Flowers and Thorns.
The next day it happened that the young people were amusing
themselves with talking in a room where John Humphreys,
walking up and down, was amusing _himself_ with thinking. In the
course of his walk, he began to find their amusement rather
disturbing to his. The children were all grouped closely
around Margaret Dunscombe, who was entertaining them with a
long and very detailed account of a wedding and great party at
Randolph, which she had had the happiness of attending.
Eagerly fighting her battles over again, and pleased with the
rapt attention of her hearers, the speaker forgot herself, and
raised her voice much more than she meant to do. As every turn
of his walk brought John near, there came to his ears
sufficient bits and scraps of Margaret's story to give him a
very fair sample of the whole; and he was sorry to see Ellen
among the rest, and as the rest, hanging upon her lips and
drinking in what seemed to him to be very poor nonsense. "Her
gown was all blue satin, trimmed here and so you know,
with the most exquisite lace, as deep as that and on the
shoulders and here, you know, it was looped up with the most
lovely bunches of" here John lost the sense. When he came
near again, she had got upon a different topic " 'Miss
Simmons,' says I, 'what did you do that for?' 'Why,' says she,
'how could I help it? I saw Mr. Payne coming, and I thought
I'd get behind you, and so' " . The next time the speaker was
saying with great animation, "And lo and behold, when I was in
the midst of all my pleasure, up comes a little gentleman of
about his dimensions ." He had not taken many turns, when he
saw that Margaret's nonsense was branching out right and left
into worse than nonsense.
"Ellen!" said he, suddenly "I want you in the library."
"My conscience!" said Margaret, as he left the room "King
John the second, and no less."
"Don't go on till I come back," said Ellen; "I won't be three
minutes; just wait for me."
She found John seated at one of the tables in the library,
sharpening a pencil.
"Ellen," said he, in his usual manner "I want you to do
something for me."
She waited eagerly to hear what; but, instead of telling her,
he took a piece of drawing-paper, and began to sketch
something. Ellen stood by, wondering and impatient to the last
degree; not caring, however, to show her impatience, though
her very feet were twitching to run back to her companions.
"Ellen," said John, as he finished the old stump of a tree,
with one branch left on it, and a little bit of ground at the
bottom, "did you ever try your hand at drawing?"
"No," said Ellen.
"Then sit down here," said he, rising from his chair, "and let
me see what you can make of that."
"But I don't know how," said Ellen.
"I will teach you. There is a piece of paper, and this pencil
is sharp enough. Is that chair too low for you?"
He placed another, and with extreme unwillingness and some
displeasure, Ellen sat down. It was on her tongue to ask if
another time would not do, but somehow she could not get the
words out. John showed her how to hold her pencil, how to
place her paper, where to begin, and how to go on; and then
went to the other end of the room, and took up his walk again.
Ellen at first felt more inclined to drive her pencil _through_
the paper than to make quiet marks upon it. However, necessity
was upon her. She began her work; and once fairly begun, it
grew delightfully interesting. Her vexation went off entirely;
she forgot Margaret and her story; the wrinkles on the old
trunk smoothed those on her brow; and those troublesome leaves
at the branch end brushed away all thoughts of everything
else. Her cheeks were burning with intense interest, when the
library door burst open, and the whole troop of children
rushed in; they wanted Ellen for a round game in which all
their number were needed; she must come directly.
"I can't come just yet," said she; "I must finish this first."
"Afterwards will do just as well," said George; "come,
Ellen, do! you can finish it afterwards."
"No, I can't," said Ellen, "I can't leave it till it's done.
Why, I thought Mr. John was here! I didn't see him go out.
I'll come in a little while."
"Did _he_ set you about that precious piece of business?" said
William.
"Yes."
"I declare," said Margaret, "he's fitter to be the Grand Turk
than any one else I know of."
"I don't know who the Grand Turk is," said Ellen.
"I'll tell you," said William, putting his mouth close to her
ear, and speaking in a disagreeable loud whisper, "it's the
biggest gobbler in the yard."
"Ain't you ashamed, William!" cried little Ellen Chauncey.
"That's it exactly," said Margaret "always strutting about."
"He isn't a bit," said Ellen, very angry; "I've seen people a
great deal more like gobblers than he is."
