Halcyon days.
When Ellen came out of Alice's room again, it was late in the
afternoon. The sun was so low that the shadow of the house had
crossed the narrow lawn and mounted up near to the top of the
trees; but on them he was still shining brightly, and on the
broad landscape beyond, which lay open to view through the gap
in the trees. The glass door was open; the sweet summer air
and the sound of birds and insects and fluttering leaves
floated into the room, making the stillness musical. On the
threshold pussy sat crouched, with his forefeet doubled under
his breast, watching, with intense gravity, the operations of
Margery, who was setting the table on the lawn, just before
his eyes. Alice was paring peaches.
"Oh, we are going to have tea out of doors, aren't we!" said
Ellen. "I'm very glad. What a lovely evening! isn't it? Just
look at pussy, will you, Alice? don't you believe he knows
what Margery is doing? Why didn't you call me to go along with
you after peaches?"
"I thought you were doing the very best thing you possibly
could, Ellie, my dear. How do you do?"
"Oh, nicely now! where's Mr. John? I hope he won't ask for my
last drawing to-night; I want to fix the top of that tree
before he sees it."
"_Fix_ the top of your tree, you little Yankee!" said Alice;
"what do you think John would say to that? _un_fix it, you
mean; it is too stiff already, isn't it?"
"Well, what _shall_ I say?" said Ellen, laughing. "I am sorry
that is Yankee, for I suppose one must speak English. I want
to do something to my tree, then. Where is he, Alice?"
"He is gone down to Mr. Van Brunt's, to see how he is, and to
speak to Miss Fortune about you on his way back."
"Oh, how kind of him! he's _very_ good; that is just what I
want to know; but I am sorry, after this long ride "
"He don't mind _that_, Ellie. He'll be home presently."
"How nice those peaches look! they are as good as strawberries
don't you think so? better I don't know which is best
but Mr. John likes these best, don't he? Now you've done
shall I set them on the table? and here's a pitcher of
splendid cream, Alice!"
"You had better not tell John so, or he will make you define
_splendid_."
John came back in good time, and brought word that Mr. Van
Brunt was doing very well, so far as could be known; also,
that Miss Fortune consented to Ellen's remaining where she
was. He wisely did not say, however, that her consent had been
slow to gain, till he had hinted at his readiness to provide a
substitute for Ellen's services; on which Miss Fortune had
instantly declared she did not want her, and she might stay as
long as she pleased. This was all that was needed to complete
Ellen's felicity.
"Wasn't your poor horse too tired to go out again this
afternoon, Mr. John?"
"I did not ride him, Ellie; I took yours."
"The Brownie! did you? I'm very glad! How did you like
him? But perhaps _he_ was tired a little, and you couldn't tell
so well to-day."
"He was not tired with any work you had given him, Ellie
perhaps he may be a little, now."
"Why?" said Ellen, somewhat alarmed.
"I have been trying him; and instead of going quietly along
the road, we have been taking some of the fences in our way.
As I intend practising you at the bar, I wished to make sure,
in the first place, that he knew his lesson."
"Well, how did he do?"
"Perfectly well I believe he is a good little fellow. I
wanted to satisfy myself if he was fit to be trusted with you;
and I rather think Mr. Marshman has taken care of that."
The whole wall of trees was in shadow when the little family
sat down to table; but there was still the sunlit picture
behind; and there was another kind of sunshine in every face
at the table. Quietly happy the whole four, or at least the
whole three, were first, in being together after that, in
all things beside. Never was tea so refreshing, or bread and
butter so sweet, or the song of birds so delightsome. When the
birds were gone to their nests, the cricket and grasshopper,
and tree-toad and katydid, and nameless other songsters, kept
up a concert nature's own in delicious harmony with woods
and flowers, and summer breezes and evening light. Ellen's cup
of enjoyment was running over. From one beautiful thing to
another her eye wandered from one joy to another her
thoughts went till her full heart fixed on the God who had
made and given them all, and that Redeemer whose blood had
been their purchase-money. From the dear friends beside her,
the best loved she had in the world, she thought of the one
dearer, yet from whom death had separated her; yet living
still and to whom death would restore her, thanks to Him who
had burst the bonds of death, and broken the gates of the
grave, and made a way for his ransomed to pass over. And the
thought of Him was the joyfullest of all.
