"Yes, Maam; I believe so; I am sure I have studied it till I
am sick of it."
"Can you give me the boundaries of Great Thibet or Peru?"
Ellen hesitated.
"I had rather not try," she said "I am not sure. I can't
remember those queer countries in Asia and South America, half
so well as Europe and North America."
"Do you know anything about the surface of the country in
Italy or France the character and condition of the people
what kind of climate they have, and what grows there most
freely?"
"Why, no, Maam," said Ellen; "nobody ever taught me that."
"Would you like to go over the atlas again, talking about all
these matters, as well as the mere outlines of the countries
you have studied before?"
"Oh, yes, dearly!" exclaimed Ellen.
"Well, I think we may let Margery have the tea-things. But
here is Captain's cake."
"Oh, may I give him his supper?" said Ellen.
"Certainly. You must carve it for him; you know I told you he
is very particular. Give him some of the egg, too he likes
that. Now, where is the Captain?"
Not far off; for scarcely had Alice opened the door and called
him once or twice, when, with a queer little note of answer,
he came hurriedly trotting in.
"He generally has his supper in the outer kitchen," said Alice
"but I grant him leave to have it here to-night, as a
particular honour to him and you."
"How handsome he is! and how large!" said Ellen.
"Yes, he is very handsome; and more than that, he is very
sensible for a cat. Do you see how prettily his paws are
marked? Jack used to say he had white gloves on."
"And white boots, too," said Ellen. "No, only one leg is
white; pussy's boots aren't mates. Is he good-natured?"
"Very if you don't meddle with him."
"I don't call that being good-natured," said Ellen, laughing.
"Nor I; but truth obliges me to say, the Captain does not
permit anybody to take liberties with him. He is a character,
Captain Parry. Come out on the lawn, Ellen, and we will let
Margery clear away."
"What a pleasant face Margery has!" said Ellen, as the door
closed behind them; "and what a pleasant way she has of
speaking! I like to hear her; the words come out so clear, and
I don't know how, but not like other people."
"You have a quick ear, Ellen; you are very right. Margery had
lived too long in England before she came here to lose her
trick of speech afterwards. But Thomas speaks as thick as a
Yankee, and always did."
"Then Margery is English?" said Ellen.
"To be sure. She came over with us twelve years ago for the
pure love of my father and mother; and I believe now she looks
upon John and me as her own children. I think she could
scarcely love us more if we were so in truth. Thomas you
haven't seen Thomas yet, have you?"
"No."
"He is an excellent good man in his way, and as faithful as
the day is long but he isn't equal to his wife. Perhaps I am
partial; Margery came to America for the love of us, and
Thomas came for the love of Margery there's a difference."
"But, Miss Alice!"
"What, Miss Ellen?"
"You said Margery came over _with you?_"
"Yes; is that what makes you look so astonished?"
"But then you are English, too?"
"Well, what of that? you won't love me the less, will you?"
"Oh, no," said Ellen; "my own mother came from Scotland, Aunt
Fortune says."
"I am English born, Ellen, but you may count me half American,
if you like, for I have spent rather more than half my life
here. Come this way, Ellen, and I'll show you my garden. It is
some distance off, but as near as a spot could be found fit
for it."
They quitted the house by a little steep path leading down the
mountain, which in two or three minutes brought them to a
clear bit of ground. It was not large, but lying very prettily
among the trees, with an open view to the east and south-east.
On the extreme edge, and at the lower end of it, was fixed a
rude bench, well sheltered by the towering forest trees. Here
Alice and Ellen sat down.
It was near sunset; the air cool and sweet; the evening light
upon field and sky.
"How fair it is!" said Alice, musingly "how fair and lovely!
Look at those long shadows of the mountains, Ellen; and how
bright the light is on the far hills! It won't be so long. A
little while more, and our Indian summer will be over and
then the clouds, the frost, and the wind, and the snow. Well
let them come."
"I wish they wouldn't, I am sure," said Ellen. "I am sorry
enough they are coming."
