The Brownie.
In the course of time Miss Fortune showed signs of mending;
and at last, towards the latter end of April, she was able to
come downstairs. All parties hailed this event, for different
reasons; even Nancy was growing tired of her regular life, and
willing to have a change. Ellen's joy was, however, soon
diminished by the terrible rummaging which took place. Miss
Fortune's hands were yet obliged to lie still, but her eyes
did double duty; _they_ were never known to be idle in the best
of times, and it seemed to Ellen now as if they were taking
amends for all their weeks of forced rest. Oh, those eyes!
Dust was found where Ellen never dreamed of looking for any
things were said to be dreadfully "in the way" where she had
never found it out disorder and dirt were groaned over,
where Ellen did not know the fact, or was utterly ignorant how
to help it waste was suspected where none had been, and
carelessness charged where rather praise was due. Impatient to
have things to her mind, and as yet unable to do anything
herself, Miss Fortune kept Nancy and Ellen running, till both
wished her back in bed; and even Mr. Van Brunt grumbled, that
"to pay Ellen for having grown white and poor, her aunt was
going to work the little flesh she had left off her bones." It
was rather hard to bear, just when she was looking for ease,
too her patience and temper were more tried than in all
those weeks before. But if there was small pleasure in
pleasing her aunt, Ellen did earnestly wish to please God: she
struggled against ill-temper, prayed against it, and, though
she often blamed herself in secret, she did so go through that
week as to call forth Mr. Van Brunt's admiration, and even to
stir a little the conscience of her aunt. Mr. Van Brunt
comforted her with the remark, that "it is darkest just before
day;" and so it proved. Before the week was at an end, Miss
Fortune began, as she expressed it, to "take hold:" Jenny
Hitchcock and Jane Huff were excused from any more butter-
making; Nancy was sent away; Ellen's labours were much
lightened; and the house was itself again.
The third of May came. For the first time in near two months,
Ellen found in the afternoon she could be spared awhile; there
was no need to think twice what she would do with her leisure.
Perhaps Margery could tell her something of Alice! Hastily and
joyfully she exchanged her working frock for a merino, put on
nice shoes and stockings, and ruffle again, and taking her
bonnet and gloves to put on out of doors, away she ran. Who
can tell how pleasant it seemed, after so many weeks, to be
able to walk abroad again, and to walk to the mountain! Ellen
snuffed the sweet air, skipped on the green sward, picked
nosegays of grass and dandelions, and at last, unable to
contain herself, set off to run. Fatigue soon brought this to
a stop; then she walked more leisurely on, enjoying. It was a
lovely spring day. Ellen's eyes were gladdened by it; she felt
thankful in her heart that God had made everything so
beautiful; she thought it was pleasant to think _He_ had made
them, pleasant to see in them everywhere so much of the
wisdom, and power, and goodness, of Him she looked up to with
joy as her best friend. She felt quietly happy, and sure He
would take care of her. Then a thought of Alice came into her
head; she set off to run again, and kept it up this time till
she got to the old house and ran round the corner. She stopped
at the shed door, and went through into the lower kitchen.
"Why, Miss Ellen, dear!" exclaimed Margery "if that isn't
you! Aren't you come in the _very_ nick of time! How _do_ you do?
I am very glad to see you uncommon glad, to be sure. What
witch told you to come here just now? Run in; run into the
parlour, and see what you'll find there."
"Has Alice come back?" cried Ellen. But Margery only laughed
and said "Run in!"
Up the steps, through the kitchen, and across the hall, Ellen
ran burst open the parlour door and was in Alice's arms.
There were others in the room, but Ellen did not seem to know
it, clinging to her, and holding her in a fast, glad embrace,
till Alice bade her look up, and attend to somebody else. And
then she was seized round the neck by little Ellen Chauncey!
and then came her mother, and then Miss Sophia. The two
children were overjoyed to see each other, while their joy was
touching to see, from the shade of sorrow in the one, and of
sympathy in the other. Ellen was scarcely less glad to see
kind Mrs. Chauncey; Miss Sophia's greeting, too, was very
affectionate. But Ellen returned to Alice, and rested herself
in her lap, with one arm round her neck, the other hand being
in little Ellen's grasp.
