A gathering cloud in the spring weather.
Ellen's life had nothing to mark it for many months. The rest
of the winter passed quietly away, every day being full of
employment. At home the state of matters was rather bettered.
Either Miss Fortune was softened by Ellen's gentle,
inoffensive ways and obedient usefulness, or she had resolved
to bear what could not be helped, and make the best of the
little inmate she could not get rid of. She was certainly
resolved to make the _most_ of her. Ellen was kept on the jump a
great deal of the time: she was runner of errands and maid of
all work to set the table and clear it was only a trifle in
the list of her every-day duties and they were not ended
till the last supper dish was put away and the hearth swept
up. Miss Fortune never spared herself, and never spared Ellen,
so long as she had any occasion for her.
There were, however, long pieces of time that were left free
these Ellen seized for her studies and used most diligently;
urged on by a three or four-fold motive; for the love of them,
and for her own sake, that John might think she had done well
that she might presently please and satisfy Alice above
all, that her mother's wishes might be answered. This thought,
whenever it came, was a spur to her efforts so was each of
the others; and Christian feeling added another, and kept all
the rest in force. Without this, indolence might have
weakened, or temptation surprised her resolution; little Ellen
was open to both; but if ever she found herself growing
careless from either cause, conscience was sure to smite her;
and then would rush in all the motives that called upon her to
persevere. Soon faithfulness began to bring its reward. With
delight she found herself getting the better of difficulties,
beginning to see a little through the mists of ignorance,
making some sensible progress on the long road of learning.
Study grew delightful her lessons with Alice one of her
greatest enjoyments. And as they were a labour of love to both
teacher and scholar, and as it was the aim of each to see
quite to the bottom of every matter, where it was possible,
and to leave no difficulties behind them on the road which
they had not cleared away, no wonder Ellen went forward
steadily and rapidly. Reading also became a wonderful
pleasure. Weems' _Life of Washington_ was read, and read, and
read over again, till she almost knew it by heart; and from
that she went to Alice's library, and ransacked it for what
would suit her. Happily it was a well-picked one, and Ellen
could not light upon many books that would do her mischief.
For those, Alice's wish was enough she never opened them.
Furthermore, Alice insisted that when Ellen had once fairly
begun a book she should go through with it not capriciously
leave it for another, nor have half a dozen about at a time.
But when Ellen had read it once she commonly wanted to go over
it again, and seldom laid it aside until she had sucked the
sweetness all out of it.
As for drawing, it could not go on very fast while the cold
weather lasted. Ellen had no place at home where she could
spread out her paper and copies without danger of being
disturbed. Her only chance was at the parsonage. John had put
all her pencils in order before he went, and had left her an
abundance of copies, marked as she was to take them. They, or
some of them, were bestowed in Alice's desk; and whenever
Ellen had a spare hour or two, of a fine morning or afternoon,
she made the best of her way to the mountain; it made no
difference whether Alice were at home or not she went in,
coaxed up the fire, and began her work. It happened many a
time that Alice, coming home from a walk or a run in the
woods, saw the little hood and cloak on the settee before she
opened the glass door, and knew very well how she should find
Ellen, bending intently over her desk. These runs to the
mountain were very frequent; sometimes to draw, sometimes to
recite, always to see Alice and be happy. Ellen grew rosy, and
hardy, and in spite of her separation from her mother, she was
very happy, too. Her extreme and varied occupation made this
possible. She had no time to indulge useless sorrow; on the
contrary, her thoughts were taken up with agreeable matters,
either doing or to be done; and at night, she was far too
tired and sleepy to lie awake musing. And besides she hoped
that her mother would come back in the spring, or the summer
at farthest. It is true Ellen had no liking for the kind of
business her aunt gave her it was often-times a trial of
temper and patience. Miss Fortune was not the pleasantest
work-mistress in the world, and Ellen was apt to wish to be
doing something else; but, after all, this was not amiss.
