"This working-day world."
The spring had come; and Alice and Ellen were looking forward
to pleasanter rides and walks, after the sun should have got a
little warmth, and the snow should be gone; when one morning,
in the early part of March, Mr. Van Brunt made his appearance.
Miss Fortune was not well, and had sent him to beg that Ellen
would come back to her. He was sorry, he said; he knew Ellen
was in the best place; but her aunt wanted her, and "he
s'posed she'd have to go." He did not know what was the matter
with Miss Fortune; it was a little of one thing and a little
of another; "he s'posed she'd overdid, and it was a wonder,
for he didn't know she _could_ do it. _She_ thought she was as
tough as a piece of shoe-leather, but even that could be wore
out."
Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set herself to get
her things together; and, with Alice's help, in half an hour
she was ready to go. The parting was hard. They held each
other fast a good while, and kissed each other many times,
without speaking.
"Good-bye, dear Ellie," whispered Alice at last "I'll come
and see you soon. Remember what John said when he went away."
Ellen did not trust herself to speak. She pulled herself away
from Alice, and turned to Mr. Van Brunt, saying, by her
manner, that she was ready. He took her bundle, and they went
out of the house together.
Ellen made a manful effort, all the way down the hill, to
stifle the tears that were choking her. She knew they would
greatly disturb her companion, and she did succeed, though
with great difficulty, in keeping them back. Luckily for her,
he said hardly anything during the whole walk; she could not
have borne to answer a question. It was no fault of Mr. Van
Brunt's that he was so silent he was beating his brains the
whole way to think of something it would do to say, and could
not suit himself. His single remark was, "that it was like to
be a fine spring for the maple, and he guessed they'd make a
heap of sugar."
When they reached the door, he told her she would find her
aunt upstairs, and himself turned off to the barn. Ellen
stopped a minute upon the threshold to remember the last time
she had crossed it and the _first_ time: how changed
everything now! and the thought came, was _this_ now to be her
home for ever? She had need again to remember John's words.
When bidding her good-bye, he had said, "My little pilgrim, I
hope you will keep the straight road, and win the praise of
the servant who was faithful over a few things." "I will try!"
thought poor Ellen; and then she passed through the kitchen,
and went up to her own room. Here, without stopping to think,
she took off her things, gave one strange look at the old
familiar place, and her trunk in the corner, fell on her knees
for one minute, and then went to her aunt's room.
"Come in," cried Miss Fortune when Ellen had knocked. "Well,
Ellen, there you are. I am thankful it is you; I was afraid it
might be Mimy Lawson, or Sarah Lowndes, or some of the rest of
the set; I know they'll all come scampering here as soon as
they hear I'm laid up."
"Are you very sick, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen.
"La! no, child I shall be up again to-morrow; but I felt
queer this morning, somehow, and I thought I'd try lying down.
I expect I've caught some cold."
There was no doubt of this; but this was not all. Besides
catching cold, and doing her best to bring it about, Miss
Fortune had overtasked her strength, and by dint of economy,
housewifery, and _smartness_, had brought on herself the severe
punishment of lying idle and helpless for a much longer time
than she at first reckoned on.
"What can I do for you, Aunt Fortune?" said Ellen.
"Oh, nothing as I know," said Miss Fortune "only let me
alone, and don't ask me anything, and keep people out of the
house. Mercy! my head feels as if it would go crazy! Ellen,
look here," said she, raising herself on her elbow "I won't
have anybody come into this house if I lie here till
doomsday, I won't! Now, you mind me. I ain't agoing to have
Mimy Lawson, nor nobody else, poking all round into every hole
and corner, and turning every cheese upside down to see what's
under it. There ain't one of 'em too good for it, and they
shan't have a chance. They'll be streaking here, a dozen of
'em, to help take care of the house; but I don't care what
becomes of the house; I won't have anybody in it. Promise me
you won't let Mr. Van Brunt bring any one here to help; I know
I can trust you to do what I tell you; promise me!"
Ellen promised, a good deal gratified at her aunt's last
words; and once more asked if she could do anything for her.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Miss Fortune, flinging herself back
on her pillow; "I don't care what you do, if you only keep
the house clear. There's the clothes in the basket under the
table downstairs you might begin to iron 'em; they're only
rough dry. But don't come asking me about anything; I can't
bear it. Ellen, don't let a soul go into the buttery except
yourself. And, Ellen! I don't care if you make me a little
catnip-tea: the catnip's up in the store-room the furthest
door in the back attic here's the keys. Don't go to fussing
with anything else there."
