Loses care on the cat's back.
The Sunday with Alice met all Ellen's hopes. She wrote a very
long letter to her mother, giving the full history of the day.
How pleasantly they had ridden to church on the pretty gray
pony she half the way and Alice the other half, talking to
each other all the while; for Mr. Humphreys had ridden on
before. How lovely the road was, "winding about round the
mountain, up and down," and with such a wide fair view, and
"part of the time close along by the edge of the water." This
had been Ellen's first ride on horseback. Then the letter
described the little Carra-carra church Mr. Humphreys'
excellent sermon, "every word of which she could understand;"
Alice's Sunday-school, in which she was sole teacher; and how
Ellen had four little ones put under _her_ care; and told how
while Mr. Humphreys went on to hold a second service at a
village some six miles off, his daughter ministered to two
infirm old women at Carra-carra reading and explaining the
Bible to the one and to the other, who was blind, repeating
the whole substance of her father's sermon. "Miss Alice told
me that nobody could enjoy a sermon better than that old
woman, but she cannot go out, and every Sunday Miss Alice goes
and preaches to her, she says." How Ellen went home in the
boat with Thomas and Margery, and spent the rest of the day
and the night also at the parsonage; and how polite and kind
Mr. Humphreys had been. "He's a very grave-looking man,
indeed," said the letter, "and not a bit like Miss Alice; he
is a great deal older than I expected."
This letter was much the longest Ellen had ever written in her
life; but she had set her heart on having her mother's
sympathy in her new pleasures, though not to be had but after
the lapse of many weeks, and beyond a sad interval of land and
sea. Still she must have it; and her little fingers travelled
busily over the paper hour after hour, as she found time, till
the long epistle was finished. She was hard at work at it
Tuesday afternoon when her aunt called her down; and obeying
the call, to her great surprise and delight she found Alice
seated in the chimney-corner and chatting away with her old
grandmother, who looked remarkably pleased. Miss Fortune was
bustling round, as usual, looking at nobody, though putting in
her word now and then.
"Come, Ellen," said Alice, "get your bonnet; I am going up the
mountain to see Mrs. Vawse, and your aunt has given leave for
you to go with me. Wrap yourself up well, for it is not warm."
Without waiting for a word of answer, Ellen joyfully ran off.
"You have chosen rather an ugly day for your walk, Miss
Alice."
"Can't expect pretty days in December, Miss Fortune. I am only
too happy it doesn't storm; it will by to-morrow, I think. But
I have learned not to mind weathers."
"Yes, I know you have," said Miss Fortune. "You'll stop up on
the mountain till supper-time, I guess won't you?"
"Oh, yes; I shall want something to fortify me before coming
home after such a long tramp. You see I have brought a basket
along. I thought it safest to take a loaf of bread with me,
for no one can tell what may be in Mrs. Vawse's cupboard, and
to lose our supper is not a thing to be thought of."
"Well, have you looked out for butter, too? for you'll find
none where you're going. I don't know how the old lady lives
up there, but it's without butter, I reckon."
"I have taken care of that, too, thank you, Miss Fortune. You
see I'm a far-sighted creature."
"Ellen," said her aunt, as Ellen now, cloaked and hooded, came
in, "go into the buttery and fetch out one of them pumpkin
pies to put in Miss Alice's basket."
"Thank you, Miss Fortune," said Alice, smiling; "I shall tell
Mrs. Vawse who it comes from. Now, my dear, let's be off; we
have a long walk before us."
Ellen was quite ready to be off. But no sooner had she opened
the outer shed door than her voice was heard in astonishment.
"A cat! What cat is this? Miss Alice! look here! here's
the Captain I do believe."
"Here is the Captain, indeed," said Alice. "Oh, pussy, pussy,
what have you come for?"
Pussy walked up to his mistress, and stroking himself and his
great tail against her dress, seemed to say that he had come
for her sake, and that it made no difference to him where she
was going.
"He was sitting as gravely as possible," said Ellen, "on the
stone just outside the door, waiting for the door to be
opened. How could he have come here?"
"Why, he has followed me," said Alice; "he often does; but I
came quick, and I thought I had left him at home to-day. This
is too long an expedition for him. Kitty, I wish you had
stayed at home."
Kitty did not think so; he was arching his neck and purring in
acknowledgment of Alice's soft touch.
"Can't you send him back?" said Ellen.
