The Wide, Wide World

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 upstairs 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 and 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 dust-pan 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 ever 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 crank 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 upstairs, 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 her 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 spattered and sputtered up on Ellen's face and hands 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 rest, went out to amuse herself with feeding the chickens, and then upstairs 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 downstairs, "'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, beans 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 upstairs. 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 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 should have nothing but sunshine if that was good for them. He knows it is not; so there come clouds and rains, and 'stormy winds 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, "'taint worth your being sorry about. Here, Nancy, clean 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 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 handwriting, 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 those beautiful notes, it is impossible to tell. She counted it her greatest treasure next to her little red Bible.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Oh what will I do wi' him, quo' he,What will I do wi' him?What will I do wi' him, quo' he,What will I do wi' him?– Old Song.

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 grown 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 had 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 that 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 dandelion, 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 hand 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 5th 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.