Ellen thought the prospect before her rather doleful when she
reached the kitchen. It was in order, to be sure, and clean;
but it looked as if the mistress was away. The fire had gone
out, the room was cold; even so little a matter as catnip-tea
seemed a thing far off and hard to come by. While she stood
looking at the great logs in the fireplace, which she could
hardly move, and thinking it was rather a dismal state of
things, in came Mr. Van Brunt with his good-natured face, and
wanted to know if he could do anything for her. The very room
seemed more comfortable as soon as his big figure was in it.
He set about kindling the fire forthwith, while Ellen went up
to the store-room. A well-filled store-room! Among other
things, there hung at least a dozen bunches of dried herbs
from one of the rafters. Ellen thought she knew catnip, but
after smelling of two or three, she became utterly puzzled,
and was fain to carry a leaf of several kinds down to Mr. Van
Brunt to find out which was which. When she came down again,
she found he had hung on the kettle for her, and swept up the
hearth; so Ellen, wisely thinking it best to keep busy, put
the ironing blanket on the table, and folded the clothes, and
set the irons to the fire. By this time the kettle boiled. How
to make catnip-tea Ellen did not exactly know, but supposed it
must follow the same rules as black tea, in the making of
which she felt herself very much at home. So she put a pinch
or two of catnip leaves into the pot, poured a little water on
them, and left it to draw. Meanwhile came in kind Mr. Van
Brunt with an armful or two of small short sticks for the
fire, which Ellen could manage.
"I wish I could stay here and take care of you all the while,"
said he; "but I'll be round. If you want anything, you must
come to the door and holler."
Ellen began to thank him.
"Just don't say anything about that," said he, moving his
hands as if he were shaking her thanks out of them; "I'd back
all the wood you could burn every day for the pleasure of
having you hum again, if I didn't know you was better where
you was; but I can't help that. Now, who am I going to get to
stay with you? Who would you like to have."
"Nobody, if you please, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen; "Aunt
Fortune don't wish it, and I had rather not, indeed."
He stood up and looked at her in amazement.
"Why, you don't mean to say," said he, "that you are thinking,
or she is thinking, you can get along here without help?"
"I'll get along somehow," said Ellen. "Never mind, please let
me, Mr. Van Brunt; it would worry Aunt Fortune very much to
have anybody; don't say anything about it."
"Worry her!" said he; and he muttered something Ellen did not
quite understand, about "bringing the old woman to reason."
However, he went off for the present; and Ellen filled up her
teapot and carried it upstairs. Her old grandmother was awake;
before, when Ellen was in the room, she had been napping; now
she showed the greatest delight at seeing her fondled her,
kissed her, cried over her, and finally insisted on getting up
directly and going downstairs. Ellen received and returned her
caresses with great tenderness, and then began to help her
rise and dress.
"Yes, do," said Miss Fortune; "I shall have a little better
chance of sleeping. My stars! Ellen, what do you call this?"
"Isn't it catnip?" said Ellen, alarmed.
"Catnip! it tastes of nothing but the tea-kettle. It's as weak
as dishwater. Take it down and make some more. How much did
you put in? you want a good double-handful, stalks and all;
make it strong. I can't drink such stuff as that. I think if I
could get into a sweat I should be better."
Ellen went down, established her grandmother in her old
corner, and made some more tea. Then her irons being hot, she
began to iron; doing double duty at the same time, for Mrs.
Montgomery had one of her talking fits on, and it was
necessary to hear and answer a great many things. Presently
the first visitor appeared in the shape of Nancy.
"Well, Ellen!" said she, "so Miss Fortune is really sick for
once, and you are keeping house. Ain't you grand?"
"I don't feel very grand," said Ellen. "I don't know what is
the matter with these clothes; I _cannot_ make 'em look smooth."
"Irons ain't hot," said Nancy.
"Yes they are too hot; I've scorched a towel already."
"My goodness, Ellen! I guess you have. If Miss Fortune was
down, you'd get it. Why, they're bone dry!" said Nancy,
plunging her hand into the basket: "you haven't sprinkled 'em,
have you?"
"To be sure," said Ellen, with an awakened face, "I forgot
it!"
"Here, get out of the way, _I'll_ do it for you," said Nancy,
rolling up her sleeves, and pushing Ellen from the table; "you
just get me a bowl of water, will you? and we'll have 'em done
in no time. Who's a-coming to help you?"
"Nobody."
"Nobody! you poor chicken; do you think you're a-going to do
all the work of the house yourself?"
"No," said Ellen, "but I can do a good deal, and the rest will
have to go."
"You ain't going to do no such thing; I'll stay myself."
"No, you can't, Nancy," said Ellen, quietly.
"I guess I will, if I've a mind to. I should like to know how
you'd help it: Miss Fortune's a-bed."
"I could help it, though," said Ellen; "but I am sure you
won't, when I ask you not."
"I'll do anything you please," said Nancy, "if you'll get Miss
Fortune to let me stay. Come do, Ellen! It will be splendid!
and I'll help you finely, and I won't bother you neither.