"And now you are happy, I suppose?" said Miss Sophia, when
they were thus placed.
"Very," said Ellen, smiling.
"Ah, but you'll be happier by-and-by," said Ellen Chauncey.
"Hush, Ellen!" said Miss Sophia; "what curious things
children are! You didn't expect to find us all here, did
you, Ellen Montgomery?"
"No, indeed, Ma'am," said Ellen, drawing Alice's cheek nearer
for another kiss.
"We have but just come, Ellie," said her sister. "I should not
have been long in finding you out. My child, how thin you have
got."
"Oh, I'll grow fat again now," said Ellen.
"How is Miss Fortune?"
"Oh, she is up again and well."
"Have you any reason to expect your father home, Ellen?" said
Mrs. Chauncey.
"Yes, Ma'am; aunt Fortune says perhaps he will be here in a
week."
"Then you are very happy in looking forward, aren't you?" said
Miss Sophia, not noticing the cloud that had come over Ellen's
brow.
Ellen hesitated coloured coloured more and finally, with
a sudden motion, hid her face against Alice.
"When did he sail, Ellie?" said Alice, gravely.
"In the _Duc d'Orleans_ he said he would "
"_When?_"
"The fifth of April. Oh, I can't help it!" exclaimed Ellen,
failing in the effort to control herself; she clasped Alice as
if she feared even then the separating hand. Alice bent her
head down, and whispered words of comfort.
"Mamma!" said little Ellen Chauncey, under her breath, and
looking solemn to the last degree "don't Ellen want to see
her father?"
"She's afraid that he may take her away where she will not be
with Alice any more; and you know she has no mother to go to."
"Oh!" said Ellen, with a very enlightened face; "but he
won't, will he?"
"I hope not; I think not."
Cheered again, the little girl drew near, and silently took
one of Ellen's hands.
"We shall not be parted, Ellie," said Alice "you need not
fear. If your father takes you away from your aunt Fortune, I
think it will be only to give you to me. You need not fear
yet."
"Mamma says so too, Ellen," said her little friend.
This was strong consolation. Ellen looked up and smiled.
"Now come with me," said Ellen Chauncey, pulling her hand "I
want you to show me something; let's go down to the garden
come, exercise is good for you."
"No, no," said her mother smiling "Ellen has had exercise
enough lately; you mustn't take her down to the garden now;
you would find nothing there. Come here!"
A long whisper followed, which seemed to satisfy little Ellen,
and she ran out of the room. Some time passed in pleasant talk
and telling all that had happened since they had seen each
other; then little Ellen came back and called Ellen Montgomery
to the glass door, saying she wanted her to look at something.
"It is only a horse we brought with us," said Miss Sophia.
"Ellen thinks it is a great beauty, and can't rest till you
have seen it."
Ellen went accordingly to the door. There, to be sure, was
Thomas before it, holding a pony bridled and saddled. He was
certainly a very pretty, little creature; brown all over
except one white forefoot; his coat shone, it was so glossy;
his limbs were fine; his eye gentle and bright; his tail long
enough to please the children. He stood as quiet as a lamb,
whether Thomas held him or not.
"Oh, what a beauty!" said Ellen "what a lovely little
horse!"
"Ain't he!" said Ellen Chauncey "and he goes so beautifully
besides, and never starts nor nothing; and he is as good-
natured as a little dog."
"As a _good-natured_ little dog, she means, Ellen," said Miss
Sophia "there are little dogs of very various character."
"Well, he looks good-natured," said Ellen. "What a pretty
head! and what a beautiful new side-saddle, and all! I never
saw such a dear little horse in my life. Is it yours, Alice?"
"No," said Alice, "it is a present to a friend of Mr.
Marshman's."
"She'll be a very happy friend, I should think," said Ellen.
"That's what I said," said Ellen Chauncey, dancing up and down
"that's what I said. I said you'd be happier by-and-by,
didn't I?"
"I?" said Ellen, colouring.
