A PLEASANT CONCLUSION.
I Fear my story has seemed hitherto sad and gloomy to my young readers;
but this could not be avoided, for over the fairest scenes and happiest
circumstances, one such uncontrolled temper as Ellen's will spread
sorrow and gloom. This temper was no longer uncontrolled, and what has
since passed of her life is in beautiful and delightful contrast with
its earlier portion. I say her temper was no longer _uncontrolled_. Her
nature was as sensitive as ever--as quick to feel joy or pain, pleasure
or displeasure; but Ellen had learned to rule these feelings, and not to
be ruled by them--not to speak or act as they dictated, till satisfied
that the speech or the action was right.
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of relating one or two scenes, which
may illustrate the effect of this change upon the happiness of Ellen's
future life.
The bloom of spring and the sultriness of summer had given place to the
varied foliage and cool bracing breeze of November. It was a bright but
cool day, and a cheerful fire blazed in the open fireplace of Mrs.
Herbert's parlor. Around it were seated all her own family, and Mr. and
Mrs. Wallace, who were spending the day with her. All the ladies of the
party had some employment for the fingers. Mrs. Wallace had brought her
knitting, Mrs. Herbert was sewing on a shirt, and on Ellen's lap lay a
half-stitched wristband, which had just been put down at the request of
Charles, that she might sew a ball for him. Mr. Wallace loved children,
and was very observant of them. For some minutes he had silently watched
Ellen, interested by the patience with which she had listened to the
manifold directions of both her cousins, and once, when her work seemed
nearly completed, had taken it all out, to make some alterations which
had occurred to George as desirable. As she gave Charles the ball and
resumed her wristband, Mr. Wallace said, "Ellen, do you remember at what
time you came here?"
"Yes, sir; in May last."
"But what time in May?"
"I do not know what day of the month, sir," said Ellen, looking up with
some surprise at her friend.
"It was the tenth of May," said Mr. Wallace; "and now do you know what
day of the month this is?"
"The tenth of November, sir, I believe."
"You are right, it is the tenth, and your six months of trial are
finished. You can now fairly judge between your home here and in H----;
and as I shall be obliged to return to H---- in a week or two, on the
same business which caused my visit there in the spring, if you desire
to return, we can again be fellow-travellers. What say you to it,
Ellen?"
Ellen glanced rapidly at her Aunt Herbert, and meeting her eyes fixed on
her earnestly, tenderly, turned hers as quickly to the floor. She
remained silent, but her cheek, now red, now pale, and the quivering
motion of her lips, showed her agitation.
"Speak, my love," said Mrs. Herbert, laying her hand on Ellen's, "speak
just as you feel. You have a perfect right to choose your home, and
whatever the choice may be, none can complain."
"Oh, Ellen," began Charles, who did not altogether approve of his
mother's neutrality, but a look from Mrs. Herbert silenced him.
Ellen opened her lips more than once as if to speak, but seemed unable
to utter a word. Suddenly she turned again to her aunt, and passing her
arms around her neck, hid her face upon her bosom. Mrs. Herbert folded
her arms around her, and in a voice which in spite of herself faltered,
asked, "Do you stay with us, Ellen?"
"Yes," said Ellen, looking up with a face on which there were both
smiles and tears.
George seized her hand and shook it warmly, while Charles shouted for
joy; and in the exuberance of his delight, threw his ball first to the
ceiling and then across the room, making it pass in its second transit
so near Mrs. Wallace's head that the old lady started and dropped her
knitting.
"And what shall I tell Mary, Ellen?" asked Mr. Wallace.
"That she must come to me, sir."
"I shall say that you have not forgotten her."
"Forgotten Mary!" exclaimed Ellen; "oh no--tell her I never thought so
much of her goodness to me or loved her so dearly as I do now. Oh, how
happy I shall be when she comes!--but I cannot leave Aunt Herbert," and
Ellen again put her arm around her aunt's neck.
"You are my daughter now, and daughters, you know, do not leave their
mothers willingly even for their sisters," said Mrs. Herbert, with an
affectionate smile.
Ellen returned the smile as she answered, "Yes, and that is not all."
"What more is there, Ellen?" asked Mr. Wallace.
"Why, I first learned to be happy here, sir; and I am afraid if I went
away, that--that--"
"That you would forget the lesson?" inquired Mr. Wallace.
"Yes, sir."
"There is no danger of that, I think, Ellen--it is a lesson you have
learned very thoroughly," said Mrs. Herbert; "and it is one," she added,
"not easily forgotten."
Something more than a year had now elapsed since Mr. Villars' departure
for the South, and still his return was delayed. He now wrote that he
hoped by the next spring to bring the business which had taken him there
to a prosperous conclusion. The property which he was endeavoring to
recover had risen in value of late, and should he be successful, Mary
and Ellen would possess fortune sufficient for all their reasonable
wants. But as Mr. Villars, though hopeful, was not certain of success,
he was still unwilling that Mary should leave H. for her Aunt Herbert's,
thus relinquishing the employment she had already received there, while
for the same reason he rejoiced that Ellen was under the care of one so
capable of giving to her a thoroughly accomplished education as was Mrs.
Herbert.
Winter passed away; spring again brought flowers and perfume and balmy
airs to all--and to Ellen bright hopes. Mr. Villars had written lately
more sanguinely than ever of his success, at any rate, when he wrote
last, in a week the lawsuit on which all depended would be decided. He
would then return, and then Mary and Ellen would meet. You have seen
that during the year of their separation a great change had taken place
in Ellen's character, and you will readily believe that there had also
been some alteration in her personal appearance. She was now fourteen,
and she had grown tall and womanly in figure, while there was far more
of the glad-heartedness of early childhood shining in her face, than
could have been seen there a year before. Her heavy indolent movements,
too, were replaced by a springy, elastic step. In a word, Ellen was
happy, and that happiness showed itself in words, and looks, and tones.