Come, go ask her; if you don't, I will."
"I can't, Nancy; she don't want anybody; and it worries her to
talk to her. I can't go and ask her."
Nancy impatiently flung down the cloth she was sprinkling, and
ran up stairs. In a few minutes she came down with a
triumphant face, and bade Ellen go up to her aunt.
"Ellen," said Miss Fortune, "if I let Nancy stay will you take
care of the keys, and keep her out of the buttery?"
"I'll try to, Ma'am, as well as I can."
"I'd as lief have her as anybody," said Miss Fortune, "if
she'd behave. She was with me a little in the winter. She is
smart, and knows the ways. If I was sure she would behave
herself but I am afraid she will go rampaging about the
house like a wild cat."
"I think I could prevent that," said Ellen; who, to say truth,
was willing to have anybody come to share what she felt would
be a very great burden. "She knows I could tell Mr. Van Brunt
if she didn't do right, and she would be afraid of that."
"Well," said Miss Fortune, disconsolately, "let her stay,
then. O, dear, to lie here! but tell her if she don't do
just what you tell her, I'll have Mr. Van Brunt turn her out
by the ears. And don't let her come near me, for she drives me
mad. And, Ellen, put the keys in your pocket. Have you got a
pocket in that dress?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Put 'em in there, and don't take 'em out. Now, go."
Nancy agreed to the conditions with great glee; and the little
housekeeper felt her mind a good deal easier; for though Nancy
herself was somewhat of a charge, she was strong, and willing,
and ready, and, if she liked anybody, liked Ellen. Mr. Van
Brunt privately asked Ellen if she chose to have Nancy stay;
and told her, if she gave her any trouble, to let him know,
and he would make short work with her. The young lady herself
also had a hint on the subject.
"I'll tell you what," said Nancy, when this business was
settled, "we'll let the men go off to Mrs. Van Brunt's to
meals; we'll have enough to do without 'em. That's how Miss
Fortune has fixed herself she would have Sam and Johnny in to
board; they never used to, you know, afore this winter."
"The men may go," said Ellen, "but I had a great deal rather
Mr. Van Brunt would stay than not if we can only manage to
cook things for him; we should have to do it, at any rate, for
ourselves, and for grandma."
"Well _I_ ain't as fond of him as all that," said Nancy, "but
it'll have to be as you like, I suppose. We'll feed him
somehow."
Mr. Van Brunt came in to ask if they had anything in the house
for supper. Ellen told him "plenty," and would have him come
in just as usual. There was nothing to do but to make tea;
cold meat and bread and butter and cheese were all in the
buttery; so that evening went off very quietly.
When she came down the next morning, the fire was burning
nicely, and the kettle on and singing. Not Nancy's work; Mr.
Van Brunt had slept in the kitchen; whether on the table, the
floor, or the chairs, was best known to himself; and before
going to his work, had left everything he could think of ready
done to her hand; wood for the fire, pails of water brought
from the spout, and some matters in the lower kitchen got out
of the way. Ellen stood warming herself at the blaze, when it
suddenly darted into her head that it was milking time. In
another minute she had thrown open the door and was running
across the chip-yard to the barn. There, in the old place,
were all her old friends, both four-legged and two-legged; and
with great delight she found Dolly had a fine calf, and
Streaky another superb one, brindled just like herself. Ellen
longed to get near enough to touch their little innocent
heads, but it was impossible; and recollecting the business on
her hands, she too danced away.
"Whew!" said Nancy, when Ellen told her of the new inmates of
the barn-yard; "there'll be work to do! Get your milk-pans
ready, Ellen; in a couple of weeks we'll be making butter."
"Aunt Fortune will be well by that time, I hope," said Ellen.
"She won't, then, so you may just make up your mind to it. Dr.
Gibson was to see her yesterday forenoon, and he stopped at
Miss Lowndes' on his way back; and he said it was a chance if
she got up again in a month and more. So, that's what it is,
you see."
"A month, and more." It was all that. Miss Fortune was not
dangerously ill; but part of the time in a low nervous fever,
part of the time encumbered with other ailments, she lay from
week to week, bearing her confinement very ill, and making it
as disagreeable and burdensome as possible for Ellen to attend
upon her. Those were weeks of trial. Ellen's patience and
principle and temper were all put to the proof. She had no
love, in the first place, for household work, and now her
whole time was filled up with it. Studies could not be thought
of. Reading was only to be had by mere snatches. Walks and
rides were at an end. Often, when already very tired, she had
to run up and down stairs for her aunt, or stand and bathe her
face and hands with vinegar, or read the paper to her, when
Miss Fortune declared she was so nervous she should fly out of
her skin if she didn't hear something besides the wind. And
very often, when she was not wanted upstairs, her old
grandmother would beg her to come and read to _her_ perhaps at
the very moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best.
