Head-sick and heart-sick.
Mr. van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and weary
travellers stepped after him into the same cheerful,
comfortable-looking kitchen that had received Ellen once
before. Just the same tidy, clean swept up, a good fire, and
the same old red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth in
most cozy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse of
comfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were no
other faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt
put Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother!
here!" muttering that she had taken herself off with the
light somewhere. Not very far: for in half a minute, answering
the call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came hurriedly in.
"What's the matter, 'Brahm? who's this? why 'tain't Miss
Alice! My gracious me! and all wet! oh, dear, dear! poor
lamb! Why, Miss Alice, dear, where have you been? and if
that ain't my little Ellen! oh dear! what a fix you are in!
Well, darling, I'm glad to see you again a'most anyway."
She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this; but surprise
was not more quickly alive than kindness and hospitality. She
fell to work immediately to remove Alice's wet things, and to
do whatever their joint prudence and experience might suggest
to ward off any ill effects from the fatigue and exposure the
wanderers had suffered; and while she was thus employed, Mr.
Van Brunt busied himself with Ellen, who was really in no
condition to help herself. It was curious to see him carefully
taking off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one) and knocking it
gently to get ride of the snow; evidently thinking that
ladies' things must have delicate handling. He tried the cloak
next, but boggled sadly at the fastening of that, and at last
was fain to call in help.
"Here, Nancy! where are you? step here and see if you can
undo this here thing, whatever you call it; I believe my
fingers are too big for it."
It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came forward in
obedience to this call. Ellen had not seen before that she was
in the room. Nancy grinned a mischievous smile of recognition
as she stooped to Ellen's throat and undid the fastening of
the cloak, and then shortly enough bade her "get up, that she
might take it off!" Ellen obeyed, but was very glad to sit
down again. While Nancy went to the door to shake the cloak,
Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet gloves, and
on Nancy's return he directed her to take off the shoes, which
were filled with snow. Nancy sat down on the floor before
Ellen to obey this order; and, tired and exhausted as she was,
Ellen felt the different manner in which her hands and feet
were waited upon.
"How did you get into this scrape?" said Nancy; "_this_ was none
of my doings anyhow. It'll never be dry weather, Ellen, where
you are. I won't put on my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes when I
go a walking with you. You had ought to ha' been a duck or a
goose, or something like that. What's that for, Mr. Van
Brunt!"
This last query, pretty sharply spoken, was in answer to a
light touch of that gentleman's hand upon Miss Nancy's ear,
which came rather as a surprise. He deigned no reply.
"You're a fine gentleman!" said Nancy, tartly.
"Have you done what I gave you to do?" said Mr. Van Brunt,
coolly.
"Yes there!" said Nancy, holding up Ellen's bare feet on one
hand, while the fingers of the other, secretly applied in
ticklish fashion to the soles of them, caused Ellen suddenly
to start and scream.
"Get up!" said Mr. Van Brunt. Nancy didn't think best to
disobey. "Mother, han't you got nothing you want Nancy to do?"
"Sally," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "you and Nancy go and fetch here
a couple of pails of hot water right away."
"Go, and mind what you are about," said Mr. Van Brunt; "and
after that keep out of this room, and don't whisper again till
I give you leave. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, how do you feel?"
Ellen said in words that she felt "nicely," but the eyes and
the smile said a great deal more; Ellen's heart was running
over.
"Oh, she'll feel nicely directly, I'll be bound," said Mrs.
Van Brunt; "wait till she get her feet soaked, and then!"
"I do feel nicely now," said Ellen. And Alice smiled in answer
to their inquiries, and said if she only knew her father was
easy, there would be nothing wanting to her happiness.
The bathing of their feet was a great refreshment, and their
kind hostess had got ready a plentiful supply of hot herb-tea,
with which both Alice and Ellen were well dosed. While they
sat sipping this, toasting their feet before the fire, Mrs.
Van Brunt and the girls meanwhile preparing their room, Mr.