"No, my dear; he is the most sensible of cats, no doubt, but
he could by no means understand such an order. No, we must let
him trot on after us, and when he gets tired I'll carry him;
it won't be the first time, by a good many."
They set off with a quick pace, which the weather forbade them
to slacken. It was somewhat as Miss Fortune had said, an ugly
afternoon. The clouds hung cold and gray, and the air had a
raw chill feeling, that betokened a coming snow. The wind blew
strong, too, and seemed to carry the chillness through all
manner of wrappers. Alice and Ellen, however, did not much
care for it; they walked and ran by turns, only stopping once
in a while, when poor Captain's uneasy cry warned them they
had left him too far behind. Still he would not submit to be
carried, but jumped down whenever Alice attempted it, and
trotted on most perseveringly. As they neared the foot of the
mountain, they were somewhat sheltered from the wind, and
could afford to walk more slowly.
"How is it between you and your aunt Fortune now?" said Alice.
"Oh, we don't get on well at all, Miss Alice, and I don't know
exactly what to do. You know I said I would ask her pardon.
Well, I did, the same night after I got home, but it was very
disagreeable. She didn't seem to believe I was in earnest, and
wanted me to tell Mr. Van Brunt that I had been wrong. I
thought that was rather hard; but at any rate I said I would;
and next morning I did tell him so; and I believe all would
have done well if I could only have been quiet; but Aunt
Fortune said something that vexed me, and almost before I knew
it I said something that vexed her dreadfully. It was nothing
very bad, Miss Alice, though I ought not to have said it, and
I was sorry two minutes after; but I just got provoked, and
what shall I do? for it is so hard to prevent it."
"The only thing I know," said Alice, with a slight smile, "is
to be full of that charity which among other lovely ways of
showing itself, has this that it is 'not easily provoked.' "
"I am easily provoked," said Ellen.
"Then you know one thing, at any rate, that is to be watched
and prayed and guarded against; it is no little matter to be
acquainted with one's own weak points."
"I tried so hard to keep quiet that morning," said Ellen; "and
if I only could have let that unlucky speech alone but
somehow I forgot myself, and I just told her what I thought."
"Which it is very often best not to do."
"I do believe," said Ellen, "Aunt Fortune would like to have
Mr. Van Brunt not like me."
"Well," said Alice, "what then?"
"Nothing, I suppose, Maam."
"I hope you are not going to lay it up against her?"
"No, Maam, I hope not."
"Take care, dear Ellen don't take up the trade of suspecting
evil; you could not take up a worse; and even when it is
forced upon you, see as little of it as you can, and forget as
soon as you can what you see. Your aunt, it may be, is not a
very happy person, and no one can tell but those that are
unhappy how hard it is not to be unamiable too. Return good
for evil as fast as you can, and you will soon either have
nothing to complain of or be very well able to bear it."
They now began to go up the mountain, and the path became in
places steep and rugged enough. "There is an easier way on the
other side," said Alice, "but this is the nearest for us."
Captain Parry now showed signs of being decidedly weary, and
permitted Alice to take him up. But he presently mounted from
her arms to her shoulder, and to Ellen's great amusement, kept
his place there, passing from one shoulder to the other, and
every now and then sticking his nose up into her bonnet as if
to kiss her.
"What _does_ he do that for?" said Ellen.
"Because he loves me, and is pleased," said Alice. "Put your
ear close, Ellen, and hear the quiet way he is purring to
himself do you hear? That's his way; he very seldom purrs
aloud."
"He's a very funny cat," said Ellen laughing.
"Cat!" said Alice; "there isn't such a cat as this to be seen.
He's a cat to be respected, my old Captain Parry. He's not to
be laughed at, Ellen, I can tell you."
The travellers went on with good will; but the path was so
steep, and the way so long that when about half-way up the
mountain they were fain to follow the example of their four-
footed companion, and rest themselves. They sat down on the
ground. They had warmed themselves with walking, but the
weather was as chill and disagreeable and gusty as ever; every
now and then the wind came sweeping by, catching up the dried
leaves at their feet, and whirling and scattering them off to
a distance winter's warning voice.
"I never was in the country before when the leaves were off
the trees," said Ellen. "It isn't so pretty, Miss Alice; do
you think so?"
"So pretty! No, I suppose not, if we were to have it all the
while; but I like the change very much."
"Do you like to see the leaves off the trees?"