Miss Fortune never could be put off; her old mother sometimes
could, with a kiss and a promise but not always; and then,
rather than she should fret, Ellen would leave everything, and
give half an hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved to
do this at other times; now it was sometimes burdensome. Nancy
could not help her at all in these matters, for neither Miss
Fortune nor the old lady would let her come near them. Besides
all this, there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen's
mind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about the
house; and under the effort to meet the charge, joined to the
unceasing bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was
tired with Nancy's talk; she longed to be reading and studying
again; she longed oh! how she longed! for Alice's and
John's company again; and it was no wonder if she sometimes
cast very sad, longing looks further back still. Now and then
an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John's
words; and often in the midst of her work, stopping short with
a sort of pang of sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of
doing right, she would press her hands together and say to
herself, "I will try to be a good pilgrim!" Her morning hour
of prayer was very precious now; and her Bible grew more and
more dear. Little Ellen found its words a mighty refreshment;
and often when reading it she loved to recall what Alice had
said at this and the other place, and John, and Mr. Marshman,
and before them her mother. The passages about heaven, which
she well remembered reading to her one particular morning,
became great favourites; they were joined with her mother in
Ellen's thoughts; and she used to go over and over them till
she nearly knew them by heart.
"What _do_ you keep reading that for, the whole time?" said
Nancy, one day.
"Because I like to," said Ellen.
"Well, if you do, you're the first one ever I saw that did."
"Oh, Nancy!" said Ellen, "your grandma?"
"Well, she does, I believe," said Nancy; "for she's always at
it; but all the rest of the folks that ever I saw are happy to
get it out of their hands, _I_ know. They think they must read a
little, and so they do, and they are too glad if something
happens to break 'em off. You needn't tell _me_ I've seen
'em."
"I wish _you_ loved it, Nancy," said Ellen.
"Well, what do you love it for? Come, let's hear; maybe you'll
convert me."
"I love it for a great many reasons," said Ellen, who had some
difficulty in speaking of what she felt Nancy could not
understand.
"Well I ain't any wiser yet."
"I like to read it because I want to go to heaven, and it
tells me how."
"But what's the use?" said Nancy "you ain't going to die yet
you are too young you've time enough."
"Oh, Nancy! little John Dolan, and Eleanor Parsons, and Mary
Huff all younger than you and I; how can you say so?"
"Well," said Nancy "at any rate, that ain't reading it
because you love it it's because you must, like other
folks."
"That's only one of my reasons," said Ellen, hesitating, and
speaking gravely; "I like to read about the Saviour, and
what he has done for me, and what a friend he will be to me,
and how he forgives me. I had rather have the Bible, Nancy,
than all the other books in the world."
"That ain't saying much," said Nancy "but how come you to be
so sure you are forgiven?"
"Because the Bible says, 'He that believeth on him shall not
be ashamed,' and I believe in him and that he will not cast
out any one that comes to him, and I have come to him and
that he loves those that love him, and I love him. If it did
not speak so very plainly, I should be afraid, but it makes me
happy to read such verses as these. I wish you knew, Nancy,
how happy it makes me."
This profession of faith was not spoken without starting
tears. Nancy made no reply.
As Miss Fortune had foretold, plenty of people came to the
house with proffers of service. Nancy's being there made it
easy for Ellen to get rid of them all. Many were the marvels
that Miss Fortune should trust her house to "two girls like
that," and many the guesses that she would rue it when she got
up again. People were wrong. Things went on very steadily, and
in an orderly manner; and Nancy kept the peace as she would
have done in few houses. Bold and insolent as she sometimes
was to others, she regarded Ellen with a mixed notion of
respect and protection, which led her at once to shun doing
anything that would grieve her, and to thrust her aside from
every heavy or difficult job, taking the brunt herself. Nancy
might well do this, for she was at least twice as strong as
Ellen; but she would not have done it for everybody.
There were visits of kindness as well as visits of
officiousness. Alice and Mrs. Van Brunt and Margery, one or
the other every day. Margery would come in and mix up a batch
of bread; Alice would bring a bowl of butter or a basket of
cake; and Mrs. Van Brunt sent whole dinners. Mr. Van Brunt was
there always at night, and about the place as much as possible
during the day; when obliged to be absent, he stationed Sam
Larkens to guard the house, also to bring wood and water, and
do whatever he was bid. All the help, however, that was given
from abroad could not make Ellen's life an easy one; Mr. Van
Brunt's wishes that Miss Fortune would get up again began to
come very often. The history of one day may serve for the
history of all those weeks.