Van Brunt suddenly entered. He was cloaked and hatted, and had
a riding-whip in his hand.
"Is there any word you'd like to get home, Miss Alice? I'm
going to ride a good piece that way, and I can stop as good as
not."
"To-night, Mr. Van Brunt?" exclaimed Alice, in astonishment.
Mr. Van Brunt's silence seemed to say that to-night was the
time and no other.
"But the storm is too bad," urged Alice. "Pray don't go till
to-morrow."
"Pray don't, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen.
"Can't help it; I've got business must go. What shall I say,
Maam?"
"I should be _very_ glad," said Alice, "to have my father know
where I am. Are you going very near the Nose?"
"Very near."
"Then I shall be greatly obliged if you will be so kind as to
stop and relieve my father's anxiety. But how _can_ you go in
such weather? and so dark as it is."
"Never fear," said Mr. Van Brunt. "We'll be back in half an
hour, if 'Brahm and me don't come across a snowdrift a _leetle_
too deep. Good night, Maam." And out he went.
" 'Back in half an hour,' " said Alice, musing. "Why, he said
he had been to untie his horse for the night. He must be going
on our account, I am sure, Ellen!"
"On _your_ account," said Ellen, smiling. "Oh, I knew that all
the time, Miss Alice. I don't think he'll stop to relieve Aunt
Fortune's anxiety."
Alice sprang to call him back, but Mrs. Van Brunt assured her
it was too late, and that she need not be uneasy, for her son
"didn't mind the storm no more than a weather-board. 'Brahm
and 'Brahm could go anywhere in any sort of a time. He was
agoing without speaking to you, but I told him he had better,
for maybe you wanted to send some word particular. And your
room's ready now, dear, and you'd better go to bed, and sleep
as long as you can."
They went thankfully.
"Isn't this a pleasant room?" said Ellen, who saw everything
in rose colour; "and a nice bed? But I feel as if I could
sleep on the floor to-night. Isn't it a'most worth while to
have such a time, Miss Alice, for the sake of the pleasure
afterwards?"
"I don't know, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "I won't say that;
though it _is_ worth paying a price for, to find how much
kindness there is in some people's hearts. As to sleeping on
the floor, I must say I never felt less inclined to it."
"Well, I am tired enough, too," said Ellen, as they laid
themselves down. "Two nights with you in a week! Oh, those
weeks before I saw you, Miss Alice!"
One earnest kiss for good night; and Ellen's sign of pleasure
on touching the pillow was scarcely breathed when sleep, deep
and sound, fell upon her eyelids.
It was very late next morning when they awoke, having slept
rather heavily than well. They crawled out of bed, feeling
stiff and sore in every limb, each confessing to more evil
effects from their adventure than she had been aware of the
evening before. All the rubbing and bathing and drinking that
Mrs. Van Brunt had administered, had been too little to undo
what wet and cold and fatigue had done. But Mrs. Van Brunt had
set her breakfast-table with everything her house could
furnish that was nice; a bountifully-spread board it was. Mr.
Humphreys was there, too; and no bad feelings of two of the
party could prevent that from being a most cheerful and
pleasant meal. Even Mr. Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, two
persons not usually given to many words, came out wonderfully
on this occasion; gratitude and pleasure in the one, and
generous feeling on the part of the other, untied their
tongues; and Ellen looked from one to the other in some
amazement, to see how agreeable they could be. Kindness and
hospitality always kept Mrs. Van Brunt in full flow; and
Alice, whatever she felt, exerted herself and supplied what
was wanting everywhere, like the transparent glazing which
painters use to spread over the dead colour of their pictures;
unknown, it was she gave life and harmony to the whole. And
Ellen, in her enjoyment of everything and everybody, forgot or
despised aches and pains, and even whispered to Alice that
coffee was making her well again.