"You look happy, Ellie," said her adopted brother.
"So I am," said Ellen, smiling a very bright smile.
"What are you thinking about?"
But John saw it would not do to press his question.
"You remind me," said he, "of some old fairy story that my
childish ears received, in which the fountains of the sweet
and bitter waters of life were said to stand very near each
other, and to mingle their streams but a little way from their
source. Your tears and smiles seem to be brothers and sisters;
whenever we see one we may be sure the other is not far off."
"My dear Jack," said Alice, laughing "what an unhappy
simile! Are brothers and sisters always found like that?"
"I wish they were," said John, sighing and smiling; "but my
last words had nothing to do with my simile, as you call it."
When tea was over, and Margery had withdrawn the things, and
taken away the table, they still lingered in their places. It
was far too pleasant to go in. Mr. Humphreys moved his chair
to the side of the house, and throwing a handkerchief over his
head to defend him from the mosquitoes, a few of which were
buzzing about, he either listened, meditated, or slept; most
probably one of the two latter, for the conversation was not
very loud nor very lively; it was happiness enough merely to
breathe so near each other. The sun left the distant fields
and hills; soft twilight stole through the woods, down the
gap, and over the plain; the grass lost its green; the wall of
trees grew dark and dusky; and very faint and dim showed the
picture that was so bright a little while ago. As they sat
quite silent, listening to what nature had to say to them, or
letting fancy and memory take their way, the silence was
broken hardly broken by the distinct far-off cry of a
whip-poor-will. Alice grasped her brother's arm, and they
remained motionless, while it came nearer, nearer, then quite
near, with its clear, wild, shrill, melancholy note sounding
close by them again and again strangely, plaintively then
leaving the lawn, it was heard further and further off, till
the last faint "whip-poor-will," in the far distance, ended
its pretty interlude. It was almost too dark to read faces,
but the eyes of the brother and sister had sought each other,
remained fixed till the bird was out of hearing; then Alice's
hand was removed to his, and her head found its old place on
her brother's shoulder.
"Sometimes, John," said Alice, "I am afraid I have one tie too
strong to this world. I cannot bear as I ought to have you
away from me."
Her brother's lips were instantly pressed to her forehead.
"I may say to you, Alice, as Colonel Gardiner said to his
wife, 'we have an eternity to spend together!' "
"I wonder," said Alice, after a pause, "how those can bear to
love or be loved, whose affection can see nothing but a blank
beyond the grave."
"Few people, I believe," said her brother, "would come exactly
under that description; most flatter themselves with a vague
hope of reunion after death."
"But that is a miserable hope very different from ours."
"Very different indeed! and miserable; for it can only
deceive; but ours is sure. 'Them that sleep in Jesus will God
bring with him.' "
"Precious!" said Alice. "How exactly fitted to every want and
mood of the mind are the sweet Bible words!"
"Well!" said Mr. Humphreys, rousing himself "I am going in!
These musquitoes have half eaten me up. Are you going to sit
there all night?"
"We are thinking of it, Papa," said Alice, cheerfully.
He went in, and was heard calling Margery for a liglit.
They had better lights on the lawn. The stars began to peep
out through the soft blue, and as the blue grew deeper, they
came out more and brighter, till all heaven was hung with
lamps. But that was not all. In the eastern horizon, just
above the low hills that bordered the far side of the plain, a
white light, spreading, and growing, and brightening, promised
the moon, and promised that she would rise very splendid; and
even before she came, began to throw a faint lustre over the
landscape. All eyes were fastened and exclamations burst, as
the first silver edge showed itself, and the moon, rapidly
rising, looked on them with her whole, broad, bright face:
lighting up not only their faces and figures, but the wide
country view that was spread out below, and touching most
beautifully the trees in the edge of the gap, and faintly the
lawn; while the wall of wood stood in deeper and blacker
shadow than ever.