"Yes, you you are the friend it is for; it's for you, it's
for you! You are Grandpa's friend, aren't you?" she repeated,
springing upon Ellen, and hugging her up in an ecstasy of
delight.
"But it isn't really for me, is it?" said Ellen, now looking
almost pale "oh, Alice!"
"Come, come," said Miss Sophia "what will Papa say if I tell
him you received his present so? come, hold up your head!
Put on your bonnet and try him come, Ellen! let's see you."
Ellen did not know whether to cry or laugh till she mounted
the pretty pony; that settled the matter. Not Ellen Chauncey's
unspeakable delight was as great as her own. She rode slowly
up and down before the house, and once a-going would not have
known how to stop if she had not recollected that the pony had
travelled thirty miles that day, and must be tired. Ellen took
not another turn after that. She jumped down, and begged
Thomas to take the tenderest care of him; patted his neck; ran
into the kitchen to beg of Margery a piece of bread to give
him from her hand; examined the new stirrup and housings, and
the pony all over a dozen times; and after watching him as
Thomas led him off, till he was out of sight, finally came
back into the house with a face of marvellous contentment. She
tried to fashion some message of thanks for the kind giver of
the pony; but she wanted to express so much that no words
would do. Mrs. Chauncey, however, smiled, and assured her she
knew exactly what to say.
"That pony has been destined for you, Ellen," she said, "this
year and more; but my father waited to have him thoroughly
well broken. You need not be afraid of him! he is perfectly
gentle and well-trained; if he had not been sure of that, my
father would never have sent him though Mr. John is making
such a horsewoman of you."
"I wish I could thank him," said Ellen, "but I don't know
how."
"What will you call him, Ellen," said Miss Sophia. "My father
has dubbed him 'George Marshman;' he says you will like
that, as my brother is such a favourite of yours."
"He didn't _really_, did he?" said Ellen, looking from Sophia to
Alice. "I needn't call him that, need I?"
"Not unless you like," said Miss Sophia, laughing "you may
change it, but what _will_ you call him?"
"I don't know," said Ellen, very gravely "he must have a
name, to be sure."
"But why don't you call him that?" said Ellen Chauncey;
"George is a very pretty name I like that. I should call him
'Uncle George.' "
"Oh, I couldn't!" said Ellen "I couldn't call him so; I
shouldn't like it at all."
"George Washington?" said Mrs. Chauncey.
"No, indeed!" said Ellen. "I guess I wouldn't!"
"Why, is it too good, or not good enough?" said Miss Sophia.
"Too good! A great deal too good for a horse. I wouldn't for
anything."
"How would Brandywine do, then, since you are so patriotic?"
said Miss Sophia, looking amused.
"What is 'patriotic?' " said Ellen.
"A patriot, Ellen," said Alice, smiling "is one who has a
strong and true love for his country."
"I don't know whether I am patriotic," said Ellen, "but I
won't call him Brandywine. Why, Miss Sophia?"
"No, I wouldn't either," said Ellen Chauncey; "it isn't a
pretty name. Call him Seraphine! like Miss Angell's pony
_that's_ pretty."
"No, no 'Seraphine!' nonsense!" said Miss Sophia; "call
him Benedict Arnold, Ellen; and then it will be a relief to
your mind to whip him."
"Whip him!" said Ellen; "I don't want to whip him, I am sure;
and I should be afraid too, besides."
"Hasn't John taught you that lesson, yet?" said the young
lady; "he is perfect in it himself. Do you remember, Alice,
the chastising he gave that fine black horse of ours we called
the 'Black Prince' a beautiful creature he was more that a
year ago? My conscience! he frightened me to death."
"I remember," said Alice; "I remember I could not look on."
"What did he do that for?" said Ellen.
"What's the matter, Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Sophia,
laughing; "where did you get that long face? Are you thinking
of John or the horse?"
Ellen's eyes turned to Alice.
"My dear Ellen," said Alice, smiling, though she spoke
seriously "it was necessary; it sometimes is necessary to do
such things. You do not suppose John would do it cruelly or
unnecessarily?"
Ellen's face shortened considerably.
"But what had the horse been doing?"