Besides, the discipline of character, these trials made the
pleasant things with which they were mixed up seem doubly
pleasant the disagreeable parts of her life relished the
agreeable wonderfully. After spending the whole morning with
Miss Fortune in the depths of house-work, how delightful it
was to forget all in drawing some nice little cottage, with a
bit of stone wall, and a barrel in front! or to go with Alice,
in thought, to the south of France, and learn how the peasants
manage their vines, and make the wine from them; or run over
the Rock of Gibraltar with the monkeys; or, at another time,
seated on a little bench in the chimney corner, when the fire
blazed up well, before the candles were lighted, to forget the
kitchen, and the supper, and her bustling aunt, and sail round
the world with Captain Cook. Yes these things were all the
sweeter for being tasted by snatches.
Spring brought new occupation; household labours began to
increase in number and measure; her leisure times were
shortened. But pleasures were increased too. When the snow
went off, and spring-like days began to come, and birds' notes
were heard again, and the trees put out their young leaves,
and the brown mountains were looking soft and green, Ellen's
heart bounded at the sight. The springing grass was lovely to
see; dandelions were marvels of beauty; to her each wild wood-
flower was a never to be enough admired and loved wonder. She
used to take long rambles with Mr. Van Brunt when business led
him to the woods, sometimes riding part of the way on the ox-
sled. Always a basket for flowers went along; and when the
sled stopped, she would wander all around seeking among the
piled-up dead leaves for the white wind-flower, and pretty
little hang-head uvularia, and delicate blood-root, and the
wild geranium and columbine; and many others, the names of
which she did not know. They were like friends to Ellen; she
gathered them affectionately as well as admiringly into her
little basket, and seemed to purify herself in their pure
companionship. Even Mr. Van Brunt came to have an indistinct
notion that Ellen and flowers were made to be together. After
he found what a pleasure it was to her to go on these
expeditions, he made it a point, whenever he was bound to the
woods of a fine day, to come to the house for her. Miss
Fortune might object as she pleased; he always found an
answer; and at last Ellen, to her great joy, would be told,
"Well! go get your bonnet and be off with yourself." Once
under the shadow of the big trees, the dried leaves crackling
beneath her feet, and alone with her kind conductor and Miss
Fortune and all in the world that was disagreeable was
forgotten forgotten, no more to be remembered till the walk
should come to an end. And it would have surprised anybody to
hear the long conversations she and Mr. Van Brunt kept up
he, the silentest man in Thirlwall! Their talk often ran upon
trees, among which Mr. Van Brunt was at home. Ellen wanted to
become acquainted with them, as well as with the little
flowers that grew at their feet; and he tried to teach her how
to know each separate kind by the bark and leaf and manner of
growth. The pine and hemlock and fir were easily learnt; the
white birch, too; beyond those, at first, she was perpetually
confounding one with another. Mr. Van Brunt had to go over and
over his instructions never weary, always vastly amused.
Pleasant lessons these were! Ellen thought so, and Mr. Van
Brunt thought so too.
Then there were walks with Alice, pleasanter still, if that
could be. And even in the house, Ellen managed to keep a token
of spring-time. On her toilet-table, the three uncouth legs of
which were now hidden by a neat dimity cover, there always
stood a broken tumbler with a supply of flowers. The supply
was very varied, it is true; sometimes only a handful of
dandelions, sometimes a huge bunch of lilac flowers, which
could not be persuaded to stay in the glass without the help
of the wall, against which it leaned in very undignified
style; sometimes the bouquet was of really delicate and
beautiful wild-flowers. All were charming in Ellen's eyes.
As the days grew long and the weather warm, Alice and she
began to make frequent trips to the Cat's Back, and French
came very much into fashion. They generally took Sharp to ease
the long way, and rested themselves with a good stay on the
mountain. Their coming was always a joy to the old lady. She
was dearly fond of them both, and delighted to hear from their
lips the language she loved best. After a time they spoke
nothing else when with her. She was well qualified to teach
them; and, indeed, her general education had been far from
contemptible, though nature had done more for her. As the
language grew familiar to them, she loved to tell and they to
hear long stories of her youth and native country scenes and
people so very different from all Ellen had ever seen or heard
of; and told in a lively, simple style, which she could not
have given in English, and with a sweet colouring of Christian
thought and feeling. Many things made these visits good and
pleasant. It was not the least of Alice's and Ellen's joy to
carry their old friend something that might be for her comfort
in her lonely way of life. For even Miss Fortune now and then
told Ellen "she might take a piece of that cheese along with
her;" or, "she wondered if the old lady would like a little
fresh meat; she guessed she'd cut her a bit of that nice
lamb; she wouldn't want but a little piece." A singular
testimony this was to the respect and esteem of Mrs. Vawse had
from everybody. Miss Fortune very, very seldom was known to
take a bit from her own comforts to add to those of another.