"Isn't that beautiful!" said Ellen.
"Come round here, Ellie," said John; "Alice may have you all
the rest of the year, but when I am at home you belong to me.
What was your little head busied upon a while ago?"
"When?" said Ellen.
"When I asked you "
"Oh, I know I remember. I was thinking "
"Well?"
"I was thinking do you want me to tell you?"
"Unless you would rather not."
"I was thinking about Jesus Christ," said Ellen, in a low
tone.
"What about him, dear Ellie?" said her brother, drawing her
closer to his side.
"Different things; I was thinking of what he said about
little children; and about what he said, you know 'In my
Father's house are many mansions;' and I was thinking that
Mamma was there: and I thought that we all "
Ellen could get no further.
" 'He that believeth in him shall not be ashamed,' " said
John, softly. " 'This is the promise that he hath promised us,
even eternal life; and who shall separate us from the love of
Christ? Not death, nor things present, nor things to come. But
he that hath this hope in him, purifieth himself, even as he
is pure;' let us remember that too."
"Mr. John," said Ellen, presently "don't you like some of
the chapters in the Revelation very much?"
"Yes very much. Why? do you?"
"Yes. I remember reading parts of them to Mamma, and that is
one reason, I suppose; but I like them very much. There is a
great deal I can't understand, though."
"There is nothing finer in the Bible than parts of that book,"
said Alice.
"Mr. John," said Ellen "what is meant by the 'white stone?'
"
" 'And in the stone a new name written?' "
"Yes that I mean."
"Mr. Baxter says it is the sense of God's love in the heart;
and, indeed, that is it 'which no man knoweth saving him that
receiveth it.' This, I take it, Ellen, was Christian's
certificate, which he used to comfort himself with reading in,
you remember?"
"Can a child have it?" said Ellen, thoughtfully.
"Certainly many children have had it you may have it. Only
seek it faithfully. 'Thou meetest him that rejoiceth and
worketh righteousness, those that remember thee in thy ways.'
And Christ said, 'He that loveth me shall be loved of my
Father, and I will love him, and I will manifest myself to
him.' There is no failure in these promises, Ellie; he that
made them is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
For a little while each was busy with his own meditations. The
moon, meanwhile, rising higher and higher, poured a flood of
light through the gap in the woods before them, and stealing
among the trees, here and there, lit up a spot of ground under
their deep shadow. The distant picture lay in mazy brightness.
All was still, but the ceaseless chirrup of insects, and
gentle flapping of leaves; the summer air just touched their
cheeks with the lightest breath of a kiss, sweet from distant
hayfields, and nearer pines and hemlocks, and other of
nature's numberless perfume boxes. The hay harvest had been
remarkably late this year.
"This is higher enjoyment," said John, "than half those who
make their homes in rich houses and mighty palaces have any
notion of."
"But can not rich people look at the moon?" said Ellen.
"Yes, but the taste for pure pleasures is commonly gone, when
people make a trade of pleasure."
"Mr. John" Ellen began.
"I will forewarn you," said he, "that Mr. John has made up his
mind he will do nothing more for you. So if you have anything
to ask, it must lie still unless you will begin again."
Ellen drew back. He looked grave, but she saw Alice smiling.
"But what shall I do?" said she, a little perplexed, and half-
laughing. "What do you mean, Mr. John? What does he mean,
Alice?"
"You could speak without a 'Mr.' to me this morning, when you
were in trouble."
"Oh," said Ellen laughing, "I forgot myself then."
"Have the goodness to forget yourself permanently for the
future."
"Was that man hurt this morning, John?" said his sister.
"What man?"
"That man you delivered Ellen from."
"Hurt? no nothing material; I did not wish to hurt him. He
richly deserved punishment, but it was not for me to give it."
"He was in no hurry to get up," said Ellen.