"Yes, in the time of it. There's beauty in the leafless trees
that you cannot see in summer. Just look, Ellen no, I cannot
find you a nice specimen here, they grow too thick; but where
they have room, the way the branches spread and ramify, or
branch out again, is most beautiful. There's first the trunk,
then the large branches, then those divide into smaller ones,
and those part and part again into smaller and smaller twigs,
till you are canopied, as it were, with a network of fine
stems. And when the snow falls gently on them oh, Ellen,
winter has its own beauties. I love it all; the cold, and the
wind, and the snow, and the bare forests, and our little river
of ice. What pleasant sleigh-rides to church I have had upon
that river! And then the evergreens, look at them; you don't
know in summer how much they are worth. Wait till you see the
hemlock branches bending with a weight of snow, and then, if
you don't say the winter is beautiful, I'll give you up as a
young lady of bad taste."
"I dare say I shall," said Ellen; "I am sure I shall like what
you like. But, Miss Alice, what makes the leaves fall when the
cold weather comes?"
"A very pretty question, Ellen, and one that can't be answered
in a breath."
"I asked Aunt Fortune the other day," said Ellen, laughing
very heartily, "and she told me to hush up and not be a fool;
and I told her I really wanted to know, and she said she
wouldn't make herself a simpleton if she was in my place; so I
thought I might as well be quiet."
"By the time the cold weather comes, Ellen, the leaves have
done their work, and are no more needed. Do you know what work
they have to do? do you know what is the use of leaves?"
"Why, for prettiness, I suppose," said Ellen, "and to give
shade; I don't know anything else."
"Shade is one of their uses, no doubt, and prettiness too. He
who made the trees, made them 'pleasant to the eyes,' as well
as 'good for food.' So we have an infinite variety of leaves;
one shape would have done the work just as well for every kind
of tree, but then we should have lost a great deal of
pleasure. But, Ellen, the tree could not live without leaves.
In the spring, the thin sap which the roots suck up from the
ground is drawn into the leaves; there, by the help of the sun
and air, it is thickened and prepared in a way you cannot
understand, and goes back to supply the wood with the various
matters necessary for its growth and hardness. After this has
gone on some time, the little vessels of the leaves become
clogged and stopped up with earthy and other matter; they
cease to do their work any longer; the hot sun dries them up
more and more, and by the time the frost comes they are as
good as dead. That finishes them, and they drop off from the
branch that needs them no more. Do you understand all this?"
"Yes, Maam, very well," said Ellen; "and it's exactly what I
wanted to know, and very curious. So the trees couldn't live
without leaves?"
"No more than you could without a heart and lungs."
"I am very glad to know that," said Ellen. "Then how is it
with the evergreens, Miss Alice? Why don't their leaves die
and drop off too?"
"They do; look how the ground is carpeted under that pine-
tree."
"But they stay green all winter, don't they?"
"Yes; their leaves are fitted to resist frost; I don't know
what the people in cold countries would do else. They have the
fate of all other leaves, however; they live awhile, do their
work, and then die; not all at once, though; there is always a
supply left on the tree. Are we rested enough to begin again?"
"I am," said Ellen; "I don't know about the Captain. Poor
fellow! he's fast asleep. I declare it's too bad to wake you
up, pussy. Haven't we had a pleasant little rest, Miss Alice?
I have learnt something while we have been sitting here."
"_That_ is pleasant, Ellen," said Alice, as they began their
upward march; "I would I might be all the while learning
something."
"But you have been teaching, Miss Alice, and that's as good.
Mamma used to say, 'It is more blessed to give than to
receive.' "
"Thank you, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "that ought to
satisfy me, certainly."
They bent themselves against the steep hill again, and pressed
on. As they rose higher, they felt it grow more cold and
bleak; the woods gave them less shelter, and the wind swept
round the mountain head and over them with great force, making
their way quite difficult.
"Courage, Ellen!" said Alice, as they struggled on; "we shall
soon be there."
"I wonder," said the panting Ellen, as, making an effort, she
came up alongside of Alice "I wonder why Mrs. Vawse will
live in such a disagreeable place."
"It is not disagreeable to her, Ellen; though I must say I
should not like to have _too_ much of this wind."
"But does she really like to live up here better than down
below, where it is warmer? and all alone, too?"
"Yes, she does. Ask her why, Ellen, and see what she will tell
you. She likes it so much better, that this little cottage was
built on purpose for her, near ten years ago, by a good old
friend of hers, a connection of the lady whom she followed to
this country."
"Well," said Ellen, "she must have a queer taste that is all
I can say."