The ruling passion of this lady was thrift; her next, good
housewifery. First, to gather to herself and heap up of what
the world most esteems; after that, to be known as the most
thorough housekeeper and the smartest woman in Thirlwall.
Ellen made other visits she did not like so well. In the
course of the winter and summer she became acquainted with
most of the neighbourhood. She sometimes went with her aunt to
a formal tea-drinking, one, two, three, or four miles off, as
the case might be. They were not very pleasant. To some places
she was asked by herself; and though the people invariably
showed themselves very kind, and did their best to please her,
Ellen seldom cared to go a second time liked even home and
Miss Fortune better. There were a few exceptions; Jenny
Hitchcock was one of her favourites, and Jane Huff was
another; and all of their respective families came in, with
good reason, for a share of her regard Mr. Juniper, indeed,
excepted. Once they went to a quilting at Squire Dennison's;
the house was spotlessly neat and well-ordered; the people all
kind; but Ellen thought they did not seem to know how to be
pleasant. Dan Dennison alone had no stiffness about him. Miss
Fortune remarked with pride, that even in this family of
pretension, as she thought it, the refreshments could bear no
comparison with hers. Once they were invited to tea at the
Lawsons'; but Ellen told Alice, with much apparent disgust,
that she never wanted to go again. Mrs. Van Brunt she saw
often. To Thirlwall, Miss Fortune never went.
Twice in the course of the summer Ellen had a very great
pleasure in the company of little Ellen Chauncey. Once Miss
Sophia brought her, and once her mother; and the last time
they made a visit of two weeks. On both occasions Ellen was
sent for to the parsonage, and kept while they stayed; and the
pleasure that she and her little friend had together cannot be
told. It was unmixed now. Rambling about through the woods and
over the fields, no matter where, it was all enchanting;
helping Alice garden; helping Thomas make hay, and the
mischief they did his haycocks by tumbling upon them, and the
patience with which he bore it; the looking for eggs; the
helping Margery to churn, and the helping each other to set
tables; the pleasant mornings, and pleasant evenings, and
pleasant mid-days it cannot be told. Long to be remembered,
sweet and pure, was the pleasure of those summer days,
unclouded by a shade of discontent or disagreement on either
brow. Ellen loved the whole Marshman family now, for the sake
of one, the one she had first known; and little Ellen Chauncey
repeatedly told her mother in private that Ellen Montgomery
was the very nicest girl she had ever seen. They met with joy,
and parted with sorrow, entreating and promising if possible,
a speedy meeting again.
Amidst all the improvement and enjoyment of these summer
months and they had a great deal of both for Ellen there
was one cause of sorrow she could not help feeling, and it
began to press more and more. Letters they came slowly and
when they came, they were not at all satisfactory. Those in
her mother's hand dwindled and dwindled, till at last there
came only mere scraps of letters from her; and sometimes,
after a long interval, one from Captain Montgomery would come
alone. Ellen's heart sickened with long-deferred hope. She
wondered what could make her mother neglect a matter so
necessary for her happiness; sometimes she fancied they were
travelling about, and it might be inconvenient to write;
sometimes she thought, perhaps they were coming home without
letting her know, and would suddenly surprise her some day,
and make her half lose her wits with joy. But they did not
come, nor write; and, whatever was the reason, Ellen felt it
was very sad, and sadder and sadder as the summer went on. Her
own letters became pitiful in their supplications for letters;
they _had_ been very cheerful, and filled with encouraging
matter, and in part they were still.