"I do not think he ventured upon that till we were well out of
the way. He lifted his head and looked after us as we rode
off."
"But I wanted to ask something," said Ellen "oh what is
the reason the moon looks so much larger when she first gets
up, than she does afterwards?"
"Whom are you asking?"
"You."
"And who is you? Here are two people in the moonlight."
"Mr. John Humphreys, Alice's brother, and that Thomas calls
'the young master,' " said Ellen, laughing.
"You are more shy of taking a leap than your little horse is,"
said John, smiling; "but I shall bring you up to it yet. What
is the cause of the sudden enlargement of my thumb?"
He had drawn a small magnifying-glass from his pocket, and
held it between his hand and Ellen.
"Why, it is not enlarged," said Ellen "it is only
magnified."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, the glass makes it look larger."
"Do you know how, or why?"
"No."
He put up the glass again.
"But what do you mean by that?" said Ellen, "there is no
magnifying-glass between us and the moon to make _her_ look
larger."
"You are sure of that?"
"Why, yes," said Ellen, "I am perfectly sure; there is nothing
in the world. There she is, right up there, looking straight
down upon us, and there is nothing between."
"What is it that keeps up that pleasant fluttering of leaves
in the wood?"
"Why, the wind."
"And what is the wind?"
"It is air air moving, I suppose."
"Exactly. Then there _is_ something between us and the moon?"
"The air? But, Mr. John, one can see quite clearly through the
air; it doesn't make things look larger or smaller."
"How far do you suppose the air reaches from us towards the
moon?"
"Why, all the way don't it?"
"No only about forty miles. If it reached all the way, there
would indeed be no magnifying-glass in the case."
"But how is it?" said Ellen. "I don't understand."
"I cannot tell you to-night, Ellie. There is a long ladder of
knowledge to go up before we can get to the moon, but we will
begin to mount to-morrow, if nothing happens. Alice, you have
that little book of _Conversations on Natural Philosophy_, which
you and I used to delight ourselves with in old time."
"Safe and sound in the book-case," said Alice. "I have thought
of giving it to Ellen before, but she has been busy enough
with what she had already."
"I have done Rollin, now, though," said Ellen; "that is lucky,
I am ready for the moon."
This new study was begun the next day, and Ellen took great
delight in it. She would have run on too fast in her
eagerness, but for the steady hand of her teacher; he obliged
her to be very thorough. This was only one of her items of
business. The weeks of John's stay were, as usual, not merely
weeks of constant and varied delight, but of constant and
swift improvement too.
A good deal of time was given to the riding-lessons. John
busied himself one morning in preparing a bar for her on the
lawn, so placed that it might fall if the horse's heels
touched it. Here Ellen learned to take first standing, and
then running leaps. She was afraid at first, but habit wore
that off; and the bar was raised higher and higher, till
Margery declared she "couldn't stand and look at her going
over it." Then John made her ride without the stirrup, and
with her hands behind her, while he, holding the horse by a
long halter, made him go round in a circle, slowly at first,
and afterwards trotting and cantering, till Ellen felt almost
as secure on his back as in a chair. It took a good many
lessons, however, to bring her to this, and she trembled very
much at the beginning. Her teacher was careful and gentle, but
determined; and whatever he said she did, tremble or no
tremble; and, in general, loved her riding lessons dearly.
Drawing, too, went on finely. He began to let her draw things
from nature; and many a pleasant morning the three went out
together with pencils and books and work, and spent hours in
the open air. They would find a pretty point of view, or a
nice shady place where the breeze came, and where there was
some good old rock with a tree beside it, or a piece of fence,
or the house or barn in the distance, for Ellen to sketch; and
while she drew and Alice worked, John read aloud to them.
Sometimes he took a pencil too, and Alice read; and often,
often, pencils, books, and work were all laid down; and talk
lively, serious, earnest, always delightful took the place
of them. When Ellen could not understand the words, at least
she could read the faces; and that was a study she was never
weary of. At home there were other studies and much reading;
many tea-drinkings on the lawn, and even breakfastings, which
she thought pleasanter still.
