The Wide, Wide World

"Honestly, Miss Sophia, I was much more interested in an old woman that sat at the foot of the pulpit stairs."

"That old thing!" said Miss Sophia.

"I saw her," said Mrs. Chauncey; "poor old creature! she seemed most deeply attentive when I looked at her."

"I saw her," cried Ellen Chauncey, "and the tears were running down her cheeks several times."

"I didn't see her," said Ellen Montgomery, as John's eye met hers. He smiled.

"But do you mean to say," continued Miss Sophia, "that you are absolutely careless as to who hears you?"

"I have always one hearer, Miss Sophia, of so much dignity, that it sinks the rest into great insignificance."

"That is a rebuke," said Miss Sophia; "but nevertheless I shall tell you that I liked you very much this afternoon."

He was silent.

"I suppose you will tell me next," said the young lady, laughing, "that you are sorry to hear me say so."

"I am," said he gravely.

"Why, may I ask?"

"You show me that I have quite failed in my aim, so far at least as one of my hearers was concerned."

"How do you know that?"

"Do you remember what Louis the Fourteenth said to Massillon? – Mon père, j'ai entendu plusieurs grands orateurs dans ma chapelle; j'en ai été fort content, pour vous, toutes les fois que je vous ai entendu, j'ai été très mécontent de moi-même!"

Ellen smiled. Miss Sophia was silent for an instant.

"Then you really mean to be understood, that provided you fail of your aim, as you say, you do not care a straw what people think of you?"

"As I would take a bankrupt's promissory note in lieu of told gold. It gives me small gratification, Miss Sophia – very small indeed – to see the bowing head of the grain that yet my sickle cannot reach."

"I agree with you most heartily," said Mr. George Marshman. The conversation dropped; and the two gentlemen began another in an undertone, pacing up and down the floor together.

The next morning, not sorrowfully, Ellen entered the sleigh again and they set off homewards.

"What a sober little piece that is," said Mr. Howard.

"Oh! sober!" cried Ellen Chauncey. "That is because you don't know her, Uncle Howard. She is the cheerfullest, happiest girl that I ever saw always."

"Except Ellen Chauncey – always," said her uncle.

"She is a singular child," said Mrs. Gillespie. "She is grave certainly, but she don't look moped at all, and I should think she would be, to death."

"There's not a bit of moping about her," said Miss Sophia. "She can laugh and smile as well as anybody; though she has sometimes that peculiar grave look of the eyes that would make a stranger doubt it. I think John Humphreys has infected her; he has something of the same look himself."

"I am not sure whether it is the eyes or the mouth, Sophia," said Mr. Howard.

"It is both," said Miss Sophia. "Did you ever see the eyes look one way and the mouth another?"

"And besides," said Ellen Chauncey, "she has reason to look sober, I am sure."

"She is a fascinating child," said Mrs. Gillespie. "I cannot comprehend where she gets the manner she has. I never saw a more perfectly polite child; and there she has been for months with nobody to speak to her but two gentlemen and the servants. It is natural to her, I suppose; she can have nobody to teach her."

"I am not so sure as to that," said Miss Sophia; "but I have noticed the same thing often. Did you observe her last night, Matilda, when John Humphreys came in? you were talking to her at the moment; I saw her, before the door was opened, I saw the colour come and her eyes sparkle, but she did not look towards him for an instant, till you had finished what you were saying to her, and she had given, as she always does, her modest quiet answer; and then her eye went straight as an arrow to where he was standing."

"And yet," said Mrs. Chauncey, "she never moved towards him when you did, but stayed quietly on that side of the room with the young ones till he came round to them, and it was some time too."

"She is an odd child," said Miss Sophia, laughing; "what do you think she said to me yesterday? I was talking to her and getting rather communicative on the subject of my neighbours' affairs; and she asked me gravely – the little monkey – if I was sure they would like her to hear it? I felt quite rebuked; though I didn't choose to let her know as much."

"I wish Mr. John would bring her every week," said Ellen Chauncey, sighing; "it would be so pleasant to have her."

Towards the end of the winter Mr. Humphreys began to propose that his son should visit England and Scotland during the following summer. He wished him to see his family and to know his native country, as well as some of the most distinguished men and institutions in both kingdoms. Mr. George Marshman also urged upon him some business in which he thought he could be eminently useful. But Mr. John declined both propositions, still thinking he had more important duties at home. This only cloud that rose above Ellen's horizon, scattered away.

One evening, it was a Monday, in the twilight, John was as usual pacing up and down the floor. Ellen was reading in the window.

"Too late for you, Ellie."

"Yes," said Ellen, "I know – I will stop in two minutes."

But in a quarter of that time she had lost every thought of stopping, and knew no longer that it was growing dusk. Somebody else, however, had not forgotten it. The two minutes were not ended, when a hand came between her and the page and quietly drew the book away.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Ellen, starting up. "I entirely forgot all about it!"

He did not look displeased; he was smiling. He drew her arm within his.

"Come and walk with me. Have you had any exercise to-day?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"I had a good deal to do, and I had fixed myself so nicely on the sofa with my books; and it looked cold and disagreeable out of doors."

"Since when have you ceased to be a fixture?"

"What! Oh," said Ellen, laughing, "how shall I ever get rid of that troublesome word? What shall I say? I had arranged myself, established myself, so nicely on the sofa."

"And did you think that a sufficient reason for not going out?"

"No," said Ellen, "I did not; and I did not decide that I would not go; and yet I let it keep me at home after all; just as I did about reading a few minutes ago. I meant to stop, but I forgot, and I should have gone on I don't know how long if you had not stopped me. I very often do so."

He paused a minute and then said —

"You must not do so any more, Ellie."