But happy breakfasts must come to an end, and so did this,
prolonged though it was. Immediately after, the party, whom
circumstances had gathered for the first and probably the last
time, scattered again: but the meeting had left pleasant
effects on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt was in general delight
that she had entertained so many people she thought a great
deal of, and particularly glad of the chance of showing her
kind feelings towards two of the number. Mr. Humphreys
remarked upon "that very sensible, good-hearted man, Mr. Van
Brunt, towards whom he felt himself under great obligation."
Mr. Van Brunt said "the minister warn't such a grum man as
people called him;" and more-over said, "it was a good thing
to have an education, and he had a notion to read more." As
for Alice and Ellen, they went away full of kind feeling for
every one, and much love to each other. This was true of them
before; but their late troubles had drawn them closer
together, and given them fresh occasion to value their
friends.
Mr. Humphreys had brought the little one-horse sleigh for his
daughter, and, soon after breakfast, Ellen saw it drive off
with her. Mr. Van Brunt then harnessed his own and carried
Ellen home. Ill though she felt, the poor child made an
effort, and spent part of the morning in finishing the long
letter to her mother, which had been on the stocks since
Monday. The effort became painful towards the last: and the
aching limbs and trembling hand of which she complained, were
the first beginnings of a serious fit of illness. She went to
bed that same afternoon, and did not leave it again for two
weeks. Cold had taken violent hold of her system; fever set
in, and ran high; and half the time little Ellen's wits were
roving in delirium. Nothing, however, could be too much for
Miss Fortune's energies; she was as much at home in a sick
room as in a well one. She flew about with increased agility;
was upstairs and downstairs twenty times in the course of a
day, and kept all straight everywhere. Ellen's room was always
the picture of neatness; the fire, the wood fire was taken
care of; Miss Fortune seemed to know, by instinct, when it
wanted a fresh supply, and to be on the spot by magic to give
it. Ellen's medicines were dealt out in proper time; her
gruels and drinks perfectly well made and arranged, with
appetizing nicety, on a little table by the bedside, where she
could reach them herself; and Miss Fortune was generally at
hand when she was wanted. But, in spite of all this, there was
something missing in that sick room there was a great want;
and whenever the delirium was upon her, Ellen made no secret
of it. She was never violent; but she moaned, sometimes
impatiently, and sometimes plaintively, for her mother. It was
a vexation to Miss Fortune to hear her. The name of her mother
was all the time on her lips; if by chance her aunt's name
came in, it was spoken in a way that generally sent her
bouncing out of the room.
"Mamma," poor Ellen would say, "just lay your hand on my
forehead, will you? it's so hot! Oh, do, Mamma! where are
you? Do put your hand on my forehead, won't you? Oh, do speak
to me! why don't you, Mamma? Oh, why don't she come to me?"
Once, when Ellen was uneasily calling in this fashion for her
mother's hand, Miss Fortune softly laid her own upon the
child's brow; but the quick sudden jerk of the head from under
it told her how well Ellen knew the one from the other; and,
little as she cared for Ellen, it was wormwood to her.
Miss Fortune was not without offers of help during this sick
time. Mrs. Van Brunt, and afterwards Mrs. Vawse, asked leave
to come and nurse Ellen; but Miss Fortune declared it was more
plague than profit to her; and she couldn't be bothered with
having strangers about. Mrs. Van Brunt she suffered, much
against her will, to come for a day or two: at the end of
that, Miss Fortune found means to get rid of her civilly. Mrs.
Vawse she would not allow to stay an hour. The old lady got
leave, however, to go up to the sick room for a few minutes.
Ellen, who was then in a high fever, informed her that her
mother was downstairs, and her aunt Fortune would not let her
come up; she pleaded, with tears, that she might come, and
entreated Mrs. Vawse to take her aunt away, and send her
mother. Mrs. Vawse tried to soothe her. Miss Fortune grew
impatient.
"What on earth's the use," said she, "of talking to a child
that's out of her head? she can't hear reason; that's the way
she gets into whenever the fever's on her. I have the pleasure
of hearing that sort of thing all the time. Come away, Mrs.