As soon as it was decided that Mr. Van Brunt's leg was doing
well, and in a fair way to be sound again, Ellen went to see
him; and after that rarely let two days pass without going
again. John and Alice used to ride with her so far, and taking
a turn beyond while she made her visit, call for her on their
way back. She had a strong motive for going in the pleasure
her presence always gave, both to Mr. Van Brunt and his
mother. Sam Larkens had been to Thirlwall and seen Mrs.
Forbes, and from him they had heard the story of her riding up
and down the town in search of the doctor; neither of them
could forget it. Mrs. Van Brunt poured out her affection in
all sorts of expressions whenever she had Ellen's ear; her son
was not a man of many words; but Ellen knew his face and
manner well enough without them, and read there, whenever she
went into his room, what gave her great pleasure.
"How do you do, Mr. Van Brunt?" she said, on one of these
occasions.
"Oh, I'm getting along, I s'pose," said he "getting along as
well as a man can that's lying on his back from morning to
night; prostrated, as Squire Dennison said his corn was
t'other day."
"It is very tiresome, isn't it?" said Ellen.
"It's the tiresomest work that ever was, for a man that has
two arms to be a-doing nothing, day after day. And what
bothers me is the wheat in the ten-acre lot, that _ought_ to be
prostrated too, and ain't, nor ain't like to be, as I know,
unless the rain comes and does it. Sam and Johnny'll make no
headway at all with it I can tell as well as if I see 'em."
"But Sam is good, isn't he?" said Ellen.
"Sam's as good a boy as ever was; but then Johnny Low is
mischievous, you see, and he gets Sam out of his tracks once
in a while. I never see a finer growth of wheat. I had a sight
rather cut and harvest the hull of it than to lie here and
think of it getting spoiled. I'm a'most out o' conceit o'
trap-doors, Ellen."
Ellen could not help smiling.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Van Brunt?"
"There ain't nothing," said he; "I wish there was. How are
you coming along at home?"
"I don't know," said Ellen "I am not there just now, you
know; I am staying up with Miss Alice again."
"Oh, ay! while her brother's at home. He's a splendid man,
that young Mr. Humphreys, ain't he?"
"Oh, _I_ knew that a great while ago," said Ellen, the bright
colour of pleasure overspreading her face.
"Well, _I_ didn't, you see, till the other day, when he came
here, very kindly, to see how I was getting on. I wish
something would bring him again. I never heerd a man talk I
liked to hear so much."
Ellen secretly resolved something _should_ bring him; and went
on with a purpose she had had for some time in her mind.
"Wouldn't it be pleasant, while you are lying there and can do
nothing wouldn't you like to have me read something to you,
Mr. Van Brunt? _I_ should like to, very much."
"It's just like you," said he, gratefully "to think of that;
but I wouldn't have you be bothered with it."
"It wouldn't, indeed. I should like it very much."
"Well, if you've a mind," said he "I can't say but it would
be a kind o' comfort to keep that grain out o' my head a
while. Seems to me I have cut and housed it all three times
over already. Read just whatever you have a mind to. If you
was to go over a last year's almanac it would be as good as a
fiddle to me."
"I'll do better for you than that, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen,
laughing in high glee at having gained her point. She had
secretly brought her _Pilgrim's Progress_ with her, and now with
marvellous satisfaction drew it forth.
"I han't been as much of a reader as I had ought to," said Mr.
Van Brunt, as she opened the book and turned to the first
page; "but, however, I understand my business pretty well; and
a man can't be everything to once. Now let's hear what you've
got there."
With a throbbing heart, Ellen began; and read, notes and all,
till the sound of tramping hoofs and Alice's voice made her
break off. It encouraged and delighted her to see that Mr. Van
Brunt's attention was perfectly fixed. He lay still, without
moving his eyes from her face, till she stopped; then thanking
her, he declared that was a "first-rate book," and he "should
like mainly to hear the hull on it."
