The Wide, Wide World

"Why do they give the mountain such a queer name?" said Ellen.

"I don't know, I'm sure. The people say that from one point of view this side of it looks very like a man's nose; but I never could find it out, and have some doubt about the fact. But now here we are! Just come round this great rock, – mind how you step, Ellen, – now look there!"

The rock they had just turned was at their backs, and they looked towards the west. Both exclaimed at the beauty before them. The view was not so extended as the one they had left. On the north and south sides the broken wavy outline of mountains closed in the horizon; but far to the west stretched an opening between the hills through which the setting sun sent his long beams, even to their feet. In the distance all was a golden haze; nearer, on the right and left, the hills were lit up singularly, and there was a most beautiful mingling of deep hazy shadow and bright glowing mountain sides and ridges. A glory was upon the valley. Far down below at their feet lay a large lake gleaming in the sunlight; and at the upper end of it a village of some size showed like a cluster of white dots.

"How beautiful!" said the lady again. "Ellen, dear, He whose hand raised up those mountains, and has painted them so gloriously, is the very same One who has said to you and to me, 'Ask, and it shall be given you.'"

Ellen looked up; their eyes met; her answer was in that grateful glance.

The lady sat down and drew Ellen close to her. "Do you see that little white village yonder, down at the far end of the lake? That is the village of Carra-carra, and that is Carra-carra lake. That is where I go to church; you cannot see the little church from here. My father preaches there every Sunday morning."

"You must have a long way to go," said Ellen.

"Yes – a pretty long way, but it's very pleasant though. I mount my little grey pony, and he carries me there in quick time, when I will let him. I never wish the way shorter. I go in all sorts of weathers too, Ellen; Sharp and I don't mind frost and snow."

"Who is Sharp?" said Ellen.

"My pony. An odd name, isn't it. It wasn't of my choosing, Ellen, but he deserves it if ever pony did. He's a very cunning little fellow. Where do you go, Ellen? To Thirlwall?"

"To church, ma'am? I don't go anywhere."

"Doesn't your aunt go to church?"

"She hasn't since I have been here."

"What do you do with yourself on Sunday?"

"Nothing, ma'am; I don't know what to do with myself all the day long. I get tired of being in the house, and I go out of doors, and then I get tired of being out of doors and come in again. I wanted a kitten dreadfully, but Mr. Van Brunt said Aunt Fortune would not let me keep one."

"Did you want a kitten to help you keep Sunday, Ellen," said her friend, smiling.

"Yes, I did, ma'am," said Ellen, smiling again; "I thought it would be a great deal of company for me. I got very tired of reading all day long, and I had nothing to read but the Bible; and you know, ma'am, I told you I have been all wrong ever since I came here, and I didn't like to read that much."

"My poor child," said the lady, "you have been hardly bestead, I think. What if you were to come and spend next Sunday with me? Don't you think I should do instead of a kitten?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, I am sure of it," said Ellen, clinging to her. "Oh, I'll come gladly if you will let me, and if Aunt Fortune will let me; and I hope she will, for she said last Sunday I was the plague of her life."

"What did you do to make her say so?" said her friend gravely.

"Only asked her for some books, ma'am."

"Well, my dear, I see I am getting upon another of your troubles, and we haven't time for that now. By your own account you have been much in fault yourself; and I trust you will find all things mend with your own mending. But now there goes the sun! – and you and I must follow his example."

The lake ceased to gleam, and the houses of the village were less plainly to be seen; still the mountain heads were as bright as ever. Gradually the shadows crept up their sides, while the grey of evening settled deeper and deeper upon the valley.

"There," said Ellen, "that's just what I was wondering at the other morning; only then the light shone upon the top of the mountains first and walked down, and now it leaves the bottom first and walks up. I asked Mr. Van Brunt about it, and he could not tell me. That's another of my troubles, – there's nobody that can tell me anything."

"Put me in mind of it to-morrow, and I'll try to make you understand it," said the lady, "but we must not tarry now. I see you are likely to find me work enough, Ellen."

"I'll not ask you a question, ma'am, if you don't like it," said Ellen earnestly.

"I do like, I do like," said the other. "I spoke laughingly, for I see you will be apt to ask me a good many. As many as you please, my dear."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Ellen, as they ran down the hill, "they keep coming into my head all the while."

It was easier going down than coming up. They soon arrived at the place where Ellen had left the road to take the wood-path.

"Here we part," said the lady. "Good-night."

"Good-night, ma'am."

There was a kiss and a squeeze of the hand, but when Ellen would have turned away the lady still held her fast.

"You are an odd little girl," said she. "I gave you liberty to ask me questions."

"Yes, ma'am," said Ellen doubtfully.

"There is a question you have not asked me that I have been expecting. Do you know who I am?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't you want to know?"

"Yes, ma'am, very much," said Ellen, laughing at her friend's look; "but mamma told me never to try to find out anything about other people that they didn't wish me to know, or that wasn't my business."

"Well, I think this is your business decidedly. Who are you going to ask for when you come to see me to-morrow? Will you ask for 'the young lady that lives in this house?' or will you give a description of my nose, and eyes, and inches?"

Ellen laughed.

"My dear Ellen," said the lady, changing her tone, "do you know you please me very much? For one person that shows herself well-bred in this matter there are a thousand, I think, that ask impertinent questions. I am very glad you are an exception to the common rule. But, dear Ellen, I am quite willing you should know my name – it is Alice Humphreys. Now, kiss me again and run home; it is quite, quite time; I have kept you too late. Good-night, my dear. Tell your aunt I beg she will allow you to take tea with me to-morrow."

They parted, and Ellen hastened homewards, urged by the rapidly-growing dusk of the evening. She trod the green turf with a step lighter and quicker than it had been a few hours before, and she regained her home in much less time than it had taken her to come from thence to the mountain. Lights were in the kitchen, and the table set; but though weary and faint she was willing to forego her supper rather than meet her aunt just then; so she stole quietly up to her room. She did not forget her friend's advice. She had no light; she could not read; but Ellen did pray. She did carry all her heart-sickness, her wants, and her woes, to that Friend whose ear is always open to hear the cry of those who call upon Him in truth; and then, relieved, refreshed, almost healed, she went to bed and slept sweetly.

CHAPTER XVI

"After long storms and tempests overblowne,
The sunne at length his joyous face doth cleare;
So when as fortune all her spight hath showne,
Some blissfull houres at last must needs appeare;
Else should afflicted wights oft-times despeire."

    Faërie Queene.

Early next morning Ellen awoke with a sense that something pleasant had happened. Then the joyful reality darted into her mind, and jumping out of bed she set about her morning work with a better heart than she had been able to bring to it for many a long day. When she had finished she went to the window. She had found out how to keep it open now, by means of a big nail stuck in a hole under the sash. It was very early, and in the perfect stillness the soft gurgle of the little brook came distinctly to her ear. Ellen leaned her arms on the window-sill, and tasted the morning air; almost wondering at its sweetness and at the loveliness of field and sky and the bright eastern horizon. For days and days all had looked dark and sad.

There were two reasons for the change. In the first place Ellen had made up her mind to go straight on in the path of duty; in the second place she had found a friend. Her little heart bounded with delight and swelled with thankfulness at the thought of Alice Humphreys. She was once more at peace with herself, and had even some notion of being by-and-by at peace with her aunt; though a sad twinge came over her whenever she thought of her mother's letter.

"But there is only one way for me," she thought; "I'll do as that dear Miss Humphreys told me – it's good and early, and I shall have a fine time before breakfast yet to myself. And I'll get up so every morning and have it! – that'll be the very best plan I can hit upon."