It was in the beginning of April. Ellen came downstairs early,
but come when she would, she found the fire made and the
kettle on. Ellen felt a little as if she had not quite slept
off the remembrance of yesterday's fatigue; however, that was
no matter, she set to work. She swept up the kitchen, got her
milk-strainer and pans ready upon the buttery shelf, and began
to set the table. By the time this was half done, in came Sam
Larkens with two great pails of milk, and Johnny Low followed
with another. They were much too heavy for Ellen to lift, but
true to her charge, she let no one come into the buttery but
herself; she brought the pans to the door, where Sam filled
them for her, and as each was done she set it in its place on
the shelf. This took some time, for there were eight of them.
She had scarce wiped up the spilt milk and finished setting
the table, when Mr. Van Brunt came in.
"Good morning!" said he. "How d'ye do to-day?"
"Very well, Mr. Van Brunt."
"I wish you'd look a little redder in the face. Don't you be
too busy. Where's Nancy?"
"Oh, she's busy, out with the clothes."
"Same as ever upstairs? What are you going to do for
breakfast, Ellen?"
"I don't know, Mr. Van Brunt; there isn't anything cooked in
the house; we have eaten everything up."
"Cleaned out, eh? Bread and all?"
"Oh, no, not bread; there's plenty of that, but there's
nothing else."
"Well never mind; you bring me a ham and a dozen of eggs,
and I'll make you a first-rate breakfast."
Ellen laughed, for this was not the first time Mr. Van Brunt
had acted as cook for the family. While she got what he had
asked for, and bared a place on the table for his operations,
he went to the spout and washed his hands.
"Now, a sharp knife, Ellen, and the frying-pan and a dish
and that's all I want of you."
Ellen brought them, and while he was busy with the ham, she
made the coffee, and set it by the side of the fire to boil;
got the cream and butter, and set the bread on the table; and
then set herself down to rest, and amuse herself with Mr. Van
Brunt's cookery. He was no mean hand: his slices of ham were
very artist-like, and frying away in the most unexceptionable
manner. Ellen watched him, and laughed at him, till the ham
was taken out and all the eggs broke in; then, after seeing
that the coffee was right, she went upstairs to dress her
grandmother always the last thing before breakfast.
"Who's frying ham and eggs downstairs?" inquired Miss Fortune.
"Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen.
This answer was unexpected. Miss Fortune tossed her head over
in a dissatisfied kind of way, and told Ellen to "tell him to
be careful."
"Of what?" thought Ellen; and wisely concluded with herself
not to deliver the message, very certain she should laugh if
she did, and she had running in her head an indistinct notion
of the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother."
Breakfast was ready, but no one there when she got down-
stairs. She placed her grandmother at table, and called Nancy,
who all this time had been getting the clothes out of the
rinsing water and hanging them out on the line to dry; said
clothes having been washed the day before by Miss Sarah
Lowndes, who came there for the purpose. Ellen poured out the
coffee, and then in came Mr. Van Brunt with a head of early
lettuce, which he had pulled in the garden and washed at the
spout. Ellen had to jump up again to get the salt and pepper
and vinegar; but she always jumped willingly for Mr. Van
Brunt. The meals were pleasanter during those weeks than in
all the time Ellen had been in Thirlwall before; or she
thought so. That sharp eye at the head of the table was
pleasantly missed. They with one accord sat longer at meals;
more talking and laughing went on; nobody felt afraid of being
snapped up. Mr. Van Brunt praised Ellen's coffee (he had
taught her how to make it), and she praised his ham and eggs.
Old Mrs. Montgomery praised everything, and seemed to be in
particular comfort; talked as much as she had a mind, and was
respectfully attended to. Nancy was in high feather; and the
clatter of knives and forks and tea-cups went on very
pleasantly. But at last, chairs were pushed from the table,
and work began again.
Nancy went back to her tubs. Ellen supplied her grandmother
with her knitting, and filled her snuff-box; cleared the
table, and put up the dishes ready for washing. Then she went
into the buttery to skim the cream. This was a part of the
work she liked. It was heavy lifting the pans of milk to the
skimming shelf before the window, but as Ellen drew her spoon
round the edge of the cream, she liked to see it wrinkle up in
thick, yellow, leathery folds, showing how deep and rich it
was it looked half butter already. She knew how to take it
off now, very nicely. The cream was set by in a vessel for
future churning, and the milk, as each pan was skimmed, was
poured down the wooden trough, at the left of the window,
through which it went into a great hogshead at the lower
kitchen door.