Vawse, and leave her; she can't be better any way than alone,
and I am in the room every other thing she's just as well
quiet. Nobody knows," said Miss Fortune, on her way down
stairs "nobody knows the blessings of taking care of other
people's children that han't tried it. _I've_ tried it, to my
heart's content."
Mrs. Vawse sighed, but departed in silence.
It was not when the fever was on her and delirium high that
Ellen most felt the want she then so pitifully made known.
There were other times when her head was aching, and, weary
and weak, she lay still there oh, how she longed then for
the dear wonted face, the old quiet smile that carried so much
of comfort and assurance with it, the voice that was like
heaven's music, the touch of that loved hand to which she had
clung for so many years! She could scarcely bear to think of
it, sometimes. In the still, wakeful hours of night, when the
only sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of her aunt
asleep on the floor by her side; and in the long, solitary
day, when the only variety to be looked for was Miss Fortune's
flitting in and out, and there came to be a sameness about
that Ellen mourned her loss bitterly. Many and many were the
silent tears that rolled down and wet her pillow; many a long-
drawn sigh came from the very bottom of Ellen's heart: she was
too weak and subdued now for violent weeping. She wondered
sadly why Alice did not come to see her; it was another great
grief added to the former. She never chose, however, to
mention her name to her aunt. She kept her wonder and her
sorrow to herself all the harder to bear for that. After two
weeks Ellen began to mend, and then she became exceedingly
weary of being alone and shut up to her room. It was a
pleasure to have her Bible and hymn-book lying upon the bed,
and a great comfort when she was able to look at a few words,
but that was not very often, and she longed to see somebody,
and hear something besides her aunt's dry questions and
answers.
One afternoon Ellen was sitting, alone as usual, bolstered up
in bed. Her little hymn-book was clasped in her hand; though
not equal to reading, she felt the touch of it a solace to
her. Half-dozing, half-waking, she had been perfectly quiet
for some time, when the sudden and not very gentle opening of
the room door caused her to start and open her eyes. They
opened wider than usual, for, instead of her Aunt Fortune, it
was the figure of Miss Nancy Vawse that presented itself. She
came in briskly, and, shutting the door behind her, advanced
to the bedside.
"Well," said she, "there you are! Why, you look smart enough.
I've come to see you."
"Have you?" said Ellen, uneasily.
"Miss Fortune's gone out, and she told me to come and take
care of you; so I'm a going to spend the afternoon."
"Are you?" said Ellen, again.
"Yes; ain't you glad? I knew you must be lonely, so I thought
I'd come."
There was a mischievous twinkle in Nancy's eyes. Ellen for
once in her life wished for her aunt's presence.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," said Ellen.
"Nothing indeed! It's a fine thing to lie there and do
nothing. You won't get well in a hurry, I guess will you?
You look as well as I do this minute. Oh, I always knew you
was a sham."
"You are very much mistaken," said Ellen, indignantly; "I have
been very sick, and I am not at all well yet."
"Fiddle-de-dee! it's very nice to think so; I guess you're
lazy. How soft and good those pillows do look to be sure.
Come, Ellen, try getting up a little. I believe you hurt
yourself with sleeping; it'll do you good to be out of bed
awhile; come, get up!"
She pulled Ellen's arm as she spoke.
"Stop, Nancy let me alone!" cried Ellen, struggling with all
her force "I musn't I can't! I musn't get up! What do you
mean? I'm not able to sit up at all; let me go!"
She succeeded in freeing herself from Nancy's grasp.
"Well, you're an obstinate piece," said the other; "have your
own way. But mind, I'm left in charge of you; is it time for
you to take your physic?"
"I am not taking any," said Ellen.
"What are you taking?"
"Nothing but gruel and little things."
" 'Gruel and little things;' little things means something
good, I s'pose. Well, is it time for you to take your gruel or
one of the little things?"
"No, I don't want any."
"Oh, that's nothing; people never know what's good for them;
I'm your nurse now, and I'm going to give it to you when I
think you want it. Let me feel your pulse: yes, your pulse
says gruel is wanting. I shall put some down to warm right
away."