They were now within a few easy steps of the house, which did
not look so uncomfortable when they came close to it. It was
small and low, of only one story, though it is true the roof
ran up very steep to a high and sharp gable. It was perched so
snugly, in a niche of the hill, that the little yard was
completely sheltered with a high wall of rock. The house
itself stood out more boldly, and caught pretty well near all
the winds that blew; but so, Alice informed Ellen, the inmate
liked to have it.
"And that roof," said Alice, "she begged Mr. Marshman when
the cottage was building, that the roof might be high and
pointed; she said her eyes were tired with the low roofs of
this country, and if he would have it made so it would be a
great relief to them."
The odd roof Ellen thought was pretty. But they now reached
the door, protected with a deep porch. Alice entered, and
knocked at the other door. They were bade to come in. A woman
was there stepping briskly back and forth before a large
spinning-wheel. She half turned her head to see who the comers
were, then stopped her wheel instantly, and came to meet them
with open arms.
"Miss Alice! Dear Miss Alice, how glad I am to see you!"
"And I you, dear Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, kissing her. "Here's
another friend you must welcome for my sake little Ellen
Montgomery."
"I am very glad to see Miss Ellen," said the old woman,
kissing her also; and Ellen did not shrink from the kiss, so
pleasant were the lips that tendered it; so kind and frank the
smile, so winning the eye; so agreeable the whole air of the
person. She turned from Ellen again to Miss Alice.
"It's a long while that I have not seen you, dear not since
you went to Mrs. Marshman's. And what a day you have chosen to
come at last!"
"I can't help that," said Alice, pulling off her bonnet, "I
couldn't wait any longer. I wanted to see you dolefully, Mrs.
Vawse."
"Why, my dear? what's the matter? I have wanted to see you,
but not dolefully."
"That's the very thing, Mrs. Vawse; I wanted to see you to get
a lesson of quiet contentment."
"I never thought you wanted such a lesson, Miss Alice. What's
the matter?"
"I can't get over John's going away."
Her lip trembled and her eye was swimming as she said so. The
old woman passed her hands over the gentle head, and kissed
her brow.
"So I thought so I felt, when my mistress died, and my
husband, and my sons, one after the other. But now I think I
can say, with Paul, 'I have learned, in whatsoever state I am,
therewith to be content.' I think so maybe that I deceive
myself; but they are all gone, and I am certain that I am
content now."
"Then surely I ought to be," said Alice.
"It is not till one looses one's hold of other things, and
looks to Jesus alone, that one finds how much he can do.
'There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother;' but I
never knew all that meant till I had no other friends to lean
upon; nay, I should not say _no_ other friends; but my
dearest were taken away. You have _your_ dearest still, Miss
Alice."
"Two of them," said Alice, faintly, "and hardly that, now."
"I have not one," said the old woman, "I have not one; but
my home is in heaven, and my Saviour is there, preparing a
place for me. I know it I am sure of it and I can wait a
little while, and rejoice all the while I am waiting. Dearest
Miss Alice 'none of them that trust in him shall be
desolate;' don't you believe that?"
"I do, surely, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, wiping away a tear or
two; "but I forget it sometimes; or the pressure of present
pain is too much for all that faith and hope can do."
"It hinders faith and hope from acting that is the trouble.
'They that seek the Lord, shall not want any good thing.' I
know that is true, of my own experience; so will you, dear."
"I know it, Mrs. Vawse I know it all; but it does me good to
hear you say it. I thought I should become accustomed to
John's absence, but I do not at all; the autumn winds all the
while seem to sing to me that he is away."
"My dear love," said the old lady, "it sorrows me much to hear
you speak so; I would take away this trial from you if I
could; but He knows best. Seek to live nearer to the Lord,
dear Miss Alice, and he will give you much more than he has
taken away."
Alice again brushed away some tears.
"I felt I must come and see you to-day," said she, "and you
have comforted me already. The sound of your voice always does
me good. I catch courage and patience from you, I believe."
" 'As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the
countenance of his friend.' How did you leave Mr. and Mrs.
Marshman? and has Mr. George returned yet?"
Drawing their chairs together, a close conversation began.
Ellen had been painfully interested and surprised by what went
before, but the low tone of voice now seemed to be not meant
for her ear, and turning away her attention, she amused
herself with taking a general survey.