"Well," said William, reddening in his turn, "I had rather, at
any rate, be a good turkey gobbler, than one of those
outlandish birds that have an appetite for stones, and glass,
and bits of morocco, and such things. Come, let us leave her
to do the Grand Turk's bidding. Come, Ellen Chauncey, you
mustn't stay to interrupt her we want you!"
They left her alone. Ellen had coloured, but William's words
did not hit very sore; since John's talk with her about the
matter referred to, she had thought of it humbly and wisely;
it is only pride that makes such fault-finding very hard to
bear. She was very sorry, however, that they had fallen out
again, and that her own passion, as she feared, had been the
cause. A few tears had to be wiped away before she could see
exactly how the old tree stood, then, taking up her pencil,
she soon forgot everything in her work. It was finished, and
with head now on one side, now on the other, she was looking
at her picture with very great satisfaction, when her eye
caught the figure of John standing before her.
"Is it done?" said he.
"It is done," said Ellen, smiling, as she rose up to let him
come. He sat down to look at it.
"It is very well, he said "better than I expected it is
very well indeed. Is this your _first_ trial, Ellen?"
"Yes the first."
"You found it pleasant work?"
"Oh, very, very pleasant. I like it dearly."
"Then I will teach you. This shows you have a taste for it,
and that is precisely what I wanted to find out. I will give
you an easier copy next time. I rather expected, when you sat
down," said he, smiling a little, "that the old tree would
grow a good deal more crooked under your hands than I meant it
to be."
Ellen blushed exceedingly. "I do believe, Mr. John," she said,
stammering, "that you know everything I am thinking about."
"I might do that, Ellen, without being as wise as an oracle.
But I do not expect to make any very painful discoveries in
that line."
Ellen thought, if he did not, it would not be her fault. She
truly repented her momentary anger and hasty speech to
William. Not that he did not deserve it, or that it was not
true; but it was unwise, and had done mischief; and "it was
not a bit like peace-making, nor meek at all," Ellen said to
herself. She had been reading that morning the fifth chapter
of Matthew, and it ran in her head, "Blessed are the meek"
"Blessed are the peace-makers; for they shall be called the
children of God." She strove to get back a pleasant feeling
towards her young companions, and prayed that she might not be
angry at anything they should say. She was tried again at tea-
time.
Miss Sophia had quitted the table, bidding William hand the
dough-nuts to those who could not reach them. Marianne took a
great while to make her choice. Her brother grew impatient.
"Well, I hope you have suited yourself?" said he. "Come, Miss
Montgomery, don't you be as long; my arm is tired. Shut your
eyes, and then you'll be sure to get the biggest one in the
basket."
"No, Ellen," said John, who none of the children thought was
near "it would be ungenerous I wouldn't deprive Master
William of his best arguments."
"What do you mean by my arguments?" said William, sharply.
"Generally, those which are the most difficult to take in,"
answered his tormentor with perfect gravity.
Ellen tried to keep from smiling, but could not; and others of
the party did not try. William and his sister were enraged,
the more because John had said nothing they could take hold
of, or even repeat. Gilbert made common cause with them.
"I wish I was grown up for once," said William.
"Will you fight _me_, Sir?" asked Gilbert, who was a matter of
three years older, and well-grown enough.
His question received no answer, and was repeated.
"No, Sir."
"Why not, Sir?"
"I am afraid you'd lay me up with a sprained ankle," said
John, "and I should not get back to Doncaster as quickly as I
must."
"It is very mean of him," said Gilbert, as John walked away
"I could whip him, I know."
"Who's that?" said Mr. Howard Marshman.
"John Humphreys."
"John Humphreys! You had better not meddle with him, my dear
fellow. It would be no particular proof of wisdom."
"Why, he is no such great affair," said Gilbert, "he's tall
enough, to be sure, but I don't believe he is heavier than I
am."
"You don't know, in the first place, how to judge of the size
of a perfectly well-made man; and, in the second place, _I_ was
not a match for him a year ago; so you may judge I do not
know precisely," he went on to the lady he was walking with,
"what it takes to rouse John Humphreys; but when he is roused,
he seems to me to have strength enough for twice his bone and
muscle. I have seen him do curious things once or twice!"
"That quiet Mr. Humphreys?"
"Humph!" said Mr. Howard "gunpowder is pretty quiet stuff,
so long as it keeps cool."