For a while her mind was diverted from this sad subject, and
her brow cleared up, when John came home in August. As before,
Alice gained Miss Fortune's leave to keep her at the parsonage
the whole time of his stay, which was several weeks. Ellen
wondered that it was so easily granted, but she was much too
happy to spend time in thinking about it. Miss Fortune had
several reasons. She was unwilling to displease Miss
Humphreys, and conscious that it would be a shame to her to
stand openly in the way of Ellen's good. Besides, though
Ellen's services were lost for a time, yet she said she got
tired of setting her to work; she liked to dash round the
house alone, without thinking what somebody else was doing or
ought to be doing. In short, she liked to have her out of the
way for a while. Furthermore, it did not please her that Mr.
Van Brunt and her little handmaid were, as she expressed it,
"so thick." His first thought, and his last thought, she said,
she believed, were for Ellen, whether she came in or went out;
and Miss Fortune was accustomed to be chief, not only in her
own house, but in the regards of all who came to it. At any
rate, the leave was granted and Ellen went.
And now was repeated the pleasure of the first week in
January. It would have been increased, but that increase was
not possible. There was only the difference between lovely
winter and lovely summer weather; it was seldom very hot in
Thirlwall. The fields and hills were covered with green
instead of white; fluttering leaves had taken the place of
snow-covered sprays and sparkling icicles; and for the keen
north and brisk northwester, soft summer airs were blowing.
Ellen saw no other difference except that, perhaps, if it
could be, there was something more of tenderness in the manner
of Alice and her brother towards her. No little sister could
have been more cherished and cared for. If there was a change,
Mr. Humphreys shared it. It is true, he seldom took much part
in the conversation, and seldomer was with them in any of
their pursuits or pleasures. He generally kept by himself in
his study. But whenever he did speak to Ellen, his tone was
particularly gentle, and his look kind. He sometimes called
her "My little daughter," which always gave Ellen great
pleasure; she would jump at such times with double zeal, to do
anything he asked her.
Now drawing went on with new vigour under the eye of her
master. And many things beside. John took a great deal of
pains with her in various ways. He made her read to him; he
helped her and Alice with their French; he went with them to
Mrs. Vawse's; and even Mr. Humphreys went there too, one
afternoon to tea. How much Ellen enjoyed that afternoon! They
took with them a great basket of provisions, for Mrs. Vawse
could not be expected to entertain so large a party; and
borrowed Jenny Hitchcock's pony, which, with old John and
Sharp, mounted three of the company; they took turns in
walking. Nobody minded that. The fine weather, the beautiful
mountain-top, the general pleasure, Mr. Humphreys' uncommon
spirits and talkableness, the oddity of their way of
travelling, and of a tea-party up on the "Cat's Back," and,
furthermore, the fact that Nancy stayed at home and behaved
very well the whole time, all together filled Ellen's cup of
happiness, for the time, as full as it could hold. She never
forgot that afternoon. And the ride home was the best of all.
The sun was low by the time they reached the plain; long
shadows lay across their road; the soft air just stirred the
leaves on the branches; stillness and loveliness were over all
things; and down the mountain and along the roads, through the
open country, the whole way, John walked at her bridle; so
kind in his care of her, so pleasant in his talk to her,
teaching her how to sit in the saddle, and hold the reins and
whip, and much more important things, too, that Ellen thought
a pleasanter thing could not be than to ride so. After that
they took a great many rides, borrowing Jenny's pony or some
other, and explored the beautiful country far and near. And
almost daily, John had up Sharp and gave Ellen a regular
lesson. She often thought, and sometimes looked, what she had
once said to him, "I wish I could do something for _you_, Mr.
John;" but he smiled at her, and said nothing.
At last he was gone. And in all the week he had been at home,
and in many weeks before, no letter had come for Ellen. The
thought had been kept from weighing upon her by the thousand
pleasures that filled up every moment of his stay; she could
not be sad then, or only for a minute; hope threw off the
sorrow as soon as it was felt; and she forgot how time flew.
But when his visit was over, and she went back to her old
place and her old life at her aunt's, the old feeling came
back in greater strength. She began again to count the days
and the weeks; to feel the bitter unsatisfied longing. Tears
would drop down upon her Bible; tears streamed from her eyes
when she prayed that God would make her mother well and bring
her home to her quickly oh! quickly! and little Ellen's
face began to wear once more something of its old look.