"I shan't take it," said Ellen.
"That's a likely story! You'd better not say so. I rather
s'pose you will if I give it to you. Look here, Ellen, you'd
better mind how you behave; you're going to do just what I
tell you. I know how to manage you; if you make any fuss I
shall just tickle you finely," said Nancy, as she prepared a
bed of coals, and set the cup of gruel on it to get hot. "I'll
do it in no time at all, my young lady so you'd better
mind."
Poor Ellen involuntarily curled up her feet under the bed-
clothes, so as to get them as far as possible out of harm's
way. She judged the best thing was to keep quiet if she could,
so she said nothing. Nancy was in great glee; with something
of the same spirit of mischief that a cat shows when she has a
captured mouse at the end of her paws. While the gruel was
heating, she spun round the room in quest of amusement; and
her sudden jerks and flings from one place and thing to
another had so much of lawlessness, that Ellen was in
perpetual terror as to what she might take it into her head to
do next.
"Where does that door lead to?"
"I believe that one leads to the garret," said Ellen.
"You _believe so?_ why don't you say it does, at once?"
"I haven't been up to see."
"You haven't! you expect me to believe that, I s'pose? I am
not quite such a gull as you take me for. What's up there?"
"I don't know, of course."
"Of course! I declare I don't know what you are up to exactly;
but if you won't tell me, I'll find out for myself pretty
quick that's one thing."
She flung open the door and ran up; and Ellen heard her feet
trampling overhead from one end of the house to the other; and
sounds, too, of pushing and pulling things over the floor; it
was plain Nancy was rummaging.
"Well," said Ellen, as she turned uneasily upon her bed, "it's
no affair of mine; I can't help it, whatever she does. But oh!
wont Aunt Fortune be angry!"
Nancy presently came down with her frock gathered up into a
bag before her.
"What do you think I have got here?" said she, "I s'pose you
didn't know there was a basket of fine hickory-nuts up there
in the corner? Was it you or Miss Fortune that hid them away
so nicely? I s'pose she thought nobody would ever think of
looking behind that great blue chest and under the feather-
bed, but it takes me! Miss Fortune was afraid of your
stealing 'em, I guess, Ellen?"
"She needn't have been," said Ellen, indignantly.
"No, I s'pose you wouldn't take 'em if you saw 'em; you
wouldn't eat 'em if they were cracked for you, would you?"
She flung some on Ellen's bed as she spoke. Nancy had seated
herself on the floor, and using for a hammer a piece of old
iron she had brought down with her from the garret, she was
cracking the nuts on the clean white hearth.
"Indeed I wouldn't!" said Ellen, throwing them back; "and you
oughtn't to crack them there, Nancy you'll make a dreadful
mess."
"What, do you think I care?" said the other, scornfully. She
leisurely cracked and ate as many as she pleased of the nuts,
bestowing the rest in the bosom of her frock. Ellen watched
fearfully for her next move. If she should open the little
door and get among her books and boxes!
Nancy's first care, however, was the cup of gruel. It was
found too hot for any mortal lips to bear, so it was set on
one side to cool. Then taking up her rambling examination of
the room, she went from window to window.
"What fine big windows! one might get in here easy enough. I
declare, Ellen, some night I'll set the ladder up against
here, and the first thing you'll see will be me coming in.
You'll have me to sleep with you before you think."
"I'll fasten my windows," said Ellen.
"No, you won't. You'll do it a night or two, maybe, but then
you'll forget it. I shall find them open when I come. Oh, I'll
come!"
"But I could call Aunt Fortune," said Ellen.
"No, you couldn't, 'cause if you spoke a word I'd tickle you
to death; that's what I'd do. I know how to fix you off. And
if you did call her, I'd just whap out of the window and run
off with my ladder, and then you'd get a fine combing for
disturbing the house. What's in this trunk?"
"Only my clothes and things," said Ellen.