The next day another matter happened to disturb Ellen.
Margaret had received an elegant pair of ear-rings as a
Christmas present, and was showing them for the admiration of
her young friends. Ellen's did not satisfy her.
"Ain't they splendid?" said she. "Tell the truth, now, Ellen
Montgomery, wouldn't you give a great deal if somebody would
send you such a pair?"
"They are very pretty," said Ellen, "but I don't think I care
much for such things I would rather have the money."
"Oh, you avaricious! Mr. Marshman!" cried Margaret, as the
old gentleman was just then passing through the room "here's
Ellen Montgomery says she'd rather have money than anything
else for her present."
He did not seem to hear her, and went out without making any
reply.
"Oh, Margaret!" said Ellen, shocked and distressed "how
could you! how could you! What will Mr. Marshman think?"
Margaret answered she didn't care what he thought. Ellen could
only hope he had not heard.
But a day or two after, when neither Ellen nor her friends
were present, Mr. Marshman asked who it was that had told him
Ellen Montgomery would like money better than anything else
for her New Year's present.
"It was I, Sir," said Margaret.
"It sounds very unlike her to say so," remarked Mrs. Chauncey.
"Did she say so?" inquired Mr. Marshman.
"I understood her so," said Margaret "I understood her to
say she wouldn't care for anything else."
"I am disappointed in her," said the old gentleman; "I
wouldn't have believed it."
"I do not believe it," said Mrs. Chauncey, quietly; "there has
been some mistake."
It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she thought right.
Disagreeable feelings would rise when she remembered the
impoliteness, the half-sneer, the whole taunt, and the real
unkindness of several of the young party. She found herself
ready to be irritated, inclined to dislike the sight of those,
even wishing to visit some sort of punishment upon them. But
Christian principle had taken strong hold in little Ellen's
heart; she fought her evil tempers manfully. It was not an
easy battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and pride had
roots deep enough to keep her pulling up the shoots for a good
while. She used to get alone when she could, to read a verse,
if no more, of her Bible, and pray; she could forgive William
and Margaret more easily then. Solitude and darkness saw many
a prayer and tear of hers that week. As she struggled thus to
get rid of sin, and to be more like what would please God, she
grew humble and happy. Never was such a struggle carried on by
faith in Him, without success. And after a time, though a
twinge of the old feeling might come, it was very slight; she
would bid William and Margaret good morning, and join them in
any enterprise of pleasure or business, with a brow as
unclouded as the sun. They, however, were too conscious of
having behaved unbecomingly towards their little stranger
guest to be over fond of her company. For the most part, she
and Ellen Chauncey were left to each other.
Meanwhile the famous needlebook was in a fair way to be
finished. Great dismay had at first been excited in the breast
of the intended giver, by the discovery that Gilbert had
consulted what seemed to be a very extraordinary fancy, in
making the rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best to comfort
her. She asked Alice, and found there were such things as
yellow roses, and they were very beautiful, too; and, besides,
it would match so nicely the yellow butterfly on the other
leaf.
"I had rather it wouldn't match!" said Ellen Chauncey; "and
it don't match the rose-coloured silk, besides. Are the yellow
roses sweet?"
"No," said Ellen; "but _this_ couldn't have been a sweet rose at
any rate, you know."
"Oh, but," said the other, bursting out into a fresh passion
of inconsolable tears; "I wanted it should be the _picture_ of a
sweet rose! And I think he might have put a purple butterfly
yellow butterflies are so common! I had a great deal rather
have had a purple butterfly and a red rose!"
What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. The tears were
dried, in course of time, and the needlebook, with its yellow
pictures and pink edges, was very neatly finished. Ellen had
been busy, too, on her own account. Alice had got a piece of
fine linen for her from Miss Sophia; the collar for Mr. Van
Brunt had been cut out, and Ellen with great pleasure had made
it. The stitching, the strings, and the very buttonhole, after
infinite pains, were all finished by Thursday night. She had
also made a needlecase for Alice, not of so much pretension as
the other one; this was green morocco, lined with crimson
satin; no leaves, but ribbon stitched in to hold papers of
needles, and a place for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard at
this; it was made with the extremest care, and made
beautifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very much, and anew
lamented the uncouth variety of colours in her own. It was a
grave question whether pink or yellow ribbon should be used
for the latter; Ellen Montgomery recommended pink, she herself
inclined to yellow, and, tired of doubting, at last resolved
to split the difference, and put one string of each colour.