From that time Ellen was diligent in her attendance on him.
That she might have more time for reading than the old plan
gave her, she set off by herself alone some time before the
others, of course riding home with them. It cost her a little,
sometimes, to forego so much of their company; but she never
saw the look of grateful pleasure with which she was welcomed
without ceasing to regret her self-denial. How Ellen blessed
those notes as she went on with her reading! They said exactly
what she wanted Mr. Van Brunt to hear, and in the best way,
and were too short and simple to interrupt the interest of the
story. After a while she ventured to ask if she might read him
a chapter in the Bible. He agreed very readily; owning "he
hadn't ought to be so long without reading one as he had
been." Ellen then made it a rule to herself, without asking
any more questions, to end every reading with a chapter in the
Bible; and she carefully sought out those that might be most
likely to take hold of his judgment or feelings. They took
hold of her own very deeply, by the means; what was strong or
tender, before, now seemed to her too mighty to be withstood;
and Ellen read not only with her lips, but with her whole
heart, the precious words, longing that they might come with
their just effect upon Mr. Van Brunt's mind.
Once as she finished reading the tenth chapter of John, a
favourite chapter, which, between her own feeling of it, and
her strong wish for him, had moved her even to tears, she cast
a glance at his face to see how he took it. His head was a
little turned to one side, and his eyes closed; she thought he
was asleep. Ellen was very much disappointed. She sank her
head upon her book, and prayed that a time might come when he
would know the worth of those words. The touch of his hand
startled her.
"What is the matter?" said he. "Are you tired?"
"No," said Ellen, looking hastily up; "oh, no I'm not
tired."
"But what ails you?" said the astonished Mr. Van Brunt; "what
have you been a-crying for? what's the matter?"
"Oh, never mind," said Ellen, brushing her hand over her eyes
"it's no matter."
"Yes, but I want to know," said Mr. Van Brunt; "you shan't
have anything to vex you that _I_ can help; what is it?"
"It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, bursting into
tears again "only I thought you were asleep I I thought
you didn't care enough about the Bible to keep awake I want
_so_ much that you should be a Christian!"
He half groaned, and turned his head away.
"What makes you wish that so much?" said he, after a minute or
two.
"Because I want you to be happy," said Ellen "and I know you
can't without."
"Well, I am pretty tolerable happy," said he; "as happy as
most folks, I guess."
"But I want you to be happy when you die, too," said Ellen
"I want to meet you in heaven"
"I hope I will go there, surely," said he, gravely "when the
time comes."
Ellen was uneasily silent, not knowing what to say.
"I ain't as good as I ought to be," said he presently, with a
half sigh: "I ain't good enough to go to heaven I wish I
was. _You_ are, I do believe."
"I! Oh no, Mr. Van Brunt, do not say that; I am not good at
all I am full of wrong things."
"Well, I wish I was full of wrong things, too, in the same
way," said he.
"But I am," said Ellen "whether you will believe it or not.
Nobody is good, Mr. Van Brunt. But Jesus Christ has died for
us, and if we ask him, he will forgive us, and wash away our
sins, and teach us to love him, and make us good, and take us
to be with him in heaven. Oh! I wish you would ask him!" she
repeated, with an earnestness that went to his heart. "I don't
believe any one can be very happy that doesn't love him."
"Is that what makes _you_ happy?" said he.
"I have a great many things to make me happy," said Ellen,
soberly "but that is the greatest of all. It always makes me
happy to think of him, and it makes everything else a thousand
times pleasanter. I wish you knew how it is, Mr. Van Brunt!"
He was silent for a little, and disturbed, Ellen thought.
"Well!" said he at length " 'taint the folks that thinks
themselves the best that _is_ the best always if you ain't
good, I should like to know what goodness is. _There's_ somebody
that thinks you be," said he, a minute or two afterwards, as
the horses were heard coming to the gate,
"No, she knows me better than that," said Ellen.