"Why? all seasons have their pleasures. I am not sorry at all;
I like the cold very much."
"I guess you wouldn't, Miss Alice, if you had to wash every
morning where I do?"
"Why, where is that?"
"Down at the spout."
"At the _spout_ what is that, pray?"
"The spout of water, Maam, just down a little way from the
kitchen door. The water comes in a little, long, very long,
trough from a spring at the back of the pig-field; and at the
end of the trough, where it pours out, is the spout."
"Have you no conveniences for washing in your room?"
"Not a sign of such a thing, Maam. I have washed at the spout
ever since I have been here," said Ellen, laughing in spite of
her vexation.
"And do the pigs share the water with you?"
"The pigs! Oh, no, Maam; the trough is raised up from the
ground on little heaps of stones; they can't get at the water,
unless they drink at the spring, and I don't think they do
that, so many big stones stand around it."
"Well, Ellen, I must say that is rather uncomfortable, even
without any danger of four-footed society."
"It isn't so bad just now," said Ellen, "in this warm weather;
but in that cold time we had a week or two back do you
remember, Miss Alice? just before the Indian summer began?
oh, how disagreeable it was! Early in the morning, you know;
the sun scarcely up, and the cold wind blowing my hair and my
clothes all about; and then that board before the spout that I
have to stand on, is always kept wet by the spattering of the
water, and it's muddy besides, and very slippery there's a
kind of green stuff comes upon it; and I can't stoop down for
fear of muddying myself; I have to tuck my clothes round me
and bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water to
my face in the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to do
that a great many times before I get enough. I can't help
laughing," said Ellen, "but it isn't a laughing matter, for
all that."
"So you wash your face in your hands, and have no pitcher but
a long wooden trough? Poor child! I am sorry for you; I think
you must have some other way of managing before the snow
comes."
"The water is bitter cold already," said Ellen; "it's the
coldest water I ever saw. Mamma gave me a nice dressing-box
before I came away, but I found very soon this was a queer
place for a dressing-box to come to. Why, Miss Alice, if I
take out my brush or comb, I haven't any table to lay them on
but one that's too high, and my poor dressing-box has to stay
on the floor. And I haven't a sign of a bureau all my things
are tumbling about in my trunk."
"I think if I were in your place I would not permit that, at
any rate," said Alice; "if my things were confined to my
truck, I would have them keep good order there, at least."
"Well, so they do," said Ellen "pretty good order; I didn't
mean 'tumbling about' exactly."
"Always try to say what you mean _exactly_.
"But now, Ellen, love, do you know I must send you away? Do
you see, the sunlight has quitted those distant hills, and it
will be quite gone soon. You must hasten home."
Ellen made no answer. Alice had taken her on her lap again,
and she was nestling there with her friend's arms wrapped
around her. Both were quite still for a minute.
"Next week, if nothing happens, we will begin to be busy with
our books. You shall come to me Tuesday and Friday; and all
the other days you must study as hard as you can at home; for
I am very particular, I forewarn you."
"But suppose Aunt Fortune should not let me come?" said Ellen,
without stirring.
"Oh, she will. You need not speak about it; I'll come down and
ask her myself, and nobody ever refuses me anything."
"I shouldn't think they would," said Ellen.
"Then, don't you set the first example," said Alice,
laughingly. "I ask you to be cheerful and happy, and grow
wiser and better every day."
"Dear Miss Alice, how can I promise that?"
"Dear Ellen, it is very easy. There is One who has promised to
hear and answer you when you cry to him; he will make you in
his own likeness again; and to know and love him and not be
happy is impossible. That blessed Saviour!" said Alice "oh,
what should you and I do without him, Ellen? 'as rivers of
waters in a dry place; as the shadow of a great rock in a
weary land;' how beautiful how true! how often I think of
that!"
Ellen was silent, though entering into the feeling of the
words.