Ellen thought that did not mend matters, but wisely kept her
thoughts to herself. Besides the needlecase for Alice, she had
snatched the time, whenever she could get away from Ellen
Chauncey, to work at something for her. She had begged Alice's
advice and help; and between them, out of Ellen's scraps of
morocco and silk, they had manufactured a little bag of all
the colours of the rainbow, and very pretty and tasteful
withal. Ellen thought it a _chef-d'oeuvre_, and was unbounded in
her admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in a locked
drawer, ready for New Year's day. In addition to all these
pieces of business, John had begun to give her drawing
lessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen's
delight. She would willingly have spent much more time upon
them than he would allow her. It was the most loved employment
of the day. Her teacher's skill was not greater than the
perfect gentleness and kindness with which he taught. Ellen
thought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder she could not
understand it.
"What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John, one day,
as he stood beside her mending a pencil.
"Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how _could_ you guess
what I was thinking about, Mr. John?"
"Not very difficult, when you are eyeing me so hard."
"I was thinking," said Ellen, "I don't know whether it is
right in me to tell it because somebody said you "
"Well?"
"Were like gunpowder."
"Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of an
explosion?"
"No I don't know I wondered what he meant."
"Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge for
yourself. Look here that house has suffered from a severe
gale of wind, I should think all the uprights are slanting
off to the right can't you set it up straight?"
Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of the house, as
thus pointed out to her, and set about reforming it.
It was Thursday afternoon that Alice and Ellen were left alone
in the library, several of the family having been called out
to receive some visitors; Alice had excused herself, and
Ellen, as soon as they were gone, nestled up to her side.
"How pleasant it is to be alone together, dear Alice! I
don't have you even at night now."
"It is very pleasant, dear Ellie! Home will not look
disagreeable again, will it, even after all our gaiety here?"
"No indeed! at least, _your_ home won't I don't know what
mine will. O me! I had almost forgotten Aunt Fortune!"
"Never mind, dear Ellie! You and I have each something to bear
we must be brave, and bear it manfully. There is a Friend
that sticketh closer than a brother, you know. We shan't be
unhappy if we do our duty and love Him."
"How soon is Mr. John going away?"
"Not for all next week. And so long as he stays, I do not mean
that you shall leave me."
Ellen cried for joy.
"I can manage it with Miss Fortune, I know," said Alice.
"These fine drawing lessons must not be interrupted. John is
very much pleased with your performances."
"Is he?" said Ellen delighted. "I have taken all the pains I
could."
"That is the sure way to success, Ellie. But, Ellie, I want to
ask you something. What was that you said to Margaret
Dunscombe about wanting money for a New Year's present?"
"You know it, then!" cried Ellen, starting up. "Oh, I'm so
glad! I wanted to speak to you about it, so I didn't know what
to do, and I thought I oughtn't to. What shall I do about it,
dear Alice? How did you know? George said you were not there."
"Mrs. Chauncey told me; she thought there had been some
mistake, or something wrong; how was it, Ellen?"
"Why," said Ellen, "she was showing us her ear-rings, and
asking us what we thought of them, and she asked me if I
wouldn't like to have such a pair; and I thought I would a
great deal rather have the money they cost, to buy other
things with, you know, that I would like better; and I said
so; and just then Mr. Marshman came in, and she called out to
him, loud, that I wanted money for a present, or would like it
better than anything else, or something like that. Oh, Alice,
how I felt! I was frightened; but then I hoped Mr. Marshman
did not hear her, for he did not say anything; but the next
day George told me all about what she had been saying in
there, and oh! it made me so unhappy!" said poor Ellen,
looking very dismal. "What _will_ Mr. Marshman think of me? He
will think I expected a present, and I never _dreamed_ of such a
thing! It makes me ashamed to speak of it, even; and I _can't
bear_ he should think so I can't bear it! What shall I do,
dear Alice?"
"I don't know what you can do, dear Ellie; but be patient
Mr. Marshman will not think anything very hard of you, I dare
say."
"But I think he does already; he hasn't kissed me since that
as he did before; I know he does, and I don't know what to do.