This done, Ellen went up stairs to her aunt. Dr. Gibson always
came early, and she and her room must be put in apple-pie
order first. It was a long, wearisome job. Ellen brought the
basin for her, to wash her face and hands; then combed her
hair, and put on her clean cap. That was always the first
thing. The next was to make the bed; and for this Miss
Fortune, weak or strong, wrapped herself up and tumbled out
upon the floor. When she was comfortably placed again, Ellen
had to go through a laborious dusting of the room and all the
things in it, even taking a dustpan and brush to the floor, if
any speck of dust or crumbs could be seen there. Every rung of
every chair must be gone over, though never so clean; every
article put up or put out of the way; Miss Fortune made the
most of the little province of housekeeping that was left her;
and a fluttering tape, escaping through the crack of the door,
would have put her whole spirit topsy-turvy. When all was to
her mind, and not before, she would have her breakfast, only
gruel and biscuit, or toast and tea, or some such trifle, but
Ellen must prepare it, and bring it up stairs, and wait till
it was eaten. And very particularly it must be prepared, and
very faultlessly it must be served, or, with an impatient
expression of disgust, Miss Fortune would send it down again.
On the whole, Ellen always thought herself happy when this
part of her day was well over.
When she got down this morning she found the kitchen in nice
order, and Nancy standing by the fire in a little sort of
pause, having just done the breakfast dishes.
"Well!" said Nancy "what are you going to do now?"
"Put away these dishes, and then churn," said Ellen.
"My goodness! so you are. What's going to be for dinner,
Ellen?"
"That's more than I know," said Ellen, laughing. "We have
eaten up Mrs. Van Brunt's pie, and washed the dish there's
nothing but some cold potatoes."
"_That_ won't do," said Nancy. "I tell you what, Ellen we'll
just boil pot for to-day; somebody else will send us something
by to-morrow most likely."
"I don't know what you mean by 'boil pot,' " said Ellen.
"Oh, you don't know everything yet, by half. _I_ know I'll fix
it. You just give me the things, Miss Housekeeper, that's all
you've got to do; I want a piece of pork and a piece of beef,
and all the vegetables you've got."
"All?" said Ellen.
"Every soul on 'em. Don't be scared, Ellen; you shall see what
I can do in the way of cookery if you don't like it you
needn't eat it. What have you got in the cellar?"
"Come and see, and take what you want, Nancy; there is plenty
of potatoes and carrots and onions, and beets, I believe the
turnips are all gone."
"Parsnips out in the yard, ain't there?"
"Yes, but you'll have to do with a piece of pork, Nancy; I
don't know anything about beef."
While Nancy went round the cellar, gathering in her apron the
various roots she wanted, Ellen uncovered the pork barrel,
and, after looking a minute at the dark pickle she never loved
to plunge into, bravely bared her arm, and fished up a piece
of pork.
"Now, Nancy, just help me with this churn out of the cellar,
will you? and then you may go."
"My goodness! it is heavy," said Nancy. "You'll have a time of
it, Ellen; but I can't help you."
She went off to the garden for parsnips, and Ellen quietly put
in the dasher and the cover, and began to churn. It was
tiresome work. The churn was pretty full, as Nancy had said;
the cream was rich and cold, and at the end of half an hour
grew very stiff. It splattered and sputtered up on Ellen's
face and hands, and frock and apron, and over the floor; legs
and arms were both weary; but still that pitiless dasher must
go up and down, hard as it might be to force it either way
she must not stop. In this state of matters she heard a pair
of thick shoes come clumping down the stairs, and beheld Mr.
Van Brunt.
"Here you are!" said he. "Churning! Been long at it?"
"A good while," said Ellen, with a sigh.
"Coming?"
"I don't know when."
Mr. Van Brunt stepped to the door, and shouted for Sam
Larkens. He was ordered to take the churn and bring the
butter; and Ellen, very glad of a rest, went out to amuse
herself with feeding the chickens, and then up stairs to see
what Nancy was doing.
"Butter come?" said Nancy.
"No, Sam has taken it. How are you getting on? Oh, I am
tired!"
"I'm getting on first-rate; I've got all the things in."
"In what?"
"Why, in the pot! in a pot of water, boiling away as fast as
they can; we'll have dinner directly. Hurra! who comes there?"
She jumped to the door. It was Thomas, bringing Margery's
respects, and a custard-pie for Ellen.
"I declare," said Nancy, "it's a good thing to have friends,
ain't it? I'll try and get some. Hollo? what's wanting? Mr.
Van Brunt's calling you, Ellen."
Ellen ran down.
"The butter's come," said he. "Now, do you know what to do
with it?"
"Oh, yes," said Ellen, smiling; "Margery showed me nicely."
He brought her a pail of water from the spout, and stood by
with a pleased kind of look, while she carefully lifted the
cover and rinsed down the little bits of butter which stuck to
it and the dasher; took out the butter with her ladle into a
large wooden bowl, washed it, and finally salted it.
"Don't take too much pains," said he; "the less of the hand it
gets, the better. That will do very well."
"Now, are you ready?" said Nancy, coming down stairs, "cause
dinner is. My goodness! ain't that a fine lot of butter?
there's four pounds, ain't there?"