"Remember Him, dear Ellen; remember your best Friend. Learn
more of Christ, our dear Saviour, and you can't help but be
happy. Never fancy you are helpless and friendless while you
have him to go to. Whenever you feel wearied and sorry, flee
to the shadow of that great rock will you? and do you
understand me?"
"Yes, Maam yes, Maam," said Ellen, as she lifted her lips
to kiss her friend. Alice heartily returned the kiss, and
pressing Ellen in her arms, said
"Now Ellen, dear, you _must go;_ I dare not keep you any longer.
It will be too late now, I fear, before you reach home."
Quick they mounted the little path again, and soon were at the
house; and Ellen was putting on her things.
"Next Tuesday remember, but before that! Sunday you are to
spend Sunday with me; come bright and early."
"How early?"
"Oh, as early as you please before breakfast and our
Sunday morning breakfasts aren't late, Ellen; we have to set
off betimes to go to church."
Kisses and good-byes; and then Ellen was running down the road
at a great rate; for twilight was beginning to gather, and she
had a good way to go.
She ran till out of breath; then walked awhile to gather
breath; then ran again. Running down hill is a pretty quick
way of travelling; so before very long she saw her aunt's
house at a distance. She walked now. She had come all the way
in good spirits, though with a sense upon her mind of
something disagreeable to come; when she saw the house, this
disagreeable something swallowed up all her thoughts, and she
walked leisurely on, pondering what she had to do, and what
she was like to meet in the doing of it.
"If Aunt Fortune should be in a bad humour and say something
to vex me but I'll not be vexed. But it will be very hard to
help it; but I _will not_ be vexed; I have done wrong, and
I'll tell her so, and ask her to forgive me; it will be hard
but I'll do it I'll say what I ought to say, and then,
however she takes it, I shall have the comfort of knowing I
have done right." "But," said conscience, "you must not say it
stiffly and proudly; you must say it humbly and as if you
really felt and meant it." "I will," said Ellen.
She paused in the shed, and looked through the window, to see
what was the promise of things within. Not good; her aunt's
step sounded heavy and ominous; Ellen guessed she was not in a
pleasant state of mind. She opened the door no doubt of it
the whole air of Miss Fortune's figure, to the very
handkerchief that was tied round her head, spoke displeasure.
"She isn't in a good mood," said Ellen, as she went upstairs
to leave her bonnet and cape there; "I never knew her to be
good-humoured when she had that handkerchief on."
She returned to the kitchen immediately. Her aunt was busied
in washing and wiping the dishes.
"I have come home rather late," said Ellen, pleasantly;
"shall I help you, Aunt Fortune?"
Her aunt cast a look at her.
"Yes, you may help me. Go and put on a pair of white gloves,
and a silk apron, and then you'll be ready."
Ellen looked down at herself. "Oh, my merino! I forgot about
that. I'll go and change it."
Miss Fortune said nothing, and Ellen went.
When she came back, the things were all wiped, and as she was
about to put some of them away, her aunt took them out of her
hands, bidding her "go and sit down!"
Ellen obeyed, and was mute; while Miss Fortune dashed round
with a display of energy there seemed to be no particular call
for, and speedily had everything in its place, and all
straight and square about the kitchen. When she was, as a last
thing, brushing the crumbs from the floor into the fire, she
broke the silence again. The old grandmother sat in the
chimney corner, but she seldom was very talkative in the
presence of her stern daughter.
"What did you come home for, to-night? Why didn't you stay at
Mr. Humphreys'?"
"Miss Alice didn't ask me."
"That means, I suppose, that you would if she had?"
"I don't know, Maam; Miss Alice wouldn't have asked me to do
anything that wasn't right."
"Oh, no! of course not! Miss Alice is a piece of
perfection; everybody says so; and I suppose you'd sing the
same song who haven't seen her three times."
"Indeed I would," said Ellen; "I could have told that in one
seeing. I'd do anything in the world for Miss Alice."