How could Margaret say that! oh, how could she! it was
very unkind. What can I do?" said Ellen, again, after a pause,
and wiping away a few tears. "Couldn't Mrs. Chauncey tell Mr.
Marshman not to give me anything for that I never expected it,
and would a great deal rather not?"
"Why, no, Ellie, I do not think that would be exactly the best
or most dignified way."
"What then; dear Alice? I'll do just as you say."
"I would just remain quiet."
"But Ellen says the things are all put on the plates in the
morning; and if there should be money on mine I don't know
what I should do, I should feel so badly. I couldn't keep it,
Alice! I couldn't!"
"Very well, you need not; but remain quiet in the mean while;
and if it should be so, then say what you please, only take
care that you say it in the right spirit and in a right
manner. Nobody can hurt you much, my child, while you keep the
even path of duty; poor Margaret is her own worst enemy."
"Then, if there should be money in the morning, I may tell Mr.
Marshman the truth about it?"
"Certainly only do not be in haste; speak gently."
"Oh, I wish everybody would be kind and pleasant always!" said
poor Ellen, but half comforted.
"What a sigh was there!" said John, coming in. "What is the
matter with my little sister?"
"Some of the minor trials of life, John," said Alice, with a
smile.
"What is the matter, Ellie?"
"Oh, something you can't help," said Ellen.
"And something I mustn't know. Well, to change the scene
suppose you go with me to visit the greenhouse and hothouses.
Have you seen them yet?"
"No," said Ellen, as she eagerly sprang forward to take his
hand; "Ellen promised to go with me, but we have been so
busy."
"Will you come, Alice?"
"Not I," said Alice, "I wish I could, but I shall be wanted
elsewhere."
"By whom, I wonder, so much as by me?" said her brother.
"However, after to-morrow I will have you all to myself."
As he and Ellen were crossing the hall, they met Mrs.
Marshman.
"Where are you going, John?" said she.
"Where I ought to have been before, Ma'am to pay my respects
to Mr. Hutchinson."
"You've not seen him yet! that is very ungrateful of you.
Hutchinson is one of your warmest friends and admirers. There
are few people he mentions with so much respect, or that he is
so glad to see, as Mr. John Humphreys."
"A distinction I owe, I fear, principally to my English
blood," said John, shaking his head.
"It is not altogether that," said Mrs. Marshman, laughing;
"though I do believe; I am the only Yankee good Hutchinson has
ever made up his mind entirely to like. But go and see him
do, he will be very much pleased."
"Who is Mr. Hutchinson?" said Ellen, as they went on.
"He is the gardener, or rather the head gardener. He came out
with his master some thirty or forty years ago, but his old
English prejudice will go to the grave with him, I believe."
"But why don't he like the Americans?"
John laughed. "It would never do for me to attempt to answer
that question, Ellie; fond of going to the bottom of things as
you are. We should just get to hard fighting about tea-time,
and should barely make peace by mid-day to-morrow, at the most
moderate calculation. You shall have an answer to your
question, however."
Ellen could not conceive what he meant, but resolved to wait
for his promised answer.
As they entered the large and beautifully-kept greenhouse,
Hutchinson came from the further end of it to meet them an
old man, of most respectable appearance. He bowed very
civilly, and then slipped his pruning-knife into his left
hand, to leave the right at liberty for John, who shook it
cordially.
"And why 'aven't you been to see me before, Mr. John? I've
thought it rather 'ard of you: Miss h'Alice has come several
times."
"The ladies have more leisure, Mr. Hutchinson. You look
flourishing here."
"Why, yes, Sir pretty middling, within doors; but I don't
like the climate, Mr. John I don't the climate, Sir. There's
no country like h'England, I believe, for my business. 'Ere's
a fine rose, Sir if you'll step a bit this way quite a new
kind I got it over last h'autumn the Palmerston it is.
Those are fine buds, Sir."