"Oh, goody! that's fine; now I'll have a look at 'em. That's
just what I wanted, only I didn't know it. Where's the key?
Oh, here it is, sticking in that's good!"
"Oh, please don't!" said Ellen, raising herself on her elbow,
"they're all in nice order, and you'll get them all in
confusion. Oh, do let them alone!"
"You'd best be quiet, or I'll come and see you," said Nancy;
"I'm just going to look at everything in it, and if I find
anything out of sorts, you'll get it. What's this? ruffles, I
declare! ain't you fine! I'll see how they look on me. What a
plague! you haven't a glass in the room. Never mind I am
used to dressing without a glass."
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," said Ellen, who was worried to the
last degree at seeing her nicely-done-up ruffles round Nancy's
neck; "they're so nice, and you'll muss them all up."
"Don't cry about it," said Nancy, coolly, "I ain't agoing to
eat 'em. My goodness! what a fine hood! ain't that pretty?"
The nice blue hood was turning about in Nancy's fingers, and
well looked at inside and out. Ellen was in distress for fear
it would go on Nancy's head, as well as the ruffles round her
neck; but it didn't; she flung it at length on one side, and
went on pulling out one thing after another, strewing them
very carelessly about the floor.
"What's here? a pair of dirty stockings, as I am alive! Ain't
you ashamed to put dirty stockings in your trunk?"
"They are no such thing," said Ellen, who, in her vexation,
was in danger of forgetting her fear "I've worn them but
once."
"They've no business in here, anyhow," said Nancy, rolling
them up in a hard ball and giving them a sudden fling at
Ellen. They just missed her face, and struck the wall beyond.
Ellen seized them to throw back, but her weakness warned her
she was not able, and a moment reminded her of the folly of
doing anything to rouse Nancy, who, for the present, was
pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, ready
to cry with vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of white
clothes were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; her
capes tried on; her summer dresses unfolded, displayed,
criticised. Nancy decided one was too short; another very
ugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done with
each, it was cast out of her way, on one side or the other, as
the case might be.
The floor was littered with clothes in various states of
disarrangement and confusion. The bottom of the trunk was
reached at last, and then Nancy suddenly recollected her
gruel, and sprang to it. But it had grown cold again.
"This won't do," said Nancy, as she put it on the coals again
"it must be just right; it'll warm soon, and then, Miss
Ellen, you're agoing to take it, whether or no. I hope you
won't give me the pleasure of pouring it down."
Meanwhile she opened the little door of Ellen's study closet
and went in there, though Ellen begged her not. She pulled the
door to, and stayed some time perfectly quiet. Not able to see
or hear what she was doing, and fretted beyond measure that
her work-box and writing-desk should be at Nancy's mercy, or
even feel the touch of her fingers, Ellen at last could stand
it no longer, but threw herself out of the bed, weak as she
was, and went to see what was going on. Nancy was seated
quietly on the floor, examining, with much seeming interest,
the contents of the work-box; trying on the thimble, cutting
bits of thread with the scissors, and marking the ends of the
spools with whatever like pieces of mischief her restless
spirit could devise; but when Ellen opened the door, she put
the box from her and started up.
"My goodness me!" said she, "this'll never do. What are you
out here for? you'll catch your death with those dear little
bare feet, and we shall have the mischief to pay!"
As she said this, she caught up Ellen in her arms as if she
had been a baby, and carried her back to the bed, where she
laid her with two or three little shakes, and then proceeded
to spread up the clothes and tuck her in all round. She then
ran for the gruel. Ellen was in great question whether to give
way to tears or vexation; but with some difficulty determined
upon vexation as the best plan. Nancy prepared the gruel to
her liking, and brought it to the bedside; but to get it
swallowed was another matter. Nancy was resolved Ellen should
take it. Ellen had less strength, but quite as much obstinacy
as her enemy, and she was equally resolved not to drink a
drop. Between laughing on Nancy's part, and very serious anger
on Ellen's, a struggle ensued. Nancy tried to force it down,
but Ellen's shut teeth were as firm as a vice, and the end was
that two-thirds were bestowed on the sheet. Ellen burst into
tears. Nancy laughed.