"Ay I daresay that's the way of it. You can show not one
bit of goodness or pleasantness to the person that does the
most for you, and has all the care of you but the first
stranger that comes along, you can be all honey to them, and
make yourself out too good for common folks, and go and tell
great tales how you are used at home, I suppose. I am sick of
it!" said Miss Fortune, setting up the hand-irons and throwing
the tongs and shovel into the corner in a way that made the
iron ring again. "One might as good be a step-mother at once,
and done with it! Come, mother, it's time for you to go to
bed."
The old lady rose with the meekness of habitual submission,
and went up-stairs with her daughter. Ellen had time to
bethink herself while they were gone, and resolved to lose no
time when her aunt came back in doing what she had to do. She
would fain have persuaded herself to put it off. "It is late,"
she said to herself; "it isn't a good time. It will be better
to go to bed now, and ask Aunt Fortune's pardon to-morrow."
But conscience said, "_First_ be reconciled to thy brother."
Miss Fortune came down stairs presently. But before Ellen
could get any words out, her aunt prevented her.
"Come, light your candle and be off I want you out of the
way; I can't do anything with half a dozen people about."
Ellen rose. "I want to say something to you first, Aunt
Fortune."
"Say it, and be quick; I haven't time to stand talking."
"Aunt Fortune," said Ellen, stumbling over her words "I want
to tell you that I know I was wrong this morning, and I am
sorry, and I hope you'll forgive me."
A kind of indignant laugh escaped from Miss Fortune's lips.
"It's easy talking; I'd rather have acting. I'd rather see
people mend their ways than stand and make speeches about
them. Being sorry don't help the matter much."
"But I will try not to do so any more," said Ellen.
"When I see you don't, I shall begin to think there is
something in it. Actions speak louder than words. I don't
believe in this jumping into goodness all at once."
"Well, I will try not to, at any rate," said Ellen, sighing.
"I shall be very glad to see it. What has brought you into
this sudden fit of dutifulness and fine talking?"
"Miss Alice told me I ought to ask your pardon for what I had
done wrong," said Ellen, scarce able to keep from crying; "and
I know I did wrong this morning, and I did wrong the other day
about the letter; and I am sorry, whether you believe it or
no."
"Miss Alice told you, did she? So all this is to please Miss
Alice. I suppose you were afraid your friend Miss Alice would
hear of some of your goings on, and thought you had better
make up with me. Is that it?"
Ellen answered, "No, Maam," in a low tone, but had no voice
to say more.
"I wish Miss Alice would look after her own affairs, and let
other people's houses alone. That's always the way with your
pieces of perfection they're eternally finding out something
that isn't as it ought to be among their neighbours. I think
people that don't set up for being quite such great things,
get along quite as well in the world."
Ellen was strongly tempted to reply, but kept her lips shut.
"I'll tell you what," said Miss Fortune "if you want me to
believe that all this talk means something, I'll tell you what
you shall do you shall just tell Mr. Van Brunt to-morrow
about it all, and how ugly you have been these two days, and
let him know you were wrong and I was right. I believe he
thinks you cannot do anything wrong, and I should like him to
know it for once."
Ellen struggled hard with herself before she could speak; Miss
Fortune's lips began to wear a scornful smile.
"I'll tell him!" said Ellen, at length; "I'll tell him I was
wrong, if you wish me to."
"I _do_ wish it. I like people's eyes to be opened. It'll do him
good, I guess, and you too. Now, have you anything more to
say?"
Ellen hesitated; the colour came and went; she knew it
wasn't a good time, but how could she wait?
"Aunt Fortune," she said, "you know I told you I behaved very
ill about that letter won't you forgive me?"
"Forgive you? yes, child; I don't care anything about it."
"Then you will be so good as to let me have my letter again?"
said Ellen, timidly.
"Oh, I can't be bothered to look for it now; I'll see about it
some other time; take your candle and go to bed now, if you've
nothing more to say."
Ellen took her candle and went. Some tears were wrung from her
by hurt feeling and disappointment; but she had the smile of
conscience, and, as she believed, of Him whose witness
conscience is. She remembered that "great rock in a weary
land," and she went to sleep in the shadow of it.