The old man was evidently much pleased to see his visitor, and
presently plunged him deep into English politics, for which he
seemed to have lost no interest by forty years' life in
America. As Ellen could not understand what they were talking
about, she quitted John's side, and went wandering about by
herself. From the moment the sweet aromatic smell of the
plants had greeted her, she had been in a high state of
delight; and now, lost to all the world beside, from the
mystery of one beautiful and strange green thing to another
she went wondering and admiring, and now and then timidly
advancing her nose to see if something glorious was something
sweet too. She could hardly leave a superb cactus, in the
petals of which there was such a singular blending of scarlet
and crimson as almost to dazzle her sight; and if the pleasure
of smell could intoxicate, she would have _reeled_ away from a
luxuriant daphne odorata in full flower, over which she
feasted for a long time. The variety of green leaves alone was
a marvel to her; some rough and brown-streaked, some shining
as if they were varnished, others of hair-like delicacy of
structure all lovely. At last she stood still with
admiration, and almost held her breath before a white
camellia.
"What does that flower make you think of, Ellen?" said John,
coming up. His friend the gardener had left him to seek a
newspaper in which he wished to show him a paragraph.
"I don't know," said Ellen "I couldn't think of anything but
itself."
"It reminds me of what I ought to be and of what I shall be
if I ever see heaven it seems to me the emblem of a sinless,
pure spirit looking up in fearless spotlessness. Do you
remember what was said to the old Church of Sardis? 'Thou
hast a few names that have not defiled their garments; and
they shall walk with me in white, for they are worthy.' "
The tears rushed to Ellen's eyes, she felt she was so very
unlike this; but Mr. Hutchinson coming back prevented anything
more from being said. She looked at the white camellia; it
seemed to speak to her.
"That's the paragraph, Sir," said the old gardener, giving the
paper to John. " 'Ere's a little lady that is fond of flowers,
if I don't make a mistake; this is somebody I've not seen
before? Is this the little lady Miss h'Ellen was telling me
about."
"I presume so," said John. "She is Miss Ellen Montgomery a
sister of mine, Mr. Hutchinson, and Mr. Marshman's guest."
"By both names h'entitled to my greatest respect," said the
old man, stepping back, and making a very low bow to Ellen,
with his hand upon his heart, at which she could not help
laughing. "I am very glad to see Miss h'Ellen; what can I do
to make her remember old 'Utchinson? Would Miss h'Ellen like a
bouquet?"
Ellen did not venture to say yes, but her blush and sparkling
eyes answered him. The old gardener understood her, and was as
good as his word. He began with cutting a beautiful sprig of a
large purple geranium, then a slip of lemon myrtle. Ellen
watched him as the bunch grew in his hand, and could hardly
believe her eyes as one beauty after another was added to what
became a most elegant bouquet. And most sweet, too; to her
joy, the delicious daphne and fragrant lemon blossom went to
make part of it. Her thanks, when it was given her, were made
with few words, but with all her face; the old gardener
smiled, and was quite satisfied that his gift was not thrown
away. He afterwards showed them his hothouses, where Ellen was
astonished and very much interested to see ripe oranges and
lemons in abundance, and pines, too, such as she had been
eating since she came to Ventnor, thinking nothing less than
that they grew so near home. The grapes had all been cut.
There was to be quite a party at Ventnor in the evening of New
Year's day. Ellen knew this, and destined her precious flowers
for Alice's adornment. How to keep them, in the meanwhile? She
consulted Mr. John, and according to his advice, took them to
Mrs. Bland, the housekeeper, to be put in water, and kept in a
safe place for her till the time. She knew Mrs. Bland, for
Ellen Chauncey and she had often gone to her room to work,
where none of the children would find and trouble them. Mrs.
Bland promised to take famous care of the flowers, and said
she would do it with the greatest pleasure. "Mr. Marshman's
guests," she added, smiling, "must have everything they
wanted."
"What does that mean, Mrs. Bland?" said Ellen.
"Why, you see, Miss Ellen, there's a deal of company always
coming, and some is Mrs. Gillespie's friends, and some Mr.
Howard's, and some to see Miss Sophia more particularly, and
some belong to Mrs. Marshman, or the whole family, maybe; but
now and then _Mr._ Marshman, has an old English friend or so,
that he sets the greatest store by; and then he calls _his_
guests; and the best in the house is hardly good enough for
them, or the country either."
"And so I am one of Mr. Marshman's guests?" said Ellen, "I
didn't know what it meant."
She saved out one little piece of rose-geranium from her
flowers for the gratification of her own nose; and skipped
away through the hall to rejoin her companions, very light-
hearted indeed.