It was easy to see that Mrs. Vawse lived in this room, and
probably had no other to live in. Her bed was in one corner;
cupboards filled the deep recesses on each side of the
chimney; and in the wide fireplace, the crane and the hooks
and trammels hanging upon it showed that the bedroom and
sitting-room was the kitchen too. Most of the floor was
covered with a thick rag carpet; where the boards could be
seen they were beautifully clean and white, and everything
else in the room, in this respect, matched with the boards.
The panes of glass in the little windows were clean and bright
as panes of glass could be made; the hearth was clean swept
up; the cupboard doors were unstained and unsoiled, though
fingers had worn the paint off; dust was nowhere. On a little
stand by the chimney corner lay a large Bible and another
book; close beside stood a cushioned arm-chair. Some other
apartment there probably was where wood and stores were kept;
nothing was to be seen here that did not agree with the very
comfortable face of the whole. It looked as if one might be
happy there; it looked as if somebody _was_ happy there; and a
glance at the old lady of the house would not alter the
opinion. Many a glance Ellen gave her as she sat talking with
Alice; and with every one she felt more and more drawn towards
her. She was somewhat under the common size, and rather stout;
her countenance most agreeable; there was sense, character,
sweetness in it. Some wrinkles, no doubt, were there, too;
lines deep-marked, that spoke of sorrows once known. Those
storms had all passed away; the last shadow of a cloud had
departed; her evening sun was shining clear and bright towards
the setting; and her brow was beautifully placid, not as
though it never had been, but as if it never could be ruffled
again. Respect no one could help feeling for her; and more
than respect, one felt, would grow with acquaintance. Her
dress was very odd, Ellen thought. It was not American, and
what it was she did not know, but supposed Mrs. Vawse must
have a lingering fancy for the costume as well as for the
roofs of her fatherland. More than all, her eye turned again
and again to the face, which seemed to her, in its changing
expression, winning and pleasant exceedingly. The mouth had
not forgotten to smile, nor the eye to laugh; and though this
was not often seen, the constant play of feature showed a deep
and lively sympathy in all Alice was saying, and held Ellen's
charmed gaze; and when the old lady's looks and words were at
length turned to herself, she blushed to think how long she
had been looking steadily at a stranger.
"Little Miss Ellen, how do you like my house on the rock
here?"
"I don't know, Maam," said Ellen; "I like it very much; only
I don't think I should like it so well in winter."
"I am not certain that I don't like it then best of all. Why
would you not like it in winter?"
"I shouldn't like the cold, Maam, and to be alone."
"I like to be alone but cold? I am in no danger of freezing,
Miss Ellen. I make myself very warm keep good fires and my
house is too strong for the wind to blow it away. Don't you
want to go out and see my cow? I have one of the best cows
that ever you saw; her name is Snow: there is not a black hair
upon her; she is all white. Come, Miss Alice; Mr. Marshman
sent her to me a month ago; she's a great treasure, and worth
looking at."
They went across the yard to the tiny barn or outhouse, where
they found Snow nicely cared for. She was in a warm stable, a
nice bedding of straw upon the floor, and plenty of hay laid
up for her. Snow deserved it, for she was a beauty, and a very
well-behaved cow, letting Alice and Ellen stroke her and pat
her, and feel of her thick hide, with the most perfect
placidity. Mrs. Vawse meanwhile went to the door to look out.
"Nancy ought to be home to milk her," she said; "I must give
you supper and send you off. I've no feeling nor smell if snow
isn't thick in the air somewhere; we shall see it here soon."
"I'll milk her," said Alice.
"I'll milk her!" said Ellen; "I'll milk her! Ah, do let me! I
know how to milk; Mr. Van Brunt taught me, and I have done it
several times. May I? I should like it dearly."
"You shall do it surely, my child," said Mrs. Vawse. "Come
with me, and I'll give you the pail and the milking-stool."
When Alice and Ellen came in with the milk, they found the
kettle on, the little table set, and Mrs. Vawse very busy at
another table.
"What are you doing, Mrs. Vawse, may I ask?" said Alice.
"I'm just stirring up some Indian meal for you; I find I have
not but a crust left."
"Please to put that away, Maam, for another time. Do you
think I didn't know better than to come up to this mountain
top without bringing along something to live upon while I am
here? Here's a basket, Maam, and in it are divers things; I
believe Margery and I between us have packed up enough for two
or three suppers to say nothing of Miss Fortune's pie. There
it is sure to be good, you know; and here are some of my
cakes, that you like so much, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, as she
went on pulling the things out of the basket; "there is a
bowl of butter that's not wanted, I see and here is a loaf
of bread; and that's all. Ellen, my dear, this basket will be
lighter to carry down than it was to bring up."