No sullen resentment clouded her brow, no angry passion made her voice
harsh, no bitter self-reproach for unjust thoughts and unkind speeches
lay heavy upon her heart; all looked kindly on her, and Ellen no longer
feared that she was not loved.
It was about three weeks after the reception of that letter from Mr.
Villars to which we have alluded, that returning from an afternoon's
ramble with her cousin, Ellen, on entering the piazza, saw through the
open parlor window a gentleman's head. Her heart beat quickly--it might
be her Uncle Villars; she approached nearer the window, and looked
anxiously in--there was a lady, but too tall for Mary. Ellen forgot that
Mary was seventeen, and had had a year in which to grow, since she saw
her. The lady turned her head--the next moment the sisters were in each
other's arms. "My own dear Mary!" "My darling Ellen!" were their only
words--their feelings, who shall describe?
"And, Uncle Villars, you can live in your own house again, now, and have
poor Mrs. Merrill back--can you not?" asked Ellen, after Mr. Villars had
announced that he had gained the object of his southern journey.
"Yes, Ellen, for it is no longer necessary for me to be so careful of
my expenditures, since you and Mary no longer want any assistance from
me. The house has been unoccupied for some months, and Mrs. Merrill is
already there getting every thing in readiness for us against we
return."
Ellen seemed lost in thought for a moment, then looking up with a merry
smile, she said, "Uncle Villars, I have a puzzle that is more difficult
than the fox and the goose, and nobody can help me with it but you and
Aunt Herbert."
"Well, what is it, Ellen?"
"Why, how am I to stay with Aunt Herbert and George and Charles, and yet
go with you and Mary?--One thing is certain, I cannot part with any of
you."
"I have thought of this myself, Ellen, and I have a plan for the
accomplishment of your wishes, if you can win your Aunt Herbert's
consent to it."
"What is it?" exclaimed Ellen, eagerly.
"That she should remove to H., which was her own early home, and which
offers much greater advantages for the education of her sons and their
entrance into life, than their present situation."
"That would be delightful," said Ellen.
The day after this conversation, Mrs. Herbert was walking with Mr.
Villars over to the Dairy Farm, as the residence of Farmer Smith was
called. In passing the bridge she related to him the circumstances
attending the fall and rescue of Charles--the great distress of Ellen,
and the unremitting and successful efforts she had since made to
overcome that evil nature which had so nearly produced such fatal
consequences.
"Since that time," continued Mrs. Herbert, "though I have seen Ellen's
temper tried, and her anger excited, I have only known that it was so by
the sudden sparkle of the eye, or the quick flush of the cheek. She
knows the danger of yielding for a moment, and you can see on such
occasions that her whole nature is aroused to resist the evil, to subdue
the passion. Of late these conflicts with herself are very rare, for she
grows every day more gentle and forbearing. I cannot express to you, Mr.
Villars, how dear she has become to me. To her cousins she is a patient,
affectionate sister, to me a tender and devoted daughter; our home will
long be darkened by her departure. How can I let her go from us--yet how
can I ask you and her sister to give her up!"
Mrs. Herbert spoke with deep emotion, and Mr. Villars felt that there
could not be a more fortunate moment for his proposal. When Mrs. Herbert
first heard it, she shook her head, and looking around her said, "I
cannot part with this place, Mr. Villars, it has too many endearing
associations."
"If by parting with it you mean selling it, there is no necessity for
your doing so; let Mr. Smith, whom you know to be an honest man,
continue to farm it as he now does: you can even spend part or the whole
of every summer here, for travelling costs little now. The board which,
as the guardian of Mary and Ellen, I should feel bound to pay you, would
meet any difference in the expense of your establishment here and in
H----; and the advantages which your care would ensure to them, I would
endeavor to repay to your boys in the direction of their education and
the advancement of their objects in life."
And Mrs. Herbert consented, and Ellen's puzzle was solved.
It was decided that Mrs. Herbert should remove in the following October.
In the mean time Mary and Ellen would both remain with her, while Mr.
Villars would return to H----, to make the necessary arrangements for
her reception there. Mrs. Merrill had been delighted at being recalled
as Mr. Villars' housekeeper; her happiness was complete when she learned
that he was again to live alone. Mr. Villars took care, however, that
Mrs. Herbert's house should be so near his own that no weather should
prevent daily intercourse between her family and himself. In this house,
when I next visited H----, I found my young friends established.
Ellen I soon discovered was as great a favorite with her young
companions, and as welcome a guest at their gatherings, as her sister
Mary. Calling at Mrs. Herbert's one morning, I found Ellen and Mary
dressed for a walk, which I insisted they should not give up on account
of my visit; so after chatting a while with me, they went out. After
they reached the door Ellen turned around, saying earnestly, "Remember,
Uncle Villars."
"Yes, gipsy," said Mr. Villars playfully; "and do you remember that I
mean to say no to your very next request, just to prove that I have a
will of my own."
Ellen did not seem much disturbed by this threat, for she laughed gayly
as she closed the door.
"I suspect, sir," said I, "that it is difficult to tell which has most
influence now, the sun or the wind," alluding to the names which he had
formerly given the sisters.
"No--no," replied he, "the truth is, they are both suns now, and the
consequence is, that they make me do just what they please."
THE END.