"Five," said Mr. Van Brunt.
"And as sweet as it can be," said Ellen. "Beautiful, isn't it?
Yes, I'm ready as soon as I set this in the cellar and cover
it up."
Nancy's dish the pork, potatoes, carrots, beets, and
cabbage, all boiled in the same pot together was found very
much to everybody's taste, except Ellen's. She made her dinner
off potatoes and bread, the former of which she declared,
laughing, were very porky and cabbagy; her meal would have
been an extremely light one, had it not been for the custard-
pie.
After dinner, new labours began. Nancy had forgotten to hang
on a pot of water for the dishes; so, after putting away the
eatables in the buttery, while the water was heating, Ellen
warmed some gruel, and carried it, with a plate of biscuit,
upstairs to her aunt. But Miss Fortune said she was tired of
gruel, and couldn't eat it; she must have some milk porridge;
and she gave Ellen very particular directions how to make it.
Ellen sighed only once as she went down with her despised dish
of gruel, and set about doing her best to fulfil her aunt's
wishes. The first dish of milk she burnt; another sigh and
another trial; better care this time had better success, and
Ellen had the satisfaction to see her aunt perfectly suited
with her dinner.
When she came down with the empty bowl, Nancy had a pile of
dishes ready washed, and Ellen took the towel to dry them.
Mrs. Montgomery, who had been in an uncommonly quiet fit all
day, now laid down her knitting, and asked if Ellen would not
come and read to her.
"Presently, Grandma, as soon as I have done here."
"I know somebody that's tired," said Nancy. "I tell you what,
Ellen, you had better take to liking pork; you can't work on
potatoes. I ain't tired a bit. There's somebody coming to the
door again! Do run and open it, will you? my hands are wet. I
wonder why folks can't come in without giving so much
trouble."
It was Thomas again, with a package for Ellen, which had just
come, he said, and Miss Alice thought she would like to have
it directly. Ellen thanked her, and thanked him, with a face
from which all signs of weariness had fled away. The parcel
was sealed up, and directed in a hand she was pretty sure she
knew. Her fingers burned to break the seal; but she would not
open it there, neither leave her work unfinished; she went on
wiping the dishes, with trembling hands and a beating heart.
"What's that?" said Nancy; "what did Thomas Grimes want?
what have you got there?"
"I don't know," said Ellen, smiling; "something good, I
guess."
"Something good? is it something to eat?"
"No," said Ellen "I didn't mean anything to eat when I said
something good; I don't think those are the best things."
To Ellen's delight, she saw that her grandmother had forgotten
about the reading, and was quietly taking short naps, with her
head against the chimney. So she put away the last dish, and
then seized her package and flew up-stairs. She was sure it
had come from Doncaster; she was right. It was a beautiful
copy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_, on the first leaf written,
"To my little sister Ellen Montgomery, from J. H.;" and within
the cover lay a letter. This letter Ellen read in the course
of the next six days, at least twice as many times; and never
without crying over it.
"Alice has told me," said John, "about your new troubles.
There is said to be a time 'when the clouds return after the
rain.' I am sorry, my little sister, this time should come to
you so early. I often think of you, and wish I could be near
you. Still, dear Ellie, the good Husbandman knows what his
plants want; do you believe that, and can you trust him? They
would have nothing but sunshine if that was good for them. He
knows it is not; so there come clouds and rains, and 'stormy
wind fulfilling his will.' And what is it all for? 'Herein
is my Father glorified, _that ye bear much fruit;_' do not
disappoint his purpose, Ellie. We shall have sunshine enough
by-and-by but I know it is hard for so young a one as my
little sister to look much forward; so do not look forward,
Ellie; look up! look off unto Jesus from all your duties,
troubles, and wants; he will help you in them all. The more
you look up to him, the more he will look down to you; and he
especially said, 'Suffer _little children_ to come unto me;' you
see you are particularly invited."
Ellen was a long time upstairs, and when she came down, it was
with red eyes.
Mrs. Montgomery was now awake, and asked for the reading
again; and for three-quarters of an hour Ellen and she were
quietly busy with the Bible. Nancy, meanwhile, was downstairs
washing the dairy things. When her grandmother released her,
Ellen had to go up to wait upon her aunt; after which, she
went into the buttery, and skimmed the cream, and got the pans
ready for the evening milk. By this time it was five o'clock,
and Nancy came in with the basket of dry clothes; at which
Ellen looked with the sorrowful consciousness that they must
be sprinkled and folded by-and-by, and ironed to-morrow. It
happened, however, that Jane Huff came in just then, with a
quantity of hot short-cake for tea; and seeing the basket, she
very kindly took the business of sprinkling and folding upon
herself. This gave Ellen spirits to carry out a plan she had
long had, to delight the whole family with some eggs,
scrambled in Margery's fashion; after the milk was strained
and put away, she went about it, while Nancy set the table. A
nice bed of coals was prepared; the spider set over them; the
eggs broken in, peppered and salted; and she began carefully
to stir them as she had seen Margery do. But instead of acting
right, the eggs maliciously stuck fast to the spider and
burned. Ellen was confounded.