"He had not been doing anything; he would _not_ do that was
the trouble; he was as obstinate as a mule."
"My dear Ellen," said Alice, "it was no such terrible matter
as Sophia's words have made you believe. It was a clear case
of obstinacy. The horse was resolved to have his own way, and
not do what his rider required of him; it was necessary that
either the horse or the man should give up; and as John has no
fancy for giving up, he carried his point partly by
management, partly, I confess, by a judicious use of the whip
and spur; but there was no such furious flagellation as Sophia
seems to mean, and which a good horse-man would scarce be
guilty of."
"A very determined 'use,' " said Miss Sophia. "I advise you,
Ellen, not to trust your pony to Mr. John; he will have no
mercy on him."
"Sophia is laughing, Ellen," said Alice. "You and I know John,
do we not?"
"Then he did right?" said Ellen.
"Perfectly right except in mounting the horse at all, which
I never wished him to do. No one on the place would ride him."
"He carried John beautifully all the day after that though,"
said Miss Sophia, "and I dare say he might have ridden him to
the end of the chapter if you would have let papa give him to
him. But he was of no use to anybody else. Howard couldn't
manage him I suppose he was too lazy. Papa was delighted
enough that day to have given John anything. And I can tell
you, Black Prince the second is spirited enough; I am afraid
you won't like him."
"John has a present of a horse, too, Ellen," said Alice.
"Has he? from Mr. Marshman?"
"Yes."
"I'm very glad! Oh, what rides we can take now, can't we,
Alice? We shan't want to borrow Jenny's pony any more. What
kind of a horse is Mr. John's?"
"Black perfectly black."
"Is he handsome?"
"Very."
"Is his name Black Prince?"
"Yes."
Ellen began to consider the possibility of calling her pony
the Brown Princess, or by some similar title the name of
John's two chargers seeming the very most striking a horse
could be known by.
"Don't forget, Alice," said Mrs. Chauncey, "to tell John to
stop for him on his way home. It will give us a chance of
seeing him, which is not a common pleasure, in any sense of
the term."
They went back to the subject of the name, which Ellen
pondered with uneasy visions of John and her poor pony
flitting through her head. The little horse was very hard to
fit, or else Ellen's taste was very hard to suit; a great many
names were proposed, none of which were to her mind, Charley,
and Cherry, and Brown, and Dash, and Jumper but she said
they had "John" and "Jenny" already in Thirlwall, and she
didn't want a "Charley." "Brown" was not pretty, and she hoped
he wouldn't "dash" at anything, nor be a "jumper" when she was
on his back. "Cherry" she mused awhile about, but it wouldn't
do.
"Call him Fairy," said Ellen Chauncey "that's a pretty name.
Mamma says she used to have a horse called Fairy. Do, Ellen!
call him Fairy."
"No," said Ellen; "he can't have a lady's name that's the
trouble."
"I have it, Ellen!" said Alice "I have a name for you call
him the Brownie."
" 'The Brownie?' " said Ellen.
"Yes brownies are male fairies; and brown is his colour; so
how will that do?"
It was soon decided that it would do very well. It was simple,
descriptive, and not common: Ellen made up her mind that 'The
Brownie' should be his name. No sooner given, it began to grow
dear. Ellen's face quitted its look of anxious gravity, and
came out into the broadest and fullest satisfaction. She never
showed joy boisterously; but there was a light in her eye
which brought many a smile into those of her friends as they
sat round the tea-table.
After tea it was necessary to go home, much to the sorrow of
all parties. Ellen knew, however, it would not do to stay;
Miss Fortune was but just got well, and perhaps already
thinking herself ill-used. She put on her things.
"Are you going to take your pony home with you?" said Miss
Sophia.
"Oh, no, Ma'am, not to-night. I must see about a place for
him; and, besides, poor fellow, he is tired, I dare say."
"I do believe you would take more care of his legs than of
your own," said Miss Sophia.
"But you'll be here to-morrow early, Ellie?"
"Oh, won't I?" exclaimed Ellen, as she sprang to Alice's neck
"as early as I can, at least; I don't know when Aunt Fortune
will have done with me."