"I am glad of it, I am sure," said Ellen; "my arm hasn't done
aching yet, though I had it so little while."
"Ah, I am glad to hear that kettle singing," said their
hostess. "I can give you good tea, Miss Alice; you'll think
so, I know, for it's the same Mr. John sent me. It is very
fine tea; and he sent me a noble supply, like himself,"
continued Mrs. Vawse, taking some out of her little caddy. "I
ought not to say I have no friends left; I cannot eat a meal
that I am not reminded of two good ones. Mr. John knew one of
my weak points when he sent me that box of souchong."
The supper was ready, and the little party gathered round the
table. The tea did credit to the judgment of the giver and the
skill of the maker, but they were no critics that drank it.
Alice and Ellen were much too hungry and too happy to be
particular. Miss Fortune's pumpkin pie was declared to be very
fine, and so were Mrs. Vawse's cheese and butter. Eating and
talking went on with great spirit, their old friend seeming
scarce less pleased or less lively than themselves. Alice
proposed the French plan, and Mrs. Vawse entered into it very
frankly; it was easy to see that the style of building and of
dress to which she had been accustomed in early life were not
the only things remembered kindly for old times' sake. It was
settled they should meet as frequently as might be, either
here or at the parsonage, and become good Frenchwomen with all
convenient speed.
"Will you wish to walk so far to see me again, little Miss
Ellen?"
"Oh yes, Maam!"
"You won't fear the deep snow, and the wind and cold, and the
steep hill?"
"Oh no, Maam, I won't mind them a bit; but, Maam, Miss Alice
told me to ask you why you loved better to live up here than
down where it is warmer. I shouldn't ask if she hadn't said I
might."
"Ellen has a great fancy for getting at the reason of
everything, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, smiling.
"You wonder anybody should choose it, don't you, Miss Ellen?"
said the old lady.
"Yes, Maam, a little."
"I'll tell you the reason, my child. It is for the love of my
old home, and the memory of my young days. Till I was as old
as you are, and a little older, I lived among the mountains
and upon them; and after that, for many a year, they were just
before my eyes every day, stretching away for more than one
hundred miles, and piled up one above another, fifty times as
big as any you ever saw; these are only molehills to them. I
loved them oh! how I love them still! If I have one
unsatisfied wish," said the old lady, turning to Alice, "it is
to see my Alps again; but that will never be. Now, Miss Ellen,
it is not that I fancy when I get to the top of this hill that
I am among my own mountains, but I can breathe better here
than down in the plain. I feel more free; and in the village I
would not live for gold, unless that duty bade me."
"But all alone, so far from everybody," said Ellen.
"I am never lonely; and, old as I am, I don't mind a long walk
or a rough road, any more than your young feet do."
"But isn't it very cold?" said Ellen.
"Yes, it is very cold? what of that? I make a good blazing
fire; and then I like to hear the wind whistle."
"Yes, but you wouldn't like to have it whistling inside as
well as out," said Alice. "I will come and do the listing and
caulking for you in a day or two. Oh, you have it done without
me! I am sorry."
"No need to be sorry, dear I am glad; you don't look fit for
any troublesome jobs."
"I am fit enough," said Alice. "Don't put up the curtains;
I'll come and do it."
"You must come with a stronger face, then," said her old
friend; "have you wearied yourself with walking all this way?"
"I was a little weary," said Alice, "but your nice tea has
made me up again."
"I wish I could keep you all night," said Mrs. Vawse, looking
out; "but your father would be uneasy. I am afraid the storm
will catch you before you get home; and you aren't fit to
breast it. Little Ellen, too, don't look as if she was made of
iron. Can't you stay with me?"
"I must not it wouldn't do," said Alice, who was hastily
putting on her things; "we'll soon run down the hill. But we
are leaving you alone where's Nancy?"
"She'll not come if there's a promise of a storm," said Mrs.
Vawse; "she often stays out a night."
"And leaves you alone!"
"I am never alone," said the old lady, quietly; "I have
nothing to fear; but I am uneasy about you, dear. Mind my
words; don't try to go back the way you came; take the other
road; it's easier; and stop when you get to Mrs. Van Brunt's;
Mr. Van Brunt will take you the rest of the way in his little
waggon."
"Do you think it is needful?" said Alice, doubtfully.
"I am sure it is best. Hasten down. _Adieu, mon enfant_."
They kissed and embraced her, and hurried out.