The next day was Saturday. Ellen was up early; and after
carefully performing her toilet duties, she had a nice long
hour before it was time to go down stairs. The use she made of
this hour had fitted her to do cheerfully and well her morning
work; and Ellen would have sat down to breakfast in excellent
spirits if it had not been for her promised disclosure to Mr.
Van Brunt. It vexed her a little. "I told Aunt Fortune that
was all right; but why I should be obliged to tell Mr. Van
Brunt, I don't know. But if it convinces aunt Fortune that I
am in earnest, and meant what I say then I had better."
Mr. Van Brunt looked uncommonly grave, she thought; her aunt,
uncommonly satisfied. Ellen had more than half a guess at the
reason of both; but make up her mind to speak she could not,
during all breakfast time. She ate, without knowing what she
was eating.
Mr. Van Brunt at length, having finished his meal, without
saying a syllable, arose, and was about to go forth, when Miss
Fortune stopped him. "Wait a minute, Mr. Van Brunt," she said;
"Ellen has something to say to you. Go ahead, Ellen."
Ellen _felt_ rather than saw the smile with which these words
were spoken. She crimsoned and hesitated.
"Ellen and I had some trouble yesterday," said Miss Fortune;
"and she wants to tell you about it."
Mr. Van Brunt stood gravely waiting.
Ellen raised her eyes, which were full, to his face. "Mr. Van
Brunt," she said, "Aunt Fortune wants me to tell you what I
told her last night that I knew I behaved as I ought not to
her yesterday, and the day before, and other times."
"And what made you do that?" said Mr. Van Brunt.
"Tell him," said Miss Fortune, colouring, "that you were in
the wrong, and I was in the right then he'll believe it, I
suppose."
"I was wrong," said Ellen.
"And I was right," said Miss Fortune.
Ellen was silent. Mr. Van Brunt looked from one to the other.
"Speak," said Miss Fortune; "tell him the whole, if you mean
what you say."
"I can't," said Ellen.
"Why, you said you were wrong," said Miss Fortune; "that's
only half of the business; if you were wrong, I was right; why
don't you say so, and not make such a shilly-shally piece of
work of it?"
"I said I was wrong," said Ellen "and so I was; but I never
said you were right, Aunt Fortune, and I don't think so."
These words, though moderately spoken, were enough to put Miss
Fortune in a rage.
"What did I do that was wrong?" she said; "come, I should like
to know. What was it, Ellen? Out with it; say everything you
can think of; stop and hear it, Mr. Van Brunt; come, Ellen:
let's hear the whole!"
"Thank you, Maam, I've heerd quite enough," said that
gentleman, as he went out and closed the door.
"And I have said too much," said Ellen. "Pray forgive me, Aunt
Fortune. I shouldn't have said that if you hadn't pressed me
so; I forgot myself a moment. I am sorry I said that."
"Forgot yourself!" said Miss Fortune; "I wish you'd forget
yourself out of my house. Please to forget the place where I
am for to-day, anyhow; I've got enough of you for one while.
You had better go to Miss Alice and get a new lesson, and tell
her you are coming on finely."
Gladly would Ellen, indeed, have gone to Miss Alice, but as
the next day was Sunday, she thought it best to wait. She went
sorrowfully to her own room. "Why couldn't I be quiet?" said
Ellen. "If I had only held my tongue that unfortunate minute!
what possessed me to say that?"
Strong passion strong pride both long unbroken; and Ellen
had yet to learn that many a prayer and many a tear, much
watchfulness, much help from on high, must be hers before she
could be thoroughly dispossessed of these evil spirits. But
she knew her sickness; she had applied to the Physician; she
was in a fair way to be well.
One thought in her solitary room that day drew streams of
tears down Ellen's cheeks. "My letter! my letter! what shall
I do to get you?" she said to herself. "It serves me right; I
oughtn't to have got in a passion; oh! I have got a lesson
this time!"