The way home seemed as nothing. If she was tired, she did not
know it. The Brownie! the Brownie! the thought of him
carried her as cleverly over the ground as his very back would
have done. She came running into the chip-yard.
"Hollo!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, who was standing under the
apple-tree, cutting a piece of wood for the tongue of the ox-
cart, which had been broken "I'm glad to see you _can_ run. I
was afeard you'd hardly be able to stand by this time; but
there you come like a young deer!"
"Oh, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, coming close up to him, and
speaking in an undertone "you don't know what a present I
have had! What do you think, Mr. Marshman has sent me from
Ventnor?"
"Couldn't guess," said Mr. Van Brunt, resting the end of his
pole on the log, and chipping at it with his hatchet "never
guessed anything in my life what is it?"
"He has sent me the most beautiful little horse you ever saw!
for my own for me to ride; and a beautiful saddle and
bridle; you never saw anything so beautiful, Mr. Van Brunt; he
is all brown, with one white fore-foot, and I've named him the
'Brownie;' and oh, Mr. Van Brunt! Do you think Aunt Fortune
will let him come here?"
Mr. Van Brunt chipped away at his pole, looking very good-
humoured.
"Because you know I couldn't have half the good of him if he
had to stay away from me up on the mountain. I shall want to
ride him every day. Do you think aunt Fortune will let him be
kept here, Mr. Van Brunt?"
"I guess she will," said Mr. Van Brunt, soberly, and his tone
said to Ellen, "_I_ will, if she don't."
"Then will you ask her and see about it, if you please, Mr.
Van Brunt! I'd rather you would. And you won't have him put to
plough or anything, will you, Mr. Van Brunt? Miss Sophia says
it would spoil him."
"I'll plough myself first," said Mr. Van Brunt, with his half-
smile; "there shan't be a hair of his coat turned the wrong
way. _I'll_ see to him as if he was a prince."
"Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Van Brunt! How good you are! Then I
shall not speak about him at all till you do, remember. I am
_very_ much obliged to you, Mr. Van Brunt!"
Ellen ran in. She got a chiding for her long stay, but it fell
upon ears that could not hear. The Brownie came like a shield
between her and all trouble. She smiled at her aunt's hard
words as if they had been sugar-plums. And her sleep that
night might have been prairie land, for the multitude of
horses of all sorts that chased through it.
"Have you heerd the news?" said Mr. Van Brunt, when he had got
his second cup of coffee at breakfast next morning.
"No," said Miss Fortune. "What news?"
"There ain't as much news as there used to be when I was
young," said the old lady; "seems to me I don't hear nothing
now-a-days."
"You might if you'd keep your ears open, mother. _What_ news,
Mr. Van Brunt?"
"Why, here's Ellen's got a splendid little horse sent her a
present from some of her great friends Mr. Marshchalk"
"Mr. Marshman," said Ellen.
"Mr. Marshman. There ain't the like in the country, as I've
heerd tell; and I expect next thing she'll be flying over all
the fields and fences like smoke."
There was a meaning silence. Ellen's heart beat.
"What's going to be done with him, do you suppose?" said Miss
Fortune. Her look said, "If you think I am coming round, you
are mistaken."
"Humph!" said Mr. Van Brunt, slowly "I s'pose he'll eat
grass in the meadow, and there'll be a place fixed for him in
the stables."
"Not in _my_ stables," said the lady, shortly.
"No in mine," said Mr. Van Brunt, half-smiling; "and I'll
settle with you about it by-and-by when we square up our
accounts."
Miss Fortune was very much vexed, Ellen could see that; but
she said no more, good or bad, about the matter; so the
Brownie was allowed to take quiet possession of meadow and
stables, to his mistress's unbounded joy.
Anybody that knew Mr. Van Brunt would have been surprised to
hear what he said that morning; for he was thought to be quite
as keen a looker after the main chance as Miss Fortune
herself, only somehow it was never laid against him as it was
against her. However that might be, it was plain he took
pleasure in keeping his word about the pony. Ellen herself
couldn't have asked more careful kindness for her favourite
than the Brownie had from every man and boy about the farm.