"Well, I _do_ think," said she, "you are one of the hardest
customers ever I came across. I shouldn't want to have the
managing of you when you get a little bigger. Oh, the way Miss
Fortune will look, when she comes in here will be a caution!
Oh, what fun!"
Nancy shouted and clapped her hands. "Come, stop crying!" said
she; "what a baby you are! what are you crying for? come,
stop! I'll make you laugh if you don't."
Two or three little applications of Nancy's fingers made her
words good, but laughing was mixed with crying, and Ellen
writhed in hysterics. Just then came a little knock at the
door. Ellen did not hear it, but it quieted Nancy. She stood
still a moment; and then, as the knock was repeated, she
called out boldly, "Come in!" Ellen raised her head "to see
who there might be;" and great was the surprise of both, and
the joy of one, as the tall form and broad shoulders of Mr.
Van Brunt presented themselves.
"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," sobbed Ellen, "I am so glad to see you!
won't you please send Nancy away?"
"What are you doing here?" said the astonished Dutchman.
"Look and see, Mr. Van Brunt," said Nancy with a smile of
mischief's own curling; "you won't be long finding out, I
guess."
"Take yourself off, and don't let me hear of your being caught
here again."
"I'll go when I'm ready, thank you," said Nancy; "and as to
the rest, I haven't been caught the first time, yet; I don't
know what you mean."
She sprang as she finished her sentence, for Mr. Van Brunt
made a sudden movement to catch her then and there. He was
foiled; and then began a running chase round the room, in the
course of which Nancy dodged, pushed, and sprang, with the
power of squeezing by impassables, and overleaping
impossibilities, that, to say the least of it, was remarkable.
The room was too small for her, and she was caught at last.
"I vow!" said Mr. Van Brunt as he pinioned her hands, "I
should like to see you play blind man's buff for once, if I
warn't the blind man."
"How'd you see me if you was?" said Nancy, scornfully.
"Now, Miss Ellen," said Mr. Van Brunt, as he brought her to
Ellen's bedside, "here she is safe; what shall I do with her?"
"If you will only send her away, and not let her come back,
Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "I'll be so much obliged to you!"
"Let me go!" said Nancy; "I declare you're a real mean
Dutchman, Mr. Van Brunt."
He took both her hands in one, and laid the other lightly over
her ears.
"I'll let you go," said he. "Now, don't you be caught here
again, if you know what is good for yourself."
He saw Miss Nancy out of the door, and then came back to
Ellen, who was crying heartily again from nervous vexation.
"She's gone," said he. "What has that wicked thing been doing,
Miss Ellen? what's the matter with you?"
"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "you can't think how she has
worried me; she has been here this great while; just look at
all my things on the floor, and that isn't the half."
Mr. Van Brunt gave a long whistle as his eye surveyed the
tokens of Miss Nancy's mischief-making, over and through which
both she and himself had been chasing at full speed, making
the state of matters rather worse than it was before.
"I do say," said he, slowly, "that is too bad. I'd fix them up
again for you, Miss Ellen, if I knew how; but my hands are
a'most as clumsy as my feet, and I see the marks of them
there; it's too bad, I declare; I didn't know what I was going
on."
"Never mind, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, "I don't mind what
you have done, a bit. I'm so glad to see you!"
She put out her little hand to him as she spoke. He took it in
his own, silently; but, though he said and showed nothing of
it, Ellen's look and tone of affection thrilled his heart with
pleasure.
"How do you do?" said he, kindly.
"I'm a great deal better," said Ellen. "Sit down, won't you,
Mr. Van Brunt? I want to see you a little."
Horses wouldn't have drawn him away after that. He sat down.
"Ain't you going to be up again some of these days?" said he.
"Oh yes, I hope so," said Ellen, sighing; "I am very tired of
lying here."