"How much butter did you put in?" said Mr. Van Brunt, who had
come in, and stood looking on.
"Butter!" said Ellen, looking up; "oh, I forgot all about it
I ought to have put that in, oughtn't I? I'm sorry!"
"Never mind," said Mr. Van Brunt " 'tain't worth your being
sorry about. Here Nancy clean us off this spider, and we'll
try again."
At this moment Miss Fortune was heard screaming; Ellen ran up.
"What did she want?" said Mr. Van Brunt, when she came down
again.
"She wanted to know what was burning."
"Did you tell her?"
"Yes."
"Well, what did she say?"
"Said I mustn't use any more eggs without asking her."
"That ain't fair play," said Mr. Van Brunt; "you and I are the
head of the house now, I take it. You just use as many on 'em
as you've a mind; and all you spile, I'll fetch you again from
hum. That's you, Nancy! Now, Ellen, here's the spider; try it
again; let's have plenty of butter in this time, and plenty of
eggs, too."
This time the eggs were scrambled to a nicety, and the supper
met with great favour from all parties.
Ellen's day was done when the dishes were. The whole family
went early to bed. She was weary but she could rest well.
She had made her old grandmother comfortable; she had kept the
peace with Nancy; she had pleased Mr. Van Brunt; she had
faithfully served her aunt. Her sleep was uncrossed by a
dream, untroubled by a single jar of conscience. And her
awaking to another day of labour, though by no means joyful,
was yet not unhopeful or unhappy.
She had a hard trial a day or two after. It was in the end of
the afternoon; she had her big apron on, and was in the
buttery skimming the milk, when she heard the kitchen door
open, and footsteps enter the kitchen. Out went little Ellen
to see who it was, and there stood Alice and old Mr. Marshman!
He was going to take Alice home with him the next morning, and
wanted Ellen to go too; and they had come to ask her. Ellen
knew it was impossible that is, that it would not be right,
and she said so; and in spite of Alice's wistful look, and Mr.
Marshman's insisting, she stood her ground. Not without some
difficulty, and some glistening of the eyes. They had to give
it up. Mr. Marshman then wanted to know what she meant by
swallowing herself up in an apron in that sort of way? so
Ellen had him into the buttery, and showed him what she had
been about. He would see her skim several pans, and laughed at
her prodigiously; though there was a queer look about his
eyes, too, all the time. And when he went away, he held her in
his arms, and kissed her again and again; and said that "some
of these days he would take her away from her aunt, and she
should have her no more." Ellen stood and looked after them
till they were out of sight, and then went upstairs and had a
good cry.
The butter-making soon became quite too much for Ellen to
manage; so Jane Huff and Jenny Hitchcock were engaged to come
by turns, and do the heavy part of it; all within the buttery
being still left to Ellen, for Miss Fortune would have no one
else go there. It was a great help to have them take even so
much off her hands; and they often did some other little odd
jobs for her. The milk, however, seemed to increase as fast as
the days grew longer, and Ellen could not find that she was
much less busy. The days were growing pleasant, too; soft airs
began to come; the grass was of a beautiful green; the buds on
the branches began to swell, and on some trees to put out.
When Ellen had a moment of time she used to run across the
chip-yard to the barn, or round the garden, or down to the
brook, and drink in the sweet air, and the lovely sights,
which never had seemed quite so lovely before. If once in a
while she could get half an hour before tea, she used to take
her book and sit down on the threshold of the front door, or
on the big log under the apple-tree, in the chip-yard. In
those minutes the reading was doubly sweet; or else, the
loveliness of earth and sky was such, that Ellen could not
take her eyes from them, till she saw Sam or Johnny coming out
of the cow-house door with the pails of milk, or heard their
heavy tramp over the chips then she had to jump and run.
Those were sweet half-hours. Ellen did not at first know how
much reason she had to be delighted with her _Pilgrim's
Progress:_ she saw, to be sure, that it was a fine copy, well-
bound, with beautiful cuts. But when she came to look further,
she found all through the book, on the margin, or at the
bottom of the leaves, in John's beautiful hand-writing, a
great many notes; simple, short, plain, exactly what was
needed to open the whole book to her, and make it of the
greatest possible use and pleasure. Many things she remembered
hearing from his lips when they were reading it together;
there was a large part of the book where all was new; the part
he had not had time to finish. How Ellen loved the book and
the giver, when she found these beautiful notes, it is
impossible to tell. She counted it her greatest treasure, next
to her little red Bible.