"It's very odd," said Ellen thoughtfully; "I wish I knew everything. But, oh dear! I am not likely to know anything," said she, her countenance suddenly changing from its pleased inquisitive look to a cloud of disappointment and sorrow. Mr. Van Brunt noticed the change.
"Ain't your aunt going to send you to school, then?" said he.
"I don't know," said Ellen, sighing; "she never speaks about it, nor about anything else. But I declare I'll make her!" she exclaimed, changing again. "I'll go right in and ask her, and then she'll have to tell me. I will! I am tired of living so. I'll know what she means to do, and then I can tell you what I must do."
Mr. Van Brunt, seemingly dubious about the success of this line of conduct, stroked his chin and his axe alternately two or three times in silence, and finally walked off. Ellen, without waiting for her courage to cool, went directly into the house.
Miss Fortune, however, was not in the kitchen; to follow her into her secret haunts, the dairy, cellar, or lower kitchen, was not to be thought of. Ellen waited awhile, but her aunt did not come, and the excitement of the moment cooled down. She was not quite so ready to enter upon the business as she had felt at first; she had even some qualms about it.
"But I'll do it," said Ellen to herself; "it will be hard, but I'll do it!"
CHAPTER XIV
For my part, he keeps me here rustically
At home, or, to speak more properly, stays
Me here at home unkept.
– As You Like It.
The next morning after breakfast Ellen found the chance she rather dreaded than wished for. Mr. Van Brunt had gone out; the old lady had not left her room, and Miss Fortune was quietly seated by the fire, busied with some mysteries of cooking. Like a true coward, Ellen could not make up her mind to bolt at once into the thick of the matter, but thought to come to it gradually – always a bad way.
"What is that, Aunt Fortune?" said she, after she had watched her with a beating heart for about five minutes.
"What is what?"
"I mean, what is that you are straining through the colander into that jar?"
"Hop-water."
"What is it for?"
"I'm scalding this meal with it to make turnpikes."
"Turnpikes!" said Ellen; "I thought turnpikes were high, smooth roads with toll-gates every now and then – that's what mamma told me they were."
"That's all the kind of turnpikes your mamma knew anything about, I reckon," said Miss Fortune, in a tone that conveyed the notion that Mrs. Montgomery's education had been very incomplete. "And indeed," she added immediately after, "if she had made more turnpikes and paid fewer tolls, it would have been just as well, I'm thinking."
Ellen felt the tone, if she did not thoroughly understand the words. She was silent a moment; then remembering her purpose, she began again. "What are these, then, Aunt Fortune?"
"Cakes, child, cakes! turnpike cakes – what I raise the bread with."
"What, those little brown cakes I have seen you melt in water and mix in the flour when you make bread?"
"Mercy on us! yes! you've seen hundreds of 'em since you've been here, if you never saw one before."
"I never did," said Ellen. "But what are they called turnpikes for?"
"The land knows! I don't. For mercy's sake stop asking me questions, Ellen; I don't know what's got into you; you'll drive me crazy."
"But there's one more question I want to ask very much," said Ellen, with her heart beating.
"Well, ask it then quick, and have done, and take yourself off. I have other fish to fry than to answer all your questions."
Miss Fortune, however, was still quietly seated by the fire stirring her meal and hop-water, and Ellen could not be quick; the words stuck in her throat – came out at last.
"Aunt Fortune, I wanted to ask you if I may go to school?"
"Yes."
Ellen's heart sprang with a feeling of joy, a little qualified by the peculiar dry tone in which the word was uttered.
"When may I go?"
"As soon as you like."
"Oh, thank you, ma'am. To which school shall I go, Aunt Fortune?"
"To whichever you like."
"But I don't know anything about them," said Ellen; "how can I tell which is best?"
Miss Fortune was silent.
"What schools are there near here?" said Ellen.
"There's Captain Conklin's down at the Cross, and Miss Emerson's at Thirlwall."
Ellen hesitated. The name was against her, but nevertheless she concluded on the whole that the lady's school would be the pleasantest.
"Is Miss Emerson any relation of yours?" she asked.
"No."
"I think I should like to go to her school the best. I will go there if you will let me – may I?"
"Yes."
"And I will begin next Monday – may I?"
"Yes."
Ellen wished exceedingly that her aunt would speak in some other tone of voice; it was a continual damper to her rising hopes.
"I'll get my books ready," said she; "and look 'em over a little too, I guess. But what will be the best way for me to go, Aunt Fortune?"
"I don't know."
"I couldn't walk so far, could I?"