He looked round the room; got up and mended the fire, then
came and sat down again.
"I was up yesterday for a minute," said Ellen; "but the chair
tired me so, I was glad to get back to bed again."
It was no wonder; harder and straighter-backed chairs never
were invented. Probably Mr. Van Brunt thought so.
"Wouldn't you like to have a rocking cheer?" said he,
suddenly, as if a bright thought had struck him.
"Oh yes, how much I should!" said Ellen, with another long-
drawn breath; "but there isn't such a thing in the house, that
ever I saw."
"Ay, but there is in other houses, though," said Mr. Van
Brunt, with as near an approach to a smile as his lips
commonly made; "we'll see!"
Ellen smiled more broadly. "But don't you give yourself any
trouble for me," said she.
"Trouble, indeed!" said Mr. Van Brunt; "I don't know anything
about that. How came that wicked thing up here to plague you?"
"She said Aunt Fortune left her to take care of me."
"That's one of her lies. Your aunt's gone out, I know; but
she's a trifle wiser than to do such a thing as that. She has
plagued you badly, han't she?"
He might have thought so. The colour which excitement brought
into Ellen's face had faded away, and she had settled herself
back against her pillow with an expression of weakness and
weariness that the strong man saw and felt.
"What is there I can do for you?" said he, with a gentleness
that seemed almost strange from such lips.
"If you would," said Ellen, faintly, "if you _could_ be so
kind as to read to me a hymn I should be so glad. I've had
nobody to read to me."
Her hand put the little book towards him as she said so.
Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had asked him to
plough an acre. He was to the full as much confounded as poor
Ellen had once been at a request of his. He hesitated, and
looked towards Ellen, wishing for an excuse. But the pale
little face that lay there against the pillow the drooping
eyelids the meek, helpless look of the little child, put all
excuses out of his head; and though he would have chosen to do
almost anything else, he took the book, and asked her "Where?"
She said, "Anywhere;" and he took the first he saw.
"Poor, weak, and worthless though I am,
I have a rich, almighty Friend;
Jesus the Saviour is his name,
He freely loves, and without end."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and folding her
hands on her breast, "how lovely that is!"
He stopped and looked at her a moment, and then went on with
increased gravity
"He ransom'd me from hell with blood,
And by his pow'r my foes controll'd;
He found me wand'ring far from God,
And brought me to his chosen fold."
"Fold?" said Ellen, opening her eyes; "what is that?"
"It's where sheep are penned, ain't it?" said Mr. Van Brunt,
after a pause.
"Oh, yes!" said Ellen; "that's it; I remember; that's like
what he said 'I am the good shepherd,' and 'the Lord is my
shepherd;' I know now. Go on, please."
He finished the hymn without more interruption. Looking again
towards Ellen, he was surprised to see several large tears
finding their way down her cheeks from under the wet eyelash.
But she quickly wiped them away.
"What do you read them things for," said he, "if they make you
feel bad?"
"Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, they don't; they make me happy; I
love them dearly. I never read that one before. You can't
think how much I am obliged to you for reading it to me. Will
you let me see where it is?"
He gave it her.
"Yes, there's his mark!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes.
"Now, Mr. Van Brunt, would you be so very good as to read it
once more?"
He obeyed. It was easier this time. She listened, as before,
with closed eyes, but the colour came and went, once or twice.
"Thank you, very much," she said, when he had done. "Are you
going?"
"I must; I have some things to look after."
She held his hand still.
"Mr. Van Brunt, don't _you_ love hymns?"
"I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen."
"Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold?"
"What fold?"
"The fold of Christ's people."
"I'm afeard not, Miss Ellen," said he, soberly, after a
minute's pause.
"Because," said Ellen, bursting into tears, "I wish you were,
very much."
She carried the great brown hand to her lips before she let it
go. He went, without saying a word. But when he got out, he
stopped and looked at a little tear she had left on the back
of it. And he looked till one of his own fell there to keep it
company.