"It isn't any _she_ that I mean," said Mr. Van Brunt. "There's
somebody else out there, ain't there?"
"Who?" said Ellen "Mr. John? Oh no, indeed he don't. It was
only this morning he was telling me of something I did that
was wrong." Her eyes watered as she spoke.
"He must have mighty sharp eyes, then," said Mr. Van Brunt
"for it beats all _my_ powers of seeing things."
"And so he has," said Ellen, putting on her bonnet; "he always
knows what I am thinking of just as well as if I told him.
Good-bye!"
"Good-bye," said he "I han't forgotten what you've been
saying, and I don't mean to."
How full of sweet pleasure was the ride home!
The "something wrong," of which Ellen had spoken, was this.
The day before, it happened that Mr. John had broken her off
from a very engaging book to take her drawing lesson; and as
he stooped down to give a touch or two to the piece she was to
copy, he said, "I don't want you to read any more of that,
Ellie; it is not a good book for you." Ellen did not for a
moment question that he was right, nor wish to disobey; but
she had become very much interested, and was a good deal
annoyed at having such a sudden stop put to her pleasure. She
said nothing, and went on with her work. In a little while
Alice asked her to hold a skein of cotton for her while she
wound it. Ellen was annoyed again at the interruption; the
harpstrings were jarring yet, and gave fresh discord to every
touch. She had, however, no mind to let her vexation be seen;
she went immediately and held the cotton, and, as soon as it
was done, set down again to her drawing. Before ten minutes
had passed, Margery came to set the table for dinner; Ellen's
papers and desk must move.
"Why, it is not dinner-time yet, this great while, Margery,"
said she "it isn't much after twelve."
"No, Miss Ellen," said Margery, under her breath, for John was
in one corner of the room reading "but by-and-by I'll be busy
with the chops and frying the salsify, and I couldn't leave
the kitchen if you'll let me have the table now."
Ellen said no more, and moved her things to a stand before the
window, where she went on with her copying till dinner was
ready. Whatever the reason was, however, her pencil did not
work smoothly; her eye did not see true; and she lacked her
usual steady patience. The next morning, after an hour and
more's work and much painstaking, the drawing was finished.
Ellen had quite forgotten her yesterday's trouble. But when
John came to review her drawing, he found several faults with
it; pointed out two or three places in which it had suffered
from haste and want of care; and asked her how it had
happened. Ellen knew it happened yesterday. She was vexed
again, though she did her best not to show it; she stood
quietly and heard what he had to say. He then told her to get
ready for her riding lesson.
"Mayn't I just make this right first?" said Ellen "it won't
take me long."
"No," said he; "you have been sitting long enough; I must
break you off. The Brownie will be here in ten minutes."
Ellen was impatiently eager to mend the bad places in her
drawing, and impatiently displeased at being obliged to ride
first. Slowly and reluctantly she went to get ready; John was
already gone; she would not have moved so leisurely if he had
been anywhere within seeing distance. As it was, she found it
convenient to quicken her movements, and was at the door ready
as soon as he and the Brownie. She was soon thoroughly engaged
in the management of herself and her horse; a little smart
riding shook all the ill-humour out of her, and she was
entirely herself again. At the end of fifteen or twenty
minutes they drew up under the shade of a tree to let the
Brownie rest a little. It was a warm day, and John had taken
off his hat and stood resting too, with his arm leaning on the
neck of the horse. Presently he looked round to Ellen, and
asked her, with a smile, if she felt right again.
"Why?" said Ellen, the crimson of her cheeks mounting to her
forehead. But her eye sunk immediately at the answering glance
of his. He then, in a very few words, set the matter before
her, with such a happy mixture of pointedness and kindness,
that while the reproof coming from him went to the quick,
Ellen yet joined with it no thought of harshness or severity.
She was completely subdued, however; the rest of the riding
lesson had to be given up, and for an hour Ellen's tears could
not be stayed. But it was, and John had meant it should be, a
strong check given to her besetting sin. It